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homoose · 3 years

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Teach Me Something I Don’t Know: Part VII

Summary: Spencer’s unresolved trauma catches up with him. Reader gets her heart broken.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, I’m so sorry guys

Warnings/Includes: brief mention of violence and details of a case; brief mention of prison, past trauma; a lil self-loathing and self-sabotaging

Word count: 3.8k

a/n: I knew that this was where this story was going from the very beginning. The dialogue is one of the first parts I had written. It still hurts. Relevant to the story: I operate with the understanding that the Jeid arc does not exist, which also means that Spencer never went to therapy in season 15. Also, huge thanks to @reidscanehand for beta-ing and just generally being my hype person!!!!

Song Recs: Shrike by Hozier; Better As a Memory by Kenny Chesney (don’t come for me if Spencer made playlists this would ABSOLUTELY be on there)

Series Masterlist

———

Spencer made his way to Emily’s office, ignoring the team’s eyes on him— varying degrees of understanding, concern, and uncertainty plain on their faces. As he reached the threshold, he paused for a second before moving into her line of sight. When he moved into the doorway, she looked up and waved him in. He closed the door behind him.

She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. Spencer hesitated for only a split second, but it was long enough for her to notice. He lowered himself into the chair and met her eyes.

She folded her hands on top of the desk. “How are you feeling?”

He drummed his fingers across his kneecaps. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. She bit back a sigh and flipped open the folder in front of her. “I’m finished with the official report. I wanted to go over it with you before I submit it to the director.” She looked at him briefly before reading out the report. “On January 9th, our team pursued a lead at the residence of suspect Andrew Hurley. We divided into teams to cover the two entrances to the home, as well as the barn behind the house.”

Spencer fidgeted slightly in his chair and rubbed the tips of his fingers together. Emily continued, “During the raid, Supervisory Special Agent Spencer Reid became separated from the team and was ambushed and disarmed by the suspect in the barn.” She paused but didn’t look at him. “The team was unaware of the altercation for some time, during which Dr. Reid employed various approved restraint methods and was ultimately forced to utilize self-defense measures to preserve his own life. Consequently, Mr. Hurley sustained serious injuries.”

She did look at him then, a steady and unrelenting gaze that had him shrinking inside himself. “However, I have determined that Dr. Reid’s actions were justified in order to maintain his own safety.” She returned her eyes to the report. “Mr. Hurley was detained and treated for his injuries at Sebastian River Medical Center, and he is expected to make a full recovery. Based on the cognitive interviews and physical evidence, a grand jury hearing is scheduled for January 25th.” She brought her hands to rest on top of the report.

“I’ll sign off on it and deliver it to the director by the end of business today.” She let out the sigh she’d been holding back. “Reid.”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line, torn between shame and vindication. “Emily.”

“What happened in that barn was unacceptable. And I need you to recognize that.” Her eyes were back on him, a leader’s gaze boring into a weak link. “You went against a direct order. You put your life in danger unnecessarily, and in the process you endangered this entire team. Furthermore, you could have cost us the ability to close this case, to put Hurley away and bring justice to his victims.”

“It won’t happen again,” he assured her.

“No, it won’t.” Her tone told him that if it did, he’d have bigger problems than a meeting in her office. “My recommendation to the director is that you transition to your next mandatory leave cycle early.”

“I can handle—”

“It’s not a request. You’re on sabbatical starting tomorrow. That’s an order, and one you’d do well to follow.” She closed the file in front of her. “We’ll see you back in the bullpen on March 7th.”

“I don’t need more time off, Emily,” Spencer snapped.

He could see her grind her teeth together at his tone, but he couldn’t seem to care enough to feel contrite. She took a deep breath in through her nose, leveling him with a pointed look. “If Simmons hadn’t broken it up, you’d have killed Hurley on the floor of that barn.”

His mind snapped back to the lifeless eyes of Hurley’s victims— eight year old boys in shallow graves. Boys who died afraid, and in pain, and crying out for their mothers. His thoughts raced to the feel of Hurley’s throat under his arm, the crack of the zygomatic under his fist. Emily was right of course. If Matt hadn’t found them in the barn and dragged him up and off of Hurley’s nearly lifeless body, Spencer would have killed him without compunction.

“Reid.” The stern edge was gone from her voice. Spencer refocused his eyes on her face, now showcasing an underlying concern that made his stomach turn. “I’m not recommending another cycle of mandatory counseling at this time, although I reserve the right to require it moving forward. But… I’m asking you to take care of yourself. You’ve been through a lot in the last two years. More than a lot.”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, but there was less fire behind it this time.

“And I’m not saying you aren’t,” she countered. “But I am saying that the person in that barn… that wasn’t you. That was not the Reid that I know.” Emily tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “The Reid I know uses his intellect and empathy to see angles that the rest of us miss. He depends on the strength of his mind and his unwavering compassion to diffuse conflicts without violence. He invites his friends to foreign film showings and puppet theater.”

When he didn’t budge, she let out a long breath. “I want you to take the next fifty days to find that Reid and bring him back to us.”

...

Y/N dropped into her desk chair with a huff. They’d been back from winter break for two weeks, and she already needed another vacation. But tomorrow was Friday, and then they had a long weekend. She could make it through one more day.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, tired in the way that only kindergarten teachers fresh off a long break can be. She heard the click of Anita’s shoes coming before she even entered the room, and Y/N couldn’t stop the twitch of her lips.

“Dude. How is it only Thursday?” Anita flopped down into the plush Calm Corner chair.

“This has been the longest week of my life,” Y/N agreed. “My kids were off the chain.”

“There is so much drama in middle school right now,” Anita groaned. “I can’t keep up with all the tea, and you know how I love to stay up to date on the freshest brews.” She shot Y/N a look. “Speaking of, where’s the good doctor?”

“I think they’ve had a lot going on at work,” Y/N surmised. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Jareau in over a month.”

“Well, I’m getting antsy,” Anita complained. “Thought for sure you’d be going steady by now.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but feel a little impatient herself. If she’d known it would be this long before she’d see him again, she might have made a move when he’d volunteered. Then again, probably not. She sighed.

Her phone chimed with an email message, and she automatically swiped the screen open to read it.

Spencer Reid Re:

Are you free today? If you are, I’ll be at Soho.

...

Spencer sat at the table in the corner of the coffee shop. He sipped absentmindedly at his tea, almost gone cold. He hadn’t waited for a reply before leaving Quantico. He drove straight to the city, figuring he’d wait at Soho until he felt some semblance of calm returning to his body.

He didn’t know why he’d emailed Y/N, and he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to show up. Usually he’d talk to Penelope or maybe JJ. But he’d wanted to get as far from the BAU as possible, and he didn’t want to drag Penelope away from the colorful, safe corner of the world she’d created for herself. He didn’t want to fill it with all the tragedy she’d tried so hard to leave behind.

If Y/N did show, he was certain he could keep the conversation vague, focus on her and the classroom, ask her about her holidays. She wasn’t a profiler, didn’t know his tells well enough. She’d be none the wiser, and he’d have her warmth and presence to focus his energy on, if only for a few hours.

Every time the bell chimed, his eyes flew to the door, searching for her. He knew it was ridiculous. He’d only known her for one hundred and eleven days. Pragmatically, he knew she shouldn’t be the one he wanted to talk to. Realistically, he wasn’t planning to burden her with all of the mess of the past week, the past year, his entire life.

But in the six hundred and forty seven minutes he’d spent with her since September, he’d felt more like himself than he ever had. He was never afraid to be himself with her— the silly story voices, the ridiculous costume, the magic trick, the vulnerability about his mom. All of these pieces of himself were things he usually waited years to show people. It had taken her a matter of weeks to draw them out.

He couldn’t help but believe that if he wanted to, he could tell her everything. She’d know exactly what to say. She’d listen for as long as he could keep talking. She’d cover his shaking hands and wrap him up in the warmth of her spirit. She’d give of herself to guide him back to the person he used to be. She’d be more than willing to use her radiance to illuminate the dark so that he might have a little light again.

The bell sounded, and his eyes focused, and there she was. She was wrapped up in a puffed jacket, a bright blue scarf tied around her neck. Her nose was adorably red from the cold, and she rubbed her hands together as the door closed behind her. Her eyes found him immediately. A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth, and she gave him an enthusiastic wave. And he knew that he was right about all of it.

She approached the table, unwinding her scarf. “Hi!”

“Hi.”

Her eyes flickered over his face, and then settled on his mostly empty mug. “I’ll get you a refill, and then we’ll catch up?”

He nodded, and she headed to the counter. There had been a part of him that thought she wouldn’t come, but of course she did. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, she liked talking to him. Even among his closest friends, he was often made to feel self-conscious about his tendency to ramble, but Y/N had literally asked him to. She sought him out, asked him questions, listened intently, and remembered things he’d told her. She was kind and thoughtful and genuine. Of course she came when he called.

She returned with two mugs, carefully setting them down on the tiny table. She unzipped and removed her jacket, hanging it on the back of her chair and revealing a crew neck sweater covered in tiny astronauts and rocket ships. When she sat across from him, her hands wrapped around the mug and her eyes met his.

“Hi.”

He couldn’t stop his lips from twitching, despite the events of the day. “You said that already.”

She laughed, and he felt the weight begin to lift. “Yeah, well, I haven’t seen you in forever, so— I’m just making up for lost time.”

“Sixty one days.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s been sixty one days, eighty eight minutes, and approximately,” he looked at his watch, “fourteen seconds since we saw each other last.”

She laughed again, and his mouth completed its curve. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I like that you’ve been counting.” She let her chin come to rest in her hand, eyes studying his face. “How are you?”

He wanted to lie, but she was looking at him so earnestly that he mumbled out, “I’m managing.”

She mirrored the way he’d looked at her across this same table nearly three months ago. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” That was a lie, too. But asking her to meet him was enough of a burden.

“Okay. Well, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Until then, I can just regale you with all the kindergarten stories you’ve missed while you were out saving lives.”

And regale him she did. For almost an hour, he listened to her tales of love (budding crushes were taking over recess time), loss (the class pet— a stuffed zebra— had accidentally taken a swim in the Atlantic on a vacation to Florida), and lessons learned…

“So, in case there was ever any doubt, we are now painfully aware that we shouldn’t attempt to flush our underwear.” Y/N let out an exasperated laugh.

She’d been talking to him for fifty three minutes, and his heart already felt one thousand times lighter. “I’m really glad I wasn’t there for that one.”

“I really wish that was the only poop story I had.” She shook her head. “There are a lot of things they don’t tell you in grad school. I think there’d be a global teacher shortage if they warned you about the amount of bodily fluid management involved in teaching kindergarten.”

She toyed with the edge of her empty mug. He watched the movement of her fingers.

“Do you—”

She laughed and gestured for him to speak first.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

…

They ended up in Mitchell Park. The trees were bare and the grass was brown, but he was with her, and so it was beautiful.

They’d been walking in comfortable silence, when she asked, “Did you change your mind? About talking about it.”

Spencer put his hands into his pockets. “It’s, um— it’s kind of a lot.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got time.”

“I don’t mean— I mean, it would take some time to get through it all. But it’s also— it’s a lot.”

“We don’t have to.” He could feel her eyes on him. “Do you talk to— someone about it?”

“I talked with my unit chief today,” he answered.

“Okay. But— I mean, have you ever— talked to someone. Like, a professional.”

Spencer bristled slightly. Although he knew she wasn’t passing judgement, her question exposed the reality that she thought he could use it. “I’ve had some mandated counseling over the years.”

“Obviously it’s your choice whether you talk to someone or not,” she mused. “I just— I know that I’ve benefited a lot from seeing my therapist.”

Spencer was unsure of what to do with that information. Here she was, confessing that she went to therapy— sweet, lovely Y/N. In comparison, he wasn’t sure if even daily meetings with a counselor would be enough to tame the darkness that had grown and festered inside him over the years. That sometimes threatened to swallow him whole.

For a long while, there was only the crunch of the frozen ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an uncertainty about them that felt uncharacteristically heavy. He was hyper aware of her presence, and so he felt her pace slowing down before she came to a complete stop. He walked a few more paces before it became clear that she wasn’t planning to catch up.

He turned and saw that she’d taken a seat on one of the park benches. He carefully made his way to the bench, sitting beside her quietly. She didn’t look at him, but instead studied her fingernails intently. She cracked her knuckles once, twice, and then turned her body slightly toward him on the bench.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she hedged carefully. “I didn’t mean to tell you what to do, or like, imply that there’s anything wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with you at all. I just—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assured her. The way she looked at him then— like he was something fragile, delicate— made his eyes burn. He kept his voice even. “I know what you meant.”

She smiled, eyes crinkling and filled with something that felt familiar and far away all at once. “Good. I can’t have you out here thinking you’re anything less than wonderful.”

He couldn’t stop looking at her, attempting to solve the impossible cypher behind her irises. As he failed to decode it, his inability to read her blinded him to what came next. He missed the dilation of her pupils, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the increase of the beats in her carotid. So when she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, he was momentarily paralyzed.

Her lips were so soft against his slightly chapped ones, pressing with a perfectly gentle pressure. She brought her hand up to cradle his cheek, the pads of her fingers just barely ghosting the curls falling around his ear. She sighed into his mouth and pressed a little closer. He took one peaceful moment to bask in the realization of a desire he’d had for almost four months.

And then she swiped the very tentative tip of her tongue against the seam of his mouth, and his hands involuntarily wound into her hair, dragging her closer. He opened his mouth against hers to swallow her sweet little gasp. His grip on her hair tightened, and she let out the tiniest mewl, and like a switch had flipped— suddenly his mind was full of the darkness she’d spent the evening chasing away.

Y/N beneath him in the dark. Maeve in a pool of blood. His hands around Cat’s neck. His mother’s slap against his cheek. Max walking away from him. His fingers pressing the plunger on a dirty syringe. The slam of the door behind his father. Y/N calling out his name. A knife at his throat under a canopy of bones. Innumerable sets of lifeless eyes staring up at him. His life being snuffed out on the dirt floor of a shed. The clanging of metal bars and fingers ghosting over old bruises. Y/N looking at him with warm, loving eyes. The violent crack of bone underneath his fists. Y/N’s face, lovely and perfect— and then twisted in pain.

He broke away from her, releasing his hold on her hair and pushing her back into the bench. He took a second to gather himself before he dared to look at her. Her hair was tousled from his rough grip; her eyes were half-lidded and focused on him; her lips were red and kiss-bruised and turned up in a small, sweet smile.

And all at once he knew he had to hurt her, and it had to be now. Because what Cat had said about him was true. He might have escaped his mother’s illness, but he hadn’t been able to outrun the violence— and unlike her, he didn’t have the excuse of being sick. He had hurt people, and he had enjoyed it. He would have killed Hurley, and he would have slept soundly. He was no better than the men his team hunted.

Every time he thought he’d moved past it, that wickedness lurking just under the surface would grab him by the throat, choking everything else out. Emily’s directive rang in his ears. Find that Reid and bring him back to us. He knew who she was talking about. The problem was, he wasn’t sure that person still existed.

He was going to hurt Y/N eventually. Better to do it now, before things got too far.

“You’re Michael’s teacher,” he said, as evenly as possible.

Her smile faltered, and she pressed her lips together. He could still feel the phantom press of them against his own, and he was sure he’d never forget it. She cleared her throat. “You’re right, you’re totally right. I, um— I won’t be in a few months, and maybe then—”

“You don’t even know me,” he interrupted.

Now there was confusion in her eyes. That much he could read. She huffed out a small laugh. “I— I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

He looked directly at her. “Why? Because you read my bio on a university website? Because we got tea a couple times?” His voice sounded harsh, patronizing, and he hated it.

Her confusion shifted into shock, and he ignored the tug on his heart. “Are you serious?” she questioned, genuinely searching for a sign that he was joking.

“Dead serious.” He shrugged, and it felt like his bones were breaking. “You don’t really know anything about me, Y/N. If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“Where— where is this coming from?” Her voice was small, close to breaking. He lined up the last nail on the lid of the coffin.

“Maybe I gave you the wrong impression. I’ve appreciated talking to you. Volunteering in your classroom was entertaining. But I don’t— I don’t see you that way.” It was a lie, and if he didn’t have such a practiced poker face, she might have seen through it. As it was, his poker face had helped get him banned from every casino in Vegas, so he watched her as he hammered the final nail. “You’re just Michael’s kindergarten teacher.”

“Oh.” The hurt flashed across her features— the furrow of her brow, the tightening of her mouth, the storm clouds in her eyes. “Well, I— I really read this wrong, huh?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yeah.” He put his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching for her, the desire to comfort her a strange juxtaposition to the pain he was intentionally inflicting on her. “I guess so.”

She opened and closed her mouth twice before taking a deep breath and nearly whispering, “Okay. Well. I’m— I’m gonna go.”

She brushed some imaginary dust from her pants and then stood. She turned to him, and he waited for her to explode— to scream and curse at him. But it didn’t come. She didn’t look at him at all. “Um— yeah. I’m gonna go.”

He didn’t say anything, and he knew she’d take his silence as indifference. But he had to keep his mouth shut, because if he didn’t, he’d beg her to stay. He’d tell her every single random piece of information he had stored in his brain. He’d tell her that he loved her from the moment he watched her help a child pick a solution from a pencil box. He’d tell her that he only ever dreamt of two things these days— her or the lives he didn’t save. He’d tell her every single one of his deepest, darkest secrets. He’d tell her that sometimes he was so afraid of himself that he could barely breathe. And if he told her all of that, she’d walk away anyway.

So instead, he watched her turn and start back up the path, hugging her arms around herself and swiping her cheek against her scarf.

When she disappeared over the slope of the path, he scrubbed his hands over his own damp face and let himself break.

———

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Broken tags: @saspencereid @this-is-gublerween

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid imagine #homoose writes #tmsidk

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 44: Tim

Tim can pinpoint the exact moment he knows he’s screwed. Later, when he takes the time to think about it, he’ll be able to trace the progress of things and see all the signs, from his fear for them to his instinctive desire to reach out for them when he’s scared to the quiet comfort he feels when they’re together. He’ll remember that weird knot of jealousy he felt the very first morning when he saw the Primes cuddling and realize that it wasn’t a general I-wish-I-had-someone-to-love-me thing, it was specific to who was involved. He’ll figure out that he’s been quietly in love with Martin probably since the moment he saw him trying to apologize and look contrite with an armful of spaniel doing its level best to lick his face off with its tail going like a windmill, and that if there’s a moment he can point to later and say is the one where he completely fell for Jon it’s probably the soft look on his face as he tucked a quilt around Martin’s sleeping form.

But that’s all going to be in retrospect. The moment he knows comes a lot later and is a lot easier to detect.

After an exceptionally extended lunch that only ends when the afternoon crowd starts shuffling in, they part, Melanie with a promise to come by the Archives on Monday, Georgie with an offer to stop by and tell her story after she’s put her next episode of “What the Ghost?” to bed, Sasha with a cryptic reference to some sort of appointment and a promise to see them later. They discover what she means later that night when the doorbell rings and Tim opens it to find her and the Primes on their doorstep. Neither of them seem surprised to learn that Elias is forcing Jon on his grand tour, but they don’t seem pleased about it either. Jon Prime warns Jon, over and over again, to be careful. Tim would almost expect Jon to get exasperated, but he doesn’t. They actually have a pretty pleasant evening; Jon Prime cooks for them while they take turns telling him about dealing with Elias. He does seem pleased to hear Jon has reconnected with Georgie, and he and Martin Prime make the others laugh by sharing stories of dealing with their Melanie and Georgie. They pull out some board games after dinner, and while they all agree that with at minimum three people at the table who can literally access the sum total of human knowledge at a whim, Trivial Pursuit is right out, Monopoly is fair game.

Charlie comes over Saturday while his grandmother hosts one of her bridge nights. He’s extremely distressed to learn that Jon is going away again already, to the point that he throws himself into Jon’s arms and starts to cry. It takes all three of them the better part of an hour to get him calmed down, and it ends with Charlie curled on Jon’s lap, the two of them sandwiched between Martin and Tim. Tim looks at Charlie’s tear-streaked face and the heartsick look in Jon’s eyes and the tender concern in Martin’s, and he tightens his arms around them and tucks his chin over Jon’s head and hopes.

It rains pretty much all day on Sunday. Martin makes breakfast and brings it into the bedroom on a tray, and they sit close together and eat quietly and don’t talk about what’s bothering them. Finally, in desperation, Tim reaches under the nightstand on his side of the bed and fishes out a book he’s been meaning to read for years. He wraps his arm around Jon and manages to get a hand on Martin’s shoulder; Martin, evidently taking the hint, scoots closer and does the same, and Tim begins reading out loud. It transpires that the book is one of Martin’s childhood favorites, but Jon’s never read it before and is both delighted at the novelty and enraptured by the story. They spend the whole day curled up together, rain lashing at the windows, underneath the apple-leaf quilt Tim’s grandmother made him, heads touching as they take turns reading aloud. It’s a stolen moment of peace in a world gone crazy and Tim tucks it away in his memory to cherish later when he needs it.

He wakes up in the middle of the night and rolls onto his side, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The first thing he’s able to make out is Martin, doing the exact same thing he is—just watching. Jon, curled into a knot between them, is still asleep, but from the twisted, pained look on his face, it’s not an easy slumber.

Tim meets Martin’s eyes over Jon’s head and reads there the same worries and fears he has himself. Jon’s nightmares are bad. They’ve known that from the beginning, when Martin was recovering from the worms and they were all camping out in Tim’s living room, and they’ve only grown worse as time goes on. The screaming terrors from reliving what he went through with Orsinov have stopped…for now…but Tim knows in his heart of hearts that what’s making it easier these days is him and Martin bracketing Jon and doing their best to physically shield Jon from the Eye. There’s no real stopping it, but they can at least help.

But now Jon is going to Beijing, and God knows where after that, and he’s going alone. They won’t be able to help him with the nightmares if he’s not there to protect. And that’s besides the fact that Tim knows they’re both trying not to consider the possibility of some other monster trying to take Jon away from them when they’re not there to protect him. It doesn’t even have to be a supernatural one. As easy as it is to blame every horrible thing that happens on one of the Fears, there are ordinary people that are perfectly capable of being horrible on their own, and it would be just Jon’s luck to be caught up in something at random and get hurt, or worse. And they won’t be there to help. Again.

“I guess we could just…go with him,” Tim says, keeping his voice low. “Whether Elias wants us to or not.”

Martin shakes his head slowly. “I still don’t have a passport. And…I don’t think we can leave Sasha alone in the Archives. You can go, maybe.”

“I’m not leaving you behind.” Tim sighs and gently tucks a strand of hair back from Jon’s forehead. His skin is damp and clammy. “It’s a mess. He might be safer away from the Archives than we are, but…I worry, you know?”

“I know. I do, too.” Martin closes his eyes for a moment. “We just got him back. And we’ve got months to the Unknowing.”

Tim hesitates. He’s been thinking about that. “I don’t know that we do, actually. I—I don’t think it’s time-sensitive. I mean, I don’t think they have to wait for a certain time or anything. I think they just have to be…ready.”

“How will we know when they’re ready?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what they’re waiting for.” Tim stares down at Jon’s face. “I can’t decide if I’m afraid they’ll be ready before he gets back—”

“Or hoping,” Martin completes. “Because if the Unknowing happens while he’s overseas…at least he won’t be caught up in it. At least they’ll leave him alone.” He’s quiet for a moment. “At least it’s one thing we can protect him from.”

“God. I just…want to wrap him in bubble wrap and a blanket and fight off the world with a stick. Or at least keep him right here with us. I wish we could just stay here and let the world sort itself out for a change. Why do we have to be the ones doing all this?”

Martin reaches over and brushes Tim’s cheek with his fingertips, ever so lightly. “Anything worth having is worth fighting for,” he says softly.

Tim reaches across Jon’s sleeping form and pulls Martin closer, but he doesn’t say anything further.

The alarm goes off not long after; Jon is taking an early-morning flight by virtue of it being the cheapest available option, and he’s got to be there close to three hours early to check in. It’s too early for any of them to be properly hungry, but Martin makes tea while Jon takes a shower and Tim…sits around feeling useless.

As if sensing that, Martin glances over his shoulder at Tim. “Does he have any statements with him?”

“Oh, God, yeah, let me check.” Tim heads over to where Jon’s bag is. It’s a simple messenger bag he’s probably had since university, if not longer, frayed in spots and festooned with patches and pins. Jon never brought this to the Institute, instead using a professional faux-leather laptop bag, which isn’t surprising; it’d be pretty hard for him to sell the “serious academic” persona if he’s walking around advertising that he listens to Sinner’s Gin.

He opens the bag and looks through it. Jon’s packed a couple changes of clothes, some toiletries, a couple of paperback books, and of course the tape recorder, his personal one. But no statements.

Quietly, Tim goes over to the end table and opens the drawer. Inside are two tapes and a slim folder. He takes a deep breath and relaxes his hold on his powers, bracing for the colors to pop up. It’s surprisingly easier to filter out the Eye and see the beneath colors than usual—whatever’s in the folder glows orange around the edges but green in the middle, and one of the tapes just seems to have indigo stripes through the green rather than them being layered on top of each other. Like the Eye isn’t hiding the truth from him anymore, like it’s letting him really See.

He files that information away to deal with after he’s got some caffeine in him and nudges the Stranger tape out of the way; it’s probably the one he and Martin listened to, so it’s no good, it’s already been used. The other one is pure, blinding green—an Eye statement that Gertrude recorded, which is unusual. Tim seals off his ability and reaches for the tape. It takes him three tries to pick it up without dropping it—his hands are shaking, he guesses because he’s upset about Jon leaving—but he finally carries it and the folder over to tuck them into Jon’s bag, then seal it up again.

“He didn’t,” he tells Martin, heading back into the kitchen. Martin sighs and hands him a cup of tea. “But you never took back the ones you brought home after that whole thing with the Not-Diana, so I put them in his bag.”

“God, I can’t believe I forgot about that,” Martin murmurs. “Still, it’s been a hell of a week.”

Tim pauses, cup halfway to his lips. “God, how has it only been a week?”

Jon comes into the kitchen, hair still damp from the shower; it’s down to about his collar now and takes a while to dry. Martin silently hands him a cup of tea, too. None of them speak while they drink. It’s as if these last few minutes at home are too precious, or too heavy, for words. At last, though, Jon glances at the kitchen clock and swallows hard. “Time to go.”

Pure devastation flashes through Martin’s eyes, but he simply nods and takes the cups from him and Tim to put them in the sink. Tim worries at his lip as he studies Jon. “You’ve got everything? Passport, wallet, phone?”

A faint smile tugs at Jon’s lips briefly. He reaches into his pockets and produces the requisite items—a burgundy passport in near-pristine condition, a black billfold that’s seen better days, and the new phone they picked up for him Saturday morning that he’s gone to a lot of trouble to set up. “Charger’s in my bag.”

“Okay. Okay.” Tim takes a deep breath. “I guess that’s it, then.”

They take Tim’s car, not because Jon minds them driving his car but because Tim’s has a column shift and a bench seat in the front, which means Jon can sit between Tim and Martin for the journey. Traffic isn’t too bad this early in the morning, at least not until they get closer to the airport, but Jon is apparently far from the only person traveling today, so there’s a bit of a snarl before Tim is able to navigate up to Terminal Three.

He hesitates at an intersection and looks at Jon. “Do you want me to drop the two of you off at the door or—”

“No. There’s time,” Jon says softly. “You can park first. Then you’ll both know where it is.”

There’s more to that than what Jon is saying, but Tim doesn’t question it. Instead he finds a space in the short-term lot for Terminal Three, and if it’s one of the farthest spots from the terminal doors, well, there might not be a lot of people here dropping off or picking up at this time of day, but who knows what the situation will be by the time they go to leave? Jon slides out of the car and doesn’t take Tim’s arm or Martin’s, but they walk close enough together that it doesn’t really matter.

The doors open up into an enormous space. Martin, who’s clearly never flown before, looks around him with wide eyes, and Jon shrinks back slightly. Tim gently ushers them to one side of the door, where there are a couple of benches, and heads off to the departure boards to make sure they’re in the right terminal. Once he’s located Jon’s flight on the boards (on time, unsurprising for an early-morning flight), he makes his way back to where he left them. Jon has edged closer to Martin and Martin has an arm wrapped around Jon’s shoulders, and both of them look both terrified and heartsick. Tim looks at them, unobserved for the moment, and he’s struck by the urge to drag them both home, shut the door of their bedroom, draw the curtains, and stay there until the Unknowing collapses on its own. As badly as he wants revenge, as much as he wants to hit back at the thing that murdered his brother, he’ll give that up in a heartbeat if it’s the only way to keep Jon and Martin safe.

The penny drops then, bounces off just the right pegs, lands squarely in the right cup and oh.

Tim stands stock-still for a moment, stunned by the swift and sudden revelation. In retrospect, he doesn’t know why it surprises him so much; it’s not like he hasn’t known he’s polyamorous since he was fifteen, and God knows he’s wanted to kiss both of them more times than he can count. But, somehow, he’s been convincing himself they’re just friends, as close as brothers maybe, but nothing more than that. And, well, maybe they are. It’s more than that on Tim’s end, though.

He’s in love with Jon and Martin both, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses either of them. And Jon’s about to go haring off across the world alone, and Martin keeps accidentally coming to the attention of things that want to hurt or kill him, and oh, God, Tim is so incredibly screwed.

He shakes himself out of the stupor. He can deal with this later. Or never, as the case may be, but he promises himself he’ll deal with it later and heads over to the other two. Jon sees him and pulls, with obvious effort, away from Martin. “Is this the right terminal, or—?”

“No, you’re good. Your check-in counter is down this way.” Tim indicates the large sign for the airline Jon will be flying on the first leg of his journey—he’ll apparently be changing planes in Copenhagen.

They stay at Jon’s side all the way up to the check-in counter, where he provides his identification and credit card to the rather stiff old man behind the counter, who keeps sneering at the three of them in a way that makes Tim very much want to hit him. The man asks rather more questions than Tim is used to, even for an international flight, and he’s about to step in and explode when the man finally, finally hands Jon his boarding pass and moves on to the next person waiting.

“How did he manage to make ‘have a good trip’ sound like a curse?” Jon says under his breath as they turn towards the security checkpoint.

Martin snorts. “It’s like ‘may you live in interesting times.’”

“I’ll pass. After this, I would like my times to be as un-interesting and quiet as possible, thank you.” Jon smiles, but it melts away almost instantly.

There’s virtually no wait at the security checkpoint, Tim notices, or at least not compared to how it would be later in the day. Jon will be able to breeze through it in a matter of minutes. And according to the signs posted everywhere in huge letters, Tim and Martin won’t be able to accompany him. Martin stares at one of the signs boldly declaring TICKETED PASSENGERS ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT for a long minute. His face is implacable, but Tim knows what’s behind it, because he’s feeling it too.

Jon looks at the queue, and the security gates, and the signs telling him to remove his shoes and have his ticket and passport ready. He turns to face Tim and Martin, opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, then suddenly gives a small, choked sob and lunges forward, clutching them both by the front of their shirts and burying his face in the narrow dip where their shoulders touch.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers.

Tim wraps one arm around Jon and the other around Martin; Martin does the same, and the three of them cling to one another tightly. He can feel Jon trembling and hear Martin’s breath hitching in his chest and he almost dares to let himself hope, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. He can’t let himself think that, not now, or he’ll drive himself crazy with wanting and fear. And if he’s wrong, if they don’t…it’s better to assume they don’t and possibly be surprised later than believe they do and almost certainly be crushed.

There’s soft music coming from somewhere, a gentle and soothing melody in a choked and broken voice, and it takes Tim a second to realize that it’s Martin, singing quietly so that just Tim and Jon can hear him. It’s a plaintive melody and the lyrics are a little melancholy, but the line when I return united we will be does at least warm Tim’s chest, just a little.

Jon gives a deep, shuddering breath and pulls back, almost reluctantly. “I—I’d best—I shouldn’t miss the flight.”

“We’ll wait,” Tim says, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “Until—until you’re through.”

Jon nods. “I’ll let you know when I get to the gate, and when I board.”

“And when you land,” Martin insists. “I don’t care what time it is.”

“I will. I promise. I—” Jon swallows hard, looking from Tim to Martin and back, then steps forward and hugs Martin tightly. Martin hugs him back, and they murmur something to one another before Jon eases back, turns, and hugs Tim just as fiercely.

Tim hugs him back. He’s still too thin, feels too frail, somehow. He’s barely recovered from the hell Orsinov put him through and now they’re sending him off on his own, and Tim wants to keep him here, but he knows he can’t.

“Please look after him,” he whispers in Tim’s ear.

“I will,” Tim promises. “You be careful, you hear me?”

“I hear you. And I’ll be as careful as I can. I promise.” Jon squeezes him briefly, then slowly, almost reluctantly, lets go. He takes a deep breath, slips out of his shoes, and heads over to join the queue.

He doesn’t say goodbye. Tim’s strangely relieved by that.

True to their promise, Tim and Martin stay where they are, side by side, watching as Jon inches ever closer to the metal detectors and security checkpoint. When Jon places bag and shoes in a bin to go on the conveyor belt, Martin reaches over without looking and grabs Tim’s hand. Tim grips his tightly in return, and they only…watch.

They can barely see him on the other side of the security gate, but for a brief moment, Tim sees Jon hesitate and look over his shoulder. Tim waves, Martin does too, and Jon raises his hand in farewell before slowly turning and walking away.

Martin lets go of Tim’s hand, but before Tim has time to regret its absence, he puts his arm around Tim’s shoulders and pull him closer. Tim slides his arm around Martin’s waist. They don’t need to say anything; they just turn and walk away.

People mostly ignore them, although one or two give them inscrutable looks. Tim doesn’t know if they think they’re a couple and disapprove or think they’re mourning something or what, but he decides he doesn’t care as long as they leave him alone. They make their way slowly back to Tim’s car, but don’t get in; Tim leans against the back of it, and Martin joins him, arms folded as they look up at the still-black sky.

“What song was that?” Tim finally asks. “That you were—before he left.”

Martin rubs a hand over his face. “It’s called ‘The Leaving of Liverpool.’ I think. It’s—it’s the song my dad always sang the night before he left, when he was putting me to bed.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, then adds softly, “I fell asleep.”

“What?” Tim turns to look at Martin, frowning.

“The night he—we had this whole routine at bedtime when he was about to leave for the fishing run, and one of them was him singing that song to me. I sang along on the chorus, once I learned it, which didn’t take long.” Martin isn’t looking at Tim, his eyes still on the sky, but Tim can see the glint of tears in them. “Normally I’d settle down and close my eyes after he left, but that last time…I was tired. I don’t remember why, but I fell asleep before he got to the last verse, so I wasn’t awake for the whole song.” He turns to look at Tim. “And then he never came back. I thought it was my fault. I thought—it’s stupid, I know it’s stupid, but at first I thought it was like a-a magic charm or something, and I broke the ritual and that’s why he didn’t come back. I thought something had happened to him and—”

“Oh, Martin.” Tim reaches over and pulls Martin into a tight hug. Martin hugs him back, and Tim can feel the tears spilling over. “It’s not your fault. And—and Jon’s going to be okay. He will. He’ll be back soon.”

“I know,” Martin says softly. “It’s just…”

Tim doesn’t need Martin to finish. “I know.”

They don’t go anywhere. They probably should, probably don’t need to sit in the parking lot, but they do. They lean against Tim’s car and watch the stars, occasionally punctuated by the lights of planes taking off or landing. Jon texts them both to let them know he’s through customs, and then that he’s at his gate. Still they don’t leave, and still they don’t speak.

Finally, finally, the text comes to both of their phones. [Just took my seat on the plane. Have to turn my phone off now. Will text you when I arrive.]

Martin’s hands shake as he sends the reply. Tim waits for it to pop up on his own phone. [Have a safe flight.]

Jon’s next text comes almost at the same instant; he must have been typing it to send while Martin was trying to reply himself. Three simple words. Their meaning can’t be clearer. Still, Tim has to stare at them for a long moment.

[Miss you already.]

Slowly, Tim raises his head to look at Martin and finds Martin staring back with a look that’s probably identical to the one on Tim’s face. He’s pale, his eyes red-rimmed, but he’s not crying. They’re probably both past tears at this point. It’s just fear and longing and the ache of missing a part of themselves.

Tim fishes out his keys and holds them up; Martin nods, and they both climb into the car. When Tim turns the ignition on, the entire dashboard flashes for a moment—there’s a short in the electrical system somewhere; he’s been meaning to get it looked at, but he doesn’t drive much these days and this doesn’t happen every time, just occasionally—and the radio kicks on of its own volition. A reedy American tenor belts out the last line of the first verse. Already I’m so lonesome I could die…

Tim scowls at the radio. “It should be illegal to play this song within ten miles of a major airport.”

Martin gives a soft, slightly broken laugh. “Breakfast?”

“I don’t know that I can eat, but we can give it a shot.”

“Yeah, but…” Martin gives Tim a sideways look. “I promised I’d look after you.”

Tim grins and tries, once again, to kill the sudden flare of hope in his chest. “Same.”

“God, he’s such a worrywart.” Martin holds up a hand. “I know, I know, pot, kettle, et cetera. Want to call Sasha and see if she’s up?”

“No, I don’t want to die today.” Tim puts the car in gear and backs out of the space. “Come on. There have to be a few places open this early that won’t be too expensive for us to not eat at.”

Martin reaches over and puts his hand over Tim’s, not squeezing or holding, just resting it there. Tim slips his thumb over the back of Martin’s hand and rubs it gently, feeling it catch against the very, very slight roughness of Martin’s skin. The scars from the worms have faded as much as they ever will, mere pale circles against his skin, but there’s one on his right pinkie finger where the worm very nearly went all the way through, and there’s an ever-so-faint ridging there that Tim keeps rubbing at, over and over, as if he can erase the hurt and the marks from Martin’s skin.

It’s not until they get to the café that it occurs to Tim that what they’ve just done is exactly what the Primes did in those early days when they were still trying to conceal their relationship. It seems too dangerous to consider the ramifications of that, though, so Tim settles for sliding into the same side of the booth as Martin and leaning against his shoulder, needing some of his strength and warmth and softness.

Martin lets him.

#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#ollie writes fanfic #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartim #WE'VE GOT TWO OUT OF THREE REALIZATIONS FOLKS #angst #pining #heartbreak #look Jon's leaving for America and Tim has just figured out he's in love #what did you expect to happen

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thefreakydeaky · 4 years

Text

Call Out My Name

Part Eight Title: The Town

Characters: Negan, Reader, A stupid little prick named Rick Grimes, Garbage pail kid Daryl Dixon, Tanya and Frankie.

Summary: You belonged to him.Try as you might to pretend indifference, Negan’s very presence has awakened feelings in you that you believed had died with the old world.Is the ruthless King of the Sanctuary still human enough to fall in love?

Warnings: Language, Canon Typical Negan BS, Canon Typical Violence, A bit of gore, Angst.

Word Count: 3000

With each step you took your stomach knotted tighter in dread of the big scary u.Dealing with the unknown had always been a problem for you. When something was unknown, you were stuck waiting around to find out and in that time you could not plan for it.Upon reaching the ground floor, you saw that all of the dock doors had been pulled down. Every exit locked and blocked.The hungry rasps of the dead filled you with dread.It sounded like you were surrounded. Your eyes darted nervously about the place, from the worn and teary faces of the scared inhabitants to the hard expressions worn by the invaders.

The pounding of heavy boot steps had you swiveling your head about to find the source.

“Don’t you think of tryin’ anything.” Darryl grated.

“Get down on your knees.” He ordered gruffly.

You and the other two girls knelt on the concrete floor, waiting.

You could hear someone approaching behind you.Your breathing quickened in horrible anticipation.

“Are these his...wives?” A deep voice, asked calmly. “Carl said there were five.”

“I looked all over. Found one dead and these three."

You closed your eyes, wondering briefly who it had been.Your stomach churned.You knew what would happen next.He would hit you.He would hit you and demand to know where Sherri and Amber were.You wouldn’t have an answer, except to say you hadn’t seen them in a couple of hours.

“We’re not here to hurt you.” The man’s gentle tone was reassuring. “We’re here to free you.”

“Where is number five?” He inquired.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the man, you couldn’t bare it.

Darryl put a hand on your shoulder and shoved you forward.

“Ask her.This one was leadin’ ‘em.”

A pair of worn leather work boots stopped in front of you.The man inhaled deeply as if to calm himself.

“Are you alright?”He seemed to actually mean it.

You clenched your jaw.

He reached out and brushed his knuckles along your cheek.

You stiffened, hardening your heart for what was to come.

He tipped your face up, his index finger just under your chin.

Your eyes met his clear blue gaze.

The gasp you emitted made Tanya and Frankie turn to look at you.

“Y/n?” He sounded as astonished as you felt, almost hoarse with the shock of this revelation.

His arms were around you and squeezing you in a warm embrace before you could fully process it.

“Oh,” He kissed the top of your head.“You’re alive!”A sigh of relief escaped his throat.

Your lower lip trembled, emotion overtaking you.

Home hadn’t come to mind in a long time.Hugging him, you were transported to a different stage of your life, a different society.

“She doesn’t understand.Much as I wanna be there,I have got to put work first.We talked about this when I joined the force.Lori agreed that she should stay home and take care of Carl, that I would provide for our family. These days, I cover a late shift for another officer, get home and she starts ripping me a new one. Says everytime I’m out late I been drinkin’ with Shane.She accuses me of any wrong thing a husband can do.You name it, according to Her, I’ve done it.”

You frowned a bit at that. Lori wasn’t the best person, but she certainly wasn’t the worst. Neither of you was really in a position to judge her. Not when you were sleeping with her husband.

“Well, I’m sorry that ya’ll are goin’ through a rough patch.”Your voice sounded dejected even to you.

He closed his eyes briefly, his expression contrite.

“I’m...I’m sorry.You shouldn’t have to hear all this.I don’t know what I was thinkin’.” He kissed the top of your head in apology.

You snuggled closer, your head on his bare chest and sighed.

“It’s okay with me for you to talk about your problems.Everybody needs to vent sometime.The thing is, I feel...bad.I feel like I’m part of the problem.”

“You’re not.” He said vehemently. “Lori started accusing me of havin’ an affair long before you and I ever...”

He couldn’t bring himself to say it, his guilt wouldn’t allow it. That sat well with you. It was the least either of you could do.Admit that this temptation you’d both given into wasn’t right.

“How much do we owe you for watchin’ Carl?” He inquired with a softness in his tone that made you melt inside.

“I can’t charge you not when we’re sleeping together.It would feel like-like-“

“I get it.” He ran his hand along your side tenderly. “But I’m gonna have to pay you anyway.”

You winced.Of course he did. She would notice if suddenly there was an extra $80 bucks in their account every week. He could hide the money, save it and use it for something. but that would be one more lie he had to tell Lori. So you accepted the money and put it all in your savings account. Guilt kept you from spending it and as it turned out,you had needed that money to get yourself out of Kentucky.It had gotten you as far as Richmond,Virginia when all hell broke loose. It was there you met Charlie and the gang...

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” He murmured into your hair.

Darryl cleared his throat. “Are you forgetting somethin’?”

Rick looked to him questioningly.

“She’s married to a sociopath!”

“She’s...a friend” He hedged. “I know her. She would never willingly have married a man like Negan."

“I don’t care if she’s your damn aunt fanny! Her husband murdered Glenn and Abraham!” He growled and spit at your feet.

You jerked back at the insult.

“You’re not the only one that’s lost people to The Saviors.” Your voice shook as you spoke.You couldn’t bring yourself to say that it was Negan who killed Charlie.Negan had done terrible things, but he also made you feel wonderful things, now was not the time to reconcile the two.

“He killed my best friend. My co-leader,Charlie.” You told them.”He forced me to become a wife. You gestured toward Tanya.

“Her mom was terminally sick.She was suffering. He offered to get her some morphine if Tanya would become his wife.”

Rick was listening with wrapped attention, compassion in his gaze.

“Frankie,” You nodded toward the redhead. Her green eyes begged you not to tell.

You took a breath.

“She was attacked by a group of cruel and violent men. Negan and The Saviors, rescued her.The price for his help was marriage.” You hoped Amber had gotten far far away from the Sanctuary.

If your words were revealed to be untrue, you might all be killed. You had no doubt this, Darryl guy would have you strung up in a heartbeat. Quiet followed the sad tale.

“I believe you.” Rick said calmly. “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

Your eyes filled with tears.Not because you agreed with his insinuation that your marriage to Negan was a form of torture you had undergone, but for all else you had endured since leaving Kentucky.

Darryl huffed loudly.

“What are we gonna do with Negan?” He ground out.

“Now’s not the time or place to discuss this.” Rick inclined his head, peering at Darryl over your shoulder.

“We’ll talk about it once we get them to Alexandria.”

“Fine.” The man responded.Though it didn’t sound as if he were fine with Rick’s decision at all.

Once we get them to Alexandria. He’d said.

Your heart leapt at the possibility that Rick’s them included Negan.

During the three month deliberation of Negan’s sentence, Hilltop’s Doctor Carson had informed you that your dizzy spells and drowsiness were actually pregnancy.You were elated at first, then heartbroken when you realized there was a huge chance your child would never meet it’s father.

It took pride shriveling amounts of begging and sweet talking your ex-boyfriend to get him on your side to save Negan’s life.Rick turned the majority of the council in your favor.Their final decision was that Negan would live.Your relief at hearing this was immense until you were told the terms on which his execution had been stayed.You would be delivering his sentence.

The rustling sound of soft soles walking across the dirty concrete floor reached Negan long before your tear stained face came into focus in the dim light.

“Negan.”

He kept his face blank.

“Y/n.” His voice sounded raspier to you than usual.

Your eyes scanned over him in the dark and caught on the white bandage set across his throat.

“I’m here to-“

“Do I look like I give a shit?” He glared over your shoulder at Darryl.”You people are ridiculous.Five women to choose from and you send the one I regret ever setting eyes on.Nice.”

You glanced over at Darryl.He looked supremely unimpressed.

“That isn’t true and you know it.” You wet your lips with your tongue.

“You get the fuck away from me right fucking now.”

You took a shaking breath and tried to hold back the tears.A sobbing emotional mess was the last thing either of you needed at the moment.

You held your wrists up where he could see the restraints the council demanded you wear at all times.

You felt sorry for him.This was going to hurt both of you immensely, but if you didn’t do as you’d been asked, he would be getting a hell of a lot worse than a life sentence.

He turned away from you, unable to bear the sight.

“You’re wasting your fucking time.I am not fucking talking to you.”

“You don’t have to say anything, just listen.” You inhaled slowly and held it, to steady yourself for the pain to come.

“I’m not married to you.I wasn’t ever married to you.You manipulated, scared, and threatened me into submitting to you.”

He stiffened.

“You are a power hungry, sociopath who took advantage of my weakness and the weaknesses of many others-“

“Weakness? You?” He scoffed.

“-you brain washed us like some kinda deranged cult leader.I don’t love you.I never loved you and neither did any of the other wives.”You spat the word at him.

He laughed bitterly.

“I did what had to be done to keep all of you alive, if that makes me the fucking bad guy then fuck it.”

“Don’t you dare laugh!”You cried glaring at his back. "Do you have any idea how many people had to die because of you?Do you have any remorse for the pain you’ve caused? The lives you’ve taken?”

He turned to look at you then. From Negan’s surprised expression, the tears streaming down your face must really be selling it.

“You know I don’t.”He frowned, uncertainty in his tone.

“I hate you!”

“Hate me? For what?” He huffed.

“For everything you took from me! For everything you did to me!”

“You sure seemed to like what I did to you. Used to beg me to keep doing those things to you...But don’t you worry, Baby. I’m sure you’ll be getting your retribution soon enough.”

He crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

You sniffed, choked down a sob and prepared for the grand finally.You stepped right up to the bars.Eyeing you wearily, he moved slowly towards you.

“Kiss me.” Your voice was a low whisper.

The reluctance in his gold flecked eyes unsettled you, made what was to come that much harder.

He leaned in and through the bars pressed his dry lips to yours. He closed his eyes, reveling in your proximity, the familiar intoxicating taste of you.You fought to keep still, to appear unaffected. It took him longer to realize that you weren’t participating, than you thought it would.

He pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you, Y/n.” He declared, breathing harshly. “Don’t you forget it.”

You raised one eyebrow attempting to seem aloof.

“You have been sentenced to life imprisonment.You’ll have all the time in the world to reflect on the atrocities you committed.It’s a fitting punishment for what you’ve done. Wouldn’t you say?"

He smiled sadly.

“I would much rather die, but they know that, don’t they?”

“Mhmm..”

He held you as best he could.

“They don’t have any mercy to spare where I’m concerned...Why’d they send you to tell me?”He wondered out loud.

You pulled away, taking a few steps backwards, so he could see you fully.You placed your hands on your stomach in that soft maternal way, the sick fucks had told you to do.

His face fell.

“I’m expecting.”

“No, no no no no.”

“Oh yes...but don’t worry.My baby will have a father.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Do you remember those little chats we used to have?”

He nodded, hanging on your every word.

“I told you about the man I was seeing, the cop with the bright blue eyes...”

Negan shook his head in denial.

“Fate has brought him back into my life. Can you believe that? I mean what were the chances, that the man to take you down, would be the only man that I have ever loved, Rick Grimes?”

Negan dropped to his knees. His eyes were wide pools of vulnerability.

“Have a nice life. I know I will.” You turned away.

Darryl gave you a begrudging nod of approval on your way out.

You’d never hated yourself as much as you did in that moment.

#Negan x Reader #negan x plus sized reader #the walking dead #jeffrey dean morgan #plus sized reader

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hedwigstalons · 4 years

Text

Speed of Forgiveness

So my little ficlet of someone being in a mood with Scott got extended. I’ m sure the brothers will forgive him eventually but I’m not sure if he will ever be able to forgive himself.

xoxoxox

Distance becomes meaningless when you can reach anywhere in the world in under half an hour. Thousands of miles can flash by in minutes. Crossing continents was easy. A trip into space was as normal as a trip to the grocery store; more normal in fact, shopping trips took planning whereas leaving Earth’s atmosphere was so routine you could be half way to the moon before you were fully awake.

One inch of wood separated him from his brother. One door. No distance at all really.

It felt like a different world. One where he definitely wasn’t welcome. Sure, he could override the door lock but he knew that would do more harm than good. A breach of trust that would only deepen the void that had opened up between them.

He sat on the floor, back against the door, resting his arms on his drawn up knees. Just an inch of wood separated them but the chasm felt insurmountable.

Sound travels at 343 meters per second. Light travels at 186000 miles per second. These were facts that had been drummed into him.

He wondered how fast forgiveness travels.

He would sit and wait it out for as long as it took. Stubbornness was a family trait that ran strong through them all.

Minutes ticked by.

Hours.

He wanted…no, he needed to make this right.

The door opened suddenly, pitching him backwards. Only his reflexes stopped him from falling right back and hitting his head.

From his vantage point sprawled on the floor he watched a pair of legs striding away down the hallway. The disappearing figure never even gave him a backwards glance.

xoxoxox

He closed the fridge with a little more force than was strictly necessary, making the bottles and jars inside rattle about. The closing door revealed the loud shirt and even louder brother who had been leaning up against the side, out of view.

“Just talk to him.”

“Why? He made it perfectly clear out on the rescue that he doesn’t want to listen.”

“He wants to listen now.”

“Really? Because I don’t want to talk.”

“Please Virg,” the patented Gordon whine was creeping in now, “it’s killing us having the pair of you at each other’s throats.”

“I have no intention of going near his throat, or the rest of him for that matter. And what could have killed you is his pig-headedness.”

“But it didn’t. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, no thanks to him. Anyway, he made it quite clear that he’s the Field Commander and so out in the field that’s what he does; he commands. There is no room for other opinions so there’s no point having them.”

“C’mon Virg, he knows he was wrong. Please can you two just sort it out.”

Virgil looked skeptically at his younger brother.

“Pleeeease. For me?”

He grunted, knowing when he was beaten.

“Fine. If he wants me I’ll be in the lounge.”

xoxoxox

Scott approached the lounge with some trepidation. His brother was sat stiffly in the sunken comms pit, eyes firmly fixed on the doorway, a scowl deepening the scar by his eyebrow. Scott wasn’t normally afraid of the family heavy lifter knowing his brother was more of the gentle giant persuasion but today the engineer looked formidable.

“Virgil, I…”

“Sit!”

Confronted with the steely glare he found his legs buckling underneath him automatically and he thudded down onto the opposite sofa.

“Virg…”

“Gordon said you were prepared to listen, so listen. I’m only doing this because he asked me to.”

Scott swallowed hard, he hadn’t heard that tone since before Dad vanished. Heck, he didn’t even known Virgil had that tone. It was the tone that meant he had screwed up more than he had ever realised. All hopes of just smothing things over ebbed away.

“43.6 miles per hour.”

“Excuse me.”

“43.6 miles per hour. That’s how fast Gordon was falling, you would know that if you’d checked the telemetry.”

“What…”

“Our brother was falling at 43.6 miles per hour when he slammed in through my top hatch. I know this because I needed to work out what sort of trauma injuries he might be hiding. And all because of your pig headed arrogance.”

The numbers slammed into Scott as though he himself had been the one falling. The venom with which Virgil delivered each word stabbed into him like a knife. The rising crescendo mirroring the rising emotion.

“I didn’t…”

“I’m not finished." The shout has been replaced by a measured calm that was even more dangerous. "We nearly lost a brother because you wouldn’t listen out there so you can damn well start listening now. Did you check the structural integrity scans before you sent him along that beam?" There was a pause. "Well, did you?"

"No" His admission was quiet, contrite.

"No. But I did. It's what I do. It's why I told you it was a bad idea. But no, big brother had to play the Field Commander card and send him out there anyway. It's time to wake up, Scott. This isn't some game where you control all the moves; if it is then I don't want to play any more and I don't want our brothers playing either. We trust you out there. Gordon trusted you out there. But you need to trust us too; sometimes you don't hold all the answers."

Scott slumped forwards, head in his hands, long fingers woven into his hair messing up the normally immaculate style. He had always vowed to look after his brothers, it was a personal mission he had been completing from the moment Virgil had been born. He was their protector, their infallible leader.

And he had got it spectacularly wrong.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #making mistakes #forgiveness

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zoawrites · 4 years

Note

You're writing is fantastic and if you're still looking for prompts I have two. Either a commuter AU, they take the same train or something. Or, something mountain man Ben (or Rey).

Oh my gosh thank you so much!!! I love these prompts and honestly had such a hard time deciding which one to go for! In the end I went with the second. I hope you like!

Rated Teen

Also on AO3

++++

Rey’s car stalled halfway up the mountain. And now here she was, trudging along a deserted highway, thunder rumbling overheard and lightning making her flinch. The air was thick with the promise of rain.

Rose had planned a beautiful wedding at the scenic Canto Bight Resort and Spa but Rey was probably going to die under a mudslide or get eaten by a wolf or something. And it was dark and getting darker. Night became an abyss due to the storm that was going to open up over her any minute.

She wouldn’t have been in this mess if her stupid boss had just given her the day off so she could travel with the rest of the wedding party. But no, Unkar had to be Unkar and be a dick about it.

The first patters of rain hit the top of Rey’s head and she groaned, checking her phone for the umpteenth time just in case, by some miracle, it had a signal. Nothing.

Lightning flashed and thunder clapped a few seconds later, alerting Rey that the storm was directly overhead. After about thirty seconds of self-pity, she decided the best course of action to go ahead and retrace her steps back to her car. Maybe she’d be soaked by the time she got back but at least she wouldn’t get electrocuted.

So she turned. Straight into the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.

“Hey!” Rey yelped, jumping to the side and flattening herself against the rock face of the mountain.

The truck that had almost hit her screeched to a halt and she watched it reverse so that its headlights were directly on her. Rey raised a hand to her eyes and blinked under the onslaught. She heard a door slam and the silhouette of a person she was pretty sure was the size of a bear appeared in the light.

“Did I hit you?” A deep voice asked, laced with concern. Maybe it was her exhaustion, maybe she’d just finally gone crazy, but that voice did things to her insides.

“Almost.”

The figure took a step forward but Rey still couldn’t see the man who might be her rescuer and took a step back. He stopped. “Are you okay?” he asked

“I’m fine. It’s my fault for being in the middle of the road, anyway.”

She saw his head tilt to the side. “I’m guessing you’re the owner of that car sitting by itself a ways back?”

“Yeah. It stalled.”

“I figured.” The man looked up as the rain increased its tempo. “If you want I can give you a ride. Either back to your car or… where were you going?”

“Canto Bight Resort.” Rey shifted on her feet. She wasn’t sure about getting into a strange man’s truck but she didn’t like the idea of being alone in a mountain thunderstorm either. “I’m on my way to a wedding.”

Thunder clapped and she jumped. The man moved forward again but Rey took another step back and he halted.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be too trusting either.” He said wryly.

“How do I know you’re not some kind of axe murderer? Or worse?” Rey asked, folding her arms over her chest.

She could see the huge outline of his shoulders shrug. “I guess you don’t. But I’m not. I just want to help.”

Rey hesitated. This could either be a funny story she told Rose and the others when she saw them or the end of her life. She didn’t like the 50/50 aspect of the situation.

The wind picked up and Rey swore she heard rock crumbling back down the road. The man must have heard it, too, because she heard him mumble a low curse.

“Listen, we need to get in my truck but I want you to feel safe. I have a gun-”

“You have a what now?” Rey squeaked, definitely thinking the odds were swaying in the worse direction now.

He put a hand up. “Calm down. You can have it until we get this sorted out. Do you know how to handle a gun?”

“Yes.” She did. Various life experiences had led her to learn out of necessity. But she didn’t own one. Her answer surprised him, though, from what she could tell from his voice.

“Huh. Let me get it and I’ll slide it across to you, okay?”

Well, he was either going to shoot her or he was being honest. She didn’t really have much of a choice except to see how it all played out.

“Okay. But if you murder me I’m going to haunt you.”

He laughed, a deep rumbling laugh that raised goosebumps on Rey’s arms, in a good way.

“I don’t doubt it.” She saw him walk back to his truck and a few seconds later he did as he said, sliding a handgun across the asphalt to her. Rey knelt, one eye on him, to pick it up and checked to see if it was loaded. It was and the safety was on.

“One point for you.” She said, her anxiety level lowering a bit now that she had a way to defend herself. By this time the rain was falling in earnest and Rey’s light jacket was almost soaked through to her shirt. She slipped the gun in her jacket pocket, took a deep breath, and walked forward to the opposite side of the truck from where he stood. “I’ll get in.”

The cab light was on, thankfully, and when he was done shaking his wet hair out, she finally saw the face of her possible rescuer might-still-be-an-axe-murderer.

He was definitely big, somehow seeming larger in his red flannel shirt. She really didn’t know how he fit in the truck, a fact which should have made Rey more nervous but the rest of his features and the gun in her pocket minimized her worry.

Features like his beautifully asymmetrical face, peppered with moles she couldn’t help wanting to trace. And his mouth. It was unfair that a man had a mouth like that. Full and begging to be kissed and framed by a little scruff. His dark hair hung in wet strands around that bewitching face, just brushing his shoulders, framing brown eyes that were flecked with gold and maybe another color; Rey couldn’t make it out. But she knew that she could stare into them forever. The only thing that cut through the smooth lines of his face was a sharp scar that ran from his right eye - by some stroke of good fortune missing it entirely - down his neck.

“The name’s Ben,” he said, in that voice that was definitely affecting her in ways it shouldn’t.

Ben. She like that. He was staring at her for some reason and it took Rey a full three seconds before she realized why.

“Oh, I’m Rey.” She berated herself inwardly for acting stupid. “Um, so how far is it to the resort?”

“I hate to break it to you, Rey, but the resort is on the other side of the mountain.”

“What?” Rey exclaimed. Had she really taken that many wrong turns? “I-I can’t believe this. Tonight is the bachelorette party and I’m going to miss it!” She groaned and buried her face in her hands, shaking her head.

“I’m sure they’ll understand.” Ben sounded sympathetic. “They’re probably worried about you.”

Rey jolted. “Oh my gosh, you’re right! I need to call! Do you have a phone on you? Mine’s not getting a signal.”

Ben grimaced. “I don’t own a cell phone. But I’ve got a landline at my cabin. I know how it sounds,” he said, responding to Rey’s obvious suspicious scowl. “But I swear I’m not trying to lure you there.”

A low, frustrated growl emanated from Rey’s throat. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

He had the decency to look contrite.

Well, at least if he killed her, he’d be sorry about it.

****

Ben’s cabin wasn’t too far from where he’d found her, but it was off the beaten path a bit, surrounded by a copse of trees that might look ethereal in the daylight. No one would guess a cabin was there if they didn’t know exactly where to find it, which made Rey nervous enough to keep her wits about her.

The building itself was small, with a chimney stack and porch that ran the length of the cabin. No lights were on inside, leading Rey to think he lived alone.

The storm had not let up one bit since Rey had joined Ben. The opposite. Lightening flashed in dazzling patterns across the sky, volleying thunder down on the earth along with a curtain of rain.

Ben drove his truck right up to his porch. There wasn’t really a driveway from what Rey could see.

“We’ll have to make a run for it.” He said, reaching for his door. “Let’s go!”

She jumped out at his signal and made for his porch but despite the run they were both soaked to the bone by the time they made it inside. Rey sighed. Perfect. She didn’t have a change of clothes with her because her suitcase was in her car.

Rey decided to linger by the door - just in case - while he went inside and turned on the lights. The cabin was, in a word, cozy. It had a small living space that consisted of a couch, an old, a coffee table, and a small dining table in the space between the tiny kitchen and the living room. There was a pot-belly stove in lieu of a fireplace; she guessed the door on the opposite side of the room led to the bedroom. What was weird was that there wasn’t a computer or TV in sight.

“It’s not much.” Ben looked around from the center of the living room, filling it easily with his own presence. “I don’t usually have guests over.” He frowned as he stared at her, stiff at the door. “Do you still think I’m an axe murderer?”

“No.” Rey cautiously stepped further into the cabin. “But maybe you’re just a regular murderer.”

He grunted and pointed at a black phone hanging on the kitchen wall before opening a draw and pulling out a phone book. “You can use that. I have the number for the resort here,” he indicated the book, “if you need it. I’m going to change. I promise I won’t come out with an axe.” Rey watched him walk to the door she’d guessed was his room but didn’t move to the phone until he’d shut said door behind him.

She called Rose and explained the situation.

“Are you okay? Are you safe? Is this guy okay?” Rose asked, shooting out questions faster than Rey could respond.

“Yes. Yes. And I think so.” Rey answered. She glanced toward the bedroom. “He’s… something.”

“Wait. Is he hot?”

Rey hesitated, a little guilty for thinking the guy was attractive at the same time she thought he was a psycho. “Maybe.”

“Rey! Did you find a hot lumberjack?”

“He’s not a lumberjack,” Rey retorted. “At least, I don’t think he is. I don’t actually know what he does. Maybe he’s…”

The bedroom door opened to reveal said not-lumberjack with hair brushed away from his face in a dry pair of jeans and a green flannel shirt which was somehow better than the red one and Rey got distracted.

“Radio said the road back down the mountain is washed out,” he announced unceremoniously, as if it wasn’t Rey’s nightmare situation. “We won’t be able to get out until tomorrow.”

Flannel forgotten, Rey groaned and repeated the news to Rose. “I’m so sorry,” she said, on the verge of tears. “I wanted to be there tonight and have fun with you.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You need to be safe, first and foremost. You’ll be here for the rehearsal tomorrow.” Rose’s voice took on a sly note. “But maybe you can have a little fun with the hot mountain man.”

Rey choked, earning a raised brow from her host and turned her back to him to hide her red face. “Rose.” She hissed only to receive a guffaw in return. “That’s not happening. Anyway. I should let you go and enjoy yourself. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Okay. Be safe. Love you, girl.”

A fond smile broke out on Rey’s face. “I will. Love you, too. Bye.”

After she hung up the phone there was a soft cough behind her and she turned to see Ben holding up a folded flannel shirt - blue this time - and a pair of sweatpants. “You can borrow these tonight.” He said, a little gruffly, Rey thought. “So, uh, your clothes can dry.”

A wracking shudder went through her body and Rey remembered that she was cold and wet and probably looked like a drowned cat. Anything warm and dry was a blessing at this point so she met him in the living room and gratefully took the clothes.

“If you want you can take a shower, too.” He cleared his throat and Rey imagined his ears -what she could see through his hair - were tinged pink. “There’re clean towels in there. Through the bedroom on your right.”

Rey nodded. “Thanks,” she murmured. “Um.” Rey blushed again. “Really, thanks.”

He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

She smiled and, yes, there was definitely a rosy hue on his ears. Rey’s heart did a funny patter and she walked as calmly as she could to the bathroom to avoid doing something stupid.

****

When she emerged - swimming and feeling a bit too comfortable in Ben’s huge clothes but warm and clean - she smelled something delicious coming from the living room and her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since getting a bag of M&Ms at a gas station. Seven hours ago.

She followed her nose and was met by the sight of Ben leaning over a pan on the pot-belly stove.

“You actually use that thing to cook?” She asked, padding into the room and wincing. Her shoes and socks were currently sitting in Ben’s shower along with the rest of her clothes to dry, so the bare wood floor was cold on her feet. Ben looked back and she watched his Adam’s apple bob when he took her in before quickly resuming his position.

“Yeah.” He replied. “I figured you’d be hungry.”

“Starved.” Rey joined him by the stove and breathed deeply as she peered down at the pasta and meat concoction he was stirring. “What is it?”

“Uh, Hamburger Helper.” He seemed embarrassed. “I don’t really have much.”

“Hey, that sounds great.” She assured him. “Honestly, I’d probably eat the entire pan if you let me.”

“You can if you want.” Was his simple reply. A small smile lifted Rey’s mouth. He meant it, she could tell. Which made the offer rather sweet. “So,” he added. “Did you manage to get through to your party?”

“Yeah. They were relieved that I’m okay. Is there anything I can do to help?” Rey looked about, swinging her arms a little.

Ben shook his head, already ladling the food into bowls sitting on the stove. “I’ve got it. Sit down. You’ve got to be tired.” He handed her an almost overflowing bowl and a spoon.

“Thanks,” Rey murmured. “Oh, by the way, I put your gun on your dresser. I don’t think I need it.” Ben’s shoulders seemed to relax at that and he gave her a nod and a slight smile. She slowly made her way to the dining table - where there were a couple of cups of water already sitting - and sat at one end. He joined her at the opposite side and for awhile they ate in silence. Rey was halfway through her bowl when he spoke again.

“So, uh, how’d you and your fiancee meet?”

She almost coughed out the mouthful she’d just taken. She quickly took a deep drink of water to swallow down the food. “My what?” she gasped, patting her chest. “I don’t have a fiancee.”

“Oh.” Ben blinked, evidently surprised. “I thought… the wedding… and you told the person on the phone…” he stopped, this time flushing across his face. “Sorry.”

Rey burst into laughter. “Don’t be. It’s my best friend’s wedding. That’s who I was talking to before. Rose. I’m one of her bridesmaids. I’m, um,” she looked at her bowl and stirred her pasta around. “I’m single.” Her eyes flicked up to his and down again.

“Oh.” Ben repeated and picked at his own food, almost thoughtfully. But there wasn’t any other reaction. Rey didn’t know why she was disappointed.

Over the next few minutes of silence, Rey took the opportunity to look around a bit more, observing a small desk by one of the front windows, covered in paper and pens and books. There was a bookcase, too, stuffed to the edges. When she finished her food, she put the bowl in the kitchen sink and meandered back to the bookcase.

“I hope you don’t think this is a rude question,” she picked up a book -Crime and Punishment - to idly flip through its pages. “But why are you living out here?”

Alone?

Ben was in the kitchen, placing his own dish in the sink. “I needed the quiet.”

It was such a non-answer answer Rey couldn’t help that her curiosity was piqued. “It must be lonely sometimes,” she murmured, strolling over to the desk. There was a stack of empty pages there and expensive-looking ink pens. “Do you write?” she asked. She didn’t see any marked pages.

“A little.” He seemed to admit it begrudgingly.

“What do you write about?” Thunder shook the house and the lights flickered, reminding Rey of the storm outside. “Are the lights going to go out?” she asked, unable to hide the fear that caused her voice to waver.

“They might.” He frowned, apparently catching her tremble, and joined her at the desk. “The house is on an old generator and in a big stor-”

A bright flash of light blinded Rey and the loudest thunderclap yet that night shook the house and that was when the cabin went dark. Rey inhaled a sharp breath and hid herself against Ben’s broad chest, gripping his shirt in tight fists.

“Whoa, whoa.” She heard him exclaim, but he gentled nearly immediately and she felt his hands land on her back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Rey took a few deep breaths, inhaling his scent - woodsy and warm - before she forced herself to take a step back. It was still dark. Even the lightning had disappeared. She struggled to find light anywhere but there was nothing and she’d left her phone in the bathroom. “Okay, I’m not fine.”

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Light.” She whispered. “Anything with light.”

A moment later she heard a lighter click. The little flame was like a beacon of hope and Rey let out a shuddering breath of relief at its presence. The light also revealed Ben’s worried face and Rey took another step back, wrapping her arms around herself. He didn’t make a move, giving her the space she needed.

“I, um, I’m claustrophobic.” She explained, hating that she had to say it in the first place. “So when it goes pitch black like this…” She swallowed. “I’ve been doing really well, actually. But when I’m stressed it kind of… it gets worse.”

Something like understanding flickered across his face. “I’m sorry. Listen, I’ll go out and-”

“No, please!” Rey’s heart did a jump start at the thought of being alone in the dark. “I don’t want to be alone…” she winced. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so needy. Damn it.” She shook her hands out, anxiety doing its unsavory worst and feeding all her insecurities.

“Rey, stop.” He slid his free arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. For some reason she let him. “It’s okay. We’ve all got something.”

She wasn’t used to this. Another person comforting her in the middle of an attack. Normally she was alone. It always happened when she was alone. Rey pressed her forehead to his shoulder and rested her hands on his waist. His flannel shirt was soft against her skin.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Ben’s arm tightened just a bit, drawing her further into his embrace. She didn’t mind. “I write poetry.” His voice was low and close to her ear.

Rey smiled. Poetry.

“About what?”

“About everything.”

“Will you… will you read me some?”

There was a pause. “Yes.”

****

“They’re amazing,” Rey said. Ben had just finished reciting a few of his works, using a battery-operated emergency lamp. He’d also lit a few candles and stoked the fire in the stove. Altogether there was enough light now that Rey didn’t feel as anxious. All the same, she was sitting close beside him. He had the lamp, after all and Rey had no interest in being further away from it than necessary. Or maybe it was him she didn’t want to be parted from. She didn’t want to think about it too hard. “Are you published?”

The lamp revealed a blush. “I don’t write for that.”

“Nor should you. But they’re truly beautiful, Ben.” Rey tried to put as much earnestness in her voice as possible. “You should be recognized for them. Something to think about.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugged.

Rey could listen to him read his poems all night, but she wanted to know more about him. The strange, large flannel-wearing poet who lived on a generator in the mountains. “What did you do before living here?”

“I, uh, I was in the military.” He cleared his throat. “Retired a couple of years ago.”

That might explain why he wanted to be so far away from civilization. And the gun. And the scar. But the fact also deepened the enigma.

“What branch?”

“I…” he paused and pressed his lips together. “Marines.”

Rey got the sense he didn’t want to talk about whatever those experiences were. So she didn’t press, even though she wanted to. She understood wanting to keep certain parts of yourself a secret. “I guess it makes sense you wanted some peace and quiet, then. And, wow, you found the perfect place.”

He huffed out a soft laugh. “Yeah, I guess. What about you?” he tilted his head to the side. “Rey. Who are you? What’s your story?”

The question was deep and inane at the same time. “I’m a small town girl living in a lonely world,” she replied and he snorted. “I don’t really have a story.”

“Everyone has a story.”

Rey rolled her eyes. “Spoken like a true author.”

“Hm. You’re avoiding.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned a little bit away from him, defensive. “Your life, from what I can tell, is about avoiding literally everything.”

He gave a nod. “I’m not avoiding anything. You are.”

Now he was just insulting her. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

A muscle under Ben’s left eye twitched. “Yeah. You’re right.”

He didn’t apologize, only looked her in the eye, as if he could see right through her. Could read her thoughts.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Ben obediently averted his eyes, looking instead at his poetry notebook. Rey felt a little bad for snapping at him. He may have been a little rude but she hadn’t needed to be rude back. She was going to apologize when he spoke again.

“I was in covert ops,” he said quietly. “I did… I was a part of things that I can’t talk about and wouldn’t talk about even if I could.” Rey hadn’t excepted the sudden candor and certainly hadn’t expected the content. “We all have something we want to run from,” he continued. He didn’t raise his eyes but his voice was steady. “That we want to hide from.”

“Is that what you’re doing out here?” she interjected. “Hiding?”

“No.”

“How so?”

“The quiet helps me think. I write to verbalize those thoughts. I read. I write about what I read. Then I write about what happened. Those notebooks aren’t for anyone but me, though.” He sighed. “That’s my burden.”

Rey wet her lips and took a deep breath. He’d shared. A lot. She didn’t know why. But for some reason she wanted to reciprocate. Maybe she felt she owed him. She pulled her knees up and sat cross legged on the couch, folding her hands together tightly in her lap.

“I’m a middle-school teacher. For high-risk kids. I was one, once.” She swallowed past her racing heart, which seemed to have jumped into her throat. “I’m claustrophobic because, as a kid, I was in foster care. I had… I lived with someone who - as a punishment - would lock me in a closet. In the dark. For hours. Sometimes a whole day. I ran away a lot. And ended up in the closet a lot.”

She winced at the silence that followed; that usually followed after she revealed that part of her past. It wasn’t something she normally told someone the first time she met them. Even Rose hadn’t found out until two years after Rey had met her. But with Ben it was, not exactly easy, but like she was supposed to. Like he was meant to hear it just like this.

When she gained the courage to look at Ben and gauge his reaction, she saw he was still. Barely even seemed to be breathing. But his hands were curled into tight fists.

“I’m sorry,” she said, a thickness to her voice she wished wasn’t there. Crying wouldn’t help the awkwardness go away. “That’s a lot to lay on somebody. I mean, it’s not like ‘oh I had a dog and he died’. It’s… yeah, I’m sor-”

A large hand covered both of hers.

“Stop.”

Rey shivered and swallowed. He slipped his hand between hers and she closed around it tightly.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” he said. “Never for that.”

She released a shaky breath and nodded, looking at him. The sincerity - the caring - in his expression took her breath away. “Thank you.” She focused on their clasped hands and huffed a laugh. “You know, I’m never this deep with strangers.”

“I guess I must be special, huh?” She heard the smile in his voice and raised her eyes to his.

“Yes, I think you are,” she murmured. A heaviness fell into the room that had nothing to do with the humid storm and everything with the way Ben was looking at her. Even though it was dim she could still make out how his eyes dropped to her lips and without much forethought she leaned in. Their lips met in a brief, gentle touch but Rey was sure just from that she wanted more.

“Do you usually kiss people the first time you meet them?” he asked softly, their faces still close. She shook her head.

“Never.”

He nodded before he kissed her again with more heat, tugging her close, and Rey pressed her palms to his cheeks, holding him to her.

It seemed right, somehow, to have him hold her like this. To have his lips on hers and on her cheeks and throat; his hands at all the right places, leaving fire in their wake. It seemed like he was the only one who should. Like it was the most natural thing in the world even though they’d only known each other mere hours.

She hoped in the morning he wouldn’t regret it. She knew she wouldn’t. If anything, she hoped there’d be more. More kisses, more days, more nights with him. More time to learn about him and for him to learn about her.

Maybe fate had finally - finally - decided to be kind.

As it happened, that was exactly what fate had in store.

#reylo #reylo fic #reylo fanfic #reylo fanfiction #reylo prompt #zoawrites #zoaspeaks #thanks so much for the prompts!#Anonymous

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weartirondad · 5 years

Text

Sorry (Is All That You Can Say)

Prompt “Bullying”: A case of bullying goes too far and Peter ends up in a hospital (not self-harm related, there is a real accident). He is unconscious so his friends visit and Tony and May try to get a clear picture of what happened but everyone has a different side ( @irondadgroupie)

FF.net I ao3

Ned

Oh man. Today really wasn’t his day.

It had started with a surprise chemistry quiz in first period and while Ned was anything but stupid, Chemistry really wasn’t his best subject and to get good grades he actually had to put effort in. Unlike some chemistry-genius-superhero he knew who had finished with ten minutes to spare.

Peter had aced the quiz, of course, and while he did try to look contrite during lunch it just wasn’t the same when he wasn’t as miserable as Ned felt. There seemed to be something else on his best friend’s mind all day that kept him from tapping into his empathy all the way to really get Ned’s distress.

Usually he would’ve asked but as it was, he was sulking about his own shitty day. He was allowed to those, right?

After lunch they had gym which, you know, just made everything worse in general because it was gym. There was no rope climbing today but the joy over the announcement quickly dissipated the second their teacher got out the basketballs.

Now that was just great.

Running around was not his thing. Least of all while having to dribble a stupid orange ball that he could swear had a mind of its own. And catching. Also not one of his talents. Or throwing for that matter. Why did this day have to rub everything he wasn’t good at in? Shouldn’t shit like that be evenly spread between a couple of days, if not months? Was fate really that cruel?

(Yes, maybe he was being a little dramatic.)

But gym was almost over and after that he could finally put an end to the horrible, awful, depressing portion of this day and move on to better and brighter things. Like math homework.

While Ned squatted down to get his water bottle he mindlessly rubbed his upper arm that had taken a hit from a stray basketball earlier in the game. Great, that was going to be another bruise. He was just preparing to take a sip when he heard a loud crash and then a few seconds of complete, terrifying silence.

Frowning he turned around to see what the ensuing commotion was about.

A crowd had started to form right next to their playing field on the other side of the hall. He could make out Emily yelling for the teacher who was already hurrying over towards them. Some other girls were squatting down next to whoever must have fallen and even MJ looked slightly worried and kind of angry which were more emotions than she usually showed anyone.

That was his first hint that something was wrong.

Instinctually Ned tried to make out Peter in the crowd, expecting his friend to be on the side lines as long as he wasn’t actively needed.

Even before the spider bite crowds of screaming people had tended to get to him and Ned was worried about him slipping into another sensory-overload-induced-anxiety attack. He only got more worried when he couldn’t find him anywhere.

Pushing himself back up, the sweat dripping from his forehead to the floor almost making him slip in the process, he started running towards his classmates. His sneakers squeaked hitting the linoleum floor, his heart that hadn’t yet calmed down from the game earlier was now threatening to jump out of his chest and his lungs were screaming but he didn’t pay his body any mind because the longer he went without getting a visual on his stupid best friend the more anxious he got.

Surely Peter wouldn’t… No, he was a superhero! He wouldn’t just collapse in gym class. That was a thing that could’ve happened to pre-bite Peter who always forgot his inhaler. The scrawny teenager that could barely finish the first lapse and refused to hand in his doctor’s note so he wouldn’t have to. It would not happen to this crazy enhanced version of his best friend who jumped from skyscrapers and did back flips for shits and giggles.

No way.

He pushed past Flash and his idiot friends, only noting in passing that the boy seemed a lot more subdued than he had before. Maybe someone tripping in gym could get even an asshole like Flash to shut up for once in his life.

Once he got to the heart of the commotion, though, the thought completely slipped his mind because there, on the floor, lay his idiot best friend. Unnervingly unmoving, eyes closed and with blood slowly leaking from the brown mob of curls.

Holy crap.

“What the hell happened?”

He didn’t really hear the answer to the question, too preoccupied with his unconscious friend. He only gave himself five seconds to internally freak out before he dropped down next to him and started shaking him, trying to get him to wake up. Without success.

Okay, Ned. Think, think, thin –

Mister Stark!

Mister Stark always made Peter call him when he was hurt. Surely Iron-Man would be able to help, right?

His left hand was resting on Peter’s chest as gently as possible while he started flailing his right to the side. “Get me Peter’s phone. Right now,” he yelled at whoever was standing closest to him.

He could do this. He just had to call Mister Stark and the man would know what to do. He would get Peter to wake back up. He would get the best doctors to help Peter. Everything was going to be okay.

Everything was going to be okay.

It had to be.

“How’s he doing?”

Her voice sounded foreign in her own ears. Too quiet, too unsure in the empty hall that led to the school’s emergency room. She had disliked hospitals ever since visiting her grandma after a surgery and this part of the building looked enough like one to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and a shiver run down her spine even though she wasn’t really cold. That didn’t stop the chilly feeling in her bones, though.

She tried not to show how uncomfortable she was as she plopped down on one of the seats, leaving another empty between her and Ned who was still in his gym clothes that were clinging to his sweaty skin.

The boy looked up from where he had been staring at his fidgeting hands and tried to send her something akin to a smile. It was more of a grimace than anything else but she could appreciate that he tried to put her at ease.

“He’s going to be okay. The paramedics are prepping him for transport.” He sighed and suddenly looked lost, where his exuberant nature usually filled every room he was in. He was a lot like Peter in that way but with a pure lightness that came from not having experienced any personal tragedies yet. Hesitantly she reached out to give his shoulder what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze before awkwardly letting her hand drop back down to her lap.

Ned looked thankful regardless.

“Mister Stark wanted to get him transferred to the Tower but the emergency doctor said it’s safer to bring him to a hospital with a department for neurosurgery. Just in case,” he trailed off with another sigh. “They don’t know what’s going on inside his head yet but since he hit it somehow they’re suspecting a contusion. Which isn’t too bad at least from what I googled. They’ll be running a CT scan when they’re at the hospital and Mister Stark promised to call as soon as there are any news.”

“He’s going to be okay,” she tried sounding optimistic, something she didn’t usually put much effort into, “I’m guessing Stark won’t let him be anything else. He’s gonna get the best doctors money can buy.”

She realized with a start that she wasn’t even mad about some billionaire having access to better medical care right then. She had watched said billionaire rush into the building, clad in a three piece suit that probably matched the important meeting he had been called out of, his usually flawlessly styled hair a mess and he had looked as worried as she felt. If not more.

There had been a sort of fire in his eyes that she hadn’t believed him capable of. Something fierce and unconditionally loving. He had made no pretense that he would do anything to make this better and that made her like him just a wee bit more.

“Yeah,” Ned agreed, not picking up on her inner musings about the man both him and Petr idolized more than she thought people should be idolized. “Helen Cho is already on her way from California.”

The way he said it, like it was no big deal that one of the most renown medical doctors in the world had just dropped everything to fly out to New York to look after a random teenager was nothing unheard of, made her pause. Even if said teenager was Tony Stark’s mentee.

She frowned. “Does she do that often?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Mister Stark goes a little over board sometimes,” he told her, corners of his lips twitching upwards ever so slightly. “He made her come here to treat Peter when he had the flu last month. But I think she likes him or she wouldn’t be doing it. That reminds me-”

Michelle cocked her head to the side when he stopped midsentence, encouraging him to keep going.

“Uh, Mister Stark and the paramedics asked me what happened and I realized that I – I didn’t even know.” His voice dropped down to a whisper. “I was on the other side of the gym and I only got there when he was already unconscious and –“

“Flash tripped him,” she interrupted his rambling, flinching inwardly at how detached it sounded when she felt anything but.

Suddenly there was a surge of anger in her chest, pushing her worry to the side as she sat up straighter. Anger was easier to focus on than concern. She hated being the scared and helpless girl it turned her into. “He held out his leg on purpose when Peter was getting off the field and collecting the last balls to help clean up and he could see that he wasn’t looking so, like the asshole he is, he tripped him.”

“Figures,” Ned sighed again.

She really hated how often he made that sound. It sounded too much like he was okay with this, as if that’s just a thing that happened and he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Why aren’t you angry?” she all but snapped, “That piece of … Flash keeps bullying the two of you and you’re never doing anything about it! You just let it happen! And now Peter’s unconscious because that – that asshole tripped him on purpose. How are you not livid?”

Her heart was thumping uncomfortably loudly in her chest when she met Ned’s gaze that had snapped up some time during her rant. She didn’t know what she had expected but it hadn’t been the flash of indignation in his eyes and the grim line his mouth was set in.

“You want to know why I’m not angry?” he repeated incredulously, voice slow and quiet and so very different from what she was used to from Ned Leeds.

A part of her realized then that she had stepped out of line. They weren’t friends after all. She didn’t do friends.

“I’m going out of my mind with worry for my best friend,” he told her steadily but his voice started rising, “I’m scared shitless that it might be real bad and of course I’m angry. I’m angry whenever Flash starts bullying Peter. I hate that there’s nothing he ever does about it but I’ve known Peter long enough to know that he prefers it this way.”

“Wha –“

“No,” he cut her off with a wave of his hand and, jumping to his feet, he started pacing in the narrow hallway. “He prefers being Flash’s favorite victim because that way he doesn’t go looking for someone else. And of course that’s messed up but try telling the idiot that. There’s nothing I can do to change his mind. You know what I can do, though?”

It sounded like a rhetorical question so she didn’t answer even when he kept glaring at her.

“I can be his friend and pick him up when Flash’s teasing does get to him. I can be his best friend and spend time with him and make sure he knows that that’s just one bully talking and that he’s none of the things getting thrown in his face. And that’s hard and it’s an unfair world and it makes me so mad but he deserves to have someone in his corner. So I do that, every day. Because he’s my best friend and I love this stupid self-sacrificing idiot. But you don’t get to lecture me about not being angry enough when he’s hurt because you do none of that.”

Ned seemed to inflate after his outburst, continuing with a soft and tired voice and she felt hot red shame creep into her cheeks.

“You might not be bullying him like Flash does but you aren’t nice to us either. You call us losers and barely glance at us and I know you consider us friends and it’s your warped up way of showing you care but sometimes he just needs someone to be nice who genuinely cares for him. Like today, he was already having a bad day and I didn’t.. I didn’t ask him about it. Maybe he would’ve seen it coming if I had helped him before.”

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered, anger vanished only leaving shame and regret that filled her whole being. Ned was right. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled softly, a small raise of the corner of his lips, eyes open and gentle and not condemning like she felt they should be. “You don’t have to apologize. Just… think about it, will you? He doesn’t blame you, you know. And I’m just… I’m really glad he has Mister Stark in his corner now, too.”

And that – that Tony Stark, the man she made out to be the Anti-Christ more often than not, the spoiled billionaire, the poster child of emotionally constipated had gotten his head out of his ass before she had to openly care about Peter Parker – that stung.

“I’m glad he has him, too.”

Tony

There were two opposing parts battling for dominance in Tony’s body at the moment.

The one that had been there all his life, hectic and jittery and unable to stand still when it counted. It had his entire being screaming to pace in the small hospital room, to release the tension by doing something, anything at all. He felt like every fiber, every cell, was moving on a speed so high they were effectively vibrating, making his hands shake and heart flutter when he didn’t comply with the motion.

The other part was currently winning.

This part was a new, barely-there, still opening bud but for how young it was, it was all-encompassing and inevitable. It made his muscles cramp with the need to comfort and protect and it wouldn’t let him move even an inch from where he was standing at the top of the bed in the intensive care unit of some Midtown hospital that held his single most prized possession. His fingers were itching to run through the messy curls but he wouldn’t relent, too scared to jostle any of the devices currently attached to the kid.

The kid - Peter, his Peter - looked impossibly small in the large bed surrounded by beeping machines, countless IV stands and devices Tony wasn’t completely sure what they were supposed to do but also didn’t care about.

Much like Tony he was still, too.

Unnaturally still for an enhanced teenager that could talk for hours on end without missing a beat, who would make Tony lose his mind with his hyper nature that had him almost topple from whatever he was sitting on every other day and who went slinging through New York in his free time.

So he made do, yielding to the ever-growing parental instincts in his chest, and rested his hand on his kid’s arm, thumb brushing over the warm skin in an effort to soothe him even though he knew there were so many drugs running through his system that the touch would most likely not even register.

Waiting in hospital rooms with nothing to do, no way to fix a thing, never did get easier he had come to realize. There was always an internal struggle of whether to be mad or relieved, devastated or thankful, glum or hopeful.

A timid knock on the door made him snap out of his spinning thoughts, mind quickly running through possible intruders – friend or foe – and coming to a standstill when a teenager that wasn’t Ned poked his head past the door. The unfamiliar boy’s eyes went wide and hadn’t he been so emotionally drained, Tony would’ve scoffed at the ridiculousness of the scene. As it was he just squeezed Peters hand more tightly in a wordless promise, a silent vow to protect.

“Can I help you?”

“I, uh, I’m sorry, I, uh, didn’t, uh, didn’t mean to- to intrude, sir,” the boy stammered, hand curling around the door so tightly his knuckles were turning white. “I was just, uh, but, I mean.. I’m just gonna… gonna go, sir.”

“Wait.” Tony stopped him before the kid could turn around and flee the scene. Something seemed to be on that boy’s mind and it seemed important enough to make the trip to the hospital, find out the kid’s room number and muster up the courage to come see him when they evidently weren’t close friends. “Are you here to see Peter?”

“Ye- yes,” came the reply, almost a whisper before he suddenly seemed to be reminded of something, straightened his back and cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”

It reminded Tony so much of himself at that age, with Howard’s voice always in his head telling him to stand tall, speak clearly, act strong and demand respect, that he had to mentally take a step back from the scene and the onslaught of memories of being constantly afraid to focus on the boy at hand.

This was new, too, embracing the innate empathy that had been buried deeply by an ingrained need to deflect. He tried not to dwell on how natural it felt, how satisfyingly fulfilling, and instead decided to blame it completely on the unconscious teenager whose heartrate gave him a calming beat to focus on.

“Come on in, then. What’s your name?” he asked him, the hand that wasn’t holding on to his kid running through his own hair in a futile attempt to sort it. Paired with a crinkled suit and deep lines of worry marring his face this was admittedly not his best look.

There had been moments in his life when he would’ve cared about his appearance in a public hospital but his priorities had shifted drastically since then. Sometimes it felt that everything had shifted until a teenager from Queens had become the new axis of his world. The one thing everything else was circling around. The sun of his galaxy.

“Eugene, sir. Eugene Thompson.”

Tony watched closely as he shut the door behind very carefully before turning around to face the bed. He seemed unsure of himself, hands tugging on designer sleeves, eyes darting all over the room, never resting anywhere for too long, always avoiding to look at either of the other men.

Something in his tired brain had peeked up at the name but it took him an embarrassingly long moment to match the boy’s unease and name with a fitting story. He started clenching his hands to fists involuntarily, anger roaring in his chest, before his new instinct took over and he forcefully relaxed his grip on Peter.

Peter was his priority.

“You’re Flash, aren’t you? You’re the one who put him here.”

“I –“ For a moment the offender seemed at a loss for words, caught, and he was looking like he was about to bolt through the door but then, in the time it took Tony to blink, his entire demeanor changed. Flash met his gaze, shoulders hunched, wide eyes turning glassy and hands falling to his sides unmoving. “Yes, sir. It’s my fault he’s here and I wanted to say that I’m sorry. I never meant to actually hurt him, I–“

“But you did, didn’t you?” Tony interrupted, protectiveness flaring up in his chest and making way for the anger he had been trying to breathe through. This boy, this child was the reason his kid had to be pumped to the rim with anesthesia so they could drill a hole into his skull to monitor his intracranial pressure. And he was right here. Right in front of Tony and he wasn’t fighting back.

“What did you think would happen when you tripped someone? That they start flying and end the grandiose routine with a bow to a round of applause?” he spat, vision turning red and dark and gruesome. “Tell me, Flash, what did you think would happen? What were you hoping to achieve?”

The boy flinched at the harsh words but didn’t back away in the slightest, just hung his head and murmured another apology, taking it all in.

And, dammit, Tony knew he deserved to be called out and by god he wanted to be the one to do it because he had hurt Peter. There was something in the way he stood, though, that made him stop in his tracks. It put his anger on hold, something like recognition making the blood rush in his head.

That boy looked like he had expected the harsh words and while he had flinched when Tony had raised his voice at first, he had adapted quickly and hadn’t even tried to move away. The only sign of self-defense were his arms that twitched at his side as if they were itching to cover his face.

Suddenly Tony was incredibly tired. His head was spinning, he felt dizzy and guilty and broken down to the very core.

“Flash,” he tried more calmly this time, rubbing a hand over the scar on his chest and trying to swallow past the distaste the name elicited in his mouth and beckoning him closer to the bed. When he followed suit, he watched him settle his gaze on Peter’s skinny frame, eyes roaming the various monitors before settling on the pale face.

“Tell me what you see,” he prompted the teenager whose gaze snapped up, brows furrowed. He looked even more confused now that Tony wasn’t yelling anymore and Tony the worst thing about that was that he understood.

All of the sudden he ached for the reassuring contact of Peter curled into his side, breathing and happy and alive, to keep the demons from entering his mind but tried to push it away, had to push it away.

“I, uh,” Flash swallowed, “I see Pe – Peter Parker in a hospital bed and I see that it’s my fault, sir.” The last part was barely more than a whisper, guilt heavy on his tongue.

Tony nodded, not meeting Flash’s searching gaze in favor of watching Peter. “Do you know what I see?”

“No, sir.”

He looked up then, trying to convey how much he meant every word, keeping his gaze open and not threatening. “I see the strongest kid I’ve ever met.” Quite literally, he didn’t say though the thought made his lips twitch. “I see a genius-level smart kid, well on his way to surpass me one of these days. I see a kid who is always smiling, who doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and who cares so damn much about everyone around him. I see a kid who has seen more than a kid his age should have and who has lost more than you can imagine but who refuses to become a cynical asshole because of it.”

Not like I did. He’s already so much better than I could ever be.

He squeezed Peter’s hand, breath hitching when he didn’t squeeze back.

“Did you know he told me about you?”

“No, sir.” There was a flash of fear in the boy’s eyes then and while it satisfied a very feral part of Tony he also despised being the one to put it there. He had made a vow many years ago to never install that kind of fear in a child.

“He didn’t want to, either. I had to tickle it out of him when he got home an hour late after detention sporting a bruise because he supposedly got into a fight. Do you know what he told me?”

“N- no, sir.” Tony watched his whole body turn rigid, observed how his gaze never wavered from his and how his hands tremble. Despite himself, he tried to shoot him a reassuring smile.

“He told me you were having a rough time and how your mum was close to tears the last time she picked you up and how you were holding your shoulder funny. He stopped me from taking a suit, blast your house and tell you exactly what I think of people shoving my kid into lockers,” he told him, trying to keep his voice even and without a trace of malice.

“Tha- I’m not sure what –“

He decided to give the fidgety teenager a moment to sort his thoughts and took the time to brush a few loose curls from his own teenager’s forehead. The motion was familiar, calming and it gave him the strength to press on.

“The thing is,” he sighed, hand still resting on Peter’s forehead as if he was trying to summon the boy’s goodness, “I understand shitty family. I get scary fathers and crying mums,” he swallowed hard and met Flash’s gaze again. “I know weird bruises you can’t explain away.”

“I – I don’t – I’m not –”

“Yeah, neither am I,” Tony scoffed before softening his gaze and trying to school his voice into a stern but kind tone. “What I’m trying to say - and believe me I’m bad at this and would rather be doing anything else - is that while I get why you are acting out, I want you to know that I won’t let this happen ever again. I will not let you keep tormenting my kid because you’re having a tough life. I will not stand by and let you ruin his days and land him in hospitals, are we understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

They stood quietly together for a while, the atmosphere in the room while not exactly comfortable wasn’t dripping with fear and anger anymore. It was calm, peaceful. Like the sea after a storm.

To Tony’s surprise it was Flash who broke the silence. “I thought he saw me and – and I thought he saw me putting out my leg for him to trip over. I- I thought he’d just, stumble and drop the balls I- I never wanted – I’m so sorry, Mister Stark.”

The older man nodded, the sigh he let out feeling like every piece of resentment he had carried for decades on his chest. “I appreciate that but it’s not me you should apologize to.”

“I know but,” there was a heavy pause, “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he replied because he did, “but you don’t have to be. Not of him. As much as I hate how gullible he is sometimes, if you apologize to Peter he will forgive you, no questions asked. And if you start being a decent human being you might even find a friend in him. I think you could need good people in your life, and Peter is the best.”

“Thank you, sir,” Flash whispered, “For- for your words and, uh, for not blasting my house.”

Tony looked up and grinned. “You’re welcome but don’t do it again or I still might.”

Peter

When Peter woke up it took him a lot longer than it normally would to realize that this wasn’t the setting he usually woke up in.

His head was angled in a way that when he did manage to pry his clotty eye lids open the first thing he saw was his mentor. Blinking he tried to clear his view of the man who hadn’t yet realized his charge was awake and whose gaze was fixated on a spot to Peter’s right with a heavy hand resting on the boy’s arm.

Mindful of the buzzing in his head he tried a smile. “Hi T’ny.”

“Kid?” The heavy hand tightened around his arm before loosening and rubbing a calloused thumb over his skin. A silent welcome back.

“Oh baby.” A soothing voice on his left and a delicate touch of a familiar hand. Aunt May. Her voice alone eased his headache tremendously

“Dude!” It sounded a little breathless, a little forced- cheerful and impossibly relieved. His heart warmed at hearing his best friend’s voice and he was about to reply when he picked up two other voices.

“Peter?”

He blinked again, moving his head as slowly as possible to make out the people they belonged to, grateful when May’s hand found his forehead and her cool fingers started running through his hair.

MJ and Flash were standing at the foot of his bed, both looking confusingly contrite and his brain was too tired, too fuzzy to come up with a good enough explanation as to why but he figured since they were the ones at his hospital bed he was entitled to ask.

“Whataya doin’ here?”

It wasn’t that he was scared of them, uncomfortable was probably a better word or self-conscious maybe, but he was tired, he was hurting and he really, childishly just didn’t want to deal with any of that right now.

He had his family on his side, though. Tony to his left, May to his right with Ned next to her. They were shielding him, literally and metaphorically, from anything that might be thrown his way and he felt himself somewhat relax once that thought had settled in.

His classmates seemed to have come to the same conclusion and for a change they were the ones who looked self-conscious when they exchanged a look. (Since when did MJ exchange a look with Flash? Maybe this was a fever dream.)

“We wanted to apologize,” they said in unison again and hadn’t he been so sure that his aunt’s and mentor’s touch were real he would’ve bet on this being a fantasy. Not just because they were so in tune but also… since when did they apologize? What were they apologizing for?

Almost as if they’d read his mind, they continued.

“I haven’t been very nice to you.” MJ said, fidgeting with the sketch book in her hands “I see you as a friend and I realized that I shouldn’t treat my friends like that so… I’m sorry.” She paused, meeting Peter’s gaze and he smiled again, about to tell her that it’s okay when she plowed ahead, taking a step forward as she pulled a page from her sketch book and gave it to him.

It was a picture of Ned and him during lunch time. They were both laughing, bend over their respective meals with a juice box sitting between them. “Nerds are cool” was written down in neat handwriting in the center.

“And I’m sorry, too.”

Before he had the chance to react to the nice gesture, Flash took over, voice rushed.

“For.. for everything,” the words caught in his throat, “For landing you here and for being an asshole and making you miserable for no reason. I’m – I’m gonna stop doing that, I promise.” With that he stuck out his hand which Peter, completely taken aback, took and shook.

“It’s okay, guys,” he tried with a crooked voice that hurt his throat, “Apologies accepted and… thank you.”

He frowned then, a thought occurring to him and he turned his head to look at his mentor.

“Was Doctor Strange here?”

At that Tony barked out a laugh, his eyes twinkling with mirth and gentleness when his hand replaced his aunt’s to ruffle his hair. “No, for once our strange friend had nothing to do with this.”

So not a different dimension then.

He wouldn’t rule out the fever dream quite yet but for the time being he was content and tired enough to just take what they said at face value. He would probably worry about it some other time. Right now he was surrounded by his family and not-enemies-might-be-friends and that was good enough for him.

#irondad #iron dad #irondad fic #iron dad fic #tony stark #peter parker #michelle jones #ned leeds #flash thompson #bullying #1k followers celebration #josis fic #sorry (is all that you can say)

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pingou7 · 6 years

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A car, two cops and a stardust — a RebelCaptain road trip fic

by @pingou7 pingou for @thestarbirdfromtheashesStarbird

(aka the Road trip fic Diego Luna’s filmography made me write)

Read and enjoy, and please consider leaving me a few words.

Summary:

As the dusty roads criss under Kes Dameron’s old car, Cassian Andor lets the wind mess with his hair through the open window. Dust, sunshine, laughter, its easy to recapture the taste of days long gone.

(…)

At a gas station near Corpus Chirsti, when they climb back after taking a piss, both jump out of their skins as a random brunette, eyes thunderous, hisses dangerously from the backseat:

“Just pretend I’m not here.”

Update: Part 6 is (finally) up... seriously guys we’re not dreaming.

(I dedicate this one to @sleepykalena AGAIN because she’s a great support for me and this fic especially and to @shotgunkitten cause why not?)

Read more on AO3 (or under the cut)

Part 6 — From Caborca, Sonora, Mexico to Delicias, Chihuahua Day 4

There’s palpable anticipation when Kes, Jyn and Cassian find themselves in a secluded spot in the motel they’ve just spent the night at.

Despite his innuendos from the night before, Dameron is quick to grasp the seriousness of whatever Jyn — finally — intends to disclose. After a hushed chat between the Charolastras, both are ready to hear her, with copious amounts of tea and coffee at hand, if necessary.

She swings a bit on her chair as she sits, her bag hitting the table with a clatter. She tries so hard to appear casual that it makes Cassian smirk, until she says:

“Let’s just get on with it, shall we? Tell me what you got on me and I’ll fill the blanks as I see fit.”

“You’ll fill us in as much as we ask, you mean. I’ve got quite enough of your secrets Jyn. If you trust us, then you do it all the way, there’s no in between.”

She glares at him, but Cassian holds his ground and Kes legit produces a pad and a pen, already preparing to take notes the old fashioned way. She looks cornered but she complies eventually, crossing her arms sullenly:

“My parents were scientists. He was an engineer, a prodigy who tended to put his research above anything else. She was a geologist, somewhat mystical, she’d also been a political activist at the time they had me. Long story short, when his work caught up with us, my mother paid the ultimate price. That’s how I ended up with Saw Gererra, after they... I mean, he came for me when I was eight.”

The name wouldn’t startle them if not for Kay’s data last night. Apparently the guy was pretty notorious for doing shady stuff in foreign countries, and suddenly Jyn’s secrecy makes more sense. While they did not expect her to go back that far, Kes’ eyebrows shoot up next to him, trying to picture what kind of unorthodox childhood she might have had, and gestures for her to continue:

“Saw took me around, in some cringing neighborhoods worldwide and pretty often in middle of war zones. Needless to say, I haven’t had quite the schooling my being born in the UK would imply. He was a bit of a mercenary and I picked up the job pretty early. Still I was safer with him than I would have been with my father. That’s too bad Bodhi couldn’t say the same though...”

“Hold on here, it’s confusing,” Kes interrupts.

“Told you it was bigger than what you can handle.”

“We don’t want to handle anything, just get the picture straight. So, let’s start with this Saw. Saw Gererra, right? He was a mercenary you said.”

“Of a sort. He was like, the saint patron of lost causes, only there wasn’t anything saint about him. If he knew of a conflict, he got involved.”

It’s plain to see she edits a lot of stuff, but the guy is reported deceased, so he doesn’t matter much in their grand scheme of things. Knowing bits of her past is nice and all, but it doesn’t explain why she felt obliged to hop on their car at the gas station. Besides, they somewhat got the gist of her numerous travels listed — under different names — in the file Kay somehow managed to sort out.

“And how is he linked to your current predicament?”

“He was my legal guardian. That is, not so much legal, more like official,” she corrects wryly with a bittersweet smile that makes her look wearier, harsher. “Saw didn’t abide by the constitutional laws, only counted the goals he deemed to be right, for the greater good. And sod off the souls that got corrupted in the process or even casualties that bloodied his path.”

“What do you mean, Gerrera was a terrorist?”

They knew as much already, from the file. But Jyn doesn’t know that and she may have a more nuanced perspective. Knowing her as they do by now, she doesn’t disappoint:

“Some say he was,” she says softly, “but even now I don’t think it was that. He got increasingly lost, I think, and desperate too, in his headlong rush, even after dropping me, considering what he did to Bodhi. He was a bit extreme, that’s for sure, but if anyone is involved in terrorism now, it’s my father.”

You could hear a pin drop. Her declarations were windy — for her standards — but broken, and yet there is no sound of Dameron’s pen scribbling away. Personally, Cassian is sure his brain just court-circuited or something. Jyn’s tone would not have been more neutral if she had talked about the weather, yet the loathing burns, brimming in her eyes and they know she’s dead serious this time around.

Galen Erso’s hereabouts are currently classified, he remembers reading last night. It's pretty suspicious, after all, the only piece of information they have is that some people are currently looking for him, and so her too, perhaps. Of all the possibilities that had crossed their minds yesterday, terrorism had not been on the radar.

“You have proof regarding your allegations?” Kes asks neutrally.

“What happened to trust, guys,” she accuses instantly, “if there’s no honor amongst thieves, you’re no better!”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. We believe you, all right?”

“That’s good to know,” replies Cassian looking at his contrite best friend and the woman still agitated across from him, trying to process everything.

“I take it you don’t, Cassian? After all your pestering, you think I’m lying?”

“No, I believe you, I do. But I don’t get what the deal is, yet. I mean, you have no contact whatsoever with your father, right?”

“No,” she says curtly.

“Then I don’t get why people seeking him would force you to flee like that, even if they’re bad guys.”

“Good guys, bad guys, it’s all a matter of perspective, really. Both sides of the moral spectrum had me on the run at one point or another.”

“You’re a good target, then?” Dameron goads boldly, probably trying to provoke her.

“I’m used to be one, so take care of not becoming one too. People have the tendency to leave or die when dealing with me. You have a family.”

From anybody else, it would sound like a warning, perhaps a threat, even. Some of these declarations have already been said at the precinct, as a matter of fact. Only there’s real anguish on her face, and as much as it feels like it, they are not interrogating a suspect.

That also means they don’t have to keep their distance, so Kes shrugs, sending her a gentle smile as Cassian reaches out to squeeze her fingers curled in front of him. She doesn’t shy away from it. Instead, she grips his fingers in an iron grip that belies the calm facade she somewhat maintains and starts to rant again:

“You don’t understand, Saw used weapons, taught me how as well, but my... Galen Erso conceives mass destruction ones. He’s wanted, by cartels or separatists or religious fanatics, who knows? Or maybe it the other side that seeks him, governments, federal agencies? I don’t know!”

For one usually so collected, her tirade boarders on hysteria and more than what she’s saying, it’s her emotional state that has the two cops spooked. Gone is the funny but guarded Stardust, gone is the woman that Cassian was perhaps a tad smitten with.

“Listen Jyn, it’s not as bad as you make it to be, as far as we know. Your father’s intel is classified, not unknown in our database. That means there’s records of him somewhere, okay? Perhaps he is even working for the States, on a secret project and you might be safe from law.”

“Perhaps, but Bodhi too thought there was no harm in doing my father a favor, to help “making things right again”, to quote him verbatim. He had a job he liked, a family and he was healthy. He just had to get Galen’s message to Saw, that’s all. But nothing has been the same since.”

“What do you mean, he was hurt then?”

“Do you hear what I’m saying? Of course he was! Look, I don’t precisely know what Saw did to force the information out of Bodhi, as if he wasn't so desperately willing to share it regardless. Whatever it was, it destroyed him mentally, and I couldn’t bring him grief like that again. It took so long to patch him up after that...“

“Easy here, Jyn,” Kes coaxes slowly, using a soothing voice he had perfected on Poe, “you don’t have to rush, take your time.”

While her face remains tightly closed off, her voice shook with a pain she has more and more difficulty concealing. For Cassian too her erratic flow means the big picture is hard to grasp still, but he caught enough elements to satisfy his curiosity. Of course Dameron is nothing if not thorough, once in professional mode, so against Cassian’s protective instinct, she resumes her tale, closing her eyes:

“Truth is, when people came, I panicked okay? I’ve spent my whole life trying to ignore that I am the daughter of Galen Erso. Told you, Bodhi had already suffered so much because of my father and my guardian. Couldn’t put him through this mess again. So I bolted.”

“At the gas station?”

“No, my flat. Some guys in black knocked on the door, but Baze, our friend, was thankfully the one answering. They were asking for me, looking for my father. I fled. Ran, took the train, walked some, ended up at said station. I just wanted to get some power bars. Things escalated quickly and you know the rest.”

They might know what happened from there, but the real question was what should happen from now on. Reflexively, Cassian’s tongue toys a bit with the front of his mouth, passing on his lips, and Kes catches it as the sign of nerves it is. Sighing as he closes his pad and pours himself a caf, he asks:

“What do you plan to do then Jyn, this cannot go on forever.”

Suddenly Cassian detects too many responses dancing in her irises, making her eyes shimmer so much that she doesn’t resist when he yields to his impulse and pulls her to his chest. Soon Kes puts his hand on her shoulder from behind and looks over her head at Cassian, sincerely worried.

She has no answer to give them yet and they don't wish to push her further.

Eventually, they decide to get going, as Delicias is still far away. By a non spoken agreement, her situation is not broached again as they climb back into the car. Her long talk has apparently left her drained, and she closes her eyes in the backseat. However, Cassian is still grasping at straws, turning things around in his head, hoping he’d figure a way to piece together what he should to do about her.

Jyn’s essentially a quiet person. She can talk and banter but only in short periods of time, lest she becomes edgy. He doesn’t mind, now that he knows more about her. He is not put out by her silence anymore, now that he knows she’ll completely fill him in. He can allow her the luxury of time, now that he knows for sure they do have some to spare.

He can, he will.

“Hey, stop pendejo, who’s freaked out now? We have some time to figure her out okay? Be professional Andor, think like the cop you are,” Kes whispers softly in Spanish, mindful to keep his voice low.

He knows that. To be truthful Cassian doesn’t fear her bolting at a moment’s notice anymore. He’s just left a little dazed by all the facts they have to ponder on.

Three hours later, in Hermosillo, they decide to rotate after pausing for a childish snacks of crisps, sandwiches and quite a few sweets. Shara would be screeching about the poor example they’d offer Poe, and Kay would surely rant about rotting teeth and the dangers of unbalanced diet and junk food in general... At this simple thought, Cassian wants to sigh already. But when Jyn is the one to ask for the wheel — she needs something to do — Dameron amazingly lets her.

Exceptionally, he’s the one upfront with her, indicating their next stop while Cassian takes the backseat and picks some random sweet to chew on. He hopes she doesn’t catch him texting a few leaks about Galen Erso to Kay. Thankfully Kes provides a good distraction as he engages in an air drumming so wild Jyn inquires:

“Do you play of an instrument guys?”

“I can strum my way on a guitar,” Cassian says immediately, to broadcast how little attention he pays to his phone, like it was some casual texting, because it’s precisely not that. “But cursí here is the real musical prodigy.”

“Hence the Charolastras...”

“Yep, I can play the guitar, banjo, ukulele, clarinet, accordion... I just like music.”

“I couldn’t tell with your horrendous sappy songs, though,” Jyn quips, igniting the guys’ laughter. “I’m impressed! My mother wanted me to learn the violin, I think, when I was a child. But I’ve forgotten everything.”

“Actually, I know some violin too, I can teach you, if you’d like?”

“Perhaps,” she smiles neutrally, keeping her tone guarded.

Cassian would like for Kes to teach her too, he’s not even envious. That would mean they would hang out around each other longer, so every scheme is good enough, as far as he’s concerned.

They arrive in Delicias at last, legs cramped and heads pounding. After a quiet dinner at Bandido's Steak House — Jyn has a fleeting smile when she sees the name, but tacos are good there — they don't check in hotels this time, but park in front of a shabby house. The city may be nice, but it's relatively unsafe to drive nightly around these parts and they're beat anyway.

She doesn't comment when Cassian conjures a key up and let them in the dusty shelter. Kes groans, already pulling out his phone then swears because he missed his son's bedtime. At first, they had planned to visit a bit, enjoy the travelling a bit more, but Jyn's talk ate too much time and energy. Rain check, Cassian thinks, trying to forget this shelter had been a friend's house once.

Enough ghosts were floating around them tonight without him adding his, so everyone acts like nothing is out of the ordinary, despite the obvious tension. To make matter worse there was no bedroom at all to share so they just lay down in sleeping bags. If with Kes alone it could have been reminiscent of their former stints, with Jyn present it's uncomfortable and he's sure the dust around is only partly to blame if he has a hard time swallowing after saying goodnight.

It's just a stop, Cassian reminds himself tiredly, staring at the ceiling with the sound of Kes breathing and Jyn wriggling near the door, always ready to flee at a moment's notice, apparently. Things will start to pick up in Fresnillo, Cassian thinks earnestly, turning on his side.

Once they meet Saba Madero, the Charolastras will cheer up, they always have a good time with their old buddy. Then they will figure out Jyn's mess, not to mention there's still Bernal to reach.

How Dameron could have thought their buddy time would be relaxing, again? It the last roadtrip he will grant him, ever, no matter how hard and long his bro pleads, Cassian swears fiercely. It's not good for his blood pressure!

Somewhere in his mind, a whisper insists dazzlingly that he was the one that reached out to Jyn, but he chooses to ignore it before drifting away.

#RebelCaptain #fanfiction #cassian andor #jyn erso #kes dameron #modern au #roadtrip #pingou writes

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pandamilo · 6 years

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Fanboy Yuri

#29 You could have warned me

@outoffcks gave me like a prompt spam so this is one of three that i’ll be posting over the next few days. Have some nerdy Otayuri fanboy fluff for your Saturday night <3

***

Yuri Plisetsky was many things.

He was a dancer, primarily in ballet but he dabbled in many different forms. Yuri was a cat lover, a good cook, a homeowner (well he owned a studio apartment but still), a barista at some indy/hipster coffee shop his uncle Viktor owned. He was a gamer and played competitively with his uncle’s husband, Yuuri, any chance he could and they usually won.

All these things and many more were parts of Yuri that people knew. They knew he was tall, lean, blonde with green cat-like eyes and he had the body of a dancer.

They knew he was snippy, sassy, loud and very opinionated, things always had to go his way.

But what people didn't know, was that Yuri was a fanboy.

Well, not entirely true - he went to figure skating competitions and blatantly showed his adoration for a particular skater but no one knew how deep it ran...

Yuri wrote fanfic’s and draw smutty art and rambled essay-length text posts on his tumblr about his favourite figure skater. Yuri had been a fan of Otabek Altin’s since he first debuted in Juniors - he wasn't like the other skaters. Otabek was stoic, rigid and defined in a way many others weren't.

Yuri has been following figure skating since he was a child because Viktor used to skate but suffered an injury just before his debut into seniors but it worked out best for him because it’s how he met his husband - Yuuri was the support sports nurse on call for the local rink.

They have been annoyingly inseparable ever since.

The first time Otabek had appeared in Yuri’s world he was shocked, the boy was angry looking but also soft. He moved, not like a dancer but a man on a mission. He was beautiful but not in the same way skater’s normally were. He wasn’t fluid like them but he also wasn’t stilted. He was utterly unique and fascinated Yuri to no end.

That’s how it all started, innocent enough, just following his skating… then his interviews… then his hobbies… likes… dislikes, any information that made Yuri feel like he already knew the man he had a soul (and dick for that matter) crush on.

He hadn't really set out to write fanfiction, Yuri was just scrolling through his tumblr and saw someone had made a post shit-post dishing Otabek’s skating and Yuri had defending him. He created a post that justified Otabek’s skating, music and movement choices, debunking every word the other idiot had said. This, of course, just made the idiot retort with some contrite comment about Yuri’s obvious desperate plea to get in Otabek’s pants.

Now this wasn't something Yuri could actually deny, the man was a fucking sex god who dripped sexiness by simply breathing.

So Yuri did the only reasonable thing and wrote a smutty story of all the ways he’d take Otabek’s arse, all the ways he’d let that beautifully hung sex-god fuck him till morning.

That was the beginning...

Twenty fic’s ranging from detailed descriptions of sucking Otabek’s cock to fluffy little things they would say while laying in bed together and talking about the big questions in life, Yuri wrote it all.

Yuri even came up with their ship name - Otayuri, he was quite proud of himself. And people even seemed to like it. They thought he and Otabek made a cute couple (based of Yuri’s on rough sketches of what they would look like together) and they loved his shit-drabbles, apparently he wrote good smut and people started requesting him to write other things.

This is how Yuri’s other life began.

He started to pick up a kind of following, many people respected his opinion on anything Otabek and on other things as well.

Yuri wrote and drew for people he didn't know, about all kinds of topics, anime, films, movie stars. It ranged from simple sweet things to the dirtiest kinks he didn't even think were a turn on but people started paying him for them. Either in real money or gifts of other things, it was a world he never knew he needed.

But his other life and real world came crashing down in a brutal tidal wave one day when he received a text from Viktor to come into work as soon as possible.

Yuri arrived, his hair in a braid and twisted around his head, his black polo already slightly dirty since he hadn’t been able to wash it. His black skinny jeans hanging a little too low to be suitable for work but once he started he’d be wearing an apron so it wouldn’t matter. But just as Yuri was walking around the main floor he stopped, there was a voice, gravelly and unmistakable.

Yuri didn’t look, he couldn’t look. He also couldn’t deny that just hearing that voice in person was giving him a partial.

What the fuck is he doing here?!

Yuri was panicking, he sprinted out the back to the staff room and nearly bold over his uncle’s husband. “Yuuri-kun! You could have warned me! Holy shit, what the fuck is he doing here!”

“Yura-kun, calm down, deep breaths. I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was here until about a minute ago, Vitya seemed so pleased with himself and it took going on the floor to find out why.”

Yuri had been interested in Japanese when he first met Yuuri and asked him to teach him some things and that began their close relationship, there was only actually four years difference between them. After a long, long, argument about the fact that never in a million fucking years was Yuri ever going to call him senpai, they had come to the conclusion they would add -kun to both their names as sign they were on the same level, despite their age gap.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Yuri growled out between his teeth, going to step around Yuuri and burst into Viktor’s office, it wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

“Why? I thought you would at least be kind of excited. Go introduce yourself, he seemed friendly enough, he even remembered Vitya.”

Yuri turned to look at Yuuri, there was no way he could talk to that man… not after everything. He would either turn into a gooey mess or be so hard he wouldn’t be able to hide it.

But this might be your only chance to actually meet him in person.

Yuri was torn, he wanted to run but he honestly couldn’t decide in which direction.

“Yura-kun?” Yuuri questioned, tilting his head to look properly into Yuuri’s face.

“What if he’s awful? After all this time... what if he just turns out to be another one of those self-absorbed, ego-stuffed skater’s who think they are better than everyone else just because they have a gold fucking medals?” Yuri’s voice was small, irritated and he was staring at his own hands wound into fists in front of him.

“Do you honestly believe that?” Yuuri’s voice was kind, just like always. Never judgemental, just a nudge in the right direction, a clarification.

No, I don’t believe it.

Yuri didn’t bother to reply, simply turned on the spot and ditched his things in his locker, tying his apron, checking himself in the mirror… five times, before he was out on the floor. He didn’t go up to the table straight away, simply fixed up the counter, served a few customers and made some coffees. It was only when he heard the very distinct laughter of his uncle that he let himself drift over to the table.

There were five people sat there, six if you included Viktor, all figure skater’s that Yuri recognised instantly. There was Jean-Jacques Leroy and his wife (who wasn’t actually a figure skater but she basically lived under JJ’s arm so she might as well have been on the ice with him), Guang Hong Ji, Leo de la Iglesia and the one and only, Otabek Altin.

Now or never.

“Hi, I’m Yuri, is there anything else I can get for you today?” Yuri tried to be polite and smile but his eyes were almost exclusively fixed onto Otabek’s face and when those eyes flickered up to look at him curiously, Yuri almost choked.

They were warm, inviting and kind, Otabek smiled at him as his mouth fell open into a gap like an idiot but he couldn’t seem to stop it.

“YURI! This is my other Yuri! He is my nephew, he is a big fan of figure skating, especially you. Otabek.”

Yuri was going to kill him, headlines tomorrow will read Man arrested today for impaling his uncle with a cake server.

“Oh, you follow my skating? Shame I didn’t have a better session for you-”

“That wasn’t your fault, you were unfairly judged because of that new competitor’s trickery.He was all smoke and mirrors with stupid music, he isn’t actually a good skater at all, he is utterly boring, you should have won gold, not him...” The words were tumbling out of Yuri’s mouth of their own accord and there was nothing he could do to stop them now. “Sorry.” Yuri mumbled at the end, he knew his face was actually on fire at this point as six pairs of eyes examined him for a good thirty seconds of utter silence.

Send help. Someone please save me from this agonizingly slow, death.

“Thank you.” Otabek broke the silence and Yuri’s head whipped up to meet his gaze, he seemed so genuine and shocked, his eyes flickered over Yuri’s body again before coming back up to meet his eyes once more. It was as if everyone else melted away and it was just the two of them.

“Yeah, well… no need to thank me, it’s just the truth.” Yuri couldn’t take it anymore and bolted, pretending he needed to help Yuuri with a customer even though there was only actually two coffee’s to make.

They stayed a little longer, chatting with Viktor and Yuri took a few chances to flick his eyes over to the table only to nearly drop what he was carrying everytime as he was met with Otabek’s piercing stare.

Yep, it’s offical. I am so dead.

When they were getting up to leave Otabek broke away from the counter, and stopped in front of Yuri.

“I wanted to give you your tip personally.” Otabek’s voice grumbled in Yuri’s ears as he stared at him, offering his hand, palm up and slightly shaking. Yuri couldn’t speak, what the hell was he meant to say if he did.

Otabek smiled at him as he placed something light in his hand, running his fingers lightly over Yuri’s wrist and palm as he slowly retracted his hand.

“It was nice to finally meet you, Yuri, I hope we get a chance to get to know one another better.” Otabek smirked a little before turning on the spot and briskly walking away as Yuri’s eyes flickered down to the note in his hand.

Call me - Otayuri

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stargleeksil-blog · 7 years

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Criminal Minds s01e16 The Tribe review

Episode 16 – The Tribe

Okay, this episode’s name is kind of vague. Do they mean wolves? Native Americans? Gangsters? What?

Set in Terra Mesa, New Mexico … so Native Americans.

I love the music.

Ooh, house party with clearly only one purpose. I mean, talk about romantic ambiance.

Damn, that girl has a fine ass.

So we just heard the unsubs, that’s new.

And of course a blonde hottie is kidnapped. It’s like duh-101.

Come on, two people making out on the carpet won’t pay attention to anything xcept what’s going on in their pants.

And why was that guy stabbed? What the fuck?

Back to the BAU in Virginia.

Oh my god, I love Penelope!!!!!! I love her confidence. It’s like – well, hello, hottie! You, hold my shit, I’ve got a hottie to pursue. Dang man.

But I agree, that guy can hit my radar any time.

Wait what, that’s Hotchner’s brother? Damn man.

Sean Hotchner. Yummy.

But Derek is yummier.

So he decided he wants to work in the restaurant business, what’s wrong with that, Hotchner? But seriously, you should be happy for your brother.

Oh god, the three girls drooling over Sean is the hottest thing ever.

And yeah, who profiles their own brother? Come on, Aaron.

Whoa, five teenagers. One impaled on a pole made of wood? Yikes.

So they’re searching for a pack. Still not sure if it’s wolves or people. Haha. Kidding, I know it’s people.

Damn you fuckers, make Kirsten a regular.

Friedrich Nietzsche: “The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe.” I know that’s right, you German genius.

Oh, she’s been upgraded to “also starring” instead of “guest starring” impressive.

Completely skinned and so little blood. Lovely. Just yuck.

Oh god, skinned alive? Why? What the fuck is wrong with you?

Oh so it was an orgy night. Hot.

Wait, it has to do something with Native American rituals? Oh that’s nasty. Thanks for the info, Reid.

So the court ruled that they can buy lands from the Apache, they become greedy and want to buy off whatever the Apache have left? Asshats.

Benjamin Black-Wolf. I love that name.

Indian activist. Really? You had to use the I-word?

And he’s the reservation police, I love it. Hahah they’re gonna have their work cut out for them.

Wow, she’s really protective of John. But it’s just to talk, lady, nothing is confirmed.

“Does anyone know the last tribe to surrender to the American government?” Reid of course knows the answer. Lol.

“Does anybody know the name of the last leader of the Apaches?” Reid mouthing ‘Geronimo’ hahaha I love you so much. But that kid is good, too.

Oh Reid, and Aaron is like “Is your name Samuel?” and Reid is all contrite for taking that kid’s thunder.

Oh god, to Gideon “you look like a college professor” to Reid, “you look like his student.” Wow, you’re on fire, Black Wolf, to Hotchner, “you look like an FBI agent.” Oh lord, I love this man.

You know, tracking is slightly different than profiling dirt, Hotchner, come on, dude, don’t be so cynical just cuz Black Wolf said the American government is more proficient in massacres, you know it’s kind of true.

Oh snap, Black Wolf totally profiled Hotchner, bam said the lady.

And Gideon is wearing a beanie. I love this episode already.

Eight unsubs? One hostage? Dang man that is seriously messed up.

“To the Apache killing, unless absolutely necessary, is a sign of stupidity and weakness.” Dude, those are some strong, amazing words.

Well, yeah, if the crime scene had many signs of different Native American tribe signs it’s kind of obvious that the person had a vast knowledge and/or was trying to frame the tribes. I mean, that’s kind of a given.

And I love it when they put a scene behind the actors and it’s so obvious that it’s a green screen but nobody cares because the show is that amazing. Love it. Especially when Shemar does it.

Hey, I love his voice, but why make him go away?

Ignorant white officer assuming it’s Indians … asshole.

ADU – American Defense Unit, funded by a private man? Sounds fishy to begin with.

God, that is the most racist son of a bitch they ever displayed on the series so far.

Oh god, quoting the 2nd amendment from the Constitution, the Right to Bear Arms, as a reason to hold 450 guns as a private defense group? That is definitely racist, cuz there is no way the Native Americans are behind this and he’s a stupid ass.

Wait, he’s filing a lawsuit against the construction of the Apache lands? Goddamnit.

Wow, that was one clean-cut conversation between Derek and Penelope, that was weird.

Her dad looks strangely calm for having his daughter kidnapped.

A caller about Ingrid, probably the two dummies who have her, are calling the FBI and don’t want the dad to know they’re calling? Oh this is beyond suspicious.

Wait. Hold up. The dad paid those two to kidnap his own daughter? Is he completely off the reservoir? What the fuck?

She looks demented.

Oh wow. I think I just saw Hotchner snap for the first time. But yeah, it’s very fishy that he had his daughter kidnapped and then a second later all those kids were butchered. I mean, damn, this doesn’t look good at all.

So we don’t get to hear the cute exchanged between Derek and Garcia this episode, and Reid is taking on the victim on his own.

Why is that girl only repeating her name and social security number? She looks so doped up.

Well, she used to be catatonic since they picked her up, but it’s still so weird.

Also, turns out she was supposed to be in school and wasn’t enrolled for the past year and vacated her campus apartment. Ruh-roh. I smell cult.

And Hotchner just suspected the same thing. I love you, baby.

Did I just see a guy pull out a knife and advance on a house that is being observed? Oh boy.

Lovely, more victims. Ugh.

Oh, the cop is also butchered. Okay, now it makes slightly more sense.

Oh I love it when they try to goad the unsub into confessing. But come on, there is a fine line between trying to keep your daughter close and trying to kidnap her because she joined a cult. That is a big stretch.

The cult leader calls himself Grandfather. Oh god. This is seriously messed up. Personally I could never understand how people can form cults and just be brainwashed by a certain idea. I’m not saying it’s not possible and doesn’t exist, I just don’t get it.

Why is that cop manhandling that girl like crazy? That is so messed up. I mean, I get it, she’s in a cult, but she’s a kid.

And she looks totally out of it, man, like she huffed glue or something.

She knows who Black Wolf is? Okay.

Wow, she’s totally unfazed by the blood. It’s beyond scary.

What? Oh god, she is just spouting random bits of information at him convinced that what she’s saying is true and I’m just like, you are brainwashed child, someone needs to slap you into your right mind. And I’m looking at John’s face right now and he’s like ‘damn, this chica is loca.’

Oh god she is totally hopeless.

They made her go into the desert to earn the right to be blessed by fictitious demons as an Apache? Oh boy.

Oh god that Jack Kelly is freaking me out, man.

Hunting? What the fuck does that mean, Jack?

Oh so he’s a fucking religious sociopath who decided to hone in on the Apache. Ugh.

Ugh, that kid is seriously delusional for thinking he is Apache. I mean, for reals? Oh, he’s a racist. That’s awesome. I love you Black Wolf.

He doesn’t need a gun? Well, they are at a school, so I guess Black Wolf has a reason.

“Just so you know, you sound like a fortune cookie,” oh my god I love you Hotchner, beyond all measure. Oh my goodness I am completely in love with this show.

Oh crap, those assholes are seriously entering a school with shotguns? Fuck!

Yay! One for Hotch!

Make that two for Hotch!

One for Black Wolf!

Two for Black Wolf?

Wow, that stupid ass doesn’t give up.

Ooh, Hotch’s catch is also giving up a good fight.

Yay! Three for Hotch!

Oh snap, that was a brutal blow!

Two for Black Wolf!

Oh wow! Four for Hotch!

Well, yeah, I mean, they were about to shoot you, dumbass, so Hotch had to shoot.

Oh, the kids weren’t even in the building? Sweet!

Awwww a jukebox! And double aww cuz Aaron went to see his brother and give him his blessing cuz that’s what brothers do and I love Hotch forever.

Okay, so this review is slightly longer than its predecessors, but that’s only cuz it gave me tons of opportunities to rant about racism. Really hated the unsubs in this scenario, cuz racism is so poignant and relevant at all times that it makes me so sad. Overall? Amazing episode! Was sad that there was no sassy Penelope/Derek interaction, but I hope they compensate for that next time.

See you next time, lovelies!

#criminal minds #s01e16 #the tribe #aaron hotchner #thomas gibson #jason gideon #mandy patinkin #derek morgan #shemar moore #elle greenaway #lola glaudini #jennifer jareau #aj cook #spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #penelope garcia #kirsten vangsness

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