#I fucked up my knee pretty good and this painkiller is out of this WORLD
Note
I’ve just had surgery and could I request something fluffy? Max, Daniel or Pierre please x
"Maybe a peek...'cause your hot"
Summary : A bit load of sugary fluff of Daniel picking you up after you have wisdom tooth removal surgery. Rating : 16 Pairing : Daniel Ricciardo x Reader Word Count : 809 blurb Trigger Warnings : Post surgery discussion, language, teeth discussion (cause I know some people are triggered by that)
💞Authors Note: I hope you’re feeling better, there is nothing worse than being post surgery. I hope your recovery goes well and this little blurb is ok ☺️
Daniel genuinely didn’t know what to expect when he came to pick you up after your wisdom tooth extraction. He had seen all the funny videos that circulated around online but those were of teenagers, you were a full-grown woman. Surely, the drugs wouldn’t affect you THAT much?
But as soon as the nurse pulled a face when she opened the door to show him into room, he realised what he was going to be in for.
You had some contraption around your head with ice packs built in to keep the swelling down. But it was the fact your head was sort of lolling around while you spoke nonsensical words that made him crack up.
It wasn’t that you were super serious but out of the pair of you he was certainly the goofy, silly one so this was incredibly amusing for him
“There he is!” Your arms stretched out toward him and he held back laughter when he saw the padding poking out of your mouth. You were cute even if you were high as fuck.
Daniel leaned in and stopped before kissing you on your dry cracked lips and instead placed a quick, gentle kiss on your forehead and you feigned shock. “My doctor will kick your ass for that.”
Daniel pulled back and couldn’t help but laugh as you start babbling to the nurses about the doctor saying you needed lots and lots of kisses to feel better. If you had been fully aware of what was going on he would have claimed to feel ganged up on but clearly you were on another planet from the painkillers they had given you as you came around from surgery.
And then, as the nurses handed him a bag full of the things you needed for recovery and helped you into his car, it dawned on him he was in charge of you and he hoped and prayed he would be able to do a good job.
During that car journey Daniel listened as you spoke mindlessly, most of it not making a single bit of sense. You kept calling him handsome which he liked, and then when he had to break heavily for a car ahead slamming on their breaks, you called him a bad driver he didn’t like. He tried to plead his case and said he was the last of the late breakers and he physically couldn’t be a bad driver when he’s one of the best in the world but you just kept shushing him and calling him pretty.
Finally, after getting back to his, Daniel helped you out of the car and into the house. He managed to get you to the bedroom and you only groaned once from twinges of pain.
“It’s alright baby, let's get you into bed and I’ll get you some ice chips.” He said as he sat you down on the edge of the bed and got on his knees to take your trainers off. While he did that your hand reached out and stroked his curls like he was a little pet. He couldn’t help but smile because he wondered what your mind was thinking of as he glanced to see you content.
“Gentle, gentle….” Daniel said calmly when he helped you out of your zip up top and you whipped your arms out of the sleeves rather quickly for his liking. He was worried that you would hurt yourself, burst stitches or something. He wanted to protect you and take care of you like he knew you would if it had been him and roles were reversed.
Daniel tenderly went to the hem of your t-shirt and started pulling it, almost getting it over your head – even with the funny head bandage ice pack thing – and you stopped him and dramatically clutched the top at your chest.
“Uh!” You yelped and he pulled back immediately, scared he had hurt you, “I have a boyfriend.” You wag your finger at him playfully.
“I know you do.” He held back his laughter and bit his bottom lip to avoid cracking when you added; “You can’t see my boobs because I have a boyfriend.” And he almost lost it at that. He felt himself fall even more in love with you in that moment because you simply looked so cute – and it was clear how much you needed him to look after you while you were out of your mind on prescription drugs
“Ok well, maybe a peek…cause your hot but don’t tell him…shh….” And as you flashed him quickly Daniel sat back on his knees and put his hands over his face to hide the fact he had tears streaming down his face from laughter but then played along
“I know for a fact he loves your boobs…and when you get better he will show you how much.”
#daniel ricciardo#daniel ricciardo fanfiction#daniel ricciardo fanfic#daniel ricciardo fic#daniel ricciardo imagine#daniel ricciardo imagines#daniel ricciardo blurb#daniel ricciardo one shot#daniel ricciardo x you#daniel ricciardo x reader#f1blr#f1#formula 1#formula one#f1 imagine#f1 blurb#daniel ricciardo blurbs#f1 one shot#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 driver x reader#f1 driver x you#formula 1 x reader#rescue trope
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
kinktober day 9: WDC!
(previous days)
max/daniel. 661 words. max is a two-time world champion. (part 2 is here).
-
“You did it,” Daniel says, voice raspy and rough from the night’s celebrations. “You’re so good, Maxy.”
Beneath him Max is sprawled out in the hotel sheets, flushed pink, sweaty, still drunk. Languid, easy, legs spread wide, there for the taking.
Daniel’s on his knees between Max’s thick thighs, fingers lubed up and pressing inside Max easily. He’s not going to fuck Max, but he is going to make him come so fucking hard he’ll forget his name.
He glances up at Max who’s staring back down at him, watching Daniel’s hands on – in – his body. Daniel’s fingers twist as he presses in deeper, he smirks as Max’s breath hitches, knows he’s got it just right when Max’s hips twitch.
“Gonna make my good boy feel so good,” Daniel tells him, his free hand curling around Max’s hard cock to stroke him slow, slow, slow. “You love it, don’t you?” He asks, grinning at the whine Max lets out as he drops his head back onto the pillows, eyes falling closed.
Daniel knows Max is going to come hard and fast like this. He’s going to fucking milk it out of him, fingers grinding steady and slow over his prostate, relentless. Max comes so fucking easy with something inside him every time as it is. “A slut for it,” Daniel smirks, loving the arch of Max’s back, the clench of his hands in the sheets. “You might be a fucking slut for this but you’re my good boy too, aren’t you?”
Max gasps, nodding his head and shuddering. He’s breathless, speechless, beautiful.
Daniel grinds his fingers against Max’s prostate, rubs back and forth, other hand picking up speed to jerk him off faster now. He presses his thumb beneath the head, strokes back and forth over the ridge the way he knows Max likes. He twists his wrist, keeps his fingers inside Max pressed tight against his prostate, uses his thumb to press up behind Max’s balls, and that’s it.
Max’s hips jerk and he comes. Comes all over himself, thick, hard, splatters up his chest, a cry into the hotel room.
“Fucking beautiful,” Daniel tells him, keeps stroking Max’s cock through it until he’s done. He grins, rubs his fingers one more time over Max’s prostate just to see his body jerk. He eases his fingers out and shifts down over Max, licks at the come on his belly. “You’re champion, baby. Again,” he says, grinning as he drags his tongue up through the mess. Max is panting, not quite with Daniel just yet, but he doesn’t mind. He moans as he cleans Max up, kisses his way up Max’s chest and neck before settling next to him on the bed.
When Max finally opens his pretty blue eyes to look at him, Daniel laughs and pets his fingers through Max’s sweaty hair.
“You’re still so fucked up,” he laughs, leans in to kiss him. “You’re gonna feel like shit tomorrow,” he says and Max laughs, too. He’s earned it.
“I won’t forget this, though, Daniel,” Max says and Daniel can only laugh harder. Max’s lisp is more prominent, lax with his drunkenness, words slurring just a bit. Daniel loves him.
“Go to sleep, Champ,” he says, pats Max’s hip and rolls to get off the bed. Max is going to need water and painkillers come the morning. He’s only got a few measly hours before he’ll have to hit the media for post-win press day.
When Daniel returns from the mini fridge with a bottle of water Max is passed the fuck out – naked, drying come on his chest, lips parted, and so fucking beautiful. Daniel sets the bottle on the bedside table, bites his lip as he pulls the covers up over Max to tuck him in. Thinks about the ring hidden away in his toiletries bag.
Max might be a two-time Champion. Daniel thinks ‘husband’ will be a better title.
110 notes
·
View notes
Text
early seasons bath time for @demongirlmeg :-) (read on ao3)
Dean’s arm is fucked up, worse than just tape-a-plastic-bag-over-it-and-shower-anyway fucked up—his wrist and several fingers got smashed pretty bad and a whole lot of skin got torn off when he was dragged what felt like a hundred miles an hour down a stretch of asphalt by a screaming spirit, so now he’s all wrapped up in splints and bandages and a course of antibiotics to counter any infection from the god damn dirt and gore that got smeared into the road rash—and Sam is trying to wrangle him into a bath.
Because of course they got the motel room with the busted shower, and of course there aren’t any other rooms available. Of course they got the last one.
“You cannot get into bed like this,” Sam’s saying, in that voice he uses when he thinks Dean’s being bratty. “You’re filthy and you stink, Dean, and you have to let me clean your face up anyway. You’re still bleeding.”
“It’s a head wound. Head wounds do that,” Dean says, churlish. He knows he’s whining but he can’t help it; he’s woozy from the adrenaline of the hunt ebbing out of him and from the painkillers the nurse gave him. The side of his face is glowing hot where the skin is all raw. He had to let Sam drive them back to the motel. He wants to go to sleep.
“Look—I’ll put fucking bubbles in it, if you want, but you need to take a bath.”
Dean groans.
“Dean.”
He looks up at Sam, standing over him, his too big baby brother, arms folded and eyebrows raised.
“I’m serious.”
“I ain’t a stray dog.”
“Well, you smell like one,” Sam says, and reaches out and gets his hands under Dean’s arms to haul him up, and there’s no fighting him.
The bathroom is blurry with steam, the air hot. Sam crouches down and unties Dean’s shoelaces for him and then looks like he’s about to go for his belt too so Dean kicks him with his socked foot, scoots him back across the tile a little bit and Sam just snort-laughs and says fine, if you think you don’t need my help. Dean fumbles his belt and jeans open himself, one-handed, and waits for Sam to slide round and face the other way before he actually strips. It’s not that he’s self-conscious. Obviously not. Sometimes it’s just—sometimes it’s just.
He makes it to the bathtub all by himself, leans hard on his good hand as he lowers himself in. It’s almost too hot. Just this side of bearable. Sam looks over again when he hears Dean sink up to his neck, groaning. His fucked up arm dangles useless over the edge of the tub, now and then producing a warm throb of pain.
“Good?” Sam sounds so pleased with himself, the little fucker. Dean closes his eyes and lets the water lap at his chin and doesn’t answer.
Sweetheart that he is, Sam sits there quietly and just lets Dean soak for a good five minutes before he says anything else. But then what he says is: “I’m gonna wash your hair.”
Dean’s eyes snap open, and he stares over the side of the tub as Sam shifts onto his knees and shuffles across the scant space.
“I don't need you to wash my damn hair,” he says, but he takes so long to say it that Sam is already shrugging out of his flannel, leaning his elbows onto the edge of the bath. Dean surreptitiously closes his legs where they’d been splayed open, mindlessly comfortable.
“You gonna do it yourself, with one hand?” Sam has his eyebrows raised like he’s being perfectly reasonable. Dean scowls at him.
“Of course I can do it with one hand,” he grumbles. “Just—” he struggles into sitting up a bit more, skin squeaking on the plastic, and sticks his hand out. “Gimme some soap.”
“Shampoo,” Sam corrects him. One eyebrow goes a little higher than the other.
“Whatever. Jesus. They’re the same thing.”
It’s the heat of the water, and of the torn skin, that’s making Dean’s face so warm. Not how close Sam is, kneeling there fully dressed while Dean’s just. In here.
“No they’re not,” Sam tells him, all calm, but there’s a bit of pink in his cheeks, too. In the tip of his nose. He’s the only person in the world that Dean’s ever seen who blushes in the tip of his nose, like he has a cold.
Still—Sam produces a little travel bottle of shampoo, holds it up and squeezes a blob of it into Dean’s hand like he’d asked, and then sits back and watches the ensuing pathetic attempt to scrub it into his hair. He does it, but, Jesus—with the painkillers and the ache in his shoulders and sheer exhaustion, it’s hard. Dean drops his sudsy hand into the water and lets his head clunk back against the bath and glares at the ceiling. Shampoo trickles into the scraped up side of his face, and it stings.
After a minute, Sam says, “You gonna let me help?”
“No,” Dean mumbles. Then he closes his eyes again, and says: “…fine.”
There’s some quiet shuffling beside him, and then Sam’s hand, gentle, on his forehead. Smoothing his hair back, and then—scrubbing, at the crown of his head, just like Dean does himself every time he washes his hair but God, it feels real different when it’s someone else. When it’s Sammy. Dean drops his chin to his chest, eyes tight shut, teeth pressed together, but he can’t do anything about the shiver that goes through him when Sam’s nails scrape softly behind his each ear, over the nape of his neck. A fingertip running along the curve of his ear where blood had stuck and dried.
“Okay?” Sam asks, real low. Real close.
“Shut up,” Dean whispers into his knees.
“Put your head back,” Sam murmurs, and Dean does but slowly, reluctant, eyes still closed. One of Sam’s big hands comes up to cup his hairline, keeping the shampoo from getting into his eyes, as he scoops up palmfuls of water with the other to rinse it out. It’s so careful, so gentle, and it’s exactly what Dean used to do for him when he was little, too little to do it himself. For a second he can’t breathe quite right.
Sam’s hands fall away and Dean opens his eyes. His brother is just sitting there leaning on the edge of the tub like everything is fine and normal, except that his face is almost as red as Dean’s own is.
“We used to do this the other way round,” Dean says. “I used to wash your hair.”
He feels lightheaded. From the painkillers, probably. The adrenaline. The way Sam is looking at him, too steady. Sam’s t-shirt is damp and sticking to his chest. “You had so much damn hair. Never let anybody cut it ’cept me, and when I did you used to scream bloody murder if I snipped off more than the tiniest goddamn bit.” He’s rambling. He shuts his mouth.
Sam is smiling, just slightly. There’s a little smear of blood across his left cheekbone and in this light his eyes look dark. “I remember.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Sam nods. Still looking at him with all that focus. Dean watches him suck his lip between his teeth and feels his dick twitch. He looks away. Breathes out slowly.
“Dean.” Sam’s voice is low and rough.
Dean shakes his head and doesn’t look at him, can’t look at him, because if he does—if he does. He lifts his not-fucked hand out of the water and rubs it over his face, squeezes hard at his temples. “If I don’t get out of this tub in a minute I’m gonna pass out and drown.”
His brother doesn't say anything for five unsteady breaths. Dean counts them, for something to concentrate on. Then he moves, stands up, and Dean keeps his eyes forward, right forward, does not even think about how if he turned his head he’d be at just the right height to—
“I’ll get you a towel,” Sam says, and Dean swallows the spit that's gathered under his tongue, and mumbles, “thanks, Sammy.”
#mine#fic#i hope it's ok!!! i wanted so bad for them BOTH to get in the tub but i couldn't quite make it happen. somehow.#maybe next time though because.. yum#ended up with less contact more UST instead lmao#my fic
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
Random AU Idea I'll Never Write
Hey, someone may have, already? I'm not big on AUs, so it's actually amazing to me that I keep coming up with these thoughts.
The Idea: Counting Cars/American Restoration AU.
Ed restores classic cars and bikes at Blackbeard's Body-and-Something Shop, many of them custom jobs. Unfortunately, he has a bit of a hard time focusing on a healthy number of projects at once, much to the horror of his second in command and accountant, Izzy Hands. ("Edward, don't you think we should consider finishing the Continental, before you buy the Firebird?"). His crew consists of project manager Ivan, who is well-organized, and very much on-task; Fang, who handles all of the clerical work, in addition to being handy as hell with painting; and Calico Jack, who... Well, let's face it. He's useless, but he's an extra pair of hands, so.
A job comes in that requires a fair amount of restorative work, some of which Ed doesn't have the proper equipment for. Buy, hey... Stede just might.
Enter Stede, curator of antiques and rare finds (or, as Lucius calls him, a junk hoarder). His motto is, "Sometimes the old things are the best things", and his business has quite the reputation for lovingly reviving someone else's forgotten tatters into something for another to enjoy. Stede sometimes gets a bit extravagant with his ideas, which are quickly reigned in by project manager Lucius. (He's even gone so far as to tell the rest of the crew to ignore what Stede has rambled off, because it's going to be godawful, and he'll never remember it, anyway). Frenchie takes care of the front, clerical, and customer service; Black Pete is the best damned sand blaster in the business; Wee John is magic with detailed painting; Oluwande and Jim are the only two Stede trusts to scout for new finds when he can't get away from the shop; and Buttons and the Swede are in charge of the curated items in the yard (mostly so that Buttons can be outside to feed the birds).
Ed brings a couple of pieces down to Stede's shop (I totally mis-typed as 'ship'), Revenge Restorations, or some jazz. Izzy pitches a fit, because, Edward, we have a sand blaster, and this is a waste of time and money. To which Ed is keen to reply, Yes, but we don't have STEDE'S sand blaster. This work is delicate, and Stede's machine has options for finer settings. He doesn't see Stede right away, disappointed that he won't get to see his friend on this trip. (Because, yes, he has the single biggest crush on the beautiful blond man with a sharp eye for beauty, and no little amount of love reserved for life's unlovable things).
He's about to leave everything with Frenchie, when Stede and Lucius step in from one of the back rooms. Ed beams brighter than the sun itself, and maybe Izzy is hoping he'll get sunstroke and die right there - it'll serve Bonnet right - because he can't take another of these two-hour ventures where Ed is positively mooning over this fucking moron. But, that's exactly what happens, as Stede just has to show Ed his latest finds. Izzy groans, not only for being left to wait for Edward, who has the keys to the truck in his pocket, but because he's stuck with the full effect of Lucius' smug smirk. Everyone sees it, what's going on between their two fearless leaders, but only Izzy is in denial about it. So, naturally, Lucius takes every opportunity to get under his skin about it all.
"I hear June is a popular month for weddings."
Izzy decides to walk home.
#Huh#So much for not writing AUs huh?#This was supposed to be SOOO much shorter#But hey listen#I fucked up my knee pretty good and this painkiller is out of this WORLD#I hate painkillers but this is fucking ugly y'all#ANYWAY#I may regret this later but here it is#BlackBonnet#GentleBeard#Stedward#Stedeward#BlackStede#OFMD#Our Flag Means Death#OFMD AU#Our Flag Means Death AU#BlackBonnet AU
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Date with an Angel // Part Two // Hidan and Obito
Hidan
“Order whatever you want; I swiped the old fuck’s credit card so dinner’s on him!” Konan panics at this, and refuses to pick up her menu until Hidan takes out his wallet and proves that he was just kidding. Today was Hidan’s turn at entertaining the lovely little lady, and he had originally intended to take her to a heavy metal performance at bar downtown (he was friends with the lead guitarist so they would have gotten in free). However, after he informed Nagato of his plans, he was met with a disappointing “Konan hates heavy metal.”, so he decided to take her to dinner instead. She seemed entirely suspicious when he approached her earlier (wearing a dress shirt and tie instead of his usual dirty muscle tank and ripped sweatpants), but nonetheless agreed to go with him to a quiet little cafe a few blocks down from the house. Konan has never really known what to make of Hidan. He was just slightly older than Deidara, but (in Konan’s opinion) ranking much higher on the “immaturity” wheel. He’s been nicknamed by the rest of the group as “Mr. Never-Dies”, because no matter what happens, what job he takes on, how badly he’s hurt ... he just keeps getting back up. One time he came home with blood running from the crown of his head and flowing into his boots, but rather than let anyone take him to a hospital, Hidan took out a needle and made Kakuzu stitch the gash on his forehead. No painkillers, no alcohol, not even any flinching. Anyone else would have been substantially messed up after such a heavy blood loss ... but Hidan was just fine, in fact laughing and talking like nothing was amiss. He’s extremely foul-mouthed and has a thing for telling dirty jokes, but today, on his date with Konan, he’s making a great effort to restrain himself. Hidan wants very badly to put his arm around her waist as he walks along beside her, but resists as he knows Nagato will tear him a new asshole if he makes her in anyway uncomfortable. He’s at a loss for what to talk to her about, so he simply asks her how she’s feeling. There’s a pause, and she goes “I’m not really sure. I lost my mood ring yesterday.” He bursts out laughing, so hard that she blushes. “That’s pretty damn funny, lady.”Konan tilts her head in surprise; nobody had ever complimented her humor before. In fact she’s usually told that the few jokes she does make are very flat, or somewhat dark. Fast forward to the cafe, where Konan is surprised again that Hidan asks for a table that’s “quiet”, and pulls out her chair for her. The waiter comes back and Konan is amused by the amount of food that Hidan is ordering. When it’s her turn, her mind is a blank, so she just orders the last thing he said (which was spaghetti and meatballs). “That’s all?” he asks, as the waiter collects their menus and leaves. “No wonder you’re so slender.” She asks him how in the world HE’S so skinny when he eats so much, and he explains he has a fast metabolism, like his mother. Konan is interested; she’s never heard him mention his family before. As if reading her mind, he says, “Me and those guys just don’t get along. They wrote me off as a brain-dead bastard when I said I wasn’t goin’ to college.” “College isn’t everything, you know. People have to do what’s right for them.” Hidan agrees, and begins telling her his much he enjoys working for Nagato, and the type of jobs they do. It’s interesting; when you got him away from the others and in a calm, quiet setting, Hidan was ... normal. Normal and actually very charming. And although he never says it out-loud, Konan gets the strong impression that Hidan has come to consider the rest of the group as being a surrogate family. Then the food comes out and Hidan turns into a different creature altogether. He eats much like an animal, viciously and indiscriminately. But instead of being disgusted by this, Konan ... feels relaxed. There’s an unspoken feeling here, that with Hidan, she can let go and be herself. She doesn’t have to worry about looking pretty, or eating daintily, or acting “like a lady”. In fact Hidan orders them ice cream sundaes for dessert,
then challenges her to see who can eat theirs the fastest. Hidan ends up winning, but they end up with a horrible case of brain-freeze that leaves them both paralyzed for several moments ... yet laughing pretty hard. Even though Konan ate far less than Hidan, she feels quite stuffed nonetheless and mentions this to Hidan, who immediately offers to give her a piggy back ride home. She hesitates to accept; it’s a ways home and Konan feels she’s not the lightest woman in the world (especially after a big meal). But he insists, and she lets him hoist her into his back and trot back to the house with her. They laugh and joke the entire way, with Hidan making numerous comments about how light she is and how good she smells. “That’s one thing about living in a house full of guys for so long; I got so used to the smell of ass and dirty socks and Doritos that I forgot there’s people in the world who know what the fuck deodorant and shampoo are!” Konan laughs so hard at this that she slips off Hidan’s back and lands on her knees in the grass, holding her stomach and howling. Seeing that she likely won’t calm down anytime soon to grab onto his back again, Hidan picks her up and carries her in his arms the last two blocks home. He sets her down gently outside the front door, telling her how much fun she is to be with, when she throws her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard,” she says as she lets him go, wiping tears from her eyes. “Thank you.” He hesitates, then leans down and very gently kisses her cheek, before telling her that she’s welcome to hang out with him anytime, because “I’ve got a million more jokes, doll, and I’ll gladly tell ‘em all to you.” He walks her to her room and chances giving her another kiss, this one on the forehead, before bidding her Goodnight.
Obito
“Can I ask you a question?” “Yeah?” “When we’re at home, when we’re around the others, why do you wear that thing?” It’s the next day, and Konan is at a bar (ironically, the same one that Hidan wanted to take her to the previous day) with Obito. Out of everyone in the house, Obito is the one that strikes Konan as being the most mysterious. To begin with, the day she met him he was wearing a unique orange half-mask over his face ... and never took it off. She questioned Nagato about it but he seemed reluctant to speak on Obito’s unique fashion choice, and none of the others acted as though there was anything strange about it. He joined he others for dinner each night but seemed to prefer sweets to actual food, and he was quiet. Nagato told Konan that Obito was more or less his right hand man within the organization, and had helped him recruit the other members. Obito never spoke to her unless she spoke first ... so naturally she had been surprised when he approached her as she was coming out of her room, and asked if she minded joining him for “a quick drink”. The bar, like everything else, was in walking distance of the house; but Obito took her on the back of his motorcycle. It was a short ride but an exhilarating one ... and it got even more exciting when, upon entering the bar, Obito glanced around, saw there weren’t many people, and took off his mask. He found them a seat at a table near the back, and ordered them both a glass of wine. Konan had tried her hardest not to stare at his face ((which was difficult; aside from a few jagged scars on the left side and what looked like a damaged eye, he was quite handsome)) but eventually he caught her looking, hence giving her the bravery to pose her question. Obito paused for several moments, as if contemplating what to say. “Why do women wear makeup? Why do people dye their hair or get piercings or tattoos or wear crazy clothes? It’s because they have something about themselves that they don’t like, so they try to cover it up. I don’t like my face. I haven’t since my accident.” Konan blinks, genuinely surprised at Obito’s answer. She chances it to ask “Accident?” He gave her a wry smile and ordered himself a shot of whiskey (and her an ice tea) saying he needed something stronger to tell her about it. “When I was a kid, my parents liked to go rock climbing. Took me with to National parks every summer. One year my dad got drunk and took me and my mom up a dangerous path. He pulled on a rock the wrong way, and it came out of the mountain, along with a bunch more, and crashed down on us. Really long fall; mom and dad killed right away. But me ... I guess the devil decided he wasn’t done with me. A boulder crushed this entire side of my body, and my face got fucked ... but I lived. Had to go to a lot of physical therapy. Also had to go live with my uncle Madara — that guy’s a piece of work. But anyway I lived and here we are, right?” Konan is quiet for a long while, watching the ice cubes float around in her glass. “I like you like this,” she finally says, and this time she’s looking him directly in the face. “I understand if you want to be someone different, or like, if you feel like your mask makes you different, but, if you ever want to be THIS Obito ... please come to my room. We can talk, we can listen to music and eat junk and watch movies and talk about books and —“ Obito interrupts her by putting both arms around her, squeezing her warmly. “Thank you, Konan.” They stay for another few hours, and Konan is pleasantly surprised to find that Obito without the mask, Obito away from the house ... is fantastic. He teaches her how to play pool, he keeps her laughing with countless stories about growing up with his “crazy uncle”. At one point in the night he convinces her to join him at the karaoke machine on the stage, and the two sing duets of Disney songs (to the thunderous applause of the few people at the bar).The ride back home is mostly quiet, him driving slower this time and her holding on to him, each filled with their own thoughts. Before they get to the front
door, Konan lifts Obito’s mask just the slightest bit, and kisses his cheek. “This is the best night I’ve had in a long, long time. I appreciate you letting me get to know you.” He smiles and blushes, then slides the mask back into place before opening the front door. Some of the others are in the living room, and Obito quietly greets them before heading to his room. Konan was awed by how effortless the switch from animated and somewhat goofy to reserved and calm seemed to be for him ... and found herself wondering if any of the others were putting on a facade as well. She takes her shower and goes to her room, intending to go to sleep early, but after about an hour of restlessly tossing back and forth, she gives it up. She turns her light back on and picks up the remote to her tv, thinking that maybe a good, boring show will put her to sleep. But before she can find anything, a knock comes on the door. She goes to open it, and is surprised to find Obito standing there. “I saw the light underneath your door. Can I come in?” She takes him by the arm and pulls him inside. Once inside, he slides off his mask and, looking around, finds a seat for himself on one of Konan’s chairs. He opens up his jacket to reveal a small book, worn and obviously read many times. “I saw you reading this last week. I remember you telling Sasori that you finished it. I was wondering; what did you think in Chapter seven, when —“
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
hand over wound (1/??)
half an excuse to play around with form, style, and the second person pov. this isn’t what I typically write, so I’m ahhhhh about it all around. alas, FHR lives rent free in my head right now. only read over it a few times for mistakes, so apologies for any typos.
pairing: ricardo ortega/f!sidestep, pre-heartbreak
rating: t
word count: 2175
warnings: mentions of blood, injury. typical canon content.
[read on AO3.]
--
You’re in an apartment that isn’t yours with a man you shouldn’t trust and a gut bleeding out over his nice, expensive bathroom, and that doesn’t sound like the start of a bad joke so much as the start of the end of your life.
(If you could call it a life, if you could call it anything more than all your stolen seconds ticking down to this moment. Torn stitches— fucking stupid, stupid mistake, this is how they’re going to get you—)
(He’ll take you to a hospital and they’ll look and they’ll know and he’ll know and and and)
Fuck.
Two choices:
One. You can suck it up, ask for a first aid kit—he’ll have one, twice as nice as the one you’ve got and he doesn’t even need it—all those Ranger benefits he keeps trying to entice you with, go team! Maybe even some halfway decent painkillers.
You lock yourself in the bathroom, stitch yourself up clean enough to get out of here without bleeding on his floor, too. You can meet his questions with a hard laugh and a fuck off I’m fine go finish making the food I’m starving.
(and why the fuck did you come here why did you let yourself get swayed by his fast grins and his bright eyes? He isn’t your friend, he isn’t, even if he thinks he is.)
Fuck.
Two. You make a run for it. More questions. Potential for passing out in a dark alley. Vulnerable and wounded until you can get back to your own shitty place and hope to god Ortega doesn’t think to follow you. Which he will, you know he will, and you’re fast but he’s always been faster, just as quick on the draw with a mind of static to take your edge.
You pull the tight undershirt up higher, flinching at the sight of your own skin, focus on the blood rolling sluggish and hot instead of the flinty orange patterns. The wound’s deep and fresh and curled like a crooked smile.
Black clothes help. Red splatters vibrantly on the white marble counter, onto the floor, sticks to the soles of your feet (bare, shoes kicked off at the door.) You’ll have to clean that up. How the hell will you do that? With his goddamn bleach white towels?
God— fucking— fuck.
Okay. You can do this. You just ask. Ask for the first aid kit. Slam the door in his face. Or run.
You want to run. Feel that rabbit-heart drive bursting up under the skin to book it and maybe that’s what you need to do. Yes. That’s what you need to do. Leave Ortega the mess—you’ve saved his ass enough times you won’t feel bad about it, or at least not so bad you’ll apologize for it later (you never apologize, even when you maybe should) and—
A knock, and you jump, gasp. “Still alive in there?” He asks, that same smile-lilt to his voice. He’s teasing you, a little, but there’s an edge of concern too.
(shitshitshitshitshitshitfuck)
“Just give me a second.” You bite out, trying to sound put upon rather than panicked.
Shirt tugged down—fuck, that hurts—and your teeth sink into soft cheeks, hard enough to sting.
A pause. You wait for the sound of footsteps to move away from the door. Silence, instead.
Exhale.
“—Hey, are you alright?”
Goddamnit.
“I’m fine,” you drop to your knees and your side screams and the blood gets stickier, you can feel the fabric dragging with every move. Throw open the cabinets. Maybe he was organized for once in his life and put the first aid kit in here (fat chance) and nothing, nothing, just bare bones cleaning supplies.
Frustration and pain build up, you slam the cabinet with a teeth-clenched groan and the knock comes again, more insistent this time, hard knuckles on hard wood— can’t you just fuck off can’t you leave me alone why did i come here—
“Noa. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. God, what do you want?” You snarl, voice raising to a pitch.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” Your hand clutches at your side and comes away red, smeary. You have to do something, you have to move. Think. You can’t stay here.
He’s not going to let you go. You should’ve just run while you had the chance, now he’s just outside the door waiting, on alert, knows you better than anyone (which isn’t saying much but it’s saying enough) and knows enough to not let you just snarl your way out of this.
Shaky inhale. “Maybe.”
“Okay,” he breathes—relief? you don’t know and it chafes, what’s there to be relieved about?—gives a softer laugh, “no big deal. Just open the door.”
You don’t want to do that. You really, really don’t want to do that. He’s going to want to help, he’s going to want to see, the way you’ve helped him before.
(warm brown skin interrupted by mods and scar tissue and the expanse of his back, defined muscle rippling under your fingertips— stay still, you snap, smacking his shoulder, and he laughs— ouch, watch it, I’m wounded— and that’s your own fault you idiot, needle/thread, and you lay his stitches so much neater than your own.)
“I… can’t.”
“...You can’t?”
“No.”
“Is it that bad?” His voice takes on a new edge, sharper now, the kind of break down the door, get the job done edge that comes with being a Ranger, you suppose. Not quite hard, still light enough to pass for his brand of charm-sly soothing, but you know better than to fall for that.
“I’m fine. Can you just…” you push up onto your feet, choking down another groan, pain splitting through your side like a disc-saw, “can you just get the first aid kit?”
You think you hear a faint curse, and then: “yeah, be right back.”
In the space between, panic sets in.
Panic’s a cold emotion, and it’s a sick kind of luxury. You never got to panic before, riding it out out out all silent scream while everyone else’s thoughts and feelings stuck to your teeth, wormed down to the base of your spine. With Ortega you’re alone in your head and the only thing left to do is wait. Fists clench, ease the shaking.
A few minutes pass, tick-tick-tick, and he’s at the door again, knock softer this time, and please, please, please leave me alone you want to say but you don’t, you just press your palm (red-stark) to your side, and maybe— maybe if you slam it open, it’ll knock him back long enough to give you a head start. You just have to get out—
“Noa.” He knocks again, and you think you hear his breath hitch, maybe, and you want to know what he’s thinking, you want to know so badly but it’s just deafening silence outside the door.
“Yeah… yeah.”
One hand to your pulsing gut, one hand shaking, the knob unlocks with a soft click, and you’re stumbling back into the bathroom, and he’s there, filling the doorway, eyes soft-hard and brow furrowed. His eyes flick over the counter, the floor (blood splatters, streaks of it) and he lets out another quiet string of curses, “what the hell happened—?”
He’s moving forward, and you stumble back till your knees hit the toilet.
You both still. Freeze. He’s got you cornered, and he knows it, he must know it, fuckfuckfuck— breathe, you have to breathe.
“You didn’t tell me you were hurt.” He murmurs, softer than before, one hand curled around the green-white first aid kit. Bandages. Stitches. Alcohol.
Maybe you could grab it. Run? No, that’s stupid— he’ll just grab you, shove you back, ask for answers you can’t and won’t give.
Fuck.
Again, you say: “I’m fine,” and feel your lips curl back, a snarl fit for a dog in a ring.
“Yeah, you look it,” he shakes his head, tries to smile, like he isn’t surprised but he wishes it were different, and he’s not going to get mad at you, not yet, we all get hurt in this business but it still can’t be different, it can’t be, asshole, so stop asking, “c’mon, let’s… go in the living room, and I’ll—”
“No,” you snap hard, working around the toilet toward the counter. A little more room that way, and you won’t sit, even though you’re starting to feel it, the shakes and the dizziness. Drip, drip, drip, and your hand curls tighter over your stomach.
“No?” He blinks, more confused than offended.
(you have such a delicate touch, he scoffs as you wrap pristine white bandages over the stitched gash, rough but slow, and you roll your eyes don’t get fucking shanked next time then, and he gasps, mock-offense, brown eyes sparkling, searching your mask for expression he won’t find but you’re smiling, you’re smiling because he’s beautiful.)
“Just give it to me. I can deal with it myself.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s not as bad as it looks.” It is.
“Sure it isn’t.”
“It’s just a flesh wound, alright? Someone got a lucky scratch in that last fight. Didn’t think it’d open again. But it’s not that bad.”
“Well, I’m still not going to leave you here to stitch yourself up.”
Fucking— always so stubborn, why won’t he quit?
“Either give it or I leave. Take your pick.”
He stills, watching you, and you wonder how you look to him.
Like a scared animal? Wounded little monster he found and picked up for some fucking reason? What does he want with you? What is he thinking?
His eyes trail over you, clothes all black and layered, baggy enough to hide everything,
“You’re kidding.” He wants you to be kidding.
“Do I look like it?” You tilt your head back, challenging, stilling up—shoulders stiffen, legs numb, prepared to run or to fight. Like he’s not blocking the only exit, like he’s not the one person in the world you can’t outmaneuver—Sidestep brought down by a head full of silence and a pretty fucking face.
They would laugh at you. They will if this escalates, if he sees. He’s got all his good intentions, it’ll be the death of you. He’ll be the death of you.
“So what’s it gonna be?” It’s supposed to sound like a sneer-snarl but it comes out weak, the razor edge of fear sliding just under your tongue.
But he must miss it. Or chalk it up to something else. “You’re being ridiculous,” he shakes his head, “it’s really not an issue.”
Ortega, always believing the best of you. That you don’t want to inconvenience him.
He wants to stay.
(you’ve never had anyone who wants to stay before.)
“I just wanna do it myself, fucks sake.” You burst, cutting him off at the finish line, and now you’re up on your feet, reaching with your free hand for the kit, ripping it from his hand.
“Just...” what was the line? “Just go finish making the food, alright? I’m starving.” and he lets you take it, lets you slam it down on the counter. You drop your blood-wet palm and clench it, as if to say see I’m fine it’s not that bad and his eyes drift over you again, harder than before, and he’s annoyed, well that’s too bad.
“Can I at least…”
“No.”
Jaw clenches. Works. Ortega never knows when to not push, when to not be that wonder boy so full of heart, head first into the action, and you’re small potatoes so what the fuck is he doing here, really, with you? There’s a dozen other vigilantes in Los Diablos that would probably work with him, that would fall for his knockout smile twice as fast and twice as hard.
(oh, you’ve fallen alright, but he doesn’t need to know that.)
But he knows you. He does. More and less than he thinks he does. And he knows you’re not bluffing. You’ll leave.
Shoulders still raised, jaw still stubborn, he slowly nods and steps back. You feel relief unshutter in your chest. “Alright,” he sighs, slumps.
Does he want you to stay? Or does he just want to make sure you don’t pass out in some grimy back alley to get picked over?
It doesn’t really matter.
(why is he letting this go that easily?)
“If you say it’s not that bad, I’ll believe you,” he nods, and it feels like a lie, sticks around in your skin the way lying does when someone lies with their mouth but not with their thoughts. “Just let me know if I can do anything, alright?” Smile, again, he’s always smiling except when he isn’t, effortlessly charming.
“...Okay.” You mutter. There isn’t anything he can do, and you both know you won’t ask.
You stand off, not flinching and not moving as he steps back, hands twitching at his sides—to raise them in surrender or grab you, you don’t know, so as soon as he’s through the door you grab it, slam it closed, lock it fast.
Safe. Or as safe as you can be.
Fuck.
#ricardo ortega#fhr#mywriting#hand over wound*#also known as: I wrote this instead of an essay#did I proof read it? no.#*forgot the ao3 link mndfgnmf whoops
30 notes
·
View notes
Text
Family Fic
Kind of? I can’t seem to finish this and that kinda sucks so the ending is very abrupt but I just can’t with this fic for some reason. I don’t know where to end it. I can’t envision an ending. It kinda sucks but I do like certain parts so I don’t want it to just sit in my drafts so here you go:
“No.” Emily Prentiss and Aaron Hotchner are standing in front of a house that is very on fire. The house their UNSUB was supposed to be in. “Aaron,” her tone is a mix of a whine and an exhausted plea to leave this one stone unturned. “Please--” her shoulders drop as his eyes move away from hers and she knows what he’s going to do. “I hate this fucking--” the heat is like a punch to the face.
She loses him to the smoke the second she enters the house. Her lungs crack and burn, she can’t hear him bent over exhaling the smoke in thick coughs, but she can hear her own wheezing coughs. The smoke stings her eyes, and every instinct she possesses screams for her to get out.
“Hotch!” Despite her training-- everything she’s learned as a profiler and a spy--, she’s panicking. She can’t hear anything over the roaring flames around her, and while she is no immediate danger while she stands, it worries her more not to know what kind of situation Hotch has put himself into as well.
God Garcia is going to kill them.
She hears something hit a wall, it’s a very distinct noise.
A Hotch noise.
She shouts his name but her voice is lost to her own ears. Pushing past the fear weighing down her chest, she steps closer to the sound. It takes a moment to work through the smoke but she finds the door to the other room and makes out two figures. One of the figures, long and slimmer than the other, falls and hits the ground. The bigger one, wide shoulders and biceps the size of her head, leans down over the other, and starts hitting it.
It takes her a moment to realize Hotch is a pretty big guy but he’s got a runner’s thin frame. There’s no way he’s the man on the top doing the punching.
“Hey!” She raises her gun, the metal burning her palms. Her brain is going a mile a minute. Will her gun blow up in her hands? Is it too hot? “Hey--” she realizes it’s either she stands and watches as Hotch is beaten to death or she risks whatever the heat has down to her gun.
Well… the good news, the gun doesn’t blow up in her face.
The bad news?
Hotch is a heavy son of a bitch.
With her fingers hooked underneath his vest, she pulls with all her might. The air is thin and each breath she pulls in is exhaled in quick, wheezing coughs. Hotch owes her so badly. They’re past a coffee or a breakfast muffin. The man owes her his firstborn child. Actually, she does love Jack. Right now, she loves Jack way more than she loves this limp pretty eyed, high cheekbone having--
Get a grip, Emily.
Right.
When she hits the door, she pulls with all her might and collapses onto the porch. On her back, wheezing as she looks up at the sky she really hopes Hotch made a call to the others. She has a faint memory of him radioing in to inform Dave and the others that the entire house was on fire but she also thought she saw her dad standing at the door a moment ago so she’s not sure she can trust her brain at the moment.
“Hotch?” She doesn’t get up, just vaguely kicks at where she’d dropped him. She connects with his chest, she can feel his vest take the brunt of her kick. “Hotch, next time you run into a burning building… I promise you, I’m leaving you in there.”
Her reply is a pained grunt as he sits up and vomits on the porch.
She remains on her back, eyes closed, and shakes her head. Reaching up, blindly, she pats his back. “Let it out, big guy.” She grimaces as he gags more, swaying as he empties his stomach. After a minute, she starts to get a little worried. He just keeps puking.
She sits up, fighting a hitch in her own stomach at the sudden movement. “Are you still--” aside from the queasy feeling that settles over her, she’s filled with immediate unease. “That’s not good.”
Hotch looks over at her, on his hands and knees and sweat dripping down his brow and rolls his eyes. “You don’t say,” he grumbles, coughing into his elbow. “Did you call the others?”
She shakes her head, “you didn’t call them before?”
Hotch spits, trying and failing to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. With a grunt, he lays down beside her. Sighing, he closes his eyes. “They’re on their way,” he says, “I called them before I-- Well before I ran into the house.” Admittedly, that was a bad call on his part.
Emily shakes her head, “I can’t believe you did that. Did you at least warn them about your bad idea or are they going to be as surprised as I was?”
Hotch grimaces. World Worst Boss. “If it makes you feel any better,” he turns to look at her, “my right shoulder is out of the socket and I can’t feel my fingers.”
She scowls at him, “no.” She sits up, “no, of course, that doesn’t make me feel better!” From her new vantage point, she can now see the storm of cars making their steady advancement towards them. “Shit,” she mumbles. “You have to get up. We have to get off this porch before Dave sees us.”
Dave.
Damn, he’d forgotten about Dave.
They get up-- he staggers and Emily catches him against her body. It takes all of her strength to keep them both on their feet but with a moment’s time, he rights himself once again. Entangled, both leaning heavily into the other, they face David Rossi Italian wrath.
“I-I don’t--” Hotch doesn’t dare raise his voice above a whisper as Dave gets closer.
He’s laying into them, that much is clear. However, Hotch knows a handful of Italian phrases, and besides the obvious “stupid” and what Hotch thinks is the Italian equivalent of a jackass he’s completely lost.
They stand and wait out the anger knowing that he’ll be quick to forgive once he realizes they’re both a little worn down.
“You do realize you’re not fireproof, right?” The sudden switch to English is startling but it prompts Hotch back to the present. The black swarming his vision falls away for a moment and he’s able to see Dave.
Dave keeps talking but Emily is aware of the Hotch’s unsteady swaying has turned to a dangerous lean. “Hotch,” her attention completely leaves Dave and the older man makes an annoyed huff before seeing what Emily does. “Hotch!”
She just… she knows right before his knees give out from beneath him.
Desperation. She feels hopeless as she kneels on the ground beside him.
“Hotch?” His cheek is clammy against the palm of her hand. Cold when it should be hot. They just ran out of a burning building. She just pulled him out of fire, he should be hot. Warm to the touch. “Hotch, please answer me!”
Arms wrap around her shoulders and she’s lifted to her feet, physically moved away from him. She recognizes the arms, knows it’s Morgan, but she still fights with everything she’s got to get away from him. “No!” She kicks out but she doesn’t land a solid blow.
“No, Morgan!” Her fight dies as the paramedics load Hotch onto a stretcher. He’s too still but she can see his breath fogging up the oxygen mask on his face. He’s limp but he’s alive. “Morgan, please.” She’s pulled him out of a fire, the least they can let her do is go with him.
At the door of the ambulance, just as Emily’s becoming desperate, the paramedics turn and motion her to them. “She needs to get checked out.”
She has the whole ride to think about her actions. What they mean. What they looked like.
It’s a distraction, a way to push her mind away from Hotch’s worsening breathing and the way he writhes on the bed. Out of his mind in pain they haven’t identified a single source to.
He reaches for her.
She pulls away.
“Garcia is going to be so mad at you,” she deflects. If that’s not the understatement of the year… She wants to be cross with him. More than anything, she wants to look at him right now and feel something other than the intense desire to pull him into her arms and not let go. Which seems pretty… non-platonic despite her best attempts to be strictly friends.
So, she tells herself that she feels nothing.
Nothing.
She feels nothing.
Underneath the oxygen mask that he keeps getting dirty looks for talking off, he hoarsely replies, “if I manage to get home. Dave’s likely to kill me first.” He shuts his eyes, body tensing as the gurney he’s laid out on moves and jostles his dislocated shoulder. His skin is cold and clammy and he’s certain that if they don’t knock him out soon he’s just going to pass out.
A nurse notes his obvious distress and places her hand on his good shoulder. “Agent Hotchner,” she calls until he manages to open his eyes. “Just a little while longer, sweetheart.” They just need to get him through the x-rays and she can get a line of saline and painkillers pumping into his system. She just needs him to hold out a little while longer.
He makes a sound, a congested wet sound. “His oxygen is falling,” the nurse notes. Her tone doesn’t give away the urgency of her statement. Emily can feel the urgency shift. Before they were just federal agents. The scuffling shoes all moving along pick up speed and Emily’s stomach ties itself into an awful knot.
Hotch’s lips pale as his wheezes grow in intensity. He writhes on the bed, blinking rapidly.
“Hotch,” Emily calls, letting her fear get the better of her. This time she takes his hand but he’s limp. “Aaron!”
The last thing she hears as he’s pushed away is a cry of distress.
“We’ve lost his airway!”
--------------------------
He spends three days in the hospital.
She doesn’t see him once.
“He’s been asking for you,” Dave informs her from behind a well placed magazine. The pages obscure his face, leaving her with only his judging tone. His implication. “Funny,” he adds, “he stopped once they took him off the heavy stuff.”
Emily huffs at that. She knows exactly why that might be-- drugs cloud the part of Hotch’s brain that makes him afraid of the comfort he seeks. She keeps that to herself. “I wonder why,” she plays off cooly, sitting herself down beside Dave.
He turns his head, frowning at her, but doesn’t say anything. It’s a very “dad” kind of frown and she takes the hint that he, also, knows exactly why it is that Hotch would ask for her, of all people. Then again, if he hasn’t got the balls to call her out on it. She’s not going to tell him.
“Hey, princess,” Morgan greets as he makes his way down the hall. He smiles at her before turning his attention to Rossi. “They’re fighting him into a wheelchair right now,” he informs Rossi. “I figured it would be better to come get you. He’s less likely to…”
Emily smirks, “be a raging asshole to Dave?”
Morgan smiles and nods, “essentially.”
Rossi huffs at that, shaking his head. It’s true. David Rossi has poured that kid-- well, not a kid anymore-- into more hospital wheelchairs than he cares to count. Hotch has been a trouble magnet since the day he joined the BAU. However, while he knows exactly how to navigate the ‘tude that Hotch is going to send his way he also knows one person who will get substantially less. “Send Emily.”
Morgan and Emily’s head both snap towards him, their smiles replaced by confused frowns.
Dave goes back to the magazine, “he’s going to be an ass either way. So long as we don’t send Derek in there, it doesn’t matter who goes in.” He shrugs, “besides, I don’t want to.”
Morgan huffs a little, looking at Emily like ‘can you believe this?’. Except, she can. Of course, she can.
“I guess it’s gotta be you then princess.”
Great.
She hasn’t seen him in three days but he still looks the same. Actually, he’s strangely more attractive.
His facial hair has grown out, leaving a peppered half-beard on his face. His light brown eyes are bloodshot, it’s hard to tell if that’s from his lack of sleep or the smoke. But he’s whole and he’s breathing on his own.
“You look like shit,” she informs him, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall opposite of him. They’ve taken his shoes (probably Morgan), leaving him to wear the socks the hospital provided. They’re an ugly beige color but she knows they’re comfortable. It’s a perk of the job how many hospital socks they get.
He grunts, not looking up from where he’s bent his body to lean his forehead into his palm. His elbow resting on the wheelchairs arm. He rubs once more along his temples before looking up, a grimace pulling his lips down. Whatever pain meds they’ve got him on aren’t doing the job. “I see you’ve come with your best attitude, Agent Prentiss.”
She pushes herself away from the wall, rolling her eyes. “I pull your heavy ass out of a burning building and I get Agent Prentiss?” She positions herself behind him, kicking the locks on the back. “How was your visit, Agent Hotchner? Did any hot nurses give you a sponge bath?”
He huffs a chuckle, it tapers at the end a hiss of discomfort at his arms curls around his sore ribs.
She’s leaning over the wheelchair to push him, her nose close to the back of his head. He still smells like smoke and not at all like his cologne. It makes a nasty feeling swirl in her stomach-- her mind wandering to the sight of him on the gurney. Struggling to breath.
“You alright,” she asks, softly. They’re not in the hall yet so there’s a good chance he might tell her the truth.
Slowly, he lets out a soft pained grunt and leans back into the wheelchair. One arm pinned to his chest by a sling, the other remains protectively held to his side. “I’m okay,” he manages after a second, even a nod. “I just… I want to go home.”
With a grunt she pushes him forward, “I couldn’t agree more.”
It takes two hours to get loaded onto the jet.
She spends the car ride to the airport listening to Hotch and Morgan argue over whether or not it’s going to be “physically demanding” for Hotch to put on a pair of shoes. Hotch refuses to walk around in socks. Morgan only makes it worse by insinuating that without his help Hotch isn’t going to be getting much of anywhere.
Fortunately, the two end the argument with childish huffs and turn away from one another. Emily was at the brink of pulling the car over and yelling at the both of them.
From then on, there seems to be an unspoken understanding that Emily is to dictate things between Hotch and the other’s.
“Give him the shoes,” she says, arms crossed and a perfect scowl placed on her face. She raises an eyebrow, daring Morgan to say anything.
With his shoes, Hotch is far less combative.
“Let Morgan help you,” Emily asks. “The last thing we need is to send you back to the hospital because you got a concussion bouncing your head off of asphalt.” She keeps her frown in place, knowing it’s what keeps her at the top of their alpha-male food chain. Besides, she likes to think they’re a little afraid of her.
“You’re a natural,” JJ comments, both of them watching the men limp their way up the stairs to the jet.
Emily rolls her eyes, “I’m just really good at dealing with dumbas-- HEY!” She points her fingers at the pair, “Derek stop being an ass and Hotch stop being a baby and let him help.” With a shake of her head she looks back to JJ. She rolls her eyes, “men.”
It takes everything she has to convince Hotch to sleep on the jet and to leave the paperwork for another time. Which really means she takes the paperwork from him and tells Reid that if Hotch gets his hands on the pens she’s hiding in his messenger bag it’s Reid’s ass. She doesn’t push it by making him lay on the couch, where he would be more comfortable. He does fall asleep though. His head crammed between the headrest of his chair and wall but he’s out enough that she’s able to wrap a blanket around his shoulders.
He’s asleep when Garcia calls to give him a proper tongue lashing. Her anger melts quickly at the sight of him.
How is she supposed to be mad when he’s bundled up like a grumpy burrito?
He wakes up once or twice, mostly just to squint around him and grumble nonsense to himself. Each time Emily looks up from her book and pats his thigh or his arm until he settles back down. Just like a baby. He’s still groggy when they land making it much easier to pack him into her car and take him home.
She feels weird about leaving him at his apartment. All alone. “Are you sure--” she doesn’t want to push him but she doesn’t want him to overexert himself either.
Hotch shakes his head, “I’ll take the elevator.” He looks up at the building, “and Jack will probably end up sleeping in my bed, tonight. I won’t be alone.”
She frowns, she can’t exactly argue against that. “Okay but you’ll text if you need anything?”
He nods. Jack knows what to do if anything happens. Besides, she’s his speed dial so it’s no problem.
“Okay,” she relents. “Don’t do anything stupid?”
He smirks, “like run into a burning building?”
She nods, “exactly like that.”
He hesitates to shut the door, mouth open but he’s not sure what he wants to say so he offers her a tight smile before shutting the door behind him. He takes off towards the building, knowing she’s going to wait for him to disappear into it before pulling off.
He just can’t wait to be home.
Hotch closes his eyes the second the apartment door behind him slides shut. The faint smell of Johnson’s baby lotion greets him with the familiarity of a warm hug. When he opens his eyes, he’s got something even better waiting. Standing in front of him, their toes lined up, Jack is squirming with the anticipation of his father’s attention.
“Hey daddy,” the toddler greets with a toothy grin.
He’s exhausted. Good and proper he can barely stand exhausted. He kicks his shoes off at the door, smiling when Jack reaches between them and grabs his suit sleeve. “I’m not going anywhere, buddy,” he rasps, voice still recovering from the smoke inhalation. “I promise.”
Jack nods his understanding but doesn’t release Hotch. His little grip stays firm as Hotch sets his go-bag down and attempts to get out of his jacket. Adamantly, Jack lets go of his sleeve and grabs hold of the belt loop of his pants. Hotch understands that tonight is going to be a clingy night, probably spent with the two of them in his bed.
“Will you watch toons with me?”
Honestly, he couldn’t think of a better plan himself. “Yeah,” he smiles, “let’s watch some toons.” He stops to toss some pills into his mouth, most are for infection and muscle something but at least one is supposed to be the pain he’s trying very hard to not let ruin his mood.
When he gets to the couch, all he wants is to curl up and sleep. He can’t be certain why but he doesn’t even think twice. Hotch lays his head in Jack’s lap, looking up his son. Jack’s attention is on the cartoons on the TV, reruns of MickeyMouse ClubHouse Hotch let him save to the DVR last winter. One of his little hands is in Hotch’s hair, softly patting it down the way Hotch does to put Jack to sleep. The other hand is holding Hotch’s shirt, keeping him there.
After a moment, Jack frowns down at him, “you stink.”
Hotch huffs a laugh. Jack’s often brutal when it comes to the truth. Rossi always reminds him that there’s really only one person he could have gotten that from. With a smile he repeats, “I… stink?” He’d suffered through the humiliation of a sponge bath the day before and he’s wearing deodorant so he doubts it’s that bad.
Jack nods, “yeah.” He leans down, eyes still on the TV, and sniffs Hotch’s hair. He crinkles his little nose, “smell funny.”
“Oh,” Hotch mumbles. “I smell funny?”
Jack nods and turns his attention back to the cartoon. Hotch just lays and watches his son smile at the TV. Jack keeps playing with Hotch’s hair. Occasionally, he looks down and pulls the thick strands into weird directions.
“Aaron?” Jessica comes into the living room, he’d forgotten about her. She smiles at the sight of them, leaning down to kiss both their foreheads. “You boys okay or should I stay the night?” She’s already collected her things, purse in hand.
Hotch shakes his head, “we’ll be okay, won’t be Jack?”
Jack nods, he wraps both his arms around his father’s head. “I’ll protect us,” he reassures Jessica with a nod of his head.
Both adults share a laugh before Jessica taps Hotch’s shoulder. “I wonder where he’d get that from?” They share a soft smile… both thinking of Haley. “Well, be good Aaron. I don’t want any phone calls from Jack telling me you’ve been misbehaving.”
Jack gets a kick out of this idea, “yeah daddy.”
Hotch smiles, “I’ll be on my best behavior.” Jessica’s just shut the door behind herself when Hotch’s phone goes off. Jack tenses but Hotch ignores the call for a moment to reassure Jack that he’s not leaving. The team might be called out but there’s no way a doctor is letting him anywhere near the field right now.
“Look,” he shows Jack the contact photo. “It’s just Pops, you wanna answer it?”
Jack eagerly takes the phone, “Pops!”
Hotch looks up, watching.
“Jack!” Rossi greets. “Is your daddy around?”
“Uh-huh! We’re watching toons!” Jack smiles down at Hotch and Hotch smiles back. “Mickey!”
Rossi hums, “oh you’re watching MickeyMouse? Well, I’m sorry to have interrupted that.”
Jack keeps grinning, “ ‘s okay because daddy promised he wouldn’t leave.”
“Oh did he?” Rossi
--------------------------
Jack Hotchner spent his afternoon being chased around the back yard by Uncle Derek. His happy laughter blending in with Henry’s, the other boy’s equal excitement coming from his Godfather’s endless magic tricks. The boys gorged on hotdogs, watermelon, Capri-suns, and ice cream- all provided by their Papa. Who, as of last time either Hotch or JJ inquired, was their favorite person ever.
“Hey, buddy.”
Judging by the little tears swelling up in Jack’s eyes right now, Hotch makes the safe assumption that he has found himself at the bottom of the list of Jack’s favorite people. He bends down, squatting so that he’s the same height as the five-year-old. “Buddy,” he cups his son’s cheek, wiping away his fat tears with his thumb. “What’s wrong?”
Jack sniffles, miserably, taking his little fist and rubbing at his tired eyes. “You lefted me,” he sobs, batting Hotch’s hand away so that he can step closer. Jack leans into Hotch’s chest, pressing his face into his father’s neck and wrapping his arms around him.
Hotch scoops him up, smiling tightly to JJ and Prentiss who’s attention Jack’s soft hiccups have drawn in. He doesn’t have to say it for them to know why Jack is clingy. Besides being exhausted from a hard day of play, there’s still a small part of Jack that remembers George. The man that hurt daddy and killed mommy.
He lowers his gaze, flush creeping up his neck. He can remember, vividly, the night Jack told him about the sound of the gun going off. That he’d known, somehow, that mommy was dead but that it was okay because he knew daddy was coming to the rescue.
“He remembers Dave.” His breath came in quick, rapid session over the phone. He had to tell someone, to make this helpless feeling go away. “Fuck,” his chest ached and, voice no louder than a whisper, Dave could hear the panic laced into his tone. “He heard it. He heard Foyet-”
But that was back when they, rightfully, thought he was coming unhinged. Losing his grasps on life…
He’s… better now. There’s no other options available.
He’s better now. He may not be the best at this single dad thing but he’s doing better than his own father. Even if that means sitting up all night when storms roll in because thunder and lightning sound like gunshots to five-year-olds. Every year explaining to Jack’s teacher’s that Hotch’s family is not in their lives and that Haley’s own doesn’t extend past an aunt and a grandfather.
“Did daddy leave you,” Dave steps up. His cigar snuffed out but his chilled drink sloshing around in his left hand. He makes an exaggerated sad face when Jack nods with a pouty little frown, not out of mockery but empathy. To win the boy over. “Come to papa,” he offers, opening his arms to take Jack.
Hotch does have a family, one that’s very present in his son’s life. Jack has papa, Aunt JJ, Aunt Penny, Uncle Weed, Miss Emily, and Uncle Derek. They’re just by no means conventional.
“It’s alright, Jack.” Emily comes up to play along too. She soothes a finger over his cheek, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Daddy is a big ol’ meany sometimes.” She shakes her head, fingers running through Jack’s soft hair. She’s not sure what Hotch uses on this boy’s head but he’s always had the softest hair. “We still love him though, don’t we?”
Jack peeks up over Rossi’s shoulder. He has this habit of playing with Hotch’s hair, the lower part near the base of his head. He takes the small strands and twists them in between his thumb and forefinger. He’s done since he was a baby. He does it now to Rossi’s hair, his eyes half-lidded. “Uh-huh.”
Rossi rubs Jack’s back, a smirk on his lips. It’s crazy to think about the sheer number of times he’s had to convince Hotch that he’s a good dad. That all kids have tantrums, get grumpy, and need constant reassurance- just like Hotch, Rossi notes. Just like everyone. “Come on, bambino.” Rossi presses a kiss to Jack’s head, “Aunt Penny is making smores. What do you say, should we join her?”
“Hotch?” Will has the cooler open, offering Hotch a beer. Will had brought a six-pack of Heineken, knowing that Hotch wouldn’t bring any and that he wouldn’t drink unless pressured. JJ had made sure to remind both Derek and Will to attempt to at least get Hotch to drink two beers before the night’s end. Because they’re all supposed to be having fun and he needs to loosen up a bit.
Will raises that second beer up Hotch is torn. He can see the attention snap to him.
“Sir,” Garcia calls from behind him. She’s not wearing heels so there’s no signature tap-tapping to give her rapid approach any warning. Just the hardly discernible sound of bare feet on the deck. “Lighten up,” she asks, with just the hint of sadness. She takes the back of her hand and lightly taps his shoulder. “Take the beer. Live a little. You deserve to have a good time too.”
Hotch swallows thickly. He doesn’t want to take the beer. Honestly, he’d rather drink a Capri-sun or one of those obnoxiously colored drinks Rossi kept steadily supplying Jack and Henry. Besides, Capri-suns won’t upset his stomach when he has to take his pain pills later. Not that he wants to but Emily had described them in great detail to Jack so he would know be very sad if Hotch doesn’t take them
“Do you all have no shame?” Emily comes up from behind them, having just made her way from the pool. Most likely seeking refreshments that aren’t alcohol. Her arm slings around Garcia’s neck and settling on them an unsurprised but nonetheless happy smile. She glances at Hotch, he earns a sympathetic smile. “Dave told them to leave you alone,” she informs him.
Hotch looks sheepishly to the ground. To be fair, he didn’t want to come anyway. He’s got fair skin that stays hidden under a suit all day. As far as sunburns go, there’s nearly no way he’s getting off the beach without an intense burn. Not to mention he’s still pretty uncomfortable from the smoke inhalation, dislocated shoulder, and messed up ribs.
#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#aaron hotchner#emily prentiss#derek morgan#david rossi#penelope garcia#spencer reid#jennifer jareau
92 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey! I wanted to ask you a fic Reggie x Luke x Alex (not love but with Ruke implied maybe) where the guys are arguing and Reggie feels bad because you know.. the whole family thing. And they feel bad because when they approach him he gasps. I don't know if you feel comfortable writing it but if so thank you 💞
Thanks so much for this request! The guys are so much fun to write, I did add Julie to this though, I hope that was okay. The fic is under the cut, it got too long otherwise, lmao. :D
Enjoy!
~R
Summary: Caught in the middle of a fight between Alex and Luke, Reggie tries to control his emotions, but he’s quickly reminded of the times when his parents fought.
It was like the guys thought Reggie was dumb, or something… which he knew was further from the truth. But lately… There was this tension in the air during their practices recently, like someone pulled a string connecting his friends and it was pulled as taught as possible. The whole week Alex and Luke had been fighting about something, and their argument had finally hit it’s boiling point. Reggie could only smile apologetically at Julie, who sat at the piano with a confused expression on her face. “Look Alex, all I’m saying is if you played the rhythm differently it’ll make the song sound a million times better!” Luke exclaimed when they stopped the song halfway through for the hundredth time. Alex’s face went red with anger, and Reggie sighed. Sliding his bass off his shoulder he rested it on the stand as he prepared to be the mediator between his two friends for the millionth time. They tried to keep the fighting for when he wasn’t in the room, but Reggie could always tell when people were angry. When he was younger he convinced himself it was a superpower, but it was just a side effect from being cast aside as a kid by his parents when they fought. He was only able to watch helplessly as Alex stuck his tongue out at Luke and shouted,
“Maybe you should try to learn how to play the drums then! See how quickly that ends!” Reggie winced at the loud volume. They weren’t just fighting about music now, something bigger was at hand here… and it wasn’t exactly something Luke was ready to talk to Julie about yet. Reggie poofed across the room to sit next to Julie just as Luke angrily threw something at Alex’s kit. Alex rolled his eyes,
“Oh real mature Luke!” Alex retorted as Luke stared playing his music at one of the loudest volume options. Julie winced at the volume, and Reggie couldn’t help but tense at how angry everyone suddenly got. Everything was just so fucking loud, he couldn’t even focus enough to poof out of the garage. Turning to Julie Reggie admitted,
“You should probably go.” Luke and Alex switched from attempting to out-play each other and reverted back to yelling again. Julie shot a concerned look at Luke, whose face was quickly becoming a deep shade of red.
“Are you sure? Maybe I can help,” Julie offered, god bless her soul. None of them deserved her and they all knew it. She was their saving grace, and she’d do anything for them just as they’d do anything for her. Reggie knew Luke wasn’t out to her yet though, to be honest, he wasn’t out to her yet either. If Luke and Alex were fighting about their past relationship she shouldn’t have to find out about the three of them like this. Shaking his head he said,
“We love you Jules, you know that… this is just…” Reggie trailed off, and the two of them ducked to dodge a binder Alex threw across the studio.
“Personal?” Julie guessed as she and Reggie looked back in time to see Alex walk out from behind his drums, pushing at Luke’s chest. Reggie nodded and she sighed, “alright just…” Julie hesitated then put a hand on Reggie’s shoulder, “just let me know if you need anything alright? I know you told me your parents used to fight…” Reggie gave her a small smile then returned her hug, squeezing her waist. “Everything’s going to be okay, yeah?” Julie asked with a shaky laugh, Reggie nodded, unable to bring himself to say anything. With one last concerned look to Luke Julie backed out of the garage, closing the doors behind her. Reggie inhaled, then realized his right hand was starting to shake, a tell tale sign he was about to have a panic attack.
“Fuck,” Reggie said as his stomach twisted. He knocked himself off the piano bench, landing on the floor with a thunk. “Guys!” Reggie called out, trying to get them to stop fighting. He knew they didn’t hate each other, they would never be able to no matter what they said or how hard they tried. He pawed at Alex’s shirt, which was suddenly closer than Reggie remembered it being. Alex shoved Reggie off though, and he found himself back on the floor, stuck between his family arguing with each other just like his parents used to. He fell back on his old plan for survival when he got caught up in an argument, he tried to run. He regretted sending Julie away, she’d probably do a better job of calming Luke down than he did. Reggie took a shaky breath then curled his right hand into a fist, balling his hand usually helped lessen it’s already very shaky shaky-ness.
“Why the fuck do you care if I still hang out with Willie?” Alex yelled over Luke’s voice. Reggie watched from the ground as Luke ran a hand through his now very sweaty hair.
“Because he doesn’t deserve you!” Luke roared back, and Reggie curled his legs into his chest, his pooling tears started to fall down his cheeks. It was just one fight, it wasn't the end of the world. It wasn’t the end of the band, they wouldn’t break up the band over Luke being a petty ex would they? Reggie tried to pull himself to his feet, in a sad attempt at getting between his friends. Alex cackled,
“Oh and you do? What, am I supposed to wait and be your rebound while you’re busy trying to get with Julie?! How do you think Reggie feels huh? You casted us aside the second someone better comes along! Does she even know you’re bisexual yet?!” Luke roared in anger as he pulled back his fist and swung it low. Reggie collapsed as he sprawled across the floor taking the hit meant for Alex, he could feel a bruise starting to form on his cheek.
“Oh shit,” Luke swore as he saw Reggie hit the ground. And just like that the two composed themselves, the tension disappearing. Maybe Reggie should get punched more often… Luke tried to check Reggie’s cheek, but he winced away from his touch. A look of hurt crossed Luke’s face but Reggie didn’t focus on it for too long. “Reg, I’m so sorry,” Luke said as an apology. Alex shoved Luke aside and Reggie let him get close enough to determine he was just bruised, and not concussed. Luke scooted so he was closer to Reggie, and pulled his legs into a criss-crossed position. Their knees were just barely touching. Alex fell to the floor in front of them and exchanged a look with Luke.
“Reggie,” Alex said slowly, like he was afraid of him. “We’re -” Reggie cut them off with a huff,
“ - save it.” He sniffled and wiped the tears falling down his uninjured cheek. “I know…” He took a shaky breath, “I know you guys aren’t angry at me, and I know you aren’t really angry at each other either…” Reggie trailed off and let Luke slowly wrap his arm around Reggie’s shoulders. “I guess it just reminded me of my parents.” Alex fell forward and hugged them both,
“I’m so, so sorry.” He said through his own tears. Luke nodded,
“Me too Reg. We never should have let it get that far. I just… I can’t believe how much the world has changed since we’ve lived in it… how much we’ve changed. You know we love you right?” Luke asked, concern laced in his voice. Reggie nodded as he choked back another round of tears,
“I know, hard to forget if you remind me whenever we see each other.” Alex let out a soft laugh, then ran his hands through Reggie’s hair. Reggie relaxed at the touch and leaned into Luke’s chest, Alex sitting across from them. “We really should probably tell Julie…” Reggie said as he let Luke pull him closer. He closed his eyes as he let Luke run his guitar-calloused fingers through Reggie’s hair. Alex nodded, pressing a soft kiss at the top of Reggie’s head. Reggie hummed appreciatively then pulled him in for a longer, more passionate kiss. When he was done with Alex, he turned around and did Luke the same favor.
“Next time we see her we will,” Luke promised. Just as he said it though, the doors of the garage opened to reveal a very concerned Julie Molina.
“Is everything okay?” Julie asked, walking into the studio without asking for permission. “Did you guys figure it out? Oh my god Reggie! What happened to your face? Do you want ice? Do ghosts even need ice? What about painkillers? I’m pretty sure we still have some Motrin from a few weeks ago when Carlos twisted his ankle.” Reggie glanced at Alex for help. The drummer held up both of his hands to get Julie to stop talking.
“Hold on, too many questions at once. First, Luke punched him… by accident. We were both being petty bitches and needed to get over ourselves. We’re sorry you had to see that.” Luke protested,
“Excuse you Alexander,” he said dropping Alex’s full name. “I am not a petty bitch.” Reggie whacked the back of his head and Luke winced in pain. With a grin Reggie said,
“Yes you are.” He turned to Julie, who at this point, had joined them all on the floor in the middle of the studio. She cupped his cheek, trying to determine if he was okay. Julie frowned when she saw the size of the bruise forming. Reggie stopped her before she could turn to Luke and slap him across the face.
“Hey, I’m fine! Jules, it’s all good, I promise!” Reggie said as Alex caught her arm. Julie seemed to realize he was telling the truth, then she put her arm down.
“What were you guys going to tell me?” Julie asked, curiosity in her voice. Luke hesitated before reaching out for Reggie’s hand, interlocking their fingers. Julie’s right eyebrow rose comically high, and if he wasn’t so stressed Reggie would’ve laughed. Alex cleared his throat and let the pin drop.
“Julie,” Alex said in a way that told Julie he wasn’t joking, “we’re all together.” Julie’s eyes widened,
“Oh… oh… you know, that actually makes a lot of sense.” To their surprise she punched her fist in the air in victory, “Flynn owes me twenty bucks!” She exclaimed.
“Hold on, you bet on us dating each other?” Reggie asked, honestly surprised. Julie nodded as a grin stretched across her face.
“Of course we did. Anyone with half a brain cell can see how good you three are to each other. Wait, what was that whole Willie thing then?” She asked, the question heavy in the air. Luke spoke up,
“So you aren't…” he hesitated and ran a hand through his hair, obviously hesitant. “You’re not angry at us for keeping it a secret?” Luke asked quietly. Julie gave them all an understanding smile,
“Guys, I don’t know how you haven’t figured it out yet. Flynn and I are dating.” Reggie’s jaw dropped to the floor,
“You’re both what?” He asked, about to ask a million more questions. Julie held up a finger to stop him,
“Let’s get at least one thing straight here alright?” She asked, and suddenly Reggie wanted to hide behind Luke. “If one of you hurts each other in any possible way, I will find out, and I will find a way to kill myself a ghost, is that understood?” Reggie, Alex, and Luke all frantically nodded their heads.
“Yeah Jules, we’d never think about hurting each other!” Reggie exclaimed as Julie launched herself at them. Reggie let out a squawk of surprise as Luke and Alex dog-piled on top of them in fits of laughter.
#julie and the phantoms#jatp reggie#jatp alex#luke patterson#julie molina#angst#luke pattersonxreggie#bisexual luke patterson#bisexual reggie#bisexual julie molina#yes#she and Flynn bet on if the boys were dating#fight me
48 notes
·
View notes
Text
List of Firsts
Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader (2k)
Description: You’re working on a movie project with Sebastian & Anthony in Atlanta and the topic of “Experiences in your late teens and early twenties” comes up.
Warnings: anxiety, panic attack, not proofread
A/N: I don’t write much RPF anymore, so I hope this doesn’t read too awkward.
Masterlist
You had been experiencing a lot of great things on set. Not only was this your first role you ever got, it was also a freaking side role in a few episodes of a Marvel series. With the potential to become something bigger. But that wasn‘t the main reason why it was great. You finally got the positivity you had been craving all your life.
The man playing Bucky Barnes, Sebastian, had been an absolute delight to be around. Always joking, always listening and always getting way too deep and philosophical. Anthony had the joking part down and whenever you had a bad day on set you just stood around him to get some of that positivity.
„So I gave her a piggyback ride so we could get out of there without her whining about her feet hurting.“ Seb talked about some party a couple years back with a big smile.
„I‘ve never gotten a piggyback ride.“ You commented looking up at the sky. You two were on daybeds and had a break from filming.
He looked at you with a frown, „Excuse me? You‘ve never had fun in your life?“
You chuckled, „I guess so.“
It kind of hurt to know that you didn‘t have the life you wanted until now. You barely had any friends and never really got out of the house. The last big memories you had made were 4 years ago.
„You know, I just didn‘t do a lot of cool or random things until now. I was either the annoying girl or an outsider. And when that started to change my anxiety hit and I isolated myself. So I never really had late teens or early twenties to just have fun,“ you explained.
„Gosh, sorry, that probably sounded really mean then.“ He frowned thinking about his comment.
„It‘s alright. I‘m used to it.“ You mumbled.
„Do you have a list, you know, of things that you haven‘t done and still want to do?“ He asked curiously.
„Like a list of firsts? No. It would probably be super long, especially when you include a food section.“ You chuckled at the image of Spongebob‘s endless list in your mind.
„Name one.“
„Gosh, I don‘t know, holding hands? Cooking with someone that‘s not family? Forehead kisses? Oh, I have a good one, water pistol fight.“ You giggled and saw him light up a bit.
„And food?“
„Sushi, Poptarts, any Thai food pretty much, Tapas.“ You counted them off.
„We‘re gonna have sushi for dinner then.“ He decided in disbelief and made you laugh.
You knew he just wanted everyone to be happy around here. It showed in his little efforts to make you feel more comfortable.
___
„Here.“ He held out a water pistol to you the weekend after you had talked.
„Wait, what?“ You looked up at him confused.
„It‘s hot, we‘re in Atlanta and we happen to have an outdoor pool in this hotel, so I bought these.“ He shrugged as if it was nothing.
„Seb, I‘m wearing white.“ Your right eyebrow shot up.
A shrug came back again with a sly smile, „Shit happens.“
He ran towards the pool to fill up his water pistol, „No!“
You ran after him with yours and the fight had begun. A splash of water drenched your shirt, showing your black sports bra underneath. You retaliated and aimed at his chest while trying to get into a hiding spot.
„Nice bra.“ He laughed like a little boy.
„Nice abs, macho.“ You rolled your eyes aiming at him from your spot behind a pillar.
His hair was hit and ruined with a celebratory laugh from you as he started charging for you, making you run with a giggle.
The back of your shirt was hit too, as well as your hair.
„Seb!“ you squeaked out and hid behind another pillar where a back and forth ensued.
„You‘re an idiot.“ You laughed before he leapt forward and grabbed you to empty the rest of the water he had onto your head with a big pout from you.
„Just because you‘re bigger than me.“ You crossed your arms as the water ran down your shoulders.
„Poor baby.“ He cooed before unexpectedly getting the rest of your water straight into his face.
„You play dirty, I see.“ He smirked mischievously with water droplets from his hair hitting your face that had a giant grin on it.
You reached down to wring out your shirt, „Do you have anything to change into? My stuff is in the washing machine downstairs.“
„Uh, yeah.“ he mumbled before getting off his shirt and wringing it out too.
Half an hour later you sat in the lobby with a big hoodie and a cup of tea. Even better, you sat there being held warm by a certain idiot.
___
„Hey, what‘s wrong, darling.“ He asked softly leaning forward to meet you at eye level.
„Nothing, I‘m just having a headache and feel very dizzy. I‘ll survive it,“ you mumbled and cuddled deeper into the coat your character was usually wearing.
„Already took a painkiller?“ His head dipped to the side and you nodded a little weak.
„Sebastian, Y/N, next scene.“ An assistant knocked at the door.
„Coming in a second,“ he answered.
He held out both of his hands to help you up and saw you almost fall back again.
„Oh, dear.“ He exhaled at your state of health.
„Did someone stick a knife in my head?“ You asked defeated.
„C‘mon, take my hand. You‘ll sit down in between takes and I‘ll stare down everybody that wants you to overwork yourself.“ He grabbed your hand softly and felt you squeeze it back for stabilization.
The rest of the day was spent in front of the camera, on a chair with a water bottle or hanging onto him for dear life to not trip.
„Thank you,“ you mumbled by the end of the day and had two giant hands on your head, slowly pushing down on pain points.
„Hey, I know how fucking awful it is to work with a knife in your head.“ He chuckled.
„You didn‘t have to do it though.“ You shrugged and relaxed a little at the pain points in your neck being released.
„Okay, that might hurt a little more.“ He mumbled as he pushed the points connecting neck and shoulders. An uncomfortable whimper left you, „Ouch.“
„Sorry.“ He went over them softly and had you fall against his chest seconds later.
„God, I feel so much better now.“ Your voice was muffled against his clothes and he gave you a full bear hug, side to side swaying and all.
„Can I always have someone like you when I feel bad?“ You asked looking up with a tired smile and got a grin back.
___
„You two are cute, you know?“ Anthony commented as Sebastian looked over to you filming a scene alone.
„What do you mean?“ A brow shot up as he looked to his friend.
„Everyone‘s been saying that you both, uh, spent some time alone in your trailer last week after we wrapped.“ A cheeky grin came back.
A frown built on his face, „Yeah, she had a headache and I just did that pain point thing my mom always did to me when I was younger.“
„Then why have you been holding hands that entire day?“ Now Anthony‘s brow shot up.
„She was tripping all over the place because the headache made her dizzy. So I just helped her to not fall on her face all day.“ „Oh. So that‘s why she sat so much between takes.“
„Do you wanna tell me,“ His hand went over his face, „That people see me holding someone‘s hand and immediately assume I just-“
„I mean, it‘s not half bad. There are worse people to be your rumor girlfriend.“ His friend chuckled and stopped pretty fast at the concerned face.
„I just...She told me a bit about herself and how her life was before this and I‘m honestly just trying to make her days a little bit brighter. I don‘t wanna come off that way.“
„Hey, don‘t get in your head about it. She clearly enjoys being around you too.“ A smile.
„I‘m not int-“ „Anthony!“ And he needed to film his next scene.
You looked over to him in the chair as you talked to someone from the production for a while, but when you wanted to walk towards him he was gone. And he was for the rest of the day unless he needed to film.
The same happened the next day and the day after.
„Anthony?“ „Huh?“ „Is there something wrong with Sebastian?“
His face got worried, „Not that I know of, why?“
„I don‘t know. He just hasn‘t talked to me in a few days and I don‘t know why.“ You fidgeted with your hands.
„I‘ll talk to him, alright?“ A nod and then you got back to work.
___
You got all internal about it. What did you do wrong? Did you say something hurtful? Did something bad happen in his life that he didn‘t want to share? Maybe you were just not a priority with all his friends around, you‘d understand that. But why was he in his trailer all the time then?
You woke up the next day and had an anxious and sad feeling sticking to you the entire morning. You could handle certain uncertainties but not the ones that had to do with people around you.
After a while you got ready for the day and went into hair and makeup.
He was no different today. Well, a little different. He wasn‘t in his trailer the entire time anymore.
Whenever you weren‘t needed you just cowered together in a chair or some other place.
Your breathing got uneven, your thoughts started to spiral, heart rate picked up, palms got sweaty, your knees shaky.
„Oh please no,“ you whispered to yourself. Anxiety attacks you could control, panic attacks only came when you were stressed out and without a trigger.
You hectically looked up and looked around in your cotton-feeling world, when you saw him talk to one of his friends. You made a beeline for him with a deep frown in your face that he couldn‘t ignore and couldn‘t run from.
Your head landed on his chest and with a whimper you got out, „Panic attack.“
You felt arms wrap around you softly and a thumb going through your hair.
„I‘m here. Breathe slowly,“ he murmured in a soft voice. You followed the 5-6-7 rule for what felt like an hour, your knees feeling more and more like jello.
He got down a little and picked you up, „Keep it up.“
He carried you away from all the noise and into a room drowning it all out.
„You made me so worried,“ you whimpered, „What did I do?“
„I‘m sorry, you did nothing. I just...I guess I‘m just an idiot.“
„Yeah, but why?“ You looked up at him as he set you back down.
„There was a rumor about...us. And I didn‘t want that to, you know, ruin anything.“
You dipped your head to the side, „I don‘t care about rumors.“
„Yeah, usually me neither, but I guess there was something to it when it comes to me.“ he shrugged.
„Please never do that again. I thought I did something bad,“ you mumbled and felt his hands by your face again.
„Promise.“ A kiss was placed on your forehead.
___
„So, uh,“ he stood there with a demeanor of a schoolboy on one of your location shooting days, „would you, after we filmed today, maybe, you know, grab something to eat with me?“
„Yeah, sure.“ You shrugged.
„As...like a date.“ He added a little softer and scrunched up his face expecting a bad response.
„Oh, uh,“ You could feel the heat rise up to your face, „Y-yeah. Sure.“
You saw triumph on his face and boxed him against the chest, „You said grab, not sitting in a loud restaurant.“
„Uuuh, you wanna cook with someone else for the first time?“ He wiggled his brows.
„Someone that can‘t cook, may I add.“ You rolled your eyes with a smile.
„Congratulations, you signed up for a whole series of firsts just with having me cook.“ He laughed before you were sent to do your job again. A job that went by way faster with something to look forward to.
#sebastian stan#sebastian stan x you#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan x y/n#sebastian stan fluff#sebastian stan fanfic#sebastian x you#mine#sebastian x y/n#sebastian x reader#marvel#mcu#marvel cinematic universe#rpf#real people fiction#fanfic#fanfiction
115 notes
·
View notes
Text
Prompt: 9
Warnings: distance in relationship, drifting apart, angst,
AO3
"you were my dream come true but turns out you're a fucking nightmare too."
"there's just no pleasing you, is there?"
Michael had been off with you recently. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you felt it.
His replies were short and snippy, it felt like the sound of your voice agitated him.
It hurt. It hurt so much. Two nights in a row you had cried yourself to sleep. He didn’t know, he wasn’t home on time anyway, always spending extra hours at his office.
Maybe you were overthinking it. It could have been your own past self-esteem issues bothering you. With that in mind, you made your way to his office after work, his favourite coffee and pastries in hand.
You greeted the receptionist with a smile and made your way to the top floor.
Your knock at the door was met with a sigh and a snippy ‘come in’.
Michael looked up from his desk, the sight of you made him look even more annoyed.
“What do you want? And make it quick, I’m busy.” He wasn’t pleased to see you.
Taken back by his tone, you stuttered your reply, “I thought I’d surprise you, I brought you some coffee and stuff.”
He rolled his eyes and gestured towards his desk, looking back at his laptop and fully ignoring you again.
You put the goods down and moved to sit opposite him.
“Why are you sitting down?”
His question surprised you. “I thought … we could spend some time together. I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while.”
Michael slammed his fist on the table, causing you to jump in your seat.
“TIME? Everybody wants my fucking time Y/N! and I don’t have it. I’m surrounded by the most incompetent team in the world and it seems like you’ve come to join the ranks. I don’t have time for you right now, or any of this shit.” Michael gestured to the coffee, in his anger he had moved his hand too far, causing the burning hot coffee to spill onto the desk and all over your arm and leg.
You yelped in pain, the tears from the verbal beating mingling with tears of pain. But despite your cry, Michael didn’t even glance at you, far too concerned with the spillage on his laptop.
“Now look what you’ve done!” he shouted.
That was it. The pain of your burning flesh was replaced by anger.
“There’s just no pleasing you, is there?” you managed to choke out, slamming the door behind you and not looking back. You wanted to get out of his presence as soon as you could, the emotional pain more unbearable than the blistering burns.
////
The adrenaline of the situation had finally died down, forcing you to get to the nearest emergency unit to get your burns checked out.
You whimpered as the doctor dressed it, giving you care instructions. Your face red at the embarrassment of crying in an emergency room by yourself. But it fuelled your anger towards Michael even more, that he had reduced you to such a state. Not a single phone call or text in the hours you had last seen him. It took everything in you to not get the next flight home, to be cradled by your mother after such a painful heartbreak.
You didn’t want to see his face again, turning your phone off. You didn’t go home either, driving as far away from the city lights as you could.
You didn’t realise how far you had driven until you paid attention to the road signs. You had manged to cross state lines, Vegas not being too far away. You drove towards it, wanting to rest at the closest hotel you could find. The events of the day had tired you out and you hoped the painkillers you were given could knock you out.
The room was paid for in cash, but you doubt Michael cared enough about you to try to track you down via bank records.
The elevator up just reminded you of the last elevator you were in, up to Michael’s office, it made you nauseous.
The room was spacious, with a balcony view of the pretty city lights. It reminded you of how small and insignificant you were. Insignificant to the world and your lover. Nothing you did mattered to either of them. And within a few months these lights would be no more, destroyed by the event that seemed to have destroyed your relationship too.
You quickly shook your head and made your way to the bed. You knew if you dwelled any longer, the thoughts consuming you may have driven you over the balcony.
////
You turned your phone on in the morning. Still no contact from Michael.
Had you really mattered so little?
You buried your face back into the pillow to sob into it.
You muffled sobs and the thoughts going through your head were loud enough to mask the sound of your room door opening and the footsteps making their way towards you.
The bed dipped and you scooted away. You knew who it was. You could smell his cologne as soon as he got close to you.
He reached out and you further cocooned yourself, a makeshift shield against whatever he would throw at you now.
He noticed the dressing on your arm as you pulled your blanket up. He reached forward with shaky hands, gently holding your arm to inspect it, as if you would shatter at the slightest touch.
Your sobbing died down and you cursed your body at reacting in such a way to his warmth.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, you barely herd it.
You didn’t reply to him, giving him the silent treatment.
“Y/N? talk to me please.”
“the sound of my voice must annoy you,” you whispered back.
“NO, no please Y/N. Please don’t think that. Don’t ever think that,” he begged.
“You’ve already said what you wanted to say Michael, now leave,” you demanded in the same tone he used yesterday.
He scrambled up the bed to face you. The sight of your swollen face and red nose made his heart shatter for the second time in 10 minutes. He had caused you a great deal of pain and he knew it.
He reached out to stroke your face, but you flinched away, not wanting him anywhere near you.
He held your injured hand in both hands, placing gentle kisses all over it. “Please Y/N. I’m so sorry. Tell me what I can do.”
“You were my dream come true once upon a time Michael, you were everything I ever wanted,” you slowly yanked your hand away, putting it under the covers out of reach. “But it turns out you’re a fucking nightmare too.”
Michael looked like a lost child at that moment. He knew he had let the outside world get to him, to cause him to act in that way. You had been physically hurt by him, with a possible scar for the rest of your life. But it didn’t feel good. It wasn’t the type of mark he ever wanted to leave on you. The thought of you, out of all people hating him was incomprehensible. At least before he could blame other things and situations for his loved ones hating him. But this time it was wholly his fault.
He wasn’t nasty to you in retaliation of something you said, not like his Grandma or Ben.
This was all on him. He let his rage at the world blind him. It led him to put you in such a state. You, a person who had given him all the love he ever wanted, more than he thought he was worthy of.
He would spend the rest of eternity on his knees grovelling, to make it up to you. In fact, he thought, a monster such as himself should have been on his knees long ago, he should have taken joy in the simple fact that you even looked at him. Instead this is where we were. He had done what he had always done. He had ruined the good things in life.
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Prince’s Whumptober 2020 masterpost
Gonna have links, titles, summaries, and all that jazz under a readmore because i decided to really push myself and do all 31 prompts separately. Thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged my work; your support means the world to me and makes me want to keep writing!
multiparters here have been listed in chronological order rather than posting order for ease of reading.
FAHC
No 1. LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME
Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging
Title: another duck joins the flock
Fandom: FAHC
Character(s): Geoff, Michael
Rating: T
Warning(s): blood, handcuffs
Wordcount: 728
Summary: Or how the Fakes gained their most famous muscle. [tidied up/expanded this never-to-be-posted fahc wip for whumptober]
Naruto
No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY
“Pick Who Dies” | Collars | Kidnapped
Title: and the worst part of waiting is the anticipation
Fandom: Naruto
Character(s): Team 7
Rating: T
Warning(s): blood, vomit
Wordcount: 951
Summary: Team Seven gets captured. [part of the whumptober au]
No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY
Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint
Title: A Teaching Moment
Fandom: Naruto
Character(s): Sakura, Kabuto
Rating: T
Warning(s): none
Wordcount: 498
Summary: Kabuto makes her an offer she can’t refuse. [part of the whumptober au]
No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR
Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest
Title: Graduation
Fandom: Naruto
Character(s): Sakura, Kabuto,
Rating: T+?
Warning(s): blood
Wordcount: 835
Summary: Kabuto has one more test before Sakura can be considered a true medic-nin. [part of the whumptober au]
No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN
Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong
Title: Arboreal
Fandom: Naruto
Character(s): Sakura
Rating: T
Warning(s): needles
Wordcount: 803
Summary: It was only a matter of time before Sakura found something that could help her escape. [part of the whumptober au]
No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD
“Take Me Instead” | “Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice
Title: no good deed goes unpunished
Fandom: Naruto
Character(s): Naruto, Teuchi, Kyuubi
Rating: T
Warning(s): violence against children
Wordcount: 972
Summary: Something goes wrong on his seventh birthday. Naruto might never be the same again.
No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD…
Migraine | Concussion | Blindness
Title: Degradation
Fandom: Naruto
Character(s): Kakashi, Sakura, Naruto
Rating: T
Warning(s): dismemberment ment
Wordcount: 187
Summary: Kakashi knows that power comes with a price.
Dragon Age
No 6. PLEASE….
“Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please”
Title: Like Dogs
Fandom: Dragon Age
Character(s): Female Tabris, Shianni, Soris, Nelaros
Rating: M
Warning(s): implied/offscreen rape, violence against women, blood
Wordcount: 1640
Summary: It was supposed to be a good thing, getting married. It wasn’t. [this is really just a love letter to the origin that fucking shooketh me]
No 19. BROKEN HEARTS
Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor’s Guilt
Title: all’s fair but war is not without casualties
Fandom: Dragon Age
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Female Cousland, Alistair; ex-Alistair/Warden
Rating: T
Warning(s): none
Wordcount: 695
Summary: Ten years after the Blight ends, Elissa Cousland runs into someone she never thought she’d see again. It, uh, doesn’t go quite as planned. [mostly canon compliant; Loghain is spared and becomes a warden]
No 11. PSYCH 101
Defiance | Struggling | Crying
Title: Duty
Fandom: Dragon Age
Character(s): Female Cousland, Eleanor, Bryce
Rating: T
Warning(s): blood, betrayal, last stand
Wordcount: 633
Summary: Even without interference, history marches on. A what-if scenario if Duncan wasn’t there to recruit the Cousland. [part of iron & ash]
No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE?
Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation
Title: To Ostagar
Fandom: Dragon Age
Character(s): Female Cousland
Rating: T
Warning(s): none
Wordcount: 545
Summary: Jasmine is determined to get vengeance for her family. [part of iron & ash]
No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING?
Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire
Title: Consequences
Fandom: Dragon Age
Character(s): Female Surana
Rating: T
Warning(s): none
Wordcount: 368
Summary: Surana helps her best friend escape the Circle, and the consequences are more than she bargained for.
No 21. I DON’T FEEL SO WELL
Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection
Title: Corrupted
Fandom: Dragon Age
Character(s): Female Mahariel, Duncan
Rating: Gen
Warning(s): none
Wordcount: 192
Summary: It’s a long journey from the Brecilian Forest to Ostagar for someone with blight sickness.
No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE
Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead
Title: Big Sister Instinct
Fandom: Dragon Age
Character(s): Female Hawke, Unnamed Templars
Rating: T
Warning(s): torture, violence against women
Wordcount: 325
Summary: Marian Hawke would rather die than betray her family. She might even just get the chance to do it.
Mass Effect
No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME
Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building
Title: never forget to bury your regret (before it buries you)
Fandom: Mass Effect
Character(s): Male Shepard, Human OC
Rating: T
Warning(s): cave-in, blood, character death
Wordcount: 450
Summary: Survival training goes south in the ICT.
No 7. I’VE GOT YOU
Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker
Title: First Contact
Fandom: Mass Effect
Character(s): Turian OC, Human OC
Rating: T
Warning(s): injuries, broken bones, vomit, vehicular crash
Wordcount: 1150
Summary: Decimus isn’t ready to die, but he’s especially not ready to die on a stupid scouting mission to a stupid alien colony. [set during the First Contact War; probably not canon-compliant but idgaf]
No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO
Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia
Title: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger (and what does makes you scarred forever)
Fandom: Mass Effect
Character(s): Female Shepard, Edi, Tali’Zorah, Garrus Vakarian
Rating: T
Warning(s): panic attack, open space
Wordcount: 662
Summary: Shepard isn’t afraid of getting spaced. No, really. [a closer look at the geth dreadnought mission]
No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS.
Accidents | Hunting Season | Mugged
Title: Torfan
Fandom: Mass Effect
Character(s): Female Shepard, Major Kyle
Rating: T
Warning(s): blood, guns, drugging
Wordcount: 589
Summary: How the Butcher came to be.
No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS
Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears
Title: Rest
Fandom: Mass Effect
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Female Shepard, Anderson; referenced Shepard/Vega
Rating: T
Warning(s): blood, character death
Wordcount: 1018
Summary: A father-daughter moment after they open the arms of the Citadel. [part of Alder]
No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?
On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue
Title: they found you on the floor
Fandom: Mass Effect
Character(s): Female Shepard
Rating: T
Warning(s): alcohol, vomit, underage drinking
Wordcount: 348
Summary: Like mother like daughter; Shepard deals with her trauma after Mindoir. [part of Gloria Shepard]
No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU?
Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal
Title: there’s easier ways to die
Fandom: Mass Effect
Character(s): Female Shepard, Ashley Williams
Rating: T
Warning(s): DTs, vomit mention
Wordcount: 368
Summary: Shepard takes a stand against her own demons. [part of Gloria Shepard]
No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING
Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused
Title: you crawled up on your cross
Fandom: Mass Effect
Character(s): Female Shepard, Jacob Taylor
Rating: T
Warning(s): alcohol
Wordcount: 645
Summary: Shepard gets a morale boost from a crewmate. [part of Gloria Shepard]
No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY
Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage
Title: Cornered
Fandom: Mass Effect
Character(s): Garrus, Female Shepard
Rating: T
Warning(s): broken bones
Wordcount: 1281
Summary: Garrus gets into some trouble. [part of the omega non-reaper au]
No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE
Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval
Title: Ancient History
Fandom: Mass Effect
Character(s): Female Shepard, Garrus
Rating: T
Warning(s): injuries, death, self-destructive/suicidal actions
Wordcount: 1223
Summary: Jane is an enigma and Garrus just wants to figure her out. [part of the omega non-reaper au]
No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO?
“Don’t Say Goodbye” | Abandoned | Isolation
Title: After
Fandom: Mass Effect
Character(s): Garrus, Female Shepard
Rating: T
Warning(s): injuries, death
Wordcount: 440
Summary: Jane comes for Garrus after the gangs’ assault. [part of the omega non-reaper au]
No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?
Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury
Title: Debt
Fandom: Mass Effect
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Garrus, Female Shepard, Mordin; mutual pining Shakarian
Rating: T
Warning(s): painkillers
Wordcount: 590
Summary: After the gangs’ assault, Garrus overhears something. [part of the omega non-reaper au]
Undertale
No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT
Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask
Title: Drowning
Fandom: Undertale
Character(s): Toriel, Asgore
Rating: T
Warning(s): character death, child death
Wordcount: 156
Summary: Asriel brought Chara home one last time.
[replacing no. 27] Alt 7. Found Family
Title: The Door
Fandom: Undertale
Character(s): Frisk, Papyrus, Sans
Rating: Gen
Warning(s): none
Wordcount: 357
Summary: Just a little look at what could be a meeting with Gaster
Red vs Blue
No 12. I THINK I’VE BROKEN SOMETHING
Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust
Title: Being a twin is a Hard Thing
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Character(s): South Dakota
Rating: T
Warning(s): psychological trauma
Wordcount: 281
Summary: In the days before Wash finds them, South gets… introspective. [canon compliant? taken from a wip I was never going to finish so I fleshed it out for whumptober instead]
Original Fiction
No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED
Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood
Title: please leave a message
Rating: T
Warning(s): blood
Wordcount: 537
Summary: A detective’s work is never done. Antonia deals with the news that her most famous case’s subject is on the run again. [original fiction]
No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE
Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation
Title: Secondary Location
Rating: Gen?
Warning(s): kidnapping
Wordcount: 143
Summary: Antonia wakes up on the wrong side of the city. [original fiction]
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Kindness Goes A Long Way
F!Reader x Sicheng
Genre: Post Apocalypse AU
Warning: Drugs, Cuts, Tension, Fights, Pain, Murder
Words: 2.5K
Chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Epilogue
Prompt: The end of the world is hard to accept as it is, but it’s even harder to be alone. It seems fate had brought you to Sicheng, someone who can definitely survive in the abandoned waste land that had become of Earth. You then find yourself with a group of others, and you might just have a chance at survival. The only problem is there’s something off about the group, something they’re not telling you, and it might mean the difference between life and death.
You sat quietly in a bed, whimpering when you felt a sting from your leg. Sicheng had told you to sit still while he got that tracker out of you. He was careful and precise like a surgeon, being quick about it and wrapping up the wound.
“See, all done. Wish it hadn’t hurt you but it served its purpose. It helped bring you back to me.”
He kissed your head, disposing of the tracker. Your eyes wandered over to the door, hearing voices down the hall, hearings Jungwoo’s. He was on the radio, giving the all clear to the rest of his group. It would have taken Lucas a while to learn about the radio thing, but since Sicheng had less to go through in your memories, he was quick to bring it up and make sure the others weren’t worried or suspicious about you two.
It hurt to walk a bit but Sicheng helped you, taking you into this big living room. Everyone was gathered there, going over their gear. Lucas was sitting on the couch, looking through Jungwoo’s memory files, the boy sitting next to him, staring at the floor. Sicheng sat you down, telling you to wait while he got you something to eat.
“Found it!” Lucas mumbled. “They have a whole safe haven. Big place, lots of people, it was built in the second year of the war.”
“See, and with Jungwoo, we have a way in.” YangYang said. “See how beneficial things can be when you don’t just kill people. Right Sicheng?”
“We wouldn’t even have him if not for y/n, so you’re welcome.”
“Ya, you can’t take the credit here!”
“Whatever. Either way, it’s not going to be easy to get in. They have a pretty sophisticated security system.”
“On top of that, the rest of the group knows our faces.” Ten added. “We can’t let them live, not if they’re of no use to us.”
“Then let us go to the rendez-vous point.” Kun said. “From there we can make a plan. After all, they’ll be coming to us.”
“No-”
Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on Jungwoo as he had fallen to his knees, grabbing his head. Lucas was amazed, seeing the boy try to fight him, he laughed.
“Does y/n ever do this?”
“She knows better than to try that.”
“Lucas ease up before he hurts himself.” Kun said. “Now.”
“Alright!”
Lucas lowered his hold on the other, Jungwoo taking a moment before getting his senses back. He looked around the room, and immediately wanted to punch Lucas. Of course he couldn’t, all he could do was hold his fist up, making Lucas laugh.
“You think I’d just let you have full control of yourself, you humans are strange.”
He groans and steps away, and then he sees you. His eyes go wide and he approaches you. At that time Sicheng came back in with something for you to eat, although he was quickly glaring at Jungwoo, knowing he was mostly himself again and going towards you.
“Back off!”
“Oh come on he’s not gonna do anything to your girlfriend.” Hendery said. “Leave him alone.”
“She’s not-”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Whatever.”
Sicheng set the food down on the coffee table, going over to look through his supplies. Jungwoo hugged you, but you didn’t react, merely staring blankly ahead. He stayed close, looking at you, your empty stare hurting him.
“I’m sorry… this is my fault… I couldn’t…”
Junwoo noticed that no one was really paying the two of you attention, so he slowly reached up his hand, planning to get that chip off. You quickly grabbed his hand, and he could see it in your eyes that you weren’t there, probably following some precaution Sicheng had put in place. Despite it all his actions still alerted the others. Sicheng ran over and shoved Jungwoo away.
“Think you’re so smart? That would only-”
“I was just trying to check her fever!” Jungwoo quickly spat back. “You must be some paranoid machine to make her react to anyone getting close to that chip! Like chipping your dog so you don’t lose it again.”
“Shut up! You’re just another weak human.”
“Then so is she! At least I would know how to take care of her! What would you know about human health! She’s not some mindless toy for you to use!”
“I’ve been looking after her since before you came into her life!”
“Before I rescued her from you! Fuck, you don’t even have the deceny to let her be herself! Don’t want anyone talking to her? Scared or something! Let me talk to her!”
“You humans are all the same. Pathetic creatures that-”
“Enough!” Kun yelled. “Enough, both of you. You look stupid arguing. Lucas, keep him in line, and Sicheng, let him talk to y/n.”
“No.”
“Sicheng.”
���Fine.”
Sicheng kissed your head and you slowly returned to yourself, blinking a few times as your vision cleared up. The first thing you saw was Sicheng smile, but you knew everything, so you had to admit you thought it was weird to be waking up, especially when you realized you were still in that house. When he stepped away you saw Jungwoo and he rushed over to hug you.
You were surprised, and confused over everything. He was apologizing for something but you weren’t really listening, just trying to figure what was going on. Then you noticed the chip on his head and you started feeling guilty, tears stinging your eyes. He noticed, trying to calm you down, telling you there was no reason for you to cry.
“This… this is my fault.” You sniffled. “I shouldn’t have stayed with you… after everything I remembered you should… I should have left you… for your own sake.”
“What did you do!”
Your sobs couldn’t really be hidden from them, no matter how soft and quiet they were. Sicheng was pulling Jungwoo away from you, and you snapped back to yourself. You ran over and grabbed Jungwoo, holding him tight.
“Nothing! He didn’t do anything! Sicheng-” You grabbed your head, feeling him trying to push you under. “Ah! Wait…”
“Y/n. Don’t.”
“Stop!” Jungwoo pushed Sicheng back, squaring up. “You’re hurting her!”
“Back off!”
“I’ll be good!” You fell to your knees. “Please…”
“Sicheng stop it!” Xiaojun ran over, separating the two. “You’re gonna break something if you keep pushing her like this!”
It was stupid to fight, you knew you weren’t going to win, but the thought scared you, even though you knew you’d be stupid happy in your own head. The only reason you were like this now was because of Jungwoo, you didn’t want to leave him alone, and maybe if you stayed in your own mind, Woo would too.
“Fine.”
You took in a deep breath, panting, wearily looking up at Sicheng. He helped you get back on your feet, but you winced from the pain.
“It was stupid of you to run on that leg.”
“Sorry…”
“Come on. You need to eat, and then we can get moving.”
You glanced at Jungwoo but sat back down. Sicheng sat by your side, making sure you had every bite, checking your vitals, and then helping you pack your things. Despite everything he made sure you and Woo didn’t carry any food or water so you didn’t get any ideas of running, not that it would even work out if you did try.
“Just one more thing.”
Sicheng grabbed a syringe from his bag, the contents having a faint blue glow. You couldn’t help but shy away when he approached you with that.
“Easy. It’s nothing bad.”
“What… what is that?”
“Um… well it’s kinda like medicine for you really. It’ll help your leg heal faster and work as a painkiller so you don’t hurt yourself while we’re out there.”
“Okay…”
You expected him to grab your arm but he went for your neck instead. It stung like all needles did, and you had to admit you felt a bit floaty afterwards, but it didn’t last long. With that done and everyone else packed, you headed out.
“I don’t want you to kill my friends.” Jungwoo said. “There has to be another way.”
“What!”
That was the first time you had heard something like that, and you wanted to ask questions, not liking any idea that came to mind. Sicheng pulled you close to him though, catching you off guard, which worked in his favor, making it much easier to push you into the fog.
“Nothing.”
♥♥♥♥♥
Jungwoo watched as your eyes glazed over, wanting to say something but he could already feel Lucas in his head, ready to put him under if he tried anything. So he didn’t, just followed them all out.
“You shouldn’t worry about your friends.” Ten said. “In this world, it’s really all about looking out for yourself. And there’s always a chance some of them are like you.”
“Although very unlikely.” YangYang added. “You’re safe though.”
“Thanks… I guess.”
For the most part Woo watched you, sorta swaying about in your steps, giggling and smiling whenever Sicheng looked at you. He understood why he was being dragged along, he had information, he was their ticket inside, he was the one who was putting the rest of the people he knew in danger, and yet you were there too. Sicheng so protective and firm about having you, it made him question everything, but most of all wonder, wonder if maybe these machines had emotions or whatever the equivalent was in binary.
♥♥♥♥♥
You slowly returned to your senses while you were walking, out in the open, next to Sicheng. He smiled at you, but you didn’t say anything. You looked over to see Jungwoo, he gave you a small smile, which was all you needed to know that it was him. Still, you stuck with Sicheng, not remembering leaving the house or much after eating, but knowing something bad had happened.
You eventually noticed a sort of tingle in your head. Kinda like a small headache, with no pain at all. You knew it was Sicheng, for the first time being able to feel him in your mind, not trying to make you forget, or push you into the fog, just there, probably looking through your memories. It was quiet all around, but Sicheng eventually chuckled, which is something you thought he couldn’t do.
“What?” You asked shyly. “Did one of my memories make you laugh?”
“Yeah. What this guy told you about us. A good deduction, I’ll admit that, but still wrong.”
“How?”
“Another time.”
You glanced at Woo again, wondering what that meant, but there was no point wondering anymore. It sucked to walk in silence, and Sicheng eventually noticed, doing what he did when he first had you. Just pulling up some old memories for you, make you happy and keep you distracted. Although you got scared when a drone suddenly dropped down from the sky in front of you. For some reason you hid behind Sicheng, looking over.
“Easy. You’re not going to get hurt.”
Kun walked over to the drone, apparently it had a name, Mason, that was bringing a report from home. They should have been back but were way off course and needed to report why. Mason didn’t stick around much, getting what it needed fairly quickly and going back up again. It wasn’t long after that before you reached the rendevu point.
The place was bigger than you thought, and well stocked, kinda like a bunker. Some of them went off to scout the place, make sure it was empty, and safe, you really hoped it was empty. Sicheng picked out a room for you to have as your own, since now it was a waiting game. You sat down in bed when you suddenly felt him in your head again.
“What are you doing?”
“Just checking your vitals. You seem to be back to normal, but I want to make sure you don’t get sick again.”
Eventually the boys all went off to have a private little meeting, no humans allowed, and you found Jungwoo in a little living room type area, taking a seat next to him.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I promised I’d get you here… just you and me.”
“That’s not your fault, it-”
“Don’t say it’s yours. I’ll never believe you.”
“Fine… so what happens next?”
“They wait for the rest of the group to get here… take them out, if they’re not compatible.”
“What! They can’t!”
“They already talked about this… Sicheng made you forget.”
“Of course he did… I honestly wonder how much of my life is missing these days…”
“I’m sorry. I should have done better.”
“You forget we were up against machines. They took out so many of us within the first 24 hours of their attack. I’m always on the positive side… but I’ve always known we were never gonna beat them. At this point I just want to know why.”
“Why what?”
“Why are they doing this? This planet… why do they want it? And also why they aren’t… committing genocide anymore. Surely they could have released some bioweapon to kill us all by now, but they haven’t. They’re personally hunting us down, seeing who’s compatible, but for what? What happens when they take us home?”
“No idea…”
“There you are.” Lucas came into the room. “Let’s get you up to speed with the plan.”
“Plan? What do-”
Lucas’s eyes glowed and Woo quickly fell silent. They always had the advantage when you were distracted, and this time around you saw Woo’s eyes glaze over. You wanted to say something but then Sicheng came in and grabbed your arm, taking you back to your room.
“You should get some sleep.”
“What are we to you? Some pawns? Expendable?”
“Worthy.”
You saw his eyes glow before he kissed your head, laying you down to sleep. You didn’t know the plan, you didn’t know what was going to happen with Woo and the others, but all you did know was that things were going to be different when you woke up, and you were right.
♥♥♥♥♥
“Hi there.”
You opened your eyes to see Sicheng petting your head. He always gave you that sincere smile, and sometimes you forgot he wasn’t human. You sat up, feeling well rested, having had a good nights sleep, which you always did when you were with him.
“Come on. Let’s get you some breakfast before we go.”
“Go? Where are we going?”
“To that safe haven.”
“You’re… you’re coming with?”
“Of course. Can’t let you go in alone now can we, I need to keep you safe.”
“You’re going into the safe haven… where there’s hundreds of humans… you’re going to go in there… and pretend to be… one of us?”
“I’ve always been one of you, just better.”
#wayv#nct#dong sicheng#winwin#nct winwin#wayv winwin#kim jungwoo#jungwoo#nct jungwoo#kun#ten#yangyang#xiaojun#hendery#lucas#qian kun#chittaphon leechaiyapornkul#xiao de jun#liu yangyang#wong yukhei#wong kunhang#wayv kun#wayv ten#wayv yangyang#wayv lucas#wayv xiaojun#wayv hendery#nct kun#nct ten#nct yangyang
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six
Calum came back late that night. Jason was awake by now, but he looked like he didn’t even want to be alive. He hadn’t moved from the position Calum left him in, on his back with his left leg bent awkwardly, the least painful position for his broken knee, and it still seemed pretty painful.
“How’re you feeling?” He asked, crouching down and helping him sit up.
“About as good as I can with a broken knee…” he muttered, wincing as he was moved.
“Well… I wanted to make an offer to you. It’s not as good as more painkillers or a hospital visit, but I thought you might like to talk to Lev…” the moment he said his name Jason perked up, his eyes widening.
“C-can I?!” He looked like he wanted nothing more, like Calum had just offered him the world itself.
“Well, if he answers. I have his number so…” he pulled his phone from his pocket, searching for Lev’s number. They weren’t exactly best friends, so he wasn’t sure Lev would even pick up, but he dialed it anyway, putting it on speaker and holding it out towards Jason. For a while he thought Lev wasn’t even going to answer, but finally, he picked up.
“What the fuck do you want?” He snapped, clearly expecting to hear from Calum. Instead though, Jason was overcome with joy.
“Lev! Oh my god Lev it’s me!” He cried. “I- I’ve missed you so, so much!”
“What? Jason?” Lev sounded shocked, and something just felt… off, to Calum. He’d seen people react to their missing loved ones, he’d seen full on break downs, panic attacks, frantic sobbing, but Lev just seemed, well, off.
“Yes! I’m okay, I mean… I’m mostly okay! I’ll be fine, and I’m doing my best to pay off this debt, I’m sure you had a good reason, and I can’t wait to get out and see you again!” He was rambling, his whole face lit up as he was so, so excited to speak to him again.
“Yeah babe? How much have you paid off?” He asked, and Jason looked to Calum immediately. Calum frowned, trying to do some quick math.
“I think it’s close to four thousand nine hundred now…” he told him, and Jason excitedly relayed that number to Lev. He looked like he was expecting some sort of praise, and Calum hoped that Lev could spare a good job or just something to lift his mood.
“That’s it?” The sudden coldness of his voice seemed to hit Jason hard, his face fell.
“Y-yes… I’m going to keep going though…” he said slowly.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I don’t wanna hear from you again until that money is paid, understand?”
“Huh…? But… Lev, I-“
“What? You said you were doing your best right? This should be done in no time.” He said bluntly. “After all, you want to come home, right?”
“Of course!” Jason said quickly. “I- I thought you’d be happy to hear from me…” he sounded awfully dejected, and Calum was incredibly uncomfortable to be sitting in on their relationship problems like this.
“I’ll be a lot happier when you’ve paid off the debt in full.”
“I-it will be!” He said quickly. “I promise, I’m doing everything I can!”
“I figured you would be. I always knew you’d be good for this.” He laughed, and Calum swore he could see Jason’s heart breaking.
“You… you what…?” He asked softly.
“I knew you would do whatever it took to get out. And I know you sure don’t want me there.” He said, as if challenging Jason to say otherwise. “There’s a reason I told them to take you baby, and it wasn’t just because you’re my boyfriend.” Jason didn’t respond to this, he went dead silent until Lev started asking if he was still there. He sounded more irritated than concerned. Finally, Calum took it upon himself to end the call.
Jason stared silently at his hands, and Calum didn’t even know what to say. He felt his heart sink though, seeing how devastated Jason was. Maybe it was the guilt that had been killing him the last few days, or maybe it was that he knew that betrayal all too well, told he was left here to suffer for someone else’s crimes and that person didn’t even care. He felt awful for him, and after some time Jason spoke up.
“He knew, huh…?”
“Yeah…”
“And he… he doesn’t care, does he? This is… what he wanted, right…?”
“It seems like it…” Calum hesitated, before carefully and awkwardly putting an arm around his shoulders.
“He doesn’t… he doesn’t care…” he sniffled. “He doesn’t miss me… he’s not worried… he doesn’t love me, does he?” He looked up at Calum, tears filling his eyes and his lip trembling. He vaguely reminded Calum of a kicked puppy, and he had to glance away from him.
“No, I don’t think he does.” He sighed.
“I did all this thinking he was worried sick about me… I thought he’d be so glad to hear my voice, just like I was to hear his… I didn’t care what happened to me because I knew I’d get out, and he’d take care of me, because he loves me… or, I thought he loved me…”
“Has he always been like… that?” Calum made a face. Jason slowly shook his head.
“No, never… He was so sweet and kind… he was all I really had and he… He doesn’t really want me… if he did he wouldn’t have acted like that…” he leaned into Calum, wincing as he did so.
“He wants you to take his place… it happens all the time.” He told him. “You were so stupidly in love with him though, I didn’t think that would be the case.”
“I was stupid huh?” He laughed dryly. “I really thought that maybe, for once, someone cared about me.” His voice cracked and Calum knew he had to get out of there. He started to pull away from him, he’d been there too long already and was risking a lot, but when Jason looked at him and softly said, “please, don’t go yet…” he found himself sitting right back down, pulling the smaller man into his arms.
Jason had only been there for five days. Five days and he had broken Calum completely, he had gotten kindness and mercy out of a man trained against those. A man who knew nothing about comforting others and being gentle, was holding a sobbing boy in his arms, carefully stroking his hair and hoping he’d calm down and be alright. A man who would be harshly punished for this but seemed to have decided that it was worth it.
He couldn’t justify this though, this wasn’t necessary to keep Jason alive, and if he took too long he was going to pay severely for this. He waited till his sobs had quieted into soft sniffles, before finally getting up.
“I have to get going now, okay?” He said softly, and Jason slowly nodded. “I’ll be back in the morning, just… try not to think about it too much, okay?” He didn’t know what kind of advice that was, but it kept him sane in this situation so he figured it could work for Jason, who seemed to think otherwise as he gave him a look. He didn’t look interested in saying another word to him, focusing instead on trying to get comfortable while Calum hurried to leave the room, praying that this little incident wouldn’t be found out about.
#whump#my writing#my oc's#Jason#Calum#some Lev#emotional whump#betrayal#kind of i guess#this was gonna be longer but it would get too long if i didn't split it up
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Another chubby!1d drabble request that I got on Twitter the other day. I thought this prompt was really cute so I wanted to give it a whirl
This is all cute fluff but does contain weight gain talk/insecurity so if is triggering to you in any way pleased be advised. Enjoy! xx
--
Louis got home early from his latest shoot with a pharmacy bag and an iced coffee in hand and a screaming boyfriend upstairs.
His photos hoot had been pretty decent, and not too long. It was just a few supplementary shots for an ad campaign he had done last month, which meant he just had to take his clothes off and pose with a bottle of cologne and he could go home. He was still tired, hence the coffee, and he had a headache and a sore neck, hence the bag of painkillers and the box of Icy Hot patches in the shopping bag. But he didn’t know if he had a solution to what was happening on the second floor.
“Louis!” he heard Harry shout above his head as soon as he closed the front door behind him.
“Yeah, babe?” Louis called back, his head already making him wince.
“Come here,” Harry called, “Come here right now.”
Louis sighed as he toed off his shoes and tossed his keys into the bowl by the door. He trudged upstairs, trying to roll his neck as he walked.
“Jesus Christ, are you dying up there?” he asked, and he got a weak, strangled noise from Harry in response.
When he got to their bedroom Louis tossed his bag on their bed and then set his coffee on his bedside table before he proceeded to their en suite. Once he was inside, he saw Harry was standing in the middle of the room in just his boxers, his feet pressed on their bathroom scale.
“Louis,” Harry said, “Why didn’t you tell me I’m getting fat?”
Louis just blinked at him, his mind already moving.
The whole time Louis had known Harry, he had been entirely immersed in football. He had just started professionally when Louis met him, and in the three years since then, he had constantly in the gym or in practice. He’d always been in good shape, his body slim and hard with muscle that he liked to show off constantly.
But then he’d broken his leg a few months earlier and all of that had stopped. Harry had spent most of the last few months on the couch or hobbling to the TV on his various sets of crutches. He also insisted on keeping to the strict meal plan he had kept for the last decade. It consisted of five big meals that he had burned right through when he was eight hours of practice a day, but now he only got up to get from room to room.
So Louis had noticed Harry was putting on weight, but he wasn’t really sure Harry had noticed. He was always in old t-shirts and pajama pants and Louis had to help him with most things, including taking showers and getting dressed, and he wasn’t really looking at himself a lot.
He definitely had a belly now, his chest was softer, and he had a full crease under his chin. Louis honestly really liked it – maybe Harry just carried the weight really well, his bigger belly and chest finally matching his broad shoulders. And he was so warm all the time, and comfortable to cuddle up to in bed.
And so yeah, maybe Louis hadn’t wanted Harry to catch on to his own weight gain, because Louis thought he looked hot and he knew Harry would have a meltdown.
Like what was currently happening.
“Um,” Louis said, laughing weakly “Was I supposed to tell you?”
“Louis, this isn’t funny!” Harry snapped, grabbing his belly, “I gained thirty fucking pounds, Louis, how could you not tell me?”
“Okay, calm down,” Louis sighed, taking another step into the bathroom, “It’s not the end of the world, you know.”
“Not the end of the world?” Harry asked, his eyes wide, “I have training in two months.”
“Yeah, and your leg is nearly healed, so you can go back to the gym soon,” Louis said. He stood next to Harry and carefully took his boyfriend’s hand, “Harry, honey, get off the scale, please.”
Harry gave him a pained look and then, slowly, climbed off the scale.
“Okay, good, now sit down,” Louis said, tapping his fingertips on the toilet seat, “You still have a banged up up foot, it’s bad to put weight on it.”
“Weight,” Harry muttered weakly, and then hiccupped as he sat down. His belly creased when he did so and Louis tried not to look at it for too long.
“Hey, hey, you’re alright,” Louis cooed. He squatted down, putting a hand on Harry’s knee. His boyfriend just gave him a withering look, so Louis kept pushing.
“First of all, gaining weight is not the worst thing that can happen to anyone. I’m pretty sure that’s just part of being alive,” Louis said, “Second of all…”
He paused, licking his lips. He was trying to look into Harry’s eyes, but his eyes kept moving down to the soft crease of skin under his chin, and, god, fuck, Louis really just needed to get it out.
“Babe…” Louis said slowly, “Babe, you look good. Like, really good.”
Harry blinked at him blankly, a frown camping out on his lips.
“No, I – “ he said, before Louis pressed a finger to his lips.
“You look really, really good,” Louis repeated, “Let me reiterate that: I like that you look like this.”
He pushed his hands forward, setting them on Harry’s midsection. The other man grunted weakly and then just stared down at Louis’s hands rubbing over his stomach. It took another moment but eventually he set his hands overtop of Louis’s and looked into his eyes.
“You…like this?”
“I do,” Louis nodded, “Like, I could give you some sappy shit about how you’re more fun to cuddle now, which you are, but you’re also really fucking sexy, Haz.”
He smoothed his hands over Harry’s body again, this time to grab his sides. Harry had always had curvy, fleshy hips that he was a bit insecure about, and they had gotten bigger, with a proper roll over top of them now. Louis licked his lips as he felt it, and Harry just stared at him again.
“You did not just lick your lips at me,” he said.
“I sure did,” Louis said, still looking at Harry’s sides, “God, baby, stand up.”
Harry gave him another look but then stood. Louis got up too, his knees protesting a bit as he stood up after squatting for so long. Once he was up, he set his hands firmly on Harry’s shoulders and smoothed them up to his face. He ran his thumbs over his boyfriend’s filled-out cheeks, and then pushed himself forward and kissed him firmly. Harry grunted in surprise but then kissed him back, his arms moving to wrap around Louis. He tried to lift Louis up a bit, the other man’s feet lifting off the floor, and Louis squeaked.
“No, no,” Louis said, “You’re gonna fuck up your foot. Bed.”
Harry set him down with a weak laugh, and Louis grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the bedroom. As soon as Harry settled himself on the bed, Louis jumped into his lap, knocking Harry onto his back.
“Jesus Christ, Louis, are you trying to break my back next?” he wheezed, but Louis was already busying himself with squeezing his boyfriend’s rounded belly and thick hips.
“Again, I love you so much, and I will love you no matter what, and I have full faith in you to get back to training and get back to your playing weight if that’s what you want, but God…” Louis breathed out and squeezed Harry’s stomach in both hands, making his boyfriend cough weakly, “You’re so hot.”
Harry just shook his head.
“Can’t believe you like this,” Harry said.
“Yeah, well, I can’t believe you didn’t get chubby before this, imagine how much better our sex life could’ve been all these years,” Louis said, patting Harry’s sides. He kissed him again, and then pulled away and furrowed his brows, “Babe, are you still upset about this?”
“I mean…” Harry said. He sat up a bit, moving his hand down to grab at his stomach, “It’s different but, um.”
He shook his head, then looked up at Louis.
“I think if you like it, I can learn to live with it for a little while.”
Louis grabbed his face again, pushing Harry back onto his back fully as he kissed him.
“God, I love you so much,” Louis sighed, “Gonna ride you into fucking oblivion in a minute.”
Harry laughed, his stomach bouncing up and knocking into Louis’s as he did, and Louis whined.
“Seriously, bring this back after you retire,” Louis said, squeezing Harry’s hips again, “I could maybe hook you up with someone at the agency. Plus size division or something.”
Harry chuckled again, grabbing the back of Louis’s neck to pull him forward into a kiss again.
“That’s long term, baby,” he said, “I’m more concerned with you making good on that ‘riding me into oblivion’ promise.”
Louis pulled back a bit, looking at his boyfriend with his round, full cheeks and his double chin, his skin already getting hot again.
“Yeah,” Louis nodded, already moving to Harry’s waistband, “Yeah, I can do that.”
35 notes
·
View notes
Text
Backstage of the Universe - final chapter!
A chapter of just fluffy fluff!! Lots of cuddles, and Mona turns into a duckling ^_^ Thank you guys for supporting this, I hope you enjoyed it! Especially @flightinflame who should be basically listed as co-creator because she came up with so many of the plot points and cheered me on endlessly <3!!
Read from the beginning on Ao3 if you like ^_^
“Would you have let him do it?” Raven asked softly. “If it hadn’t, well…” she gestured at Charles, lying still between them. “Would you have felt differently?”
She and Erik sat across from each other, holding a vigil over Charles’ still form. Hank and Wakti had both checked him over and assured them that he was simply exhausted, but Erik couldn’t leave his side. He kept remembering Charles’ face as the power tore him apart, the way the strange patterns in his eyes had seemed to tear, rend themselves apart and colour his whole eye black.
He was quiet for a long time. Raven shifted in her seat, but held her tongue.
“No,” he said at last. “I wouldn’t.”
“He could have taken away so much bad from the world. People like--”
“Don’t,” Erik said sharply.
“Sorry,” she murmured, her head dropping. She leaned forward and took Charles’ hand, and he knew she’d leave it there if he didn’t say any more, respecting his privacy in this.
Erik cleared his throat. “It’s got to be free will,” he said. “I’m not naive, you know that. I don’t believe in the inherent goodness of people. But I also don’t…” He took a deep breath and rubbed his face. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he said, frustrated. “It just doesn’t count if people don’t choose to do the right thing by themselves.”
“There’d be a lot less pain if people were forced to do the right thing, though,” she said wryly.
He snorted. “Yes, because they would all be Charles. Everyone in the world would be Charles Xavier. Does that seem right to you?”
She frowned down at her hands.
“This world is cruel and fucked up, because some people see no consequences for acting horribly. But it is our world. We have the freedom to choose. That’s what happens. If Charles were to take away our free will, it would be a different world, one occupied only by a single man’s mind, making puppets of us all. And I love Charles. I…” He swallowed and clenched his hands into fists. “I love him more than anything else. But he’s not God, and he shouldn’t have to be.”
Raven looked up at him, her amber eyes soft and shimmering in the low light. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Yeah, I see what you mean.” She smiled suddenly. “Charles always did think he knew best, it was only a matter of time before he started playing God, really.”
Erik didn’t smile back, choosing to watch Charles’ face as he frowned in his sleep.
“So what now?” Raven asked. “I suppose we just go on as we always have.”
“The children won’t be getting any more impulses from the Universe. Not until they’re adults in any case, which I appreciate isn’t that long for Martin. I suppose Charles will want to restart the school. And the world will go on pretty much as it was, with people choosing good and evil as they always have.” He gave her a sharp grin. “Although certain people might find their hearts aren’t as strong as they were. The Universe said something about Charles holding their lives in his hand for long enough that it affected their bodies.”
Raven snorted and shook her head. “Only my brother would try to take over the world to make people be nice to each other.” She stood and stretched. “I’m going to turn in. I’ll leave you to watch him in his sleep like a creeper.”
“Goodnight, Raven,” Erik smirked.
“‘Night, Erik.”
As the door shut behind her, Erik shifted closer to Charles’ bed, linking their fingers together, bringing his hand up to his mouth to kiss. The shadows on the wall moved slowly, and Erik seemed to slip into a dream without closing his eyes, the world turning beneath him, and the balance in his soul leaning further towards serenity, towards acceptance, than Erik had ever felt.
It might have been hours before he felt Charles’ hand tense beneath his, before his body shifted and his face contort into a grimace. “Erik?” said Charles softly, pressing his hand to his eye socket.
“Charles,” said Erik, startling out of his meditative state and reaching out to caress Charles’ cheek. “Stay still, Hank said you’d have a terrible headache when you woke up.”
He reached over to the drawers to fetch the telepath-grade painkillers - now that Charles was properly conscious and feeling pain, it was leaking out around his shields, throbbing in Erik’s temples in a ghost of what Charles must have been feeling. Erik lifted him gently, supporting his shoulders while he drank down the pills with a glass of water.
Erik smiled at him as he slumped back onto the pillows, unable to contain the sheer relief and joy at seeing Charles awake again.
“I’m sorry, my friend,” Charles said, peering at him out of one eye, the other pinched shut. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Erik kissed him on his forehead, his temples, his dry, cracked lips. “I would rather be fighting at your side and afraid, than away from you and ignorant of your pain.”
Charles closed his eyes and turned away. “I don’t know how you can even stand to be near me,” he said, the tremor in his voice poorly hidden. “I tried to… I tried to take over everything. I did take over everything. I nearly killed… so many people.”
“Yes, it’s terrible, you’re stealing my world domination role,” Erik quipped.
Charles didn’t reply. Their bond was tightly shut, or would have been if the pain of Charles’ migraine wasn’t piercing holes all over his shields. Erik could feel Charles’ shame and self-loathing seeping out of the gaps. “Charles,” he said softly, taking his hand.
Charles turned back to him, wiping the tears that escaped. “I’m so sorry, Erik.”
“Do you know what I saw, when you took over the universe?” Erik said, kissing the back of his hand. “I saw such incredible power and conviction, and all you wanted was to bring goodness to people, to take away their pain. But that’s not your job.”
Charles had given up on stemming his tears. He pressed his face to the pillow, gripping hard to Erik’s hand as though afraid he’d be taken away.
“Anyway,” Erik said, combing his fingers through Charles’ hair. “You’re needed right here. We’re back to seven children again, and although they still have their powers, they won’t be receiving instructions from the Universe until they’re adults. We also have a comatose young man who is apparently dreaming an entire world into being, and that world would like him back - Wakti Wapnasi has an idea for bringing Francis into Wendimoor where he will… what was it again? Oh, where he will ‘reign for a thousand years of peace’.”
Charles tugged Erik close enough to kiss him properly, lips parting gently around each other in the quiet of the night. “And are those the only reasons I’m needed here?” he asked.
“Fishing, are we?” Erik grinned. He stroked Charles’ cheekbone with his thumb. He bit his lip and took a leap of faith. “I think, now, that we do want the same things,” he said. “And I still want you by my side. Always.”
Charles smiled and pulled him close. “Then you’d better stay with me.”
When Erik next woke, curled up next to Charles on the narrow bed, it was to Vogel and Mona rushing into the room. “Charles! Charles, you’re awake!”
“Shhh, I am, but Erik’s… oh. Never mind,” Charles sighed, and kissed Erik’s forehead as he stretched.
Erik sat up and slipped off the bed onto the chair so Charles could shift himself upright. Mona was sitting in Charles’ lap talking at high speed about how a hole had formed right in the fabric of space and time in their living room, and dumped Bart, Vogel and Martin on the carpet at Raven’s feet.
Erik turned to see Bart standing in the doorway, her head low, kicking at the doorjamb with the toe of her shoe. His heart twinged.
Go talk to her, Charles said in his mind.
Erik looked up. Charles had two small children snuggled up against him, Dirk was just starting to look like he might be about to climb onto the bed too, and Erik smiled fondly. Are you sure you’re OK with all of them?
I think I’ll be fine, Charles said wryly. Cuddled to within an inch of my life, poor me.
Erik chuckled as Mona beckoned Dirk up onto the bed and turned into a rabbit to make space. Vogel shrieked and picked the rabbit up. “Mona, you’re so soft! I wanna put you on my head, be my hat!”
“Oh, goodness, Vogel, don’t do that, if she falls she’ll be hurt,” Charles said.
Mona simply turned into a fluffy Davy Crockett hat.
“Yes, I suppose that’s fine,” Charles sighed, and put his arm around Dirk, who’d tucked himself close against Charles’ chest.
Erik shook his head and walked over to Bart, feeling almost as awkward as she looked. “Are you OK?” he asked at last.
Bart shrugged.
“Did he hurt you?”
Bart glanced up at him, then shook her head. “He smacked Martin, though,” she mumbled. “I told him not to, but…” She shrugged again.
Erik clenched and unclenched his fists then dropped to his knee. “Bart, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was scared, but that’s no excuse - I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
“So… you don’t wanna send me away?” she asked in a very small voice.
“No, I don’t. I’m so sorry, Bart.”
She stared down at her feet, her riotous hair covering her face. “I don’t… I didn’t.” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you wouldn’t… like it. I’m sorry. I’d’a tried to fight the Universe if I’d known.”
“Bart,” he said, his voice hoarse, and reached for her hand. It was so small in his own, her fingers delicate and fine-boned, but rough with violence. They froze on the precipice for a moment, then Bart launched herself into his arms, pressing her face into the crook of his neck and trembling with the strength of all her repressed emotions. Erik hugged her tightly to him, kissing her temple. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t understand, and I’m so sorry I didn’t try harder. I’ll do better… please give me another chance?”
“I’ll always give you another chance, Mr Erik,” Bart sniffled. “You’re the best.”
Erik closed his eyes and didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t crying.
***
Raven looked up from the book she was reading to Gripps as the rest of them trooped into the kitchen. She burst into laughter.
“What?” Erik frowned. He shifted to adjust Bart, who was really just a little bit too heavy and a big bit too tall to be carried on his hip, but exceptions just had to be made sometimes.
“You two,” Raven grinned. She nudged Hank, who was cooking and reading a journal at the same time. “Look at these two actual dads and their four baby ducklings.”
Erik blinked at her. He looked down at Charles, who had Dirk and Vogel on his lap, Mona draped over his neck as a scarf - she turned into a duckling and sat on Charles’ shoulder with a little peep noise. Charles looked back up at Erik, his mind shocked into blankness.
“Awesome! Can you be our dads? Please?” Vogel begged, jumping up and down on Charles’ leg. Duckling Mona peeped indignantly and slipped onto Charles’ lap, where Dirk caught her and petted her head gently.
Charles lips twitched, and that was it for Erik. He burst out laughing, barely able to hold Bart on his hip. She grinned and slipped down to stand as Erik leant on Charles’ old wheelchair, still slightly hysterical.
“Calm down, Daddy,” Mona said, turning into a child again and patting his back.
Erik picked her up and spun her around so she shrieked. “Oh, Daddy, is it? And what are you going to call Charles, then?”
“Dad! Dad! Dad!” Vogel yelped.
Charles rolled his eyes and grabbed him to hold him still, but Erik could see the blush forming across his cheeks as he glanced up at Erik. “I suppose you’re going to have to stick around for the long term, then.”
Erik bent down and kissed Charles softly. “That was the general idea.”
“What happened to ‘peace was never an option’?”
Erik smiled and brushed his thumb along Charles’ cheekbone. “You have a habit of changing my plans, Charles.”
Charles smiled and leaned his forehead against Erik’s, and through their bond he felt the warm, soft glow of love, spreading out across their family. Three teenage boys, two eight-year-olds, a five year old shapeshifter and a five year old chaos monger. A blue furry uncle, a blue scaly aunt, and two idiot men who’d taken over a decade to admit that their love for each other was strong enough to keep them together through anything that the universe could throw at them.
Tagging everyone who interacted with last chapter - thank you so much!! @fullmetalcarer, @akasanata, @bbareilles, @misti0usly, @galaxyrise489, @butterflywithwritersblock <3
#Lyn's Writing#Backstage of the Universe#cherik#Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency#fluff#it's so fluffy i'm gonna die!
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hold On (Dirt!Tommy Lee x Reader)
Requested:
@the--blackdahlia
Description:
I'm craving some Tommy goodness/angst
Warnings:
Accidental overdose, angst, fluff, GET THE TISSUES READY
THE SONG THIS IS LOOSELY BASED ON:
Hold On
REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!!
COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ON A TAGLIST! OR GO TO MY BIO TO ADD YOURSELF TO ONE!
//
(Your P.O.V)
"FUCK YOU!" You scream at Tommy. You storm into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.
"YOU CAN'T JUST FUCKING STAY IN THERE, (Y/N)! QUIT ACTING LIKE SUCH A BITCH!" Tommy yells through the door.
Tears stream down your face. You knew it was a mistake to confront him about the rumors you'd heard. He got mad because you don't fully trust him. But how can you? He's a rockstar. Chicks want to fuck him left and right. And Tommy can't refuse any of them.
You sit on the floor with your back pressed against the door. You pull your knees up, resting your head on them.
You can't hear anything, so you're guessing Tommy fucked off. Half of you is happy. You're glad the cheating fuck left. The other half is hurt. You want him to fight for your relationship. You guess that's not going to happen.
After an hour or so passes, you finally stop crying. You feel tired and have a splitting headache. You need some aspirin.
You pull yourself up off of the dirty bathroom floor by grabbing onto the also dirty sink. God you need to clean this place up. You pull open the mirror which reveals a cabinet. Multiple pill bottles litter the cabinet. You have no idea what's in most of them. Tommy's the pill popper. Not you. You stick to weed and blow every once in a while.
You finally find the painkillers. You take out four, feeling the headache get worse. You pop them in your mouth and swallow them dry.
You feel your headache go away instantly.
Huh, that's different that normal. You think to yourself.
That's when you feel your body start to go rigid. You feel your heartbeat pick up and you're having trouble breathing. You finally lose your footing. You collapse to the ground, instantly losing consciousness.
------
(Tommy's P.O.V)
I pull another beer out of the fridge. I pop the top open, just wanting to calm down. I've only had two beers so far, and I have a pretty high tolerance. I really don't want to be drunk when I go talk to (Y/N) drunk. That will only make shit worse.
I knew I shouldn't have gave in to that one girl. Now (Y/N) is going to leave me. I love her so much. I fucked up big time, and I don't see a way out of it this time.
I hear a loud thump coming from upstairs. I run up the steps, feeling like something is wrong. Of course, I could just be on edge from the fight.
I pound on the bathroom door. "(Y/N)? You alright." No answer. I feel bile rise in my throat. Even if we're fighting, she'll let me know she's alright. "(Y/N) OPEN THIS GODDAMN DOOR! CAN YOU HEAR ME?"
Still no answer. My heart speeds up. What the hell is wrong? I do the only thing I can think of since the door is locked. I kick it as hard as I can. The door flies open, revealing an unconscious (Y/N).
"Oh my God!" I yell, not sure what to do.
Call 911 dumb ass, My thoughts say.
I run to the phone we have in our room. I quickly dial the three numbers.
"911, what's your emergency?" The operator says calmly.
"M-My girlfriend is unconscious on the bathroom floor. I-I don't know what happened," I try to explain. My eyes stay locked on my almost dead looking girlfriend.
"What's your address, sir?"
I quickly gave her the address. "AND HURRY THE FUCK UP!"
"Sir, please try keep calm," The woman says. "Can you see if she maybe took something that made her pass out?"
I look at the counter, instantly finding the ecstasy I put in the aspirin bottle opened.
She took my ecstasy. That took a few moments to register in my head. SHE FUCKING OVERDOSED ON ECSTASY!
"S-She overdosed," I stutter.
Just then there's a knock at the front door. I look out the window and see the flashing red and blue lights. I hang up the phone.
I run down the stairs, throwing open the door. I lead the paramedics up to the bathroom where (Y/N) still lies.
I'm scared to touch her. I caused this. If I hadn't have gotten mad. If I hadn't have started yelling at her, she wouldn't have needed to take aspirin. I know she was crying hard enough to give herself a headache.
The paramedics take her out to the ambulance. I follow them in my car.
I don't even register what's going on around me, or even what I'm doing. My mind is on (Y/N). How lifeless she looked. Her beautiful (H/C) hair was tangled. Her skin looked so pale. Paler than normal.
Hours pass as I sit in the hospital waiting room. I'm guessing sometime during these hours I called the boys. Or maybe (Y/N) still has Nikki down as her emergency contact. They were best friends before we got together. Nikki wasn't happy with me there for a while, but once he saw how happy she is-was with me, he calmed down.
Nikki rubs my back, but I barely feel it. I feel numb. The woman I love is dying right now because of my stupidity.
At that thought, the tears start to fall. I don't bother to hold them back. What's the point? My love isn't beside me. I don't need to act strong.
I need her.
I feel Nikki, Vince, and Mick all surround me. They try to comfort me the best they can, but I don't even hear what they're saying.
"Family of (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?" A man in a doctor's uniform says.
I stand up with the boys behind me. They consider themselves her family. In a way, we're a weird little family. We've been through hell and back together.
"That's us," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Will she be alright?"
"She'll be fine," He says, smiling reassuringly. I nearly fall back into my chair from relief. "We were able to pump the drugs out of her system before it got too serious. She's still asleep, but she should wake up soon. You all can go in."
He bids us goodbye, then walks down the hallway. The four of us misfits walk into the small room. My heart falls at how helpless (Y/N) looks hooked up to those machines.
She still manages to look gorgeous, though.
Nikki pulls up a chair next to the bed. He grabs her hand. They dated a year before we got together. I'm not going to lie when I say I sometimes suspect they still have feelings for each other. . .then again you can't exactly let go of your first love, now can you? Especially when you stay best friends with them.
"What did she overdose on?" Nikki growls.
Oh fuck. I forgot to tell him. He's going to murder me.
"Ecstasy," I say, feeling ashamed. "It's all my fault. She was upset about our fight and gave herself a headache. I was keeping the ecstasy in an aspirin bottle." The tears are coming back. "I shouldn't have gotten so mad at her. This is all my goddamn fault."
Nikki stands up. His chest is heaving up and down. I deserve it if he kills me. I'll take it without a fight.
"YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT IT'S YOUR FAULT! HOW COULD YOU JUST KEEP THAT IN THE HOUSE WITHOUT TELLING HER WHAT BOTTLE IT'S IN?!"
"Alright, that's enough, buddy," Vince says, taking Nikki's arm.
"I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU, LEE!" Nikki yells as Vince and Mick drag him out of the room.
"We'll give you kids some time alone," Mick says, shutting the door behind him.
I sit down in the chair Nikki was just in. I grab her hand, rubbing the back of it.
"Baby, please come back to me," I whisper, fresh tears making an appearance. I haven't cried this much. Ever. "I want you so bad. I still need you. I love you so goddamn much. You're my everything, you know that? I'm sorry I'm such a twat. I'll love you better. I promise you that." I lean my head down and kiss the back of her hand.
"You better not fuck that promise up," (Y/N) says suddenly.
My head snaps up. My eyes are met with the most beautiful ones in the world.
"Oh, baby," I say, getting up and hugging her softly. "I'm so sorry, love. I didn't know you'd try to take those pills. I thought you only used the ones on your bedside table or else I would have told you."
She smiles the best she can, trying not to wince. I know her throat hurts. They probably stuck that tube down her throat to get the ecstasy out.
"I couldn't exactly go out of the bathroom, now could I?" She teases, her voice scratchy.
"I'm so sorry."
She shakes her head, cupping my cheek with her hand. "It's alright, Tom."
"No it's not. I shouldn't-."
I'm cut off by her pulling my head down to kiss my lips. I kiss her back, so happy to feel her against me. Alive and breathing. Not dead and gone like I thought she was not even thirty minutes before.
"It's okay, Thomas. If you want to make it up to me, show me how much you love me. Be loyal for once," She says. The hurt is evident in her eyes.
I caused that pain. I hurt the sweetest girl in the world. What the hell is wrong with me.
"I can do that," I say, kissing her again. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, asshole."
Tags:
All fics: @the--blackdahlia @sugar-content @sharon6713 @siliwanoel @charlyallise
Dirt!Tommy: @2dead2function @horrorpxnk
#motley crue#classic rock#rock#rocknroll#rock music#rockband#dirt!tommy lee x reader#dirt!tommy lee#dirt!tommy#dirt!tommy x reader#colson baker#machine gun kelly
58 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
