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carcarcraziiv2 · 5 months

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Hello!! Just found your blog recently and your bf scenarios of heartsteel members were endearing to read!! Id like to request a scenario of f reader was a childhood friend of kayn and reader always been tbere for him even if he got kicked out of the band multiple times, reader will always support him because hes number 1 in her heart , there can be angst n fluff or whichever, take your time and thank you!!

Thanks so much for your request! I am WAY excited about getting one haha!

This prompt is simply great. I LOVE the idea of Kayn having a ride or die from childhood! Here it goes!

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TW- Fluff, angst, kissing, suggestive themes kinda???. Enter at your own risk!

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You had always admired Kayn.

Even when he is hot headed, when he lacks in confidence, you were, and always will be, there.

It all started when the two of you were in grade school. Kayn was often getting into little tiffs on the playground, and you made it a personal challenge to engage with him and try to make him a little happier.

"Hey, Kayn, right? It's good to meetcha. I was wondering if you wanted to play tag with me?" You had said, twiddling your thumbs and smiling shyly at him.

The little boy glared at you for a moment. Right as you were about to lose hope and turn away, it appeared something had switched in his brain.

"Sure, but no cheating!"

From that day forward, the two of you were like peas in a pod. Kayn was everchanging, as were you.

Eventually, Kayn developed some kind of alter ego he called Rhaast. You didn't really understand it. All you knew was that when he switched, someone was going to get hurt or something was going to happen.

Kayn was never really a sensitive or open person in a traditional sense. The two of you had off and on flings throughout middle and high school, until Kayn got into the band and party scene. You never gave up on your friendship, though.

There had been a few bands before the most recent. You went to all of their shows, accompanied him when he went to his little (mostly unsuccessful) meet and greets.

He was always so protective of you. If there was ever someone who was coming onto you or making you feel uncomfortable at a show, he would literally get off stage in the middle of a set and teach the person a lesson. You couldn't help but admire the way his dark pink hair brushed across his face as he prowled over to you to face the culprit. It made you blush, thinking of how he handled these situations.

One day, after a busy day at work, you got home to see Kayn sitting on the couch at your apartment looking wholly defeated.

"Oh, I wasn't expecting to see you here," you had said, your brow furrowed as you approached him. "Whatcha up to?"

"I don't want to talk," was all he said as you sat next to him. It was hard to accept that as an answer, so you pushed him just enough to get a reason.

"Well, you're sitting on my couch looking really upset. What happened?"

"I said I don't want to-," he looked at you swiftly, his nostrils flared and eyes angry. You knew Rhaast was close to the surface, but you held strong because you knew Kayn liked it when you stood up for yourself, even to him. He sighed when he saw the determined look in your eye. "Fine, I got kicked out of the band."

"Oh!" You exclaimed, shocked because it seemed like everything had been going really well for him and who you thought were his friends. They had done a couple shows, mostly just hanging out and jamming together. "What happened, Shadow?" He sighed again, a tad bit more dramatically, when you used his nickname. You had called him that ever since middle school when you would find him sulking in dark places like a weirdo.

"Well, apparently the guys don't like pranks. It was out of character for me to pull one, sure, but I didn't think a little 'poop on fire at your door' gag would piss them off so much. Whatever, I don't need them."

You tried and failed to hold back a laugh at his admitted fault. He looked back at you with his mismatched eyes and his lips quirked upward ever so slightly.

"Oh, Kayn, I'm so sorry. I don't mean to laugh but that is honestly really funny! I thought you all were chill; I'm surprised a stupid prank like that got them so riled up." Without realizing it, you reached up to adjust a piece of his hair that had fallen in front of his eyes while you let out another soft chuckle. You quickly snatched your hand away, mouth closing and eyes widening.

Kayn looked at you with a shocked expression for a moment, before he did something that made your heart race just like all the times previously when you two had dated. He leaned in and kissed you gently on the lips.

"Thank you, Y/N, for making me realize how funny I truly am," he smirked, clearly trying to adjust the topic from the kiss that had just happened.

That day, things had been different between the two of you. You weren't sure if it was because it was the first time the two of you had kissed in your adulthood, or if it was because you realized he chose your place to go to when he was feeling down.

It made you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Your usual hangouts had turned into you stumbling over your words, blushing when he did anything remotely attractive, and overall, just a little more awkward.

It didn't take long for Kayn to find a new band, after that. You were excited to meet all of his new bandmates; Ezreal, Sett, Aphelios, Yone, and K'Sante. They were all sweethearts, and you couldn't help but think that this might be the band.

They named their band Heartsteel, and you were awestruck at how popular they became and how quickly. With that, of course, came consequences.

Every show, event, even just strolling through stores together, there were paparazzi and fans jumping all over Kayn. Inevitably, this drove a wedge between the two of you. He became so busy all of the time, and it was hard to find a moment for the two of you to see each other.

Back to present, you are working your usual nine to five office job. It's boring, but it pays the bills. You get to see all the fancy magazine articles and covers that Kayn and his band are in. You get to hear all of the stupid annoying girls at your office giggle and talk about how hot they all are.

You huff when one of them walks by your desk, joking about how she'd "do anything to get into Kayn's bed".

I bet you would. You thought. Unbeknownst to her, you had been in Kayn's bed, more than once in fact. Never daring to say anything about your relation to him in fear of being shut down or gaining too much attention, you just did your best to ignore it all.

The day was finally reaching its end when your phone vibrated in your purse. You opened it to see a text from Yone.

Hey, Y/N. It's Yone.

Oh, hey Yone. What's up?

Kayn is having some sort of... well, he's really upset right now, and he just keeps asking to see you. He doesn't sound like himself. Can I come get you and bring you over here?

You raise a brow at the message on your screen. It had been at least a month since the last time the two of you had spoken, as it was like pulling teeth to get Kayn to answer a text or a phone call in the first place, let alone now.

Don't worry about picking me up, I'll head over there now.

You quickly gathered your belongings and let your boss know you were heading out ten minutes early. Bidding your farewells, you left the building and climbed into your car. You took your heels off, adjusting your skirt so that your ass didn't stick to the leather as you flung your purse into the passenger seat.

A million thoughts raced through your mind, but one thing you were certain of. When you got there, that wasn't going to be Kayn.

It was going to be Rhaast.

The drive was about an hour, and when you pulled through the iron gates after inputting your code, Yone and Aphelios were waiting outside looking at their phones.

You put your car in park, put your shoes back on and quickly got out and speed-walked up to them.

"Hey guys, sorry it took me so lo-."

"No time for small talk, let's go," Yone all but dragged you through the door of the house they shared, leading you down a long hallway to the small practice and recording studio they put in. He didn't release your elbow until the two of you were standing right in front of the door, and he turned to look at you.

"I hate to say it but, be careful. He's acting a little...," Yone trailed off, as if trying to find a way to describe it.

"Manic? Crazy? Off the rails? Yeah, don't worry, I got this," You smiled politely at him, pushing him softly out of the way and opening the door to the room.

Contrary to your feigned confidence, your heart was beating out of your chest. What you saw when you entered had it racing even more.

Kayn was standing against the wall with no shirt, his arms crossed, smoking a cigarette. When he looked up and caught your gaze, his mouth turned up in a devilish grin. You hadn't realized it, but your mouth was dangling open as you ogled him.

His hair was damp from sweat, his muscles rigid as he stared back at you.

"Y/N, finally, you're here!" He greeted you, pushing himself off the wall and walking your direction after pinching the cherry off his smoke. Contrary to what you were thinking was going to happen, he walked past you and shut the door.

You blinked in shock when you heard the click of a lock.

"What's going on, Kayn?" your voice trembled as you asked, but you squared your shoulders and raised your chin none the less.

"Tsk tsk tsk, is that how you greet your best friend?" He murmurs, coming up behind you and wrapping his large arms around you. "I've missed you, Y/N."

You shuddered in his grasp before looking around the room with a sigh. "Is that why you trashed the studio? Because you missed me?"

He nuzzled his face into your neck and breathed in deeply, causing goosebumps to raise all over.

"Yes," he stated plainly. You weren't even surprised in his nonchalance about it. "Everything has been so overwhelming, lately. It doesn't take much for me to snap anymore, but when I see you all of those problems seem to melt away...". You were surprised, however, at how open he was being as soon as you got there. Kayn was never one to open up without a fight first. Perhaps the fight had already happened within himself.

You turned around in his arms to face him, looking up at him with a weak smile.

"I've missed you too, Shadow. I've got to admit, I don't like all the attention you're getting from girls either," you sigh. The vulnerability he approached you with must have been rubbing off. You didn't mind though. It was time for you to tell him how you really feel. "Kayn, I- I want to be-".

"Can you just be mine, already?" He interrupts, his eyes locked to yours. "I want you. I want every part of you. Nothing... Nothing feels right when you're not with me. The girls, the shows, none of it. So can you please please be mine?"

"I always have been, Shadow. And I always will be," leaning up, you place a kiss on his mouth. Retreating, you only get a moment before he slams his lips back onto your own, and you let out a little moan in acceptance.

"Always." He growls against your lips, and you know for once in all the time you've been his number one fan, that this time is forever.

The end :3

I kind of just went with the flow on this one. Hope you enjoyed!

#Heartsteel Kayn x Reader #Heartsteel Kayn #Heartsteel x Reader #League of Legends Fanfic #Kayn x Reader #Kayn Fanfic

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nahoney22 · 13 days

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❗️ CURRENTLY CLOSED

Thank you all so much for the support and the all the follows! So in celebration, I will be opening my requests up again!

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#nahoney22 writes #thank you all so much #the bad batch #star wars #tbb #clone wars #bad batch #nahoney22 requests

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surrealistghostboy · 2 months

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I’m on vacation in a big city right now, and I’ve got this fantasy I can’t get over. Me and my friend are out and we get invited to a party by some locals. We don’t know them well but we can’t say no to a genuine local city experience. Starting off the night with some pregame, my friend takes a few shots and I’m limited to two. I’m such a lightweight, really. It’s bad. Even after two shots I’m extra giggly and excited to see everyone. So pliable.

Mixed drinks in my hands and my location on, my friend and I make our way to the appartment address we were given. It’s dingy and the walls are tagged. If I wasn’t tipsy I’d turn around right away. But I want to see our hosts again! They were so nice. My friend knocks on the door and we giggle at how loud they were being. The door is opened by a shorter guy in a beanie, maybe Mexican descent. There is music pounding and a few other people there…strangely not enough for you to call it a party. The guy at the door invites us in, offering us drinks and urging us to let loose. Women in skimpy shorts and bralette tops walk around, boys and girls finding each other to make out. The ceiling is hazy with a thick layer of smoke from all the blunts being smoked.

I’m drinking and the smoke in the air makes my head feel cloudy. I’m giggling and stumbling as I dance along to the music. Eventually I stumble my way into a guy. He’s tall with long hair, nice stubble of a beard too. He coos at me and cups my chin, telling me how I should sit down. A pretty little thing like me could get hurt with the way I was dancing. He plops down on a filthy couch in the corner, pulling me to straddle his lap. I want him to light up a joint and offer it to me. I don’t smoke much but I want to seem cool. Not that he gives me much of a choice. The man presses the joint between my lips and I inhale out of shock. We pass the joint back and forth and at some point he stops taking hits. But I’m too high to notice.

I want him to take my drink and set it aside, bouncing his knee and making me whine. He’s just moving to the music, he tells me. But his knee is way too fast to be moving to the music. I want him to turn me around to face the dingy room we’re in and spread my legs. I’m so pliant and high I can’t even fight back. My skin feels like it’s on fire everywhere he touches me. I lay my head back on his shoulder as his hands begin to travel my body. All my clothes are kinda prudish, sweaters and long pants covering my body. So he pushes my sweater up over my binder in one swoop and begins to squish and knead my hips and stomach.

“Wait, that’s embarrassing-“ I’d whine.

“Oh honey it’s about to get a lot more embarrassing…” the guy mumbles into my ear. His hands move down from my hips and to my pants, shimmying them down so I’m just in my boxers. He places a large hand in between my legs and presses down into my tdick, making me rut into his hand unintentionally. “God, you’re a whore…” he’d laugh, “I ain’t even done nothing to you yet and look at you! Grinding into some strangers hand…”

Id whine and shake my head, I’m not a whore!! It’s just all the smoke and the alcohol and just the…the atmosphere and everything. It’s making me stupid. And it feels like everyone is watching me. Watching me half naked, rubbing myself into this guy’s hand. I don’t know where my friend is anymore. I have an audience now. The guy just chuckles and slips his hands down my boxers and runs a finger up my slit. “Jesus, you’re soaked…” he takes two fingers and clamps them down on my tdick. Rubbing it between his thumb and fore finger, pinching and pulling occasionally. It’s making me yelp and jerk my body around. But the guys just pulls me back down into his lap cooing at me like I’m stupid.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok baby. Just feel it, c’Mon.” His fingers are big and rough, so much different than my own. And they don’t stop. My fingers can never keep up with my need. I always give up and use a toy. But he just doesn’t stop!! Heat pools in my stomach and shoots up my spine whenever he pinches my dick. Little gasps exit my mouth in whines and “nngh”.

“Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuuuck!!” My voice cracks in a shrill way and I feel the pad of his finger move up and down, up and down. It’s so fast but I can feel each movement is a hyper intense way. It might have been the t shot I’d taken the week before. I’m so wet too, it would be so easy to just- “ah-!” I’d squeal as he’d slip two fingers inside me. “Sorry sweetheart, those just popped in. Not my fault. You’re so wet.” He’d thrust his fingers in and tap my insides quickly. “Slutty hole just sucked my fingers right in.” His fingers don’t seem sorry. They’re pumping in and out of me, my juices occasionally squirting out into his jeans. I’m mewling and shaking and my hands are tipping anything I can find purchase on. I’ve only ever fingered myself. Even then my fingers are too small to reach anything inside me. But the stranger’s fingers are so big and they reach so deep inside- fingering feels amazing! Fuck I’d never thought I could come without someone touching my dick but this could change my mind!

“Another! Please!” I wailed out reaching down to grab his hand. My own hand fails about, I can’t decide between shoving my own fingers in as well or making him force more of his thick fingers into my boy cunt. He chuckles darkly and shoves in the rest of his fingers at once.

“Careful what you wish for, baby…”

Should I continue this?

#this has been rotting in my drafts for awhile.#ftm nsft #cnc k!nk #subspace #forced intox #suck my fingers #dom/sub #noncon cw #nsft concept #trans ns/fw #trans nsft #weed intox #fuck my face #tdick #submisive faggot #cnc free use #free use slvt #free use kink #free use toy

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obeetlebeetle · 2 years

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annabel lee / nona the ninth / @camilllahect / harrow the ninth

in response to the tags from @emotionsandphenomena on this post. using annabel lee to demonstrate connective tissue between the narrative john provides in john 20:8, the nona poem, and harrow the ninth. basis for comparison demonstrated in this post. taking all of this together supports a reading that harrow is experiencing some form of alecto’s memories, and that alecto has been cryogenically frozen

edit: ID by @lightning-in-your-teeth under the cut

[/ID: It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love—

I and my Annabel Lee—

In the dream they were sitting on the beach. He had made a fire from damp driftwood. The smoke made a black mark where it touched the tarpaulin, at the top, where it was stretched over their heads. The ash was still falling. It made them sick, but only ever for a little while. Anything that hurt them only ever hurt them for a little while.

In the dream, she was sat next to a bundle of meat he'd cut, thighs mostly, for when they felt hungry, which happened rarely and always simultaneously. When it did happen they would be side by side, eating until their stomachs were sore. They would drink from the sea like dogs.

With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsmen came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

Went envying her and me—

Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

also, interesting, the middle verses primarily align with the lyctors convincing john to kill alecto, but annabel lee dies by being "chilled" in the poem. like being put in cryo actually. and john says it's more like he "switched her off" than killed her....

also, of course, our favorite eldritch abomination locked in an icy tomb. and the rapidly dropping temperature of harrow's Canaan dream bubble.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we—

Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in Heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

In her sepulchre there by the sea—

In her tomb by the sounding sea.

In that appointed hour

I'll turn down your sheets. I'll kill the light,

Lie down beside you; die; and sleep the night.

Then there was a huge, side-to-side rocking, in the manner of an explosion, or a cradle. Her eyes closed. Lying in the tomb that had claimed her heart, faraway in a land she had never travelled, Harrowhark Nonagesimus fell asleep, or dropped dead, or both.

You held aloft the sword.

I still love y

He was quiet for a long time. The sea ate at the sand. The waves glowed a little even though there was no sunshine, only thick yellow cloud.

She prompted: So what did you do?

He said: A damned thing, didn't I.

She said: When is the part where you hurt me?

He said: Soon. It's coming up.

She said: I still love you.

And in the dream he rubbed his temple with his thumb and said: “You always say that, Harrowhark.” /end ID]

#this post is not really doing anything but i wanted to put all the pieces up on the board. thumbtacks and string etc

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menagerie-of-monsters · 2 months

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Find the Word Game

I was tagged by @i-can-even-burn-salad - thanks for the tag!

My words are: hurt, help, mercy, and voice

And I'm gonna tag, if you want to, @authoralexharvey, @clairelsonao3, @kjscottwrites, @mariahwritesstuff and an open tag.

Your words are: noise, power, under, and choice

I'm using Caught in the Basilisk's Gaze for this one, since it's coming out on Feb 29th! Plus, it takes place in the Court of Mercy (mostly), so that makes word #3 ezpz haha

Heads up, there's some mildly NSFW text under there~

Hurt

Fae didn't carry scars unless they were made by iron or had healed without magic, and he had them everywhere. His ouroboros tattoo was on top of a circular scar that wrapped around his wrist, as if someone had bound him with steel wire.

"What did this to you?" I asked, horror tingeing the words. "Who did this to you?"

Vaduin turned his wrist for me, letting me examine the ring of scar tissue that ran around it. "I told you. It was after the retaking of Norsandios," he said, calm and quiet. "The Stag Army… or part of it, at least. Humans, I presume, since the debts died with them, one at a time." He sighed, then wrapped his arm around me and tugged me up against his warm side.

I let him do it, laying my head against his shoulder and wrapping my hands around his strong forearm. "That's… awful," I said, anger and horror making my skin feel cold. There wasn't even anyone to be mad at anymore. Eighty years was a long time. All the people who'd hurt him were dead.

How did a person even deal with that? Outliving everyone who hurt you, and having to remember them forever?

Help

"While a little trepidation when being faced with my cocks is flattering, I have no interest in having sex with a woman who's shaking in terror at the thought." His warm thumbs ran in slow circles against my palms, a soothing touch. "If you're afraid of me or horrified by having sex with me, I'd rather try… being blindfolded," he said, shuddering underneath me.

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes as I tried to relax. "It would be better if we didn't have to worry about me getting paralyzed."

"If this isn't an option, we can work with the others," he said, still circling his thumbs. "I thought—" Vaduin stopped, then sighed and said, "You seemed to appreciate how we woke up. I thought that perhaps this would be easier than needing to be wary of me, and that you might… enjoy it. I wouldn't have offered it if I thought it would be a grim undertaking for you."

I tilted my head back, my panic slipping away. "It's not… it's not grim," I said, not wanting him to feel like I hated the idea. It made me nervous as hell to contemplate fucking a man I barely knew, let alone one with two dicks, but I didn't hate the idea of having sex with him. "This is definitely the best option. It's just… a lot, all at once."

He made a thoughtful sound. "Why don't you lie down?" he suggested. "Let me taste you. My venom might help, an orgasm certainly will, and you can fantasize about whatever you like instead of having to remember that it's me."

Mercy

"He killed his paramour for gelding him," I blurted out. All three pairs of eyes turned towards me; gray, black, and sea green. "It was, what, a year and a half ago? Right around when all Raven bondservants had to start carrying ID cards. There was even a whole tavern song about it. Something something, 'Mercy's wife took a knife / Cut the end right off his fife / Poor old Omahice lost his dice / But the missus lost her life'." I looked between all three of their horrified expressions, feeling more awkward by the second. "Did you not… get that one… out here?"

Vaduin looked like he was going to be sick. Ayre and Lilly didn't look much better.

"I, uh, have a good memory for words," I said, pouring myself some more tea so I could have an excuse not to meet people's eyes. The steam condensed on my fingers, making them momentarily warm before damply chill. "That's probably not what's killing him, though. Or why. Forget I said anything."

Voice

Vaduin never looked away from my face, moving with me, leading me through it and back down with slow circles of his fingers. He followed me back down to the bed, his hand cupping the back of my head as he lay me down on the pillow.

A smile touched his mouth as he brushed my hair out of my face. "I fear we've made something of a mess. Do you think the healers will mind?"

I laughed, tipping my head back and closing my eyes, the afterglow of orgasm warming me. "You made the mess," I said, my broad smile lighting my face. "I'm only co-located with it."

Vaduin's low chuckle joined mine. The laughter seemed to sweep away all the anxiety of the past weeks, everything returning to the way it should be with his musical voice in my ears.

"As the one who had her hand wrapped around one cock and her pussy around the other, might I suggest that you're equally culpable?" he said, rubbing his nose against mine. "Open those lush emerald eyes of yours again. Let me enjoy the spoils of war."

#tag game #find the word game #mallory dunlin writes #snipperdoodle #monsters of faery #caught in the basilisk's gaze

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chronicallygaming · 2 years

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Controller VS Mouse & Keyboard

One of the first things I want to talk about here is controller vs mouse and keyboard gaming. No, not console vs PC, or console-vs-console, because that’s a different post entirely. Just how one would control their game, something which can be changed on PC and various consoles (if you have the correct, separate equipment). Note: I’m not overly familiar with reprogramming keys and buttons myself, so that won’t be a large part of this review. As far as I’m aware, this can be done on any PC and most controllers, but it might depend on the console and/or game. That also requires technological knowledge that isn’t common, and so isn’t as obvious to the casual consumer, which I do think does impact accessibility in itself, since in an ideal world we shouldn’t have to learn extra steps just to be able to play games.

[id: playstation controller and mouse against an orange background, with VS written dramatically between them.] Controller(s)

Pros

Can be used from more comfortable positions, e.g. while laying down in bed.

Only really engages your fingers, so if you have issues with your arms but not your fingers its a lot less painful.

Even if your arms get tired holding up a controller, you can put a pillow or two on your lap and comfortably play while resting on said pillow(s).

If controllers work for you, you can simply plug your controller into your PC for a lot of games.

Cons

The thumb is engaged pretty much all the time, so if your thumb causes you issues you’re going to have a rough time, even while using an aid.

Some controllers are better than others, which might lead to a money issue.

If you’re trying to find out which controller works best for you the price is going to rack up, especially if you’re primary a console player.

Even if not, the controller that works best for you might be more expensive than cheaper but less accessible options.

There are controllers designed for accessibility, but they’re often incredibly expensive.

This includes the Xbox accessibility ‘controller’, which starts at $75 but also expects you to own other controllers to plug into it, which simply makes the price go higher and higher.

Mouse & Keyboard

Pros

Engages your fingers a lot less than a controller, so if your issues are largely there and not in your arms it should cause you a lot less pain.

Accessible versions are a lot more widespread and cheaper than controller variants. In fact, a lot of the time you don’t even need to look out for the word ‘accessible’ - erganomic versions work just as well for me, and don’t come with the extra price tag people tend to throw on products made specifically for disability.

Cons

You can’t really rest your arms while using a mouse and keyboard, and the mouse specifically requires more movement from your arm and/or write than most controllers, which can lead to a lot of pain and fatigue.

The stretch between keys requires for some games is absolutely obnoxious. I’m surprised it doesn’t hurt able-bodied people.

If mouse and keyboard is better for you, it’s a lot harder (although I do think its possible) to use with a console, which makes a lot of console-exclusive games unavailable (or at least less convenient) to you.

Winner

Controller! Look, I’ll be honest, I played on console long before I really started playing on PC, so I’m more use to controllers and there’s every change that I’m a little biased here. However, I did actually use to find that keyboard and mouse were better for my chronic pain! As I’ve gotten worse, controller has just ended up being a lot better for me overall. While not always the best for my fingers, the fact that I can lay down (or at least sit on a comfier thing than a desk chair) is so much better for my back and fatigue, and a lot of the pain in my fingers can be counteracted with aids and just simply pacing myself!

#disability #disabled #gaming #accessibility #accessible gaming #controller #mouse #im trying my best to do ids but would really love some advice!

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watercolorfreckles · 3 years

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The Villain and His Therapist - Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

"You know, that shade of pink looks lovely on you," Villain purred, descending the stairs to lean against the kitchen counter.

Juliet paused where she was scrambling eggs in a skillet and glanced down at her attire of soft blue pajama pants and oversized grey sweater. "I'm not wearing any pink," she said slowly, lifting her gaze to look at the Villain.

He'd just come down from a shower, dark locks of hair curling over his forehead. He smelled of her green apple shampoo. It made her insides swoop all funny.

Villain's lips tugged into an easy grin as he took one step closer, two. He paused directly in front of her to lift a hand, brushing his knuckles feather-light against her burning cheek.

"I was referring to your blush. It suits you quite beautifully." His voice was liquid gold. Her skin tingled beneath his touch.

Remembering herself, Juliet swatted his hand away and covered her cheeks with her palms. "I'm not blushing."

He didn't try to hide the amusement on his face.

"Mm, whatever were you thinking about, Doctor Meadows?" Villain took Juliet's hands to gently pry them away from her face, using the hold on her wrists to pull her closer.

Juliet sucked in a soft breath, looking up at him. The sun streaming through the window caught the highlights of his handsome face and illuminated his dark irises, turning them to molten amber.

"I...was...thinking about how gentle you can be. When you calmed me down that night, you were patient and sensitive; you displayed a lot of empathy and care. I'm really proud of you. You've come a long way."

Villain's grin grew a little softer as he tilted his head to the side, studying her face. The way he looked at her used to make her feel like prey being stalked by a lion. Now...it made her feel like she was the only thing in his universe.

Her stomach fluttered.

Juliet swallowed, continuing. "I imagine it isn't easy for you to be so vulnerable. I'm glad that you feel safe enough with me to be soft."

Villain brushed her fringe away from her face, tapping the side of her head. "That psychologist brain of yours never turns off, does it?"

She smiled sheepishly, gaze dipping down to the floor.

Villain's finger hooked under her chin, lifting it gently. "I never said I didn't like it. You are my therapist, after all."

Villain leaned in closer, eliciting the slightest hitch in her breath. He smiled, relishing her response.

His breath ghosted over her lips, leaving them tingling in anticipation.

"Yours?" she asked softly. Her mouth had gone dry.

"Would you like to be?"

Juliet's thoughts were rarely clear on her face. She was difficult to read under the years of training keeping her steady and prepared. Villain wanted to unpick that artificial calm from her; to map her every reaction. He wanted to watch her sigh and blush and smile...

"The eggs are going to burn," Juliet whispered, watching him.

Without taking his eyes off of her, Villain reached over her shoulder, turning off the stove. In one fluid movement, he turned with her, pressing her back against the counter.

If her cheeks were warm before, they were blazing now. Villain smiled again, this time something so fond it dazzled her senses. The world narrowed to just the two of them, flush together.

Juliet's hands fell against Villain's chest, lightly resting against the soft cotton of his shirt.

She breathed in his scent.

"Villain?"

"Mm?" he murmured, the hum of his voice vibrating against her palms.

"When your brother- What he said about how you feel...about me... Is it true?" She held his gaze, holding her breath.

"My sweet Juliet Meadows." His voice alone was enough to melt her. He took one of her hands with deliberate gentleness and placed a kiss against her fingers. "If only I were brave enough to say it out loud."

"You can say it in other ways," Juliet breathed.

His eyes gleamed.

"Oh I intend to," Villain said softly.

Villain's gaze flicked down to Juliet's lips. He kept one hand on her waist, slotting the other into her hair. He leaned in until their lips brushed. Pausing, he seemed to catch himself, probably remembering Juliet's comments in therapy about the importance of healthy communication.

He smiled again, sharp and beautiful. His warm breath grazed her skin while his thumb traced lazy circles against her jaw. "May I?" he whispered, his lips hovering just barely above hers.

Juliet opened her mouth to answer, and-

The door burst open.

Juliet jolted in surprise, panic shooting through her as she gripped Villain's arms before she caught sight of who was really at the door.

The figure was fitted in a deep red super-suit, a black mask concealing his identity.

She relaxed, releasing a breath through gritted teeth. "Hero?"

"Doctor Meadows," Hero said, relief flooding his expression. "I heard what happened to you on the news and with Supervillain's escape, I knew you were in danger so I-"

His eyes narrowed as he seemed to notice Villain for the first time. "You get away from her," he hissed marching closer, crimson beams of tech-powered energy sparking to life in his palms. "Let her go and get out."

Villain hardened at the sight of him in turn, straightening and pulling out an advanced weapon. "Now that's insulting, at least I was invited inside." His voice was smooth and dangerous. Chilling.

A far cry from the man who had held her close and smiled fondly only moments ago.

Juliet stepped between them, holding up a hand in each direction. "Stop."

"You invited him in? Doctor Meadows, he's Supervillain's brother! He's probably here to finish the job for him!"

"Oh that's rich," Villain interjected. "For all your self-righteous monologues begging me to change, to be better, when I actually try, you can't accept it."

"I'm not willing to bet Doctor Meadow's life on your 'moral awakening,'" Hero spat.

"Hero," Juliet said in the no-nonsense voice her job often required her to use. "Take a deep breath. Villain would never hurt me, you don't need to worry about that."

"He-"

"-is in rehabilitation," Juliet finished for him. "He is my patient, just as you are. He has made tremendous progress, you are in no position to discredit his reformation. I promise you that I am safe with him."

Hero stared, studying the pair. Villain's jaw was clenched, glaring hard at the hero. Juliet touched his shoulder and some of the tension immediately dissolved from him.

Hero extinguished the energy beams in his palms, shifting into a less guarded stance. He regarded them for a second longer.

"Alright."

"Alright?"

"You want to prove you have good intentions? Help me find Supervillain and bring him in, for good this time," Hero said. "I can't do it alone."

Villain turned to look at Juliet. She stepped closer, taking his hand as she spoke.

"No. I don't want you to put yourself in a position where your recovery might be compromised again. You're too close to the situation to act rationally, and it would be too much of a trigger for you."

Villain's gaze softened as it landed on her, any hostility in his demeanor vanishing like it had never been there. He brushed her hair back with gentle fingers, leaning in. His thumb dipped down to graze her lips.

Villain kissed her cheek, her chin, the corner of her mouth. He straightened, eyes intent, looking like he wanted to kiss her properly--but not until they were alone.

When time would suspend like frost in the air and the moment would belong solely to the two of them, in the quiet and safety of each other.

Juliet's skin felt cold at the loss of his touch. Dread swirled in the pit of her stomach.

Villain turned to Hero, observing him for a moment before extending a hand to shake. "Deal."

Sorry I haven't posted in so loooong. I kept putting off writing this bc I was worried id mess it up lol. This is officially the longest series I've posted so far (the rest of my snippets have 3 parts or less) so wooo! Let me know if you want to see more :)

General Taglist: @writing-on-the-wahl , @valiantlytransparentwhispers , @distance-does-not-matter , @redbircl , @lilaccatholic , @crazytwentythrees , @thelazywitchphotographer , @deadlygemuwu, @chibicelloking , @lolafaiy , @thinkwrite5 , @putridghost , @tobeornottobeateacher , @sunflower1000 , @bouncyartist , @thanatoastie , @feyriddle , @yet-another-heathen , @silverwhisperer1 , (@distractedlydistracted i think forgot to tag you in the last part, oops)

You're on this list if you've asked to be tagged in any of my stories. Please let me know if you want to be added or removed. :)

Edit: the tags weren't working so I redid them through mobile, let me know if it worked!

#i was editing this in my drafts and it crashed on me so I had to redo all that hahaahha funnn #my writing #writeblr #short story #flash fiction #hero x civilian #hero x villain #villain x hero #civillain x villain #villain x civillian #fiction #superhero #supervillains

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crowleying · 3 years

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Scars

Date: 18.05.2021

Pairing: Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz x Evan “Buck” Buckley

Words: 2.749

Fandom: 9-1-1

Characters: Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz, Evan “Buck” Buckley, others

Genre: Romance

Length: Oneshot

Warnings: Angst and fluff, emotional hurt/comfort

Requested: No

Prompts: No

Summary: Eddie has seen a lot of scars and has some of his own. He knows the pain they cause is often both physical and emotional. He knows a lot about them, but not as much as he thinks. Buck's scar is still a mystery to him.

Dedicated to: @etre-libre-dit-combeferre

A/N: My brain just started thinking about Eddie's scars and then this came out and I wrote it in two days and gifted it to the Bobby to my Michael or to the Michael to my Bobby (I don't know, we haven't decided yet), my sidekick, my partner in crime, the one who dragged me in this fandom by force though talking me about Buddie, because she took an exam and I'm very proud of her! Now I'm giving it to you because we all deserve a little bit of fluff and comfort after this last episode.

English is not my first language so feel free to correct any mistake and I would love to know what you think about it. REQUESTS ARE OPEN. I posted a List of prompts, so check it out! Let me know if you would like to be tagged in my works.

IF YOU LIKE MY WORKS, PLEASE REBLOG THEM

Masterlist

Ao3

[ID: gif taken from episode 3x03 "The Searchers" of 9-1-1. We see Eddie looking at Buck. He is saying "There is no one in this world I trust with my son more than you." Then we see Buck looking back at Eddie. He is surprised and there are some scratches on the left side of his face. Eddie’s hand is on his shoulder and his thumb rests against Buck's neck. End ID.]

Eddie knew he was lucky. He got out of two tours in Afghanistan with only five scars. One from a bomb. One from a bullet fired in his back while he was helping an injured soldier on the field. Three from that last mission. He knew people who went home with a missing limb or bigger and uglier scars than his in places where there was no way of hiding them. His scars, on the other hand, weren't too big. They were just darker spots on his skin. Some of them were sunken, like the one on his tight, the one from the bomb.

Christopher sometimes tracked it with his fingers, looking at it with wonder. “Does it hurt?” he asked. To him those scars were an evidence of his dad being a hero, just like that silver star he had found in Eddie’s closet.

“Not anymore,” he promised every time. It was only half true. There was no pain cursing through his nervous system when touching them, but it hurt to look at them. They reminded him of everything he had lost when he was in Afghanistan: some of his friends, Shannon, and Christopher’s first years.

The one which hurt the most, though, was the one on his left shoulder. There was no physical pain, but his mind conjured the image of Griggs every time he looked at it. He should have brought him home alive with him instead of coming back with that scar. It was also one of those he saw more often, every time he looked at himself in the mirror without a shirt. For a while, after he came back home, his gaze fell on it every time he brushed his teeth. He felt it was right to feel that pang of guilt in his stomach every time. It was a punishment he inflicted on himself for being unable to save Griggs. But after the funeral, when Griggs' mother thanked him for bringing his son back, he started wearing a shirt before brushing his teeth and the only times he saw it is after the shower.

He was not the only one with visible scars at the 118. All of them had some. Chim had the one on his forehead, which earned him a lot of questions from people who didn’t know the story. Hen had the one from when she was shot as a teenager. Bobby had one from the fire. Eddie knew it didn't hurt physically, but the emotional pain it carried was so much more than that of Eddie's.

The one with more scars was Buck. Eddie was not surprised, seeing as accident prone Buck was. From what Maddie told him, most of those scars were acquired through extremely stupid attempts to have his parents’ attention. For the most recent one, though, Eddie was there, holding his hand. The scar on Buck's leg was not too visible under his blond hair, but Eddie knew that one too was painful, both physically and emotionally. It acted up when it was cold or wet outside. On particularly bad days Buck couldn’t help but limp a little. More than that, though, was the emotional baggage it carried. Eddie had noticed Buck always hurried to get his pants changed and, if he could help it, he waited to be alone in the locker room to get changed. He had made it a habit of getting to work already wearing his uniform.

Eddie figured it wasn’t about the accident itself but all that followed: him almost losing his job, the tsunami, losing Christopher in that hell, and the lawsuit and all that it meant for the two of them. What Eddie hadn’t realized, though, was that the scar reminded Buck of every time he thought he had failed Eddie.

The doubt started forming in his mind the first time he walked in on Buck taking off his uniform after the lawsuit. At that point Buck had already apologized. They had already talked about it and agreed to put everything behind them and after some time they had finally started to really do so.

Eddie was already in his civvies after the shift and was waiting for Buck outside to invite him to spend the day with them, but the man was taking forever. So, he went to check on him in the locker room. When he walked in, Buck's head turned so fast Eddie was worried he might have hurt himself. He hurried to pull his uniform pants back up letting his name out in a gasp. “Eddie.” It was so low he could have as well imagined it. The expression on Buck's face was guilty, like a child caught red handed.

“You okay?” Eddie asked.

Buck nodded. “I thought you were already gone.”

“I wanted to ask you if you want to spend the day with us.”

“Oh...” He seemed surprised, even though they had had dinner together many times already after the lawsuit. Then he nodded. “Yeah, sure.” He smiled brightly, and for a moment, Eddie thought that whatever had just happened was forgotten, but the tension stayed in the air until they got to Eddie's. As soon as Buck saw Chris he was back to his usual happy self for the rest of the day.

Eddie wanted to ask him about it. Buck had many other scars, but he had never felt the need to hide them, he was even a little proud about some of them. It was impossible for Eddie to talk with Buck for a moment without Chris around for the whole day. Chris tended to monopolize Buck and Eddie didn’t mind. He understood his kid, they were both weak for Buck. He figured he would ask once Chris was in bed.

He wasn’t very talkative during the day, not that he ever was, he usually let Buck do all the talking, but when he was with Chris and Buck it felt easier to take part in the conversation. Buck noticed his mind was somewhere else, and even Chris did.

“Daddy, are you sick?” he asked as he was tucking him in.

“No, mijo, why?” he had asked, blocking himself in the motion and looking at his son.

“You didn’t talk much.”

Eddie sighed relieved. “I’m sorry, Chris. I was just overthinking.” He resumed fixing the sheets and kissed Chris on the forehead.

“Did something happen? You should talk with someone,” Chris said sitting up. “Buck said it’s important to talk to someone about what’s going on in your mind. You shouldn’t keep everything in.”

Eddie smiled softly. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk with Buck about it, okay?” He ruffled Chris’ hair.

“Now go to sleep.” Chris laid back down and Eddie tucked him in again.

“I love you, daddy.”

“I love you too. Goodnight.” He turned off the bedside lamp.

“Goodnight.”

He left and closed the door.

As soon as he stepped in the kitchen where Buck was washing the dishes, his best friend turned to look at him. “What’s going on in your head?”

Eddie sighed and grabbed two beers from the fridge.

Buck dried off his hands and took the one Eddie was offering him.

Eddie took a sip from his own. “What was that about?”

Buck frowned. “What was what about?”

“In the locker room, when I came in, you… you pulled back up your uniform.” He paused, expecting Buck to say something but when nothing came and Buck avoided looking at him, Eddie continued. “Look, if it is about the scar… I mean we all have scars, yours is not that visible anyway.”

“I don’t like looking at it and I don’t want others to see it. It’s ugly,” Buck replied quickly, still avoiding his gaze.

“I don’t think it’s ugly. I think it’s a symbol of your strength and bravery.”

“I think it is and I don’t want people to see it,” Buck repeated harshly. Then he looked back at Eddie, his eyes were full of pain. “You should understand,” he added accusingly. It hit Eddie like a slap in the face. Of course Buck had picked up on his discomfort in talking about the scar on his shoulder even though he had never voiced it.

He didn’t have the time to gather his thoughts and say something before Buck put his unfinished beer down on the counter in a way that seemed very final. “I should go.”

Eddie wanted to stop him. He wanted them to talk about it, but he knew he couldn’t force Buck if he didn’t want to. So, as Buck was leaving, the only thing Eddie could bring himself to do was leaving his beer on the counter as well and following him to the front door. “Buck. Hey, Buck.” The man stopped and turned around to look at him, a hand already on the doorknob. He waited for Eddie to say something.

“Are we good?” Eddie asked hopeful but it sounded lame to his own ears.

A beat. Everything was still. Then Buck sighed and nodded, his face barely visible in the moonlight coming from the door and the light from the kitchen. “Of course.” And like that, every ounce of irritation seeped out of his body and he smiled tired at Eddie. “See you at work.”

They had been together almost two months before they managed to have some alone time. Their job was demanding and often tiring, and then there was Christopher, who couldn’t always stay at abuela’s or at Pepa’s, and then the nights out with the 118 and the dinners at abuela’s, or with Maddie and Chim, or Bobby and Athena, or Hen and Karen. They loved all of that. The job was a very important part of their life and those people were their family and they loved spending time with them, but they were a new couple with three years of unsatisfied sexual tension behind them. Of course they still spent time together, just the two of them, after Christopher had gone to bed, but neither of them felt comfortable having sex with Chris sleeping right next door. So, they stuck to kissing, which was great, but not enough.

Eddie only nodded and was left there alone in the dark, feeling stupid.

Eddie had finally decided to ask Hen if she and Karen could have Chris for a sleepover. He hadn’t needed to beg. She had said they were always very happy to have him over, but that hadn’t saved him from the knowing smile she gave him. He had simply shrugged and thanked her.

When the night finally came, they had a nice dinner at home. They didn’t feel like going to the restaurant, they wanted it to be just them. Buck had cooked a nice dinner, while Eddie had laid the table with candles and flowers on it because “if I am cooking, I deserve at least a romantic dinner.”

They didn’t rush things. They chatted and joked and held hands and kissed slowly, just because they could without anyone making comments about it, but they didn’t make it to dessert.

Their clothes laid scattered all over the floor from the dining room all the way down to the bedroom. As they stood in front of the bed, Eddie pulled away from the kiss to gently push Buck back into the bed. He sat, then slowly laid down, his eyes never leaving Eddie. They were admiring each other. They had already seen each other naked multiple times but this felt different. It was more intimate. Eddie scrunched his nose when he noticed Buck still had his pants on. He took them off, so that both would be just in their boxers. Then, he climbed on the bed, lying carefully on Buck, and started to kiss him again. This kiss didn’t last long, because soon enough Eddie’s mouth had left Buck’s to head down and kiss every inch of that pale skin. He kissed every mole, every tattoo, and every scar, tracing them with his tongue.

Buck was so lost. He wanted more, he wanted to feel Eddie everywhere, but nobody had ever taken all that time with him, exploring his body, getting to know it, giving it love and attention. He felt like he could cry. He felt so loved.

Eddie’s mouth went down his legs and landed on the scar from the truck. Buck stiffened and shifted, starting to pull his leg away. Eddie held his ankle gently, willing him to leave it there. Buck could have easily freed it, but he didn’t. “Eddie,” he whined, instead.

His boyfriend was already looking up at him. “Does it hurt?” he asked worried.

Buck shook his head but avoided his gaze.

“Then what is it?” The worry still tinged Eddie’s voice. He didn’t reply. “Buck?”

“Just… please, don’t,” he finally let out, still looking away, feeling the tears forming in his eyes. He knew Eddie meant good, but he couldn’t help feeling his stomach churn at the thought of Eddie looking at the scar, touching it, kissing it.

Eddie stroked his thumb on his ankle soothingly. He tried to meet his gaze, but Buck was still avoiding it stubbornly. “Buck, love, I know you think it’s ugly, but I promise-”

“That’s not it,” Buck blurted out.

“What?” Eddie frowned.

“That’s not why I don’t like it. It’s ugly, but that’s not why… Please, can you just…” Buck bit his lower lip.

Eddie was confused. “But you said-”

“I know what I said. I was lying, ok?” He felt a couple of tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t know if they were an expression of his frustration or his pain. He freed his leg and Eddie let it go, sitting upright.

“Why?” he asked softly. “Why did you feel like you had to lie to me?” There was no accusation in his tone, just pain. He must have done something wrong if Buck felt like he couldn’t tell him the truth about something.

“Because…” I didn’t want to be exhausting. “It’s nothing, just bad memories.” He sniffled.

“You know that kid can’t hurt you anymore.”

Buck sighed. There was no way Eddie was letting this go. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?” He shuffled closer to Buck and took his hands in his own. “Please, Evan, talk to me.”

Buck looked down at their joined hands, Eddie’s thumbs rubbing soothingly over the back of his hands.

“It… it reminds me of… of how I failed you and Christopher. The tsunami and the lawsuit.”

One of Eddie’s hands let go of his and he reached up to cup Buck’s face so that he would look at him.

“You didn’t fail us. We both made mistakes. I thought we had agreed on leaving them behind. We fixed them. We are all alive, we are together, and we are happy, and that’s thanks to you, because you never give up. I don’t want you to think of that scar as a reminder of those mistakes. I want you to think of it as a reminder of your strength and your determination, and your love for your job and your family.”

More tears rolled down Buck’s cheeks.

“Okay?” Eddie asked. He would remind him of it every day for the rest of their lives if he needed to. “Okay Buck?” he asked again when he didn’t receive an answer.

Buck nodded.

Eddie wiped the tears away with his thumbs and pressed a chaste kiss to Buck’s lips. He took him in his arms, laying the two of them down. Buck rested his head on Eddie’s chest.

“Why did you think you couldn’t tell me?” he whispered after a while, running his fingers through Buck’s curls.

Silence. For a moment Eddie thought Buck wouldn’t reply. “I didn’t want to be exhausting,” he whispered back, so low Eddie almost thought he had imagined it. He wanted to slap himself.

He pulled Buck impossibly closer. “I’m sorry for that, mi amor. I didn’t mean it. I was angry and I say and do a lot of stupid things when I’m angry. You’re not exhausting. You’re the only person I want to see even after the worst shift of my life.”

He lifted Buck’s face so that they were looking at each other. “Promise me that from now on you will always tell me if there is something that is bothering you.”

Buck hesitated. “Only if you promise me the same.”

Eddie nodded. “Promise.”

“Promise,” Buck repeated joining their lips again.

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durrtydawg · 3 years

Text

The Sadir Inheritance {Sam Drake x Fem!Reader} Chapter 1

Summary: The lure of adventure and a handsome sum of money may not be the only attractive thing about this expedition…

A series of events that ensues when a headstrong twenty-something tags along with one Samuel Drake to uncover his latest discovery.

A/N: Omg hello ladies (all). This is 2024 me here to say I’VE RE-WRITTEN IT SO IT’S NOT AS HORRIDLY CRINGE ANYMORE!!! yay! Anyway, I hope you enjoy, loves <3

my masterlist ✨

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: None, aside from a bit of mature language :)

"Keep the change, darlin’.”

“I will, Darren. All twenty-five p of it.”

You shoot an exasperated glance at the crumpled £5 note on the bar as the tipsy regular finishes his pint. He gives you an unsteady thumbs-up before swivelling off the bar stool and leaving. You follow him to the front door, which you hold open with a plastered-on, sickeningly sweet smile. Once he exits, you close and bolt the door, switching off the pub’s open sign.

Next on the agenda: Shit pub playlist your manager refuses to update- off. Earphones in. Banger of a playlist you refuse to update: on.

London suburbs after 9 pm on weekdays are a serene affair, interrupted only by the occasional workaholic or local school kid trying to nab a pint with their poorly crafted fake ID. You often humour them, exchanging their pocket money for glasses of alcohol-free beer, sniggering as they feign drunkenness to their impressionable mates.

It’s a risky move- you're not looking to get fired by the pub landlord any time soon- but you need to get your week-night entertainment somewhere. Chaotic-good? Yeah, that’s probably your best description. Working in your quiet local pub during the week, despite the late finishes, is easy money – a means to keep you afloat and pay rent while you finish your post-grad degree.

Your 'ad-hoc side job' supplements your income from time to time, allowing you to upgrade from the dismal student accommodation. You’d rather die than stay in halls again, and renting your own bungalow has only been made possible by your personal assistant-tech support-occasional moral compass job you occasionally get summoned to fulfil.

Anyway, it’s been a fair few months since your last stint helping out a certain treasure-hunter, and despite the sporadic texts authored by a man with the technological competence of a lemon, you feel an empty void within you without some obscure historical research to delve into. Even if it isn’t always for the most virtuous cause, you get to put your various history degree modules to good use. And no one gets hurt!

Aside from, perhaps, your sleep-schedule.

You’ve never met the man in person – you’d never needed to. But it’s safe to say you’ve breached acquaintance status.

Banter and eye-rolls at his awful jokes and lame innuendos flow seamlessly without awkwardness whenever you talk; Endless nights spent trawling through dubious sources to help him and his various business partners find the next clue or location for whatever crazy discovery he's chasing have lead to the two of you finding out all sorts of things about each other- the lack of sleep and temporary buzz from energy drinks has often lead to tangential conversations.

Talking to him gives you an inexplicable, warm feeling. He’s the only one with such passion for obscure historical facts. He appreciates your enthusiasm, even if it's only from behind a screen.

You toss the last few glasses into the dishwasher, wipe down the tables, and turn off the main lights. With a yawn, you amble towards the back of the pub, checking the time on your phone – 12:04 am. Grabbing your coat and keys, your stomach rumbles as if on cue. Drive-thru time.

…

You amble from your car to your front door, performing a balancing act with your drink and phone in one hand, keys in the other, and a paper takeout bag held precariously between your teeth. Tired, but knowing there’s work to do despite the late hour, you unlock your front door and chuck your keys on the side table.

Exchanging the bag for your laptop, you take a chicken nugget and munch on it as you load your dissertation notes. Scrolling to the bottom of the document, you begin typing. The soft patter of rain on the leaf-covered skylight makes your eyelids heavy.

It’s 12:41. May as well crack on at 12:45. A nice, crisp number.

Convincing yourself you'll close your eyes for just a moment, you slouch back into the cushions.

A sudden harsh buzz from the sofa startles you awake. You sit up, reaching for your phone.

“Arghhh.” You groan groggily; you’ve far-surpassed your 12:45 target. It’s now 1:09. You rub your eyes, squinting at the notification.

Sam D - guess what.

Despite the desire to sleep, you can't help but grin at your phone screen.

Me - almost 2 months of radio silence, and I don’t even get a ‘hello’??

Sam D - u still doing all that Middle East research?

You sigh as his message brings you back to the sorry state of your dissertation. Another buzz interrupts your reply.

Sam D - oops. hello :].

Sam D - Aw. Did u miss me?

Me - 👍 Jordanian. I should actually be working on it now

Me - No :)

A video call comes through from Sam. You huff, giving yourself a few light pats to the face as your chest thumps a little.

You click ‘answer’ as your stomach rumbles.

“Okay, this is right up your street. Hold on. Let me-”

Your brows knit together when he begins to ramble without any pleasantries, and as he rests his phone against something, you scoff, popping a soggy chip in your mouth. Sam squints at the screen, palms held out as he waits for his phone to flop forwards onto the surface.

You notice a bandage wrapped around the palm of his hand but decide not to comment. You are aware of the places he ends up in on his jobs - he probably cut it climbing on a cliff face or something.

Once satisfied it’s stable, he disappears off-screen.

“Hi, Samuel. Always lovely to chat. How are you?”

You hear a scoff, probably aimed at your sarcasm.

“Alright, alright. You said Jordanian, and I had to call ya.”

He saunters back into view, looking down to the screen with a sheepish chuckle as he holds a cluster of papers in his hands. He plucks a sheet out and squints at it.

You raise your eyebrows, waiting for him to continue with an expectant smile on your face - it's hard not to grin at the excitable mood that’s beaming through the screen. Sam clears his throat.

“You heard of a guy called Emaan Sadir?”

You squint in thought, moving forward to put your laptop onto the coffee table. Opening your tab full of dissertation notes, you scroll through to some notes you had written on Middle Eastern high-class bloodlines.

“Sadir? As in the Sadir dynasty?”

Sam grins at your response, nodding as you look back to the screen. Obviously, the two of you are on the same page.

“One of Jordan’s high court justices in the early 1800s. So I’m presuming you’ve heard of the ‘Sadir Inheritance’?”

Your interest piques slightly, causing your posture to straighten. “I’ve…heard of it, but I don’t really have a clue about any details.” You reply honestly.

“But you know of the family.” Sam states, looking back at the piece of paper he has in his hand still. “That’s a start.” He says, more to himself than to you, plonking himself into his chair.

Sam turns the paper to the screen - it's a scanned collation of images of various diaries and some detailed sketches of the most ostentatious looking objects; jewellery, vases, fabrics.

“This is what’s presumed to be the so-called inheritance. Centuries worth of riches built up by the Sadir family, passed down through God knows how many generations.”

“So no one’s actually seen it?” You ask, in reference to the images only being drawings.

“Ah-ah. No one’s seen it… yet. ” Sam peeks out from behind the paper. You can only see his eyes, but you can tell he is smiling. “But these journals,” He points to the relevant images on the page, “they have written details from members of the Sadir family, describing some of the stuff that the collection’s got, apparently. Personal ramblings and letters and whatnot.”

You nod slowly, taking in the images to the best of your ability. “So why is this Emaan guy so important?”

“Ah!” Sam puts the paper down and leans towards the camera. “This ‘Emaan guy’ was supposedly the final recipient of the stash. He apparently died in a train crash, with no heirs.” He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind him to crack his back. “No heirs, nobody to pass the riches onto, right?”

Leaning back forwards, Sam clasps his hands together over his chest. “This is where my dearest little assistant comes in.”

You scoff. “Very patronising. Thank you.” You smirk as you reach over your laptop screen to pick up a cold chicken nugget and your flat coke, frowning at the soggy paper straw. “What can I do for you, bossman?” You ask, leaning back and taking a sip of the drink with a raised eyebrow.

“Those diaries an’ whatnot are making the rounds in an exhibition about hidden high society in the Middle East, and I think they could have some pretty strong leads written in them.”

You nod, removing the straw slowly from between your lips as you take in his explanation. Sam shifts.

“The uh…next stop for said exhibition just so happens to be the British Museum.”

“Okay, so you want me to go and look for them? Send pictures?” You ask, taking another sip. “Easy peasy.”

“Nah.” He folds his arms, and you frown, confused.

“Then what do-”

“ We can go and look for them.”

You let out a confused laugh. “Sorry, Sam- maybe it’s because it’s silly O’clock in the morning and I’m sleep-deprived, but did you say ‘we’? When you’re halfway across the world?”

His smirk transforms into a wide-eyed look of shock. “Oh shit how late is it there? Guess I just sprung that on you, didn’t I.” Sam rubs the back of his neck, an apologetic smile on his face.

Was he…blushing?

Surely not. Nope. Just the sunset.

You smile tiredly. “1:20 am- But I was up anyway. Trying to finish the first draft of this mind-numbing dissertation.” You watch as Sam rests his head in his uninjured hand. You rub your eyes. “Anyway, why on earth do you want to come all the way here just for an exhibition that’s on my doorstep?”

He sits back up and scratches the nape of his neck, lips twisted into a thoughtful pout, almost as if he's trying to think of an answer himself.

“Victor’s gonna be on his way to Belgium to set up this deal with some trading company, and I figured I’d hitch a flight, seeing as he’s passing over the UK. Change of scenery, I guess.”

“So he’s not in on this one then?” You refer to the older man you’d helped out in a few of the pair’s previous expeditions. Sam shakes his head, before knitting his brows together at your unreadable expression.

“Geez, you could at least pretend to be excited.”

You shake your head in mild disbelief. “Sorry, tired.” You chuckle. Sam relaxes more, nodding knowingly with a small smile. “Ooo it’s gonna be well weird.”

“What is?”

“Seeing you in person!”

“Nyahh. Looking’ forward to it.” He shrugs. “S’been- what? Almost two years of knowin’ you and we’ve never crossed paths? Long overdue, don’t ya think?”

“Shit. Two years?” You sigh whimsically. “Who knew replying to a weird text from an unknown number would’ve led to all this?”

“Best wrong number text I’ve ever sent. Your reply saved my ass from getting shot by a very angry Port-”

“-Portuguese guy you may or may not have conned. Good thing I know my Gibraltar history.”

His shoulders shake with a laugh as you recall your first interaction.

“It’ll uh…It’s gonna be nice to have some new company for a bit.” He says, losing eye contact and looking down to his desk.

“When are you planning on getting here then?” You ask, cocking your head sideways to regain his attention.

“Three days’ time.”

#samuel drake #sam drake #sam drake x reader #samuel drake x reader #uncharted #sam drake reader insert #fluff #uncharted 4 #hope you enjoy this mess

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ladyseaheart1668 · 3 years

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Endless Summer Book 4: Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 56)

Description: The Catalysts attempt to return to their lives as River Skye finally comes home. tagging: @endlesshero1122 @mysteli @feartheendlesssummer @whatmcsaid @tigerbryn11

Chapter 56: Not Over

Alodia

I almost can’t believe how quickly I start to feel better once the fever breaks. The pain, which had felt like some hellish demon with teeth made of red-hot iron gnawing at my lower back, begins to recede within hours.

“That’s how it tends to go with an infection like this once we find the right antibiotic,” the doctor tells me. “You are fortunate, though. These days, a lot of bacteria have developed resistance to antibiotics. But the infection is responding well to treatment, and all your vitals and your blood work look good. And your daughter appears as healthy as a baby horse. ...I would just like to take a quick look at how you’re healing from the birth if that’s okay.”

I nod, turning onto my back with Jake’s help as the doctor draws the curtain around the bed. Improved as I am, I know I’m not at full strength yet, because moving still hurts. I guess I must have winced, because the doctor raises an eyebrow in concern as she pulls on a pair of gloves.

“You okay there?”

“I think so. Guess I’m still pretty sore.”

“That’s to be expected. You probably won’t feel one-hundred percent for another week or two at least.”

I draw my knees up and part my thighs while the doctor pulls up a stool at the foot of the bed and lifts the blanket. I keep my attention focused on Jake’s face above me and the pressure of his hand on mine as the doctor carries out her checks. Occasionally, I let my eyes wander around to the multiple bouquets and mylar balloons that have built up over the past couple days, gifts from the Catalysts, Tahira’s team, my aunt and uncle, and Jake and Diego’s parents.

“Everything is healing beautifully. Stitches should be dissolved by next week. You’re probably going to be feeling pretty tender for a while though.”

“Yeah, we had the whole tearing conversation with my OB in California some time ago.”

“Good. If you have any pressing questions regarding the birth and recovery, you can of course ask me, or one of the maternity staff. We can also forward your hospital records to your regular OBGYN.”

“How long do you think it will be before we can go home?” Jake asks.

She pulls the blanket back down and stands, peeling off her gloves. “Well, the fact is, we want to get her and your baby out of here ASAP to lower the chances of either of them picking up a secondary infection.” She smiles at me. “Now that the fever’s gone, we’re gonna get you off the drip and onto some oral antibiotics, and we can pretty much start the discharge process immediately.”

“So soon?” My own question surprises me, but it’s out of my mouth before I realize it’s on the end of my tongue.

“Believe me, it’s better we get you both out of here.”

“I know. It’s not that I want to stay here. It’s just...thinking about how we’re going to get home...how soon we can get home…”

“That’s all taken care of, Princess. Aleister is having Castor and Pollux deep cleaned, and he and Grace are gonna put us up for a few days until Mike gets up here from Santo Domingo. Diego and Varyyn are with Estela and Quinn, and your aunt and uncle basically paid for hotel rooms for everyone else.”

His infodump has my head reeling a little, but there was one particular tidbit I find myself fixing on.

“Why is Mike…?” I trail off as realization crashes down on me in an icy wave. A bit of information I had nearly forgotten in my struggle to bring my baby safely into the world while fighting a fever. Jake wasn’t worrying about me for all that time from the safety of our home in California. I don’t know the details, but I have a sinking feeling that has something to do with the reason that Mike isn’t here with us now.

Jake folds my hand between his palms, glancing at the doctor. “Hey...do you have everything you need? I’d like a few minutes alone with my wife, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. I’ll get the ball rolling on your discharge.”

I wait until I’m sure she’s well clear of the room before I reach to stroke Jake’s cheek. “...I know Lundgren got his filthy hands on you. ...Fiddler told me. ...I’m guessing he got a hold of Mike, too.”

He leans into my touch. “...And Sean and Michelle. Nabbed us all as I was bringing ‘em back from the island.”

“I don’t know if she told me that. That conversation got swallowed up in worrying about you, and then I got sick and River started coming, and…” I swallow, running my thumb along the fuzzy ridge of his cheekbone. “...Did they hurt you? Any of you?”

He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “Knocked us all around a little. Michelle’s the smart one, of course, so she escaped the worst. ...Mike’s in Santo Domingo having his prosthetics repaired. Lundgren ripped them out ot torture him.”

I shudder. “Oh, god...Oh, Jake, I’m sorry...I’m so sorry…”

I’m crying before I realize it. And as soon as I do realize, it turns into sobbing. Jake reaches down to gather me in his arms and cradle my head against his shoulder, rocking me tenderly.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “It’s okay. He’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine. In a few days, we’ll be home with our baby.”

“I w-wanna be home,” I hiccup. “I wanna be home with River, but I’m scared of leaving everyone again. I just wanna bring them all home with us…”

“Well, it’s a very big house. ...On the other hand, you cram us all into the same house long term, it might start to feel less big. Plus, it would mean a brutal cross-country commute for some of them.”

I can’t help chuckling a little bit, which makes the sobs start to die down. Jake gives me a moment to get myself under control before he speaks again.

“...How are you feeling, Princess? Really?”

“Physically?” I pull back gently to lie down on the pillow again. “Definitely better. My head is clearer, and I don’t hurt as much. But I’m still worn out. And by the way, you’re gonna have to make due with blow jobs for awhile, because it’s gonna be a long time before you stick that thing in me again, if ever.”

It’s his turn to laugh, and he bends to kiss me. “Princess, I will tug it for the rest of my life as long as you’re still a part of that life.”

“I will be a part of your life as long as the universe allows,” I promise. “...But Jake, we both know this isn’t over.”

He sighs, and I see his forehead crease before he presses it to mine. “I know. I know you’re right. But for River’s sake--and mine--will you let the others take care of that for now? I ain’t saying don’t worry, because I know that’s impossible. But River and I need you healthy. Can you stand to let yourself be looked after for a while?”

I feel a rueful smile tug at one corner of my mouth. “Am I to assume that arguing is pointless?”

A tapping at the open door to the birthing suite distracts Jake from answering. We both look up to find Raj and Diego hovering in the doorway, Raj with a paper bag in his hand, and Diego with his right arm in a soft blue sling. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since River was born, and I sit up a little straighter as he hesitantly steps over the threshold.

“...Are we interrupting?”

The baby has started fussing, and Jake eases off the edge of the bed to go pick her up. I open my arms to Diego. Just before he rushes into them, I see his face twist with anguish. And as he falls against me, his one-armed grip is surprisingly strong.

“Goddammit, Allie,” he whispers quiveringly. “Goddammit…”

“...Did I scare you?”

He pulls back sharply, enough so he can look me in the face, but he keeps a grip on my shoulder. “Did you scare me?! You had me on my knees saying the Ave Maria! Do you know how long it’s been since I said the Ave Maria?!”

There isn’t really a lot I can say to that, but I smile ruefully. “...Thanks for staying with me.”

“What, you thought I’d bail?”

I snort. “God, no. But I can still be grateful.”

“...You’re really okay?”

I nod. “I’m fine. The fever is gone, and the wound doesn’t really hurt anymore. I’m still pretty sore down there, though.”

A smile finally starts to play cautiously around his mouth. “...Well, that part’s Jake’s problem.”

“How about you?” I ask, gingerly touching the strap of his navy blue sling.

“That’s nothing serious. It was dislocated, but they popped it back in. Just got to wear this for a few more days, and take it easy once we get back home. ...Raj brought food, by the way.”

“Oh!” I pull back a little to smile at Raj. “Sorry, big guy. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

Raj chuckles. “We’ll blame it on the new mommy brain and leave it at that. Speaking of which…” He shoos Diego back enough that he can drag my bed table over across my lap, and sets an insulated lunch box on top. “I figured you could do with something better than hospital fruit cups and oatmeal, so I brought you a special Raj lunch. Michelle supervised its creation, and it’s full of stuff that’s supposed to be good for new moms.”

“What is it?”

“So glad you asked!” With a flourish, he opens the bag, and pulls out each item in turn, presenting them like a game show prize lady. “A sandwich of salmon, spinach, and poached egg on whole wheat bread with a garlic white bean spread; in case you are extra hungry, a side of gourmet trail mix made from an assortment of nuts and dried fruit; and to drink, a pineapple-orange-banana smoothie with extra protein powder, and just a few extra leaves of spinach!”

I can’t help but be uplifted by his enthusiasm, and hold out my arms for a hug. “I must be the most spoiled new mother in the world.”

Raj embraces me lightly over the table. “As you should be. You know in some Asian cultures, a new mother spends a whole month resting while her mother-in-law takes care of her and the baby.”

“Oh yeah?” I look at Jake. “Think your mother would spend a month taking care of me?”

“Honestly, I bet she would. The problem would be getting her to ease up and let you start taking care of things after the month was up.”

“Hmm...probably best not to give her ideas then.”

“Probably. We’ll have my folks over in few more months, when we’ve had a chance to get settled.”

“...But…” Raj says, “in the meantime, do you think you guys will be needing any extra help? I know it’s going to be a pretty full house as it is, but Diego’s going to want to take it easy with lifting and stuff for a while, and Michelle says Mike will probably need time to recover, too. If you need a couple extra pairs of hands and someone to do the cooking, I have some downtime, and I know Lila would be happy to come along.”

I look questioningly at Jake, who shrugs. “I don’t have anything against that. It’s a big enough house. And if Varyyn and I are gonna be the only ones at full strength for the time being, I wouldn’t say no to a couple extra pairs of hands.”

“And probably better those hands be Raj and Lila than anyone’s parents,” Diego adds. “I bet Varyyn would prefer not having to wear his disguise twenty-four-seven.”

“Yeah. And,” Jake adds with a sigh, shifting River to rest against his shoulder, “it’s probably preferable not to involve anyone who ain’t already involved in the bigger picture. ...Like you said before, Princess, this ain’t over.”

“But for now, we’re all safe and sound, and Allie has a lunch to eat.” Diego smiles encouragingly as he pushes the tinfoil-wrapped sandwich toward me. “Go on. Dig in.”

Jake

I gotta admit, it does my heart good to see my wife savoring the meal Raj brought her and enjoying our friends’ company. She seems almost back to her old self as she talks and tells jokes and teases with them. Although, as I put River in her arms, I can’t help but be reminded that she’ll never be exactly like her old self again. Not now that she’s a mama. Not like I’m ever gonna be exactly like my old self again either. I’m a daddy now. That’s gonna change me forever. The thought scares me, like it has a lot over the past nine months. But just a look at that precious little face is enough to reassure me that I am never gonna regret it.

Diego and Raj eventually leave us on our own again. After nursing and burping, River sleeps just long enough that we can fill out her birth certificate, nestled side-by-side on the bed. From there, it’s not more than an hour or two before they’re wheeling Alodia toward the hospital exit with River in her arms again while I walk at her shoulder, a baby carrier in the crook of my elbow and my arms laden with flowers and mini mylar balloons. Any staff we happen to pass on the way out smile and wave or give us their congratulations. I have a feeling that in a hospital, any chance to see a patient off happy and healthy is a cause for celebration, and that probably goes double for a new mama leaving with a baby.

Grace is waiting in a car for us at the curb outside the hospital. One of Reggie’s old carseats is in the backseat. Grace settles the baby in the carseat while I help Alodia into the seat beside her.

“There’s a surprise for you guys when we get to our place,” Grace informs us as I circle around the car to get in on the other side of River.

“Nothing too strenuous, I hope,” Alodia quips. “I am not up for a party yet.”

Grace chuckles as she starts up the car. “Oh, believe me, I realize that. No, everyone is pretty sure parties are off the table for you for the time being. ...But you do know that everyone is going to want to see you before you leave, right? You gave us a scare, and no one wants you to go before we all know you’re okay. ...Plus, everyone wants to see River.”

“I am not opposed to visitors,” Alodia assures her. “Just...only a few at a time.”

“Absolutely. We won’t let you get overwhelmed.”

“River, either,” Alodia adds, stroking our sleeping daughter’s downy hair. “Poor thing is probably overwhelmed as it is, suddenly coming into all this noise and color and light.”

“Birth is the craziest thing that ever happens to us, and none of us remember it,” I remark, letting the blade of my forefinger run gently back and forth across the soft back of River’s tiny hand. Her little fingers twitch just slightly, and the base of her pacifier rocks back and forth across her lips, but she doesn’t wake up. I don’t expect the quiet will last.

River does sleep throughout the half hour or so it takes to drive to Aleister and Grace’s luxury Northbridge apartment. As we pull up to the curb, I realize what our surprise is.

“Mike!”

I must have been a little louder than I thought, because River wakes up with a cry that can only be described as irritated, but it doesn’t fully register until I have already launched myself out of the car towards Mike. He’s balancing on a walker, so I at least have the good sense not to jostle him, but I can’t hold myself back from grasping him firmly by the shoulders. He grins, carefully removing his hands from the walker one at a time to grasp me back.

“Good to see ya, Grandpa.”

“Shit, you too! We weren’t expecting you for another couple days! How are you feeling?”

“Well, as you can tell,” he says, nodding at the walker, “I’m not quite ready to run a marathon yet. But my new legs are healing up nice. ...Good to see you, Goldilocks.”

His gaze shifts over my shoulder, and I turn to look back at my wife supporting herself on Aleister’s arm while Grace bounces River in her arms. Alodia smirks at me, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“I feel like I should make a joke about you abandoning your wife and child in the car to go hang out with your buddy,” she drawls.

I grin sheepishly as Mike carefully returns his grip to the walker. “Sorry about that. Let me make it up to you.”

I lunge and sweep her up bridal style, and I have the pleasure of feeling her arms twine around my neck.

“Mmm, much better. However, unlike your daughter, I am actually capable of walking.”

“But you don’t have to. Not right now, anyway.” But I do return her to her feet after capturing her mouth in a kiss. I don’t entirely take my hands off her yet, though. After her ordeal, I don’t think she’s really that much steadier than Mike right now. Her grip as she slips her arm through mine confirms my concerns.

I’m standing between my wife and my best friend, and neither of them are fully able to stand under their own power. I’m starting to feel that much more grateful to Raj for volunteering to help us out for a while.

I think Mike notices Alodia’s weakness, too, because his forehead creases just a little. “You all right, Goldilocks? From what I hear, you gave everyone a real scare.”

“It was pretty scary on my end, too. But I’m fine now. How about you?”

Mike shrugs. “Ahh, you know. A few weeks of rehab, I’ll be a six-million dollar man again. In the meantime,” he adds wryly, stroking the frame of his walker, “it’ll be hard to call Jake ‘Grandpa’ when I’m dottering around on this thing.”

“You just called me ‘Grandpa’ two minutes ago.”

“And I cannot tell you how hard I internally cringed. Seriously, if you could have seen my internal expression, you’d have thought I was sucking lemons.”

I am morally obligated to reach out and swat him for that, but before I can, Alodia abruptly steps forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders. It’s an awkward embrace, encumbered by the walker and both of them still being weak, but it’s a sincere one, and Mike leans into it gratefully.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Alodia murmurs.

“You too,” Mike says softly, reaching up to pat her shoulder with one hand. “But can we go inside? I wanna properly meet that baby you’ve been carrying around for the past nine months!”

***

The Catalysts come by in shifts throughout the afternoon and evening, apparently having planned it all out beforehand. No one stays more than an hour at a time, which proves to be a good thing, since Alodia is clearly worn out by about eight in the evening. We’re set up in the guest room of the Rourke apartment, with River in a bassinet beside us, and Mike on the foldaway bed in the living room.

Alodia nurses River and rocks her to sleep before lying down herself. At first, I curl up beside Alodia in bed. She’s asleep within minutes, but I’m not as quick. And after an hour, it’s pretty clear that I’m not on my way to dreamland any time soon. I don’t want to leave Alodia or River. I never want to leave Alodia’s side again. But I’m restless. Anxious. And eventually, the desire not to disturb what precious little sleep my wife might have before our daughter wakes her up again wins out over my irrational need to pace back and forth between them. I check the windows, making sure they’re locked, then I slip out of the room as quietly as I can, heading back out into the living room.

I find Mike, Aleister, and Grace all seated in the living room. On the coffee table are four short, round glasses and a bottle of golden red liquid that I’m guessing is some kind of whiskey.

“We were starting to wonder if you had also fallen asleep,” Aleister says. He gestures to the glasses. “We thought you might like to wet your baby’s head.”

“Kind of a weird expression,” I remark. Nonetheless, I pick up the bottle and take a seat in an armchair to read the label. “Ooh, Irish Mist. Fancy.”

“It is not every day that one becomes a father. The night Reginald was born, Diego, Varyyn, and I toasted his birth with Irish Mist.”

I crack open the bottle, and lean forward to fill each of the four glasses about halfway. I set down the bottle and raise my glass, the others following suit.

“To River Skye McKenzie, my beautiful angel. And to her mother, my better half, who is truly the best and bravest of us.”

“Here, here!” Grace says. We clink glasses, and I take a long, deep drink, savoring the sweet notes of honey and spices riding atop the alcoholic burn of whiskey. I return my glass to the table empty and lean back in my chair.

“When my sister and I both were born, my grandpa had my dad and the men of the neighborhood over to smoke cigars on the porch.” I chuckle a little. “Rebecca remembers helping our grandma in the kitchen, and seeing all the men outside smoking. She says what she remembers most about the day I was born was our dad coming in from outside to give her a hug, but she pushed him away and said, ‘No, Daddy! You stink!’”

My story prompts the expected laughter.

“I am afraid Irish Mist will have to do tonight,” Aleister says. “I did not think to buy cigars. Nor would I know enough to ensure I was purchasing a quality product. As I understand it, Cuban cigars are the best, but those are illegal.”

Mike shudders. “Honestly, I think the smell of a Cuban would be enough to give me flashbacks. Lundgren used to smoke contraband Cubans.”

“Same here,” I agree. “I mean...there was that one time…”

“...That one time what?”

I chuckle a little, rubbing the back of my head. “Okay, no one currently in this room was there when Zahra blew up MASADA…”

“What’s that got to do with Cuban cigars?”

I sigh, but in spite of myself, in spite of how literally everyone else in the room with me was in some kind of bad situation at the time, I feel a smile playing around my mouth at the memory.

“Okay, so it’s me, Alodia, Sean, Quinn, Estela, Craig, and Zahra trying to find another way out of the complex after the gondola gets severed, and when we go through a control room, Zahra gets the idea to blow the whole thing up. We figure it’s worth the couple extra minutes, so we let her do it. And while she’s rigging the system, I find one of Lundgren’s Cubans somewhere on the floor. ...And I light it up. But only to spite the bastard.”

“But did you enjoy it?” Mike asks.

“Hell, yeah! The hype ain’t a lie, buddy. Not saying I’d do it again unless it were one of his personal stash, but that was a real good smoke. ...Still...it wouldn’t be right to celebrate River with Cuban cigars. Lundgren and Rourke did enough to taint her birth.”

“Nothing has been tainted,” Grace says firmly. “She and Alodia both came through it well and healthy.”

“I ain’t losing sight of what’s important,” I assure her. “But I can’t let my guard down, either. ...We all know this ain’t over.”

Grace sighs. “...No, you’re right. It isn’t over. ...Which means...I should probably tell you what I learned in Ireland.”

Diego

I knew that the Catalysts wouldn’t have sat on their hands while any of their own were in danger, but I am surprised to learn just how busy they were during the time that Allie and I were in Arachnid’s claws. I’m even more surprised--and frankly unsettled--by some of the things they learned. Yvonne might be alive. Lundgren flew the same plane that killed Allie’s parents, even though the twisted wreckage of that plane is the property of the NTSB. The whole mess with Allie’s mom, that weird AI message from a program made by Allie’s mom. It all leaves us with a lot more questions than answers.

I told the police everything I felt like I could safely tell them. I went so far as to tell them that I think Everett Rourke might be alive because that’s who our kidnappers claimed they were taking us to. I don’t know if they believed me. I don’t know if the future of the Vaanti is safe. A part of me hopes that they lose interest in the case since everyone who was abducted has been recovered safely. But I also know that none of us are really safe until Rourke is either back behind bars or dead.

Aleister and Estela make all the travel arrangements for those of us going back to California, including my folks and Allie’s. Castor carries me, Allie, Jake, Varyyn, Mike, Raj, Lila, Rebecca, and River. For once, Jake and Mike aren’t going to be flying. Pollux is taking our families. A third plane, smaller but no less luxurious, takes Jake’s parents back to Louisiana. They’re reluctant to leave him. They don’t want to be apart from their son, or their daughter, or their granddaughter. He assures them they can come visit soon, but that their daughter-in-law needs some time to recover first.

At the airport, Allie’s aunt and uncle hesitate to part from her on the tarmac. Allie stands with River in her arms, patiently enduring as Molly smoothes her hair and kisses her forehead, asking if she’s sure Allie doesn’t want her and Rob to wait at the airport in California to drive her home. When Allie insists she’s sure; that Molly and Rob should go ahead and get home so they can rest. Rob says they’ll make sure there are cars waiting for us to take us all back to the house in Laguna.

My parents board the plane before I arrive at the airport. On board the plane, I nestle up with Varyyn on one of the double-width leather seats. I wind my arms around him and bury my face in his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He kisses the top of my head.

“Are you alright, my love?” he murmurs.

“...I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “I’m just...disappointed. I knew my parents weren’t ready to meet you. But I had hoped...I don’t know. I had hoped it wouldn’t be like this. Even if I knew it probably would be.”

Varyyn sighs, bringing a hand up to stroke my cheek. “They may yet come around. Or they may not. In the end, it is up to them. All I can promise is that I will love you regardless of their decision.”

“...I love you, too.”

“You guys all set?” Raj’s voice makes me look up. The others are boarding behind us and finding their seats. Jake helps Allie settle in and get her seatbelt on, River still cradled in her arms.

“Are you sure a plane is really the best way to travel with a newborn?” Lila asks.

“When the choices are between a rental car, a train, or a private plane for a cross-country trip, a private plane is hands down the best option,” Rebecca declares. “I mean, if we were on a commercial plane, I’d think twice, since those things are basically flying petri dishes. But this plane has been deep-cleaned, unlike the train. It’s more comfortable than a car, and faster than both the car or the train.”

“Yeah, but what about her little ears? All the pressure?”

“The doctor says that if I nurse her during take-off and landing, that should keep her comfortable. Besides...I just want to be home.”

Home. The word washes through me in a way that comforts me even as it makes me want to cry. Images flash through my mind of the house I share with my husband, my best friend, her husband, and his best friend--and now, my little niece and goddaughter. Watching movies in the living room with Allie. Sharing dinner around the table or out on the balcony. Cuddling with Varyyn in the hot tub in the evening, letting the warm, swirling water sap the energy from my body, and then sliding into bed beside him and drifting off to sleep in his arms. At home, I don’t have to hide. I don’t have to walk on eggshells or worry about losing anyone’s love. At home, I’m safe and free. I meet my best friend’s eyes, offering her a tired smile.

“I’m with you, Allie. Let’s get home.”

Raj

Nothing but the best for my friends, that’s my motto. I came to the house in Laguna Beach to make sure that my friends would have the best care while they needed it, and I waste no time in getting down to business. Alodia, Diego, and Mike need space to convalesce. But with a new baby in a huge house like this, there is a lot to be done. Jake and Varyyn can’t be expected to do everything, and that’s where I and Lila come in.

River is constantly monitored. Whenever she cries, someone is ready to come running to change her diaper, or to bring her to Alodia for feeding. I prepare meals ahead of time that can be easily heated and served, so no one goes hungry. Lila helps me cook and keep the house clean. Alodia’s aunt and uncle attempt to send cleaning and catering services to her at one point, but they end up being politely refused. Lila and I have everything under control, and none of us want strangers poking around here.

Alodia is occasionally moody, snapping at everyone to stop fussing over her, and she can’t wait to be free of this gilded cage and go back out into the world. This is usually followed by tearful apologies, with all of us assuring her that we don’t take it personally. She just had a baby, she’s allowed to be moody. Besides, the moment someone places River in her arms, it seems like everything is right in her world, and everything is right in our world, too.

...Except it’s not. Not entirely.

River is happy and healthy. Alodia is getting her strength back. Diego gets rid of the sling, and Mike starts to get around without the walker again. But underneath the surface, there is still trauma. There’s still fear.

“They’re having nightmares,” I tell Lila one morning as we’re preparing breakfast. She pauses for a moment with a knife poised above an orange before swiftly slicing it in half.

“Is that so surprising?” she asks. She doesn’t look at me as she speaks, but concentrates on making sure the thick, white heart of the orange half in her hand is positioned properly on the cone of the juicer before she presses down and begins to twist. Bright yellow juice splashes down into the container below.

“Well, no. But it is sad. Jake and Alodia especially should be concentrating on enjoying their new baby, not having nightmares and worrying about whether Rourke’s coming back for them.”

Lila pulls the now-deflated orange rind off the cone of the juicer and tosses it on the countertop. Ribbons of tattered orange flesh cling to the inside of the rind. She picks up the other half.

“...Do you ever have nightmares from Mr. Rourke?” she asks softly.

“Of course,” I reply. “Not as much as before, but I think we all have them sometimes. After what we all went through, I think I’d be more surprised if any of us didn’t.”

The twisting of the orange on the juicer slows just slightly. The toaster pops behind me, and I pluck four pieces of perfectly browned bread from the slots to toss onto a plate.

“...I have nightmares, too.”

The butter has been softening on the counter, and my knife slides easily through it. The heat from the toast softens it further, and it spreads cleanly.

“...You want to talk about it?”

Lila shakes her head, picking up her knife and another orange. “No. Not now. They don’t really matter anyway. They’re about things that happened in the past. I’m less scared of them than I am of what happens in the future.”

“Do you mean Rourke’s next move?”

“Of course that scares me. ...But more than that, I’m scared of him trying to use me against all of you again.”

“We won’t let that happen, Lila. You’re safe with us.”

“...But are you safe with me?”

I pause a moment before putting down my knife. I turn to Lila, put one hand on each of her shoulders, and turn her toward me.

“Lila...look at me. ...Has Rourke approached you at all since you’ve been with us again?”

Her eyes widen in what looks like genuine surprise. “What? No, I...that isn’t what I meant!”

I relax just a little. “...Okay.” I slowly take my hands away from her shoulders. “...You’d tell me if he had, wouldn’t you?”

She nods. “Of course.”

“Good. ...Because if he approaches you again, we can help you. We can help keep you out from under his thumb. ...We’re not gonna let him just have you back.”

A weak smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “I believe you.” She hastily turns back to the oranges in front of her. “You should...um...finish buttering before the toast gets cold.”

Overhead, the sharp, piercing cry of an infant rings through the air. I smile. Another morning blending into another day. It’s not perfect. We’ve got reason to worry. But for now, all is well.

Diego

I keep my head down as I move through the halls of my high school, clutching the straps of my worn-out backpack. It’s the same shabby gray one I’ve been carrying since freshman year. I’m a junior now, and the corners near the bottom are starting to fray where the sharp corners of paper-bag covered textbooks have dug into them.

My stomach growls. I skipped lunch again today. My parents were gone to work early again, and I didn’t leave myself enough time to make myself anything this morning. I barely had time to scarf down a banana for breakfast. I didn’t have enough cash for a cafeteria lunch, either, and besides, I preferred spending my lunch period playing on the computer in the library to sitting by myself at the end of a table filled with noisy strangers anyway.

If I can scrape together enough change from the bottom of my pencil case, I might have enough to get a bag of chips from the vending machine before I have to go to my after school job. But for now, my hunger isn’t all that sharp, and I am heading towards English Lit, the only class I currently look forward to.

The class is taught by Mr. Hunter. He also teaches the film-making class I want to sign up for next semester. He’s in his early fifties, and not handsome. He is tall and lanky, with gray-green eyes and a dark helmet of slicked back hair that sits atop a rectangular face. He has one of those mustaches that seemed to be popular in the 1970’s that always make a man look a little sketchy. He wears paisley shirts and slacks, and his voice reminds me of Bert from Sesame Street.

Mr. Hunter is the best teacher I’ve ever had at this school. When we studied Romeo and Juliet, he started off by giving us all a printed-off list of Shakespearean insults. When one girl tried to mumble her way through a line-reading, he shouted, “Put some feeling into it, you saucy wench!”

Mr. Hunter is also gay, and he does not attempt to hide this. When my parents ask about my teachers and which ones I like best, I leave this fact out. If they knew, they would make me switch to another class. Mr. Hunter has a picture of himself with his boyfriend on his desk. I’ve seen it when I’ve gone up to hand in assignments. His partner is bald and ruddy-skinned. He’s not handsome, either, but he has an open, friendly smile. Sometimes, I imagine them kissing. I worry that I have a crush on Mr. Hunter.

On the post of every classroom door is a laminated pink triangle, with a message proclaiming that this is a safe space for LGBTQ students. These triangles are mandated by the school district. Not every teacher honors them. One teacher actually tore hers down and refused to put it back up. She was fired. Last year, two girls were voted “Cutest Couple” in their senior class. I look at the triangles, prominently displayed as I walk into each classroom, and I don’t feel particularly safe. I feel safe in Mr. Hunter’s classroom.

Inside Mr. Hunter’s classroom, two boys from the football team act out a love poem with one of them in a curly blond wig and the bottom of his shirt tucked into his collar to create a crop top. They end with a flourish, with the boy in the wig jumping into the other boy’s arms and goosing him. Everyone applauds their performance, including Mr. Hunter.

Outside Mr. Hunter’s classroom, guys of all stripes growl “faggot” in my direction, and even the girls who are nice to me seem pitying more than anything. There’s a Pride club that meets after school two days a week, but I don’t dare join. I’m slowly realizing I can’t deny the truth anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can just announce it to the world.

I have just enough change to buy a bag of chips after school. I put it in my backpack as I make my way toward the library where I work for a few hours each day. I see Sam Dzugan eyeing me as I pass through the main doors to the school, and feel dread so familiar that it’s almost dull. Of all the bullies at this school, Sam is the worst. He also knows where I work. If he’s bored and hungry for a power fix tonight, I’m in for a rough walk home.

But he doesn’t follow me to work. At the library, I set to work filing back the books from the return cart. As I do, my mind wanders to the same place it always does: Alodia.

Alodia. My ideal friend. I conjure up an image of her beside me. She would be pretty, like all the most popular girls at school. I summon a small, pale figure with blonde hair, big blue eyes, and rosy cheeks. I talk with her in my head as I wander the aisles of the library with the return cart. I can picture her cheeky smile as clearly as if she were really beside me. I have spent many years getting the details of her perfect. Early incarnations of her were dark-haired. Green-eyed. Taller. I drew pictures of her. I wrote down her description in a private notebook that I kept under my mattress. But she never felt as real as when I wrote her with golden blonde hair and sapphire eyes.

She laughs at all my jokes as I work the rest of my shift. I forgot to eat the chips I bought, and I’m hungry enough now to start feeling dizzy. ...Alodia would invite me to dinner at her house. A huge, fancy house with a pool, where a chef would have prepared a gourmet meal.

“Don’t worry about Sam,” she would say. “If he gives you any trouble, I’ll fight him off.” ...Because Alodia would be fierce. A fighter. Alodia was a hero. A hero who loved me unconditionally.

Alodia was never meant to be my lover. I wasn’t looking for a lover when I first dreamed Alodia into existence, which is probably why I always imagined her as a girl. I could scarcely imagine having a lover before I had a friend. That was what Alodia was to me. A friend. A friend who would always love me. A friend who I could tell my secrets to without judgment. A friend to fight for me and protect me, who saw value in me, and needed me back.

But my friend is a fantasy. And when I leave work and Sam corners me in the encroaching darkness, Alodia vanishes…

...I wake up with a gasp, bolting upright in the darkness of my room. Beside me, Varyyn grunts in his sleep and rolls over, the moonlight reflecting off his blue skin. I stare at his sleeping form for a moment, trying to take stock of myself. I’m shaking. My pajamas are damp with sweat. I feel cold. I feel sick and empty with fear. I don’t exactly remember what I was dreaming about, but one thought keeps echoing in my mind: Allie. I have to find Allie.

I slip out of bed as gently as I can while I’m still trembling. I don’t want to wake Varyyn. As I slip into the hall, motion-sensitive lights plugged into the sockets near the floor illuminate my path. My dream is still hazy, but bits and pieces trickle back as I shuffle down the hall with my hand on the wall. I was alone. Allie didn’t exist. It was a timeline that I have all but forgotten, and it felt entirely too real.

I need to find her. Or at least evidence that she still exists. The door to the nursery is slightly ajar, enough that I can see the soft glow from the lamp on the bedside table. I peek through the crack in the door and relief floods through me. Allie, bundled up in her robe and slippers, sits in the rocking chair with River in her arms, gently rocking back and forth. I exhale slowly. I should go back to bed, but I am not ready to let her out of my sight yet. I start to push open the door. She gasps a little, looking up sharply.

“Oh, Diego!” She smiles at me, settling back into her chair. “You startled me.”

“Sorry,” I whisper back. “...Did I wake up River?”

“No. I just fed her, so she’ll probably be out for an hour or two.” She looks up at me as I come to settle into the armchair across from her. “...What are you doing up?”

“...Bad dream,” I admit. “...About...about you. I had to come check on you or I was never going to get back to sleep.”

I half-expect her to joke about me being a creeper watching her while she sleeps, but instead she sighs. “...I kinda know the feeling.”

“Yeah. I bet you do.”

“You wanna stay up with me for awhile?”

“Yeah. But I feel like I should be telling you to get some sleep while you can.”

“I probably should be sleeping,” she admits. “...But I don’t really want to let her go.”

There’s not really much I feel like I need to say to that. I understand. I don’t think there’s anyone in this house who doesn’t empathize with that feeling in one way or another. Especially now.

“...Diego…?”

“Yeah, Allie?”��

For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything, though her mouth opens and closes a couple times. Then, she swallows and takes a deep breath.

“...I love you. I love you, and I love Jake, and Raj, and all the Catalysts…”

“We love you, too, Allie.”

“...When you imagined me. In that other timeline. When I didn’t come to be until the Island...did you ever imagine my future?”

I can’t help flinching. Her words feel like a cold pinprick at the top of my spine. “...Allie...I...I don’t really remember that timeline…”

“I know. I know. But...it happened. It existed. I was once born to be what you needed. What all the Catalysts needed. ...But now...now I have River. Someone new who needs me. She needs me more than any of my Catalysts.”

“I...I think that’s true,” I say slowly. “...We all love you, and we want you with us. But River is your child. She’s helpless and new. She needs your love and your care and your guidance to survive.”

“...I’m scared, Diego. I’m scared by how much I love her. I’m scared by how much she needs me.”

My earlier fear is being replaced with concern that is entirely for my friend. “...Allie...are you okay? Is this some kind of postpartum depression?”

“I don’t know what this is, Diego. I know that I love River more than I ever thought I could love anyone alive. I would have torn myself apart for my Catalysts without hesitation. I gave up my existence to give my Catalysts the world. ...But I can’t consider that anymore. Because River needs her mother.”

“Oh, Allie. That’s not a bad thing. None of us want you to tear yourself apart.”

“I know. ...But I am afraid of what happens if the world asks for it. ...If I end up at the Threshold again, or a new Raan’losti…” She looks up at me. “...Diego...I think I have to face what’s in the pool shed.”

I feel my blood run cold. I know what’s in the pool shed. The collection of objects that were left for us in the Crystal dimension when we went to rescue Tahira. Including…

“...Are you sure?”

She nods. “...It was left for me to find for a reason. I have to touch the Andromeda idol again.”

#playchoices #choices stories you play #pixelberry choices #Endless Summer #hero

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zackcollins · 3 years

Text

one number away || cavan biggio

masterlist

Author's Note: Hi! I'm supposed to be writing a longer fic for a hockey player. But like. I wrote this instead as a way of giving myself something else to focus on so I didn't burn myself out on the other thing by focusing too hard on it. Ya know? Variety is good sometimes. Anyways! GIF credit to anotherhockeypage!

Warnings: There is a mention of a break-in/intruder with a gun. So, if you need to avoid that, that's okay. I have other fics for you to read. There's also mention of the reader whacking said intruder with a baseball bat if you need to avoid that too. And blood if that's something the squicks you. That should be it. Let me know if I missed something though. I'll add whatever I missed!!

Word Count: 2.0k+

Title: One Number Away by Luke Combs

Additional: The reader is gender-neutral! There isn't any appearance description (except mentioning that the intruder is the same stature and height as them. But I left it vague like that so anyone could imagine the intruder being the same build as them lol), but there is the use of the pronouns "they/them" to describe them. I hope that's alright! And I hope you all enjoy this! Let me know what you think because constructive criticism is always welcomed!

Tagging: @whimsical-daydreams

You were at home on a rather quiet night. The night almost seemed too quiet as you sat in front of your television and sipped idly on some coffee. You were watching a baseball game; the Washington Nationals were playing the Tampa Bay Rays. Though, you couldn’t focus on it because you felt anxious about something. Something felt like it was wrong but you couldn’t put your finger on what that was and it was bothering you too much to give your full attention to what was happening on your television screen.

Your cellphone ringing made you startle a little because of how on edge you were. When you saw that the caller ID belonged to your best friend, Cavan Biggio, you relaxed a little. It would be nice to hear his voice because talking to him always calmed your nerves. On top of that, you hadn’t talked for a few days. He had been away with his baseball team, the Toronto Blue Jays, on a west coast road trip; you couldn’t get the time difference to match up with your schedules.

"Cavan, hi!" You said cheerfully as soon as you answered the phone. "It's been a few days. How are yuh--"

"Someone broke in and they have a gun," Cavan replied, his voice quiet. You could tell that he had been crying because of how strained his voice sounded. "Please help. I'm terrified."

You felt muscles tense all over your body. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself if Cavan was shot and injured… or worse. If you were being honest with yourself, you had slowly fallen in love with Cavan from the time you became friends after meeting by chance after a game you attended in Buffalo a few years ago. And for him to call you while he was in this life-threatening situation… yeah. You didn't have time to process that. Cavan's life was in danger. You could handle it when he was safe.

"I'll be right over, hang tight. And don't try and be a hero," you responded before hanging up the phone.

You rushed around, grabbing a jacket, your shoes, and a baseball bat out of the closet since you didn't own a gun. You didn't know how well a baseball bat would hold up against an intruder with a gun but it was better than having only your bare hands.

The ten-minute drive to Cavan’s house was a blur. The next thing you remembered was seeing the windchimes above Cavan's front door swinging back and forth in the wind through the open doorway. You took a deep breath, grabbed the bat, and stepped out of your car.

You walked into the house as cautiously and as quietly as you could. You didn't want to alert the intruder that you were there, lest anything happen to you and have Cavan be put in even more danger. As you made your way around the house, you checked carefully in every room. You were trying to see if anyone was hiding out behind or under anything. There didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary but you were only through the first floor of the house.

When you made it upstairs, you saw that the door to Cavan's bedroom was open. You also saw a shadowy figure standing in the doorway. You tiptoed across the floor, not wanting to alert whoever it was to your presence.

When you got to the door, you saw that the shadow belonged to someone of about your stature and height. They were pointing a gun at Cavan. Cavan was cowering on the bed with his hands up in a defensive posture. He was also chanting "please don't hurt me" while tears streamed down his cheeks.

Without warning, you swung the bat and hit the person with the gun in the side of the head. They crumpled to the floor with a pained groan as they dropped the gun and clutched their head.

They tilted their head a little to look up at you and then flitted their eyes in Cavan's direction.

"Fuck…." The person on the floor groaned as they removed their hand from their head and looked at the blood. "I can see why he married you now."

You twirled the bat in your hands. Glancing over at Cavan, you saw him shake his head vigorously and give you a pleading expression. You nodded back, giving Cavan a compassionate smile.

You took the bat and pointed it out into the hallway. "If you leave right now," you looked menacingly at the person. They were now sitting up so you took the bat and put it under their chin to make them focus on you, "we won't call the police. It's also not our problem how you explain the head wound. You broke into our house and pointed a gun at my husband. I protected him. You can come up with whatever excuse you want, coward."

“Alright, alright,” the person sighed as they got to their feet. They grabbed their gun and tucked it into their waistband before putting their shirt over the top of it. “I’ll get out of your hair.” They dabbed their head with their hand one last time, wiping the blood on their pants. "Sorry for the inconvenience."

With one last glance at you and Cavan, the intruder walked out of the room. You heard them walk down the stairs. A moment later, you heard the front door close with a resounding thud.

You rushed over to where Cavan was on the bed, draping an arm around him. You cradled his head against your chest, allowing him to cry into your shoulder. Against your better judgment, you peppered the top of Cavan’s head with soft kisses. You also mumbled soft words of encouragement and reassurance in an attempt to quash Cavan’s nerves.

It took a few minutes but Cavan eventually stopped crying. He lifted his head. You looked down at him and brushed a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. Cavan smiled, though it looked nervous and hesitant. He grabbed your wrist and directed it down to his lips. He looked up at you with hopeful eyes; you nodded as you took your other hand and brushed a different piece of hair out of his face. Cavan smiled again before he placed a gentle kiss on the inside of your wrist. He ran his thumb along the outside, right over the bone. You took your other hand and cupped Cavan’s face, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

You sat on the bed next to Cavan and turned to face him. You grabbed his face and guided it towards you. Cavan swallowed as his eyes went wide and his cheeks slightly reddened. You smoothed your thumb along his cheekbone, humming in satisfaction as you did. Cavan blushed deeper, bringing his hand up and running it along your wrist.

“Stop me if you don’t want his, alright?” You said.

“Alri--” Cavan started to speak but you stopped him halfway by connecting your lips. Instead, he muffled the rest of the word into your mouth before he started moving his lips fluidly against yours.

As you kissed, you felt Cavan place his hand on your thighs. He ran them across the fabric there before he moved his hands up to your hips. He curved his hands along your hipbones, humming softly when he felt you wiggle against his hands. In retaliation, you brought your hands up and circled your thumbs around his chest. Cavan moaned, twitching on the bed.

"Uh… (Y/N)?" You jumped at the voice of one of Cavan’s teammates, Bo Bichette.

"Yes, Bo?" You asked, standing up off the bed and smoothing out your clothes.

"How'd you get here so fast? Cavan’s neighbour just called me when she saw some sketchy dude walk out the front door."

“I called them first,” Cavan piped up from behind you. You turned to look at him and noticed that his face was cotton candy pink and his hair was strewn all over the place. You swallowed thickly, knowing full well you had done that by kissing him.

Bo scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Leave it to you to realize that you’re in love with someone when an intruder breaks into your house with a gun.”

“Fuck off,” Cavan replied, though there was no heat behind his words. “As if you wouldn’t have called Vladdy first if the same thing happened to you.”

You huffed a bemused breath when you saw the death glare Bo gave Cavan in response. Bo looked at you sideways, though he also had no heat behind his intent. You chuckled bemusedly as you sat next to Cavan on the bed again and put your head on his shoulder. Cavan slung his arm around you, putting his hand on your upper arm and put his other hand on your knee. Bo’s face shifted from the glare of death to fondness as he looked at the pair of you.

“You both appear to be alright,” Bo said. “So I’ll go home now. Unless you want me to stay for a while?”

“No, it’s alright,” you replied, glancing up at Cavan. Cavan looked down at you and nodded before he pressed a kiss to your temple. “We’re fine here. I’m gonna spend the night to make sure he’s okay. We’ll call if we need anything, though.”

“Alright. Keep him safe. He’s known to panic and overthink almost everything.”

“I know, Bo. But thank you for reminding me.”

Bo gave a thumbs up and a soft smile before he walked out of the room. You heard him walk down the stairs, mill around in the foyer for a moment (presumably grabbing his jacket and shoes), and then open and close the front door. After waiting a moment to make sure Bo wasn't coming back, you lifted your head off of Cavan's shoulder and turned to look at him.

Cavan took that opportunity to lean in, pressing his lips softly to yours. You showed no sign of resistance so Cavan kept going. You did, however, melt into the kiss, cupping Cavan's cheek. You loved this feeling of kissing Cavan; you wished you never had to stop. You were enveloped in Cavan's cologne. It was a scent you didn't know the name of but it smelled vaguely of the ocean. It was something that had always been very soothing to you because the beach had been a happy place for you growing up; seeing the waves crashing the shore was very relaxing for you.

When you pulled back, Cavan wrapped you in a hug. He buried his head in the crook of your neck. You stayed like that for a moment, Cavan, sniffling softly into the crease of your shoulder and neck. When they pulled back, Cavan looked you in the eyes. His eyes were slightly wet and his cheeks had small tear tracks on them.

"I thought you'd never do that." Cavan smiled, his teeth slightly showing. It made him look so damn adorable to you.

You smiled back, a small blush creeping across your face. "I was just waiting for the right moment." You replied as you wiped away the tear stains on Cavan's cheeks.

Cavan smiled again, rubbing his thumb over your wrist. You blushed harder. Getting your feelings reciprocated was the best feeling in the world. I made you feel like a teenager that was just understanding what love was again. You also felt so alive, like you had finally discovered who you were and what you wanted. It was liberating.

"Hey, Cavan?" You grabbed Cavan's attention by tilting his face to look at you. Cavan looked expectantly at you, raising an eyebrow in anticipation. "How about I just never leave after I spend the night tonight? Somebody needs to protect the house while you're away. And we're dating now, so..."

Cavan smiled, wrapping you in a giant hug. He was smiling as he pulled back.

"Absolutely."

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shhh-no-ones-home · 3 years

Text

the boy next door bucky barnes x reader

+++++++++

i know he has like an actual new york apartment in the show but i thought this idea was cute and kinda ran with it. in this they live in the same building rather than like his town house in the show.

also this might be the only one shot out for a little bit but ill be back soon i hope!

Song: Superman by loaded (duff mckagan)

tag list: @cynic-spirit +++++++++

Another day another dollar, right? One more day of work before a long holiday weekend away from the office and away from the stresses of life. It was almost worth the salary in more ways than one. Yes I was comfortable now that I'd been promoted but it also allowed me to move into a new apartment over the last two months. Apartment 25, right next door to a very handsome neighbor who id only ever had the pleasure of seeing once.

It was no more than a passing in the hall when I was still moving in. He had nodded his head followed by a soft hello as I was coming up the stairs. My door was propped open and half my furniture was sitting around the kitchen inside the door. I had noticed him glance in, a small smile coming to his face as he dug his gloved hand into his jeans for his house key. The only reason I knew he existed outside of that was the fact that he left his TV on at night. But I knew how that was. Some type of noise to make a lonely apartment seem less empty.

I wanted so badly to go introduce myself, to say hello or invite him over for dinner but it never felt right. I was the new neighbor after all and no one else had made an attempt at introducing themselves either. Besides, I wasn't even completely moved in yet. Two months and I still had boxes strewn about, some filled with books, some filled with kitchen utensils I hadn't needed quite yet. In all actuality it was a mess still but I was working on it. Something I would be fixing during this long holiday weekend.

This is what was on my mind as I buzzed into the main door. Then his smile flashing behind my eyes as I walked up the flight of stairs to stand in front of my apartment. Then the thought faded for a moment. It was one sigh after another as I dug into my bag for my key, a grumble under my breath as they shifted under my wallet. It was already a long day, and now this?

"For fucks sake."

I complained, finally grabbing them in my hand but stabbing myself in the finger rather than retrieving them. I pulled my hand out quickly, hissing at the feeling as I shook my hand out.

"Damnit!"

I furrowed my brow before putting my mouth to my finger. Then I heard his door click. I breathed deeply before shaking my head and reaching back in my bag for my keys. When he stepped out of his door I offered a disingenuous smile.

"Hey 25."

He said and I stood upright, confusion across my features as I stared at the number plate on my door.

"Hey, 23...?"

I said back, looking over my shoulder as he made his way quickly down the stairs. I watched as he opened the main door at the bottom, looking at him like a deer in headlights as he smiled and nodded before disappearing down the street. I just stood there for a moment, perplexed, arm still in my bag but no longer focused on the task at hand. What a strange interaction. Then the door across the hall made a noise, shaking me from my thoughts. I got to work getting my keys out properly this time, without hurting myself, and unlocking my door before they made it outside. Time to get to work.

°°°°°°°°°

When I woke up this morning I knew I should've immediately gone back to bed. Who knew Saturdays could actually be shit. It started with me ripping the collar of one of my favorite shirts while trying to get dressed. Then it was me spraying myself in the face with water trying to do the dishes. And amongst every other little thing like dropping books and trinkets and tripping over boxes on the floor, the air conditioner went out. I had promptly called the landlord but he said he couldn't get anyone to replace it until Tuesday given the holiday weekend. Just my luck.

I had almost thought about giving up but I wasn't that kind of person. Instead I dug out a box fan, propped the front door open and kept it on high for the majority of the afternoon. Yeah I was sweaty trying to unpack and fix my living room but it was worth it. I was gonna make this day better if it killed me. Now I was stood on a bar stool, couch pushed into the middle of the room, trying to hang a few pictures. It was a struggle getting the one on the far part of the wall but I was making it work. One grunt and complain at a time.

"Need a hand with that 25?"

I heard from the door, scaring me and making the stool wobble. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I steadied myself against the wall. I closed my eyes and sighed out in relief.

"No thanks 23 I got this."

I called back, recognizing his voice before reaching back over and trying to hang it again. I could hear soft footsteps behind me for a moment but it didn't really matter, the door was open, if he wanted to come in he was more than welcome. Maybe he could give me a hand. And maybe I was overestimating myself. The next second I was losing my footing and on my way to the floor. I screamed as the stool came out from under me, the picture smashing to the floor. I expected to hit the floor after it but instead I had landed in someone's arms, looking up to a smirking neighbor, wide eyes and scared

"Sure you don't need some help there 25?"

He asked again, a little cocky. I just stared at him. My heart was knocking at my rib cage trying to escape and I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that I could've just hurt myself severely or even died. But I didn't. Because 25 saved me.

"I guess not anymore."

I blurted out in a panic, realizing that my interior design dreams had just been crunched into pieces against the hardwood. He let out a soft laugh before walking out from behind the couch and placing me flat on my feet.

"You okay?"

He asked and I nodded, frowning at my less than handy work on the ground. The stool was laid on top of the frame, glass everywhere, and the picture itself torn in two.

"Body yes, ambitions no."

I sent him a defeated look and we both laughed. I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Thanks for saving me 23. Without you I definitely would have had to take a trip to the ER."

I said through a nervous laugh. He looked taken aback for a second before placing his hand gently at my back.

"You look like you've had one hell of a day."

He noted and I looked down at myself before rolling my eyes.

"So it's obvious?"

I asked and he smiled, nodding slowly.

"Just a little bit."

My gaze followed his hand as he tucked some of the hair that had fallen out of my ponytail behind my ear.

"Well I guess for an official first impression I chose to big or go home."

I joked

"You always this charismatic?"

He quipped back and I sent him a look.

"You mean in terms of needing assistance?"

He shook his head in amusement.

"If that's how you wanna take it, sure."

I rolled my eyes playfully.

"No actually. Normally I am very poised and carefully thought out. Today is just not my day."

He looked at me for a moment like he was trying to figure me out or come up with something to say.

"Well I think I'd like to meet poised and carefully thought out."

He said and I sighed out a laugh.

"Is that an offer for a date 23?"

He smiled widely at me.

"James."

"Bucky!"

"Yes!"

He said quickly, getting progressively louder. My eyes went wide as he closed his, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Jesus I'm not usually this awkward."

I smiled at him, placing my hand at his shoulder, him looking at me in a lost puppy kind of way. Then I noticed the chain tucked under his shirt, looking down the the two outlines pressed against his chest. I drew my brows as I tugged it out, the warm metal laying in my hand as I ran my thumb over the dog tags. He just watched me intently.

"Sargent James Buchanan Barnes."

I nodded, looking up to him innocently. He had a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip but you'd miss it if you weren't looking for it.

"Well 23, I'd love to go on a date with you."

In a second his smile got bigger, tucking his tags back in his shirt after I let go of them.

"Guess we both made pretty good first impressions."

He said and I nodded, rubbing my hands together as we started walking towards the door.

"Oh, 25, I didn't catch your name."

He mentioned, stepping over the box fan and back into the hall. I smirked at him.

"You buy me a drink, 23, and it's yours."

He let out a short laugh, nodding as he turned his body towards his own apartment.

"Deal."

#wattpad #x reader #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier #marvel #imagines #one shots #captain america #white wolf #james buchanan barnes #328

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duskholland · 4 years

Text

Say Goodnight | Harrison Osterfield

Summary ↠ you and Harrison broke up before he left to chase his dreams in Hollywood. With 5,000 miles between you, you’re both struggling to adjust to life without the other; exes to lovers; prompt: “why did you call me at 2 in the morning?”

Warnings ↠ angst with a happy ending, a breakup, one curse word?

Word Count ↠ 2.7k

A/N ↠ I miss Harrison. A lot. And I haven’t written enough for him, so...here ya go! This is definitely inspired by Ariana Grande’s song goodnight n go, which never fails to hit me in the feels (listen to the version from her live album... it’s magic).

This is also my fic for @t-holland2080‘s writing challenge! Thanks so much for hosting such a fun challenge Sammy - I hope you enjoy this :)

(a repost because tumblr decided to block me out the tags lmao)

You didn’t think it was possible to cry this much.

Harrison’s standing in front of you, glistening tear tracks running down his rosy cheeks. His eyes shift over your face, guiltily running the lines and curves of your cheeks and your forehead, trying desperately to stay away from your eyes, because you both know that seeing the heartbreak reflected in his icy blue gaze will be too much. Your chest hurts and you’re shaking, but you know that everything he’s said is true. You know that breaking up is for the best.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I still love you,” Harrison tells you quietly. He rocks back on his feet, his teeth grazing his lower lip before he adds, “I’ll always love you, Y/N. The timing just…”

“The timing isn’t right,” you finish. With shaky hands, you reach up behind your neck and your fingers fiddle with the clasp of the necklace Harrison had draped around you, all those months ago. He makes a small sound of objection as the chain falls heavily into your hands and you hold it out in front of you. “Keep it,” you urge. You finally let yourself meet his eyes, and you try to stay strong as you grab his hand and push the chain into his palm. “So you don’t forget about me whilst you’re off being a movie star.”

Harrison reluctantly pockets the chain, his eyes lingering on the solid curve of the H. “I could never forget about you, Y/N.”

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that the only way Harrison can pursue his dreams is 5,000 miles away, across the Atlantic in America. It’s even more unfair that you can’t go with him because you’re enrolled in university in London. But worst of all, neither of you signed up for a long-distance relationship when you first began dating, and now you’ve had to come to the mutual, heartbreaking decision that breaking up is going to be easier than stringing out a virtual relationship together. It doesn’t matter that you love Harrison more than you’ve ever loved another person, nor that he holds you so closely to his heart that he’s certain you’ve somehow intertwined yourself with his soul: long-distance is too much, and you both think you’ll be too busy to maintain your relationship. Neither of you want to sit by and watch your relationship break down.

So breaking up is simpler, supposedly.

“You should go,” you find yourself saying, swallowing down the lump in your throat. Your hand rests on your front door knob, the cool brass feeling icy against your warm skin. You use your other hand to sweep beneath your cheeks, trying to stop the endless flow of tears from your eyes. “Don’t want you to miss your flight, Haz.”

He runs his hand through his hair, a grimace spread across his face.

“I- Are you sure this is the right choice?” He asks, echoing the words you’ve both been saying for days.

You shrug helplessly. “I don’t know,” you admit. “But I know that I can’t stand here waiting for you to walk away any longer.” You release a deep breath. “Just go, Harrison. Please.”

And he looks like he really wants to stay. His feet twitch, as if he’s about to push his way back into your flat and throw himself down on the sofa like he’s done a thousand times before. But his eyes pass over your tearful, heart stricken face, and he finally sighs, slipping his hands into his back pockets as he manages a weak smile.

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he says softly, his lips curving around the words with ease. The way he says your name so fondly causes the pain in your chest to crack and expand.

“Bye, Harrison.”

And then he turns, slowly, and you watch as he drags his feet down the corridor. Harrison pauses when he reaches the staircase, one hand on the door as he casts his eyes back towards you. Your mouth twitches into a smile instinctively: the sight of his face, his loose blond curls, and his friendly smile never fails to make you feel warmer - even now, as he walks out of your life, taking a piece of your heart with him.

You raise your hand in a final wave, and then Harrison steels himself and walks through the door at the end of the corridor, leaving you standing alone in your doorway, a lump in your throat and a weight hanging so heavily in your heart that you know you won’t be forgetting him any time soon.

[-----]

Life without Harrison is hard.

Before you’d started dating him a year ago, you hadn’t believed love could feel so fulfilling or right. But then you’d stumbled into him at Tom’s birthday party and you’d immediately hit it off, and everything had changed. You think it would be hard not to instantly fall in love with Harrison: he’s charming, witty, and he carries such a bright light in his eyes that he had you hook, line, and sinker within the first ten minutes of your conversation.

As you try to move on, you find Harrison haunting your every move. You open Instagram and you see his posts and stories staring you right in the face, broadcasting his life out in LA with his new friends and castmates, and it stings. When you strike out and find yourself in the pub with Sam, all you can think about is how you used to frequent the place with him, and your eyes find the corner booth you’d used to sit in, your figure usually curled up in Harrison’s lap. You can almost feel the presence of his slender, delicate fingers wrapped around your waist as you gaze longingly at the booth.

And the most frustrating part of it all? Harrison seems fine. He seems completely unbothered, which just serves to twist the knife further into your chest every time your thumb hovers over his contact photo, or you start writing out a lengthy, emotional text. You’ve heard nothing from him, and it makes you question everything you’d thought you’d had together.

Everything changes one Wednesday night, around six weeks after Harrison had left.

You’re woken up by the loud, shrill ringing of your phone. You try to ignore it at first, groaning as you roll over on your side and try to press your head into your pillows, but it just keeps going, and it seems to rattle louder against your skull the longer it prattles on. So, after releasing a stream of your best expletives, you roll over and snatch it off your bedside table, accepting the call before you’ve even had time to check the caller ID.

“Hello?” You croak, clearing your throat immediately as you hear the fatigue hanging heavy in your throat.

“Y/N.”

Suddenly you’re wide awake.

“Harrison?!” You exclaim, sitting bolt upright. You bring your knees to your chest as you pull the duvet around you, trying to hide beneath the warm sheets as if they’ll protect you from the way that hearing his voice unleashes an onslaught of painful emotions. “What’s going on?”

Harrison doesn’t reply for a few moments, but merely the sound of his level, familiar breathing is enough to bring tears to your eyes. You try to push them away as your heart races in your chest, so many emotions flying through your heart that it feels consuming.

“Uh, nothing,” he eventually says softly. “Sorry. It doesn’t matter.”

“Then why did you call me at 2 in the morning?”

The sound of his chuckle is forced, but it’s so lovely to hear him again that you can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Oh, I didn’t realise it was so late,” he says, “‘m sorry, love.”

“It’s okay. I missed your voice.” It slips out before you can really stop it.

“I missed your voice too,” Harrison admits, voice thick. “I miss you so much, Y/N.”

You swallow deeply, running your fingers over the crinkles of your duvet as you think. Your mind runs slowly, clouded with your fatigue and your emotions, and you really don’t know how to take this all, but you know that hearing his voice makes you happy - more happy than you’ve felt in weeks.

“I miss you too,” you mumble down the line. Your fingers ache from how tightly you’re gripping the phone. “How’s LA?”

Harrison chuckles, and you hear a noise in the background as if he’s climbing into a bed. You can almost imagine him: his lanky legs spreading out over the sheets, a low groan slipping past his lips as he stretches out his arms and back. That lazy pink smirk hanging freely from his perfect lips. The image burns into your eyelids.

“LA is mad,” he tells you honestly. “It’s a whole different world over here, Y/N. It’s… It’s exciting, but it’s so different to London. I wish it would all slow down.”

“You’re really busy then?”

He hums lightly. “Yeah. I’m either on-set or doing fittings or rehearsals.”

“Are you having fun?”

Harrison takes a while to ponder your question.

“Yes,” he says, bringing a swell of tears to the front of your eyes. “But I’d be so much happier if you were here too.”

You try to disguise your sniffles, but you’re almost certain he can hear them. “Well… I’m not,” you manage. “I’m glad it’s giving you everything you wanted.”

There’s a very awkward, very thick silence that envelops the line, and it makes you shift uncomfortably in your sheets.

“I should let you sleep,” Harrison says, guilt lacing his words. “I’m sorry for waking you up. I shouldn’t have called you.”

“Oh, okay.” Your free hand clenches into a hard fist as you try to stop your lower lip from wobbling. “Don’t worry about it, Haz. I’m always here if you want someone to talk to.” A small smile flicks out across your lips. “Doesn’t matter what time it is.” I love you - those three unspoken words hang between you. You can feel them, surrounding you, smothering you, and you can almost hear them on the tip of Harrison’s tongue, so you jump in to add, “Goodnight, Harrison,” because you really can’t bear to hear them.

You can feel his reluctance, but you release a deep breath as he says, begrudgingly, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You hang up quickly, your fingers trembling as you toss the phone down the bed. The blank screen stares at you, taunting you, and you’re overcome with such a strong sense of regret that you almost reach out and call him back. Your body craves him - his soft, melodic voice, his gentle words, his love.

Your phone starts ringing, and you snatch it back up, eyes taking in the image of Harrison’s contact photo as he flashes over the screen. You accept it without a second thought.

“I don’t want to say goodnight yet,” Harrison says immediately, words falling into one another. “I don’t want to stop talking to you, Y/N. Can we please keep talking? Just for a bit.” He pauses, his voice breaking. “I miss you.”

The relieved smile on your face shows no sign of budging. “I don’t wanna say goodnight either, Haz.”

[-----]

It’s a bad habit, but for the entire time Harrison is away, you end up on the phone with him each evening. The first few times had been fairly spontaneous, but soon it becomes a habit: every day, as Harrison finishes filming, he gives you a call and you have a long, rambling conversation. It breaks up your sleep, but you grow so used to it that you start setting an alarm at 1.50am just so you can grab a cup of tea and wake yourself up before he calls.

It’s definitely inadvisable to stay so connected to your ex-boyfriend, but it feels too good to quit. Harrison is your drug, and every time you hang up the phone, you’re left feeling sad and hollow inside. But it eases the pain of having him so far away, and maybe a part of you deludes yourself by reasoning that your calls are helping you get over him: cutting him out completely was too hard, but maybe sharing these phone calls will help you. Eventually he’ll stop calling, and you’ll be able to heal, because you’ll have practised saying goodbye so many times it’ll feel normal.

But Harrison doesn’t stop calling, and you don’t stop answering, and soon enough, he’s been away for six months, and he’s preparing to move back to London, his film complete.

You don’t really know where you stand with him, if you’re being completely honest. He’s still your ex - but you’re still helplessly in love with him, and you’re fairly sure that most exes don’t spend hours on the phone each day, chatting and laughing like you’re still together. You try to bring it up with him, but every time you start the conversation, your heart clenches in your chest and you wimp out.

You ignore the difficult conversation for as long as you can - which lasts until you hear a loud knock on your front door, and you know that it’s him.

It feels almost like a gravitational pull, drawing you back to his figure. You’ve spent all day pacing your flat, fussing over your hair and your outfit, but for the entire time you’ve spent waiting on his flight arriving, you haven’t been sure if you’d be able to open the door and face him. But now you know that he’s here, your heart seems to act of your own accord.

You wrench your door open, and immediately you’re pulled into a tight, crushing hug. It knocks the air out of your lungs and you wheeze as you feel that familiar set of curls brushing up against your neck, and you feel a few tears slip from your eyes as you take it all in. He’s back.

“Haz,” you exclaim, your voice choked with tears. His hands move over your back, clinging to you, drawing you as close as possible as his rich, earthy cologne invades your system. It doesn’t even matter that his jacket has a collection of chilly raindrops clinging to the leather, because it feels so fucking perfect to have him so near you again that you can’t focus on anything other than him.

“I missed you,” he whimpers, as he pulls away from your neck. His large hands fall on your shoulders as he stares at you intently, his focused eyes whipping the air from your lungs. He looks so cute that you can’t really stop yourself from shifting closer and pressing your lips to his. Immediately you relax, and he does too, and he kisses you back softly. Your mouths are tender at first, pressing together softly - testingly - but as you wrap your hands around his waist and bring him closer, it deepens. Your mind spins with dizzy, overwhelming happiness as you revel in the feeling of Harrison, enjoying him utterly, your heart thrumming happily against your ribs.

“I missed you so much,” you mumble against his lips, kissing him between each word. Your fingers drift into his hair, and you smile as he hums in agreement.

“We are so stupid,” he says, drawing a laugh from your lips. “Can’t believe we ever thought breaking up was for the best.” His mouth shifts up to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I love you so much, Y/N. Please, can we get back together?” His words are desperate, but they echo the things you’ve been feeling for months, and hearing them is such a relief that you simply have to kiss him again.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whisper, moving to rest your forehead on his shoulder. Harrison brings you into a warm hug, and you let him hold you as you breathe him in. “I missed you. I love you.” You tilt your head back, meeting his eyes gleefully. “I’m so glad that you’re back.”

Harrison reaches down and pulls a familiar, glinting chain from his pocket. Your gaze softens as you pull away from him and tilt your head, letting him wrap the necklace back around your neck. The H pendant settles gently over your chest, and it feels like coming home.

“Perfect,” he comments, and you’re not sure if he’s talking about you or the necklace, but you’re willing to accept either.

With a warm smile on your face, you move aside and welcome him inside. “D’you want a cup of tea?” You offer.

Harrison steps across the threshold and presses a final, loving kiss to your lips. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

----

m-list

send me some feedback?

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield x y/n #harrison osterfield oneshot #sammy's summer writing challenge

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plaidbooks · 3 years

Note

Hey love may I please have a sexy Rafael Barba x reader form the winter/hoilday list number 12 "so you're going to dress up as santa" go hard on the sexy ;)

Undercover Mishaps

A/N: This is...not at all what you asked for, and I’m sorry! This somehow just turned into really tender, kinda angsty with a happy ending smut? I’m not sure what happened here! If you want to send in another Rafi request, I understand lol

Tags: rape mention, smut, little bit of cockwarming, mostly just very tender p in v sex

Words: 2k+

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba

You stood outside your boyfriend’s office, taking a deep breath. You were going undercover tonight, and you wanted to tell Rafael in person, because you knew he wasn’t going to be happy about it. He never was. While he was supportive of, and understood your job with SVU, he hated when you were intentionally put in harm’s way. And tonight, you—as well as Amaro—would be bait. Exhaling, you knocked, waiting for him to call out to you before entering his office.

Rafael looked up at you, smiling. “Cariño,” he greeted, before he saw the look on your face, his smile fading. “What’s wrong?”

You tried to give him a reassuring smile. “Nothing’s wrong, Rafi. I’m just stopping by to let you know I’m going undercover tonight, so don’t expect me home for dinner.” There was no point beating around the bush; he’d see right through you anyways.

His eyes narrowed and he stood from his desk, coming over to you. “Undercover? Doing what? Which case?” You could hear the worry in his voice, though he tried to mask it.

You fidgeted nervously. “The, uh, BX9 case? I’ll be—”

“Wait, wait,” Rafael said, cutting you off. You could see the wheels turning in his mind as he tried to put two and two together. “You mean the same BX9 case where gang members are violently attacking volunteer Santa Claus’? The ones that are raping the victims with lead pipes? That case? So, what, you’re going to dress up as Santa? Be fucking bait?” His voice got louder with each word he said until he was almost yelling.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. But you weren’t going to back down; this was your job. “Yes, I’ll be a Santa…as will Amaro. Don’t worry, Rafi, we’ll have people watching us—”

“Don’t worry?? How the hell can you expect me to not worry?! You’re going to be bait for one of the most vicious gangs in Manhattan!” Rafael ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “They realize that Santa is a guy, right? And you’re a woman—”

“Rafael, I’m doing my job, whether you like it or not,” you snapped back. “Besides, the department doesn’t have a suit that would fit Carisi, and I’m not about to repeat what Fin said when asked. So, I volunteered.”

He glared at you, his eyes taking in your set jaw, your straight back and shoulders, head held high and eyes clear. “At least tell me who’s watching you.”

“I got Rollins and Carisi; Liv and Fin are with Amaro.”

Rafael groaned. “You get the fucking new kid?”

You put your hands on his shoulders, locking your eyes with his green ones, clouded with concern and worry. “Rafi, I’ll be fine. I promise, okay? Rollins and Carisi’s got me…. I gotta go. I’ll text you as soon as it’s done.” You gave him another reassuring smile, and he pulled you into a tight hug, giving you a desperate kiss, unwilling to let you go.

“Stay safe, please…come home to me,” he murmured against your lips.

“Of course,” you whispered back before pulling away, heading out the door.

************************

You walked the freezing, deserted streets of Manhattan, the fat-suit hanging uncomfortably around you and the fake beard itched your face. When you had come out of the locker room in the department, dressed as Santa, it was hysterical; Rollins and Carisi had been quick to take pictures of you and Amaro next to each other. You were virtually unrecognizable, looking like any other Rent-A-Santa, indistinguishable from Amaro except maybe your height. But after walking the streets for the past two hours, you were done with the whole op.

“Liv is saying to give it one more hour,” Rollins’ voice said in your ear through the earpiece.

You grunted, knowing they’d hear you in the mic. “Fine.” You heard the footsteps moments before you saw the group of three men running at you, weapons in hand. They were yelling something in Spanish, and you vaguely heard Carisi call to move in. You threw your arms in front of you, saying in a deep, fake-male voice, “now hang on, I don’t want any trouble—"

One of the men swung a metal bat at your stomach, and you couldn’t move fast enough to dodge it. Thankfully, the fat-suit absorbed the brunt of the hit; the wind was knocked out of your lungs, though, and you bent forward. You didn’t see which one swung at you the second time, nor what hit you; you just felt the impact in your side. You grunted as you went down, the cold, hard sidewalk instantly freezing you as you slumped against it.

“Freeze, NYPD!” Carisi’s voice shouted over the commotion. Him and the other officers bolted after the three men, who dropped their weapons, the metal clattering, and took off.

Rollins knelt by you, a hand on your shoulder as she looked you over. “[Y/N], are you okay?” she asked.

You groaned, holding your side. “Y-yeah, I’m fine. Just a bruise.” You struggled to your knees, trying to push yourself to standing. The bite from the cement was already seeping through the clothes and into your skin.

“Woah, woah, take it easy. That was a heavy hit,” Rollins said. You ignored her, your legs wobbling slightly as you got them underneath you.

“Get this stupid thing off me,” you ordered through gritted teeth, unable to reach the clasp behind you for the fat-suit.

Rollins quickly unclipped it, sliding it gently off you. She helped raise your shirt, lightly prodding the spot you were hit in. You sucked in a breath in pain, tears in your eyes.

“Is it bad?” you asked.

“It’s already bruising; I’m taking you to the hospital,” she replied.

You nodded, resigning to your fate. Suddenly, Carisi’s voice came on over the earpiece. “We got all three on the gang members. [Y/N] okay?”

“Fine; I’m taking her to the hospital. Can you get a ride back to the precinct? Let Liv know?” Rollins explained, wrapping an arm around your uninjured side and guiding you back towards the squad car.

“No problem; go,” he said.

**************************

Rafael was sitting in his home office, trying to focus on work. But his mind kept going back to you, wondering if you were alright. He often caught himself staring out the window, wondering where you were, debating if he should text Rollins—he knew you couldn’t answer while undercover—just to make sure everything was okay. Soon enough, he gave up work altogether, going to the kitchen to pour himself a lowball glass of scotch, to help settle his nerves. You’d been undercover before and you’d been just fine. But he had a bad feeling about tonight.

When his phone rang, your ID flashing across his screen, he nearly dropped it in his rush to answer. “Hermosa, everything okay?” he answered, unable to keep the worry out of his voice.

“Fine, Rafi; just wanted to give you an update,” you replied, keeping your voice light. But he could tell instantly that something was wrong; there was a strain in your voice that wasn’t there before.

“What happened?” Rafael asked, his stomach dropping.

You let out a huff which could have been laughter, but just sounded like pain. “I was hit with a baseball bat; nothing bad, don’t worry,” you rushed to say. “Rollins took me to get checked out by the hospital, but I’ll be home soon.”

His heart fluttered in his chest. “I’ll be right there; Mercy Hospital?” He made his way towards the door, grabbing his winter jacket from the coat rack.

“No Rafi, don’t. By the time you get here, I’ll be on my way home, anyways,” you chuckled before it turned into a hiss of pain. “It’s just a bruise; I’m fine. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Rafael sighed heavily, rehanging his jacket and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Fine. Just…get here soon…please.”

“I will. I promise. I love you, Raf,” you said, smiling into the phone.

“I love you, too.”

*******************************

Sure enough, you were walking through Rafael’s front door 20 minutes later, a deep bruise in your left side, but otherwise unharmed. He was instantly off the couch, hurrying over to you. Rafael put his hands on your shoulders, holding you at arm’s length, eyes scanning your face before he brought you against his chest in a tight hug. You hissed in pain, and he instantly released you, though he kept his hands on your shoulders, unable to keep from touching at least some part of you.

“I’m sorry, are you okay? Did I hurt you? Where were you hit? Show me,” Rafael demanded, his words rushed, like he didn’t know where to start.

You gave him a tired smile. “I’m fine, baby. Just a little sore.” You turned your side towards him, lifting your shirt to expose the deep black, blue, and purple bruise overtaking your left side.

“Oh hermosa…” he mumbled, his fingertips ghosting over your skin lightly. You winced when he touched the spot where the bat had connected with you.

“It looks worse than it is, but there’s no internal bleeding, no broken bones or torn muscles. Just a—a flesh wound,” you replied. Rafael examined you for a moment more before he finally tore his eyes away from your injury, his eyes trailing up to your face. He looked so…worried still, so sad and devasted that you were hurt. Unable to stand that look in those normally bright green eyes, you embraced him, nuzzling your head against his chest. Gently, much more gently than normal, Rafael wrapped his arms around your torso, careful not to touch your left side. His hands went to your back, rubbing comforting circles into your shoulder blades.

“I’m okay, Rafi. I’m safe,” you whispered into his chest, tugging him impossibly closer.

“And I’m so thankful you are,” he muttered back, kissing the top of your head.

You leaned back enough to look up at him. You looked into his eyes, then to his lips before you moved to kiss him, your hands threading into his short hair. He kissed you back, needy, desperate, putting all his affection for you into the kiss. You could feel his worry, his nervousness, and you kissed him harder, trying to make those feelings fade away, until there was nothing left but the two of you, your love for each other stronger than anything else.

You pulled out of his grip, taking his hand, and leading him to his bedroom. By some unspoken agreement, you both started undressing yourselves. Once in your bra and panties, you gave him a look. “Help?” you asked. Like with the fat-suit, you couldn’t reach behind your back without your side barking in pain.

Rafael’s eyes softened as he moved to you, unhooking your bra for you. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked despite his darkened eyes, his already half-hard length.

“Yes, Raf…I need you. Tonight, I just need to feel you…everywhere.”

He helped you our of your panties, then kissed you slowly, passionately. You walked backwards with him until your legs hit the bed, then sat. He stood, stroking himself lazily to full hardness, while you pulled yourself up the bed until your head was on the pillows. Once ready, you beckoned to him and he climbed on top of you, his lips trailing over every bit of skin he could reach. He propped himself on one arm, careful not to put his full body weight on your injured side while he kissed you deeply, his other hand dipping between your thighs, stroking your slit slowly. You moaned against his mouth, your hands trailing over his sides as he slid two fingers into you, stretching you.

“I was…so worried…I knew something had happened,” Rafael murmured, pumping his fingers into you.

You rocked your hips against his hand, wincing as the movement stretched your side painfully. “I’m okay, Rafi. I’m here, I’m safe now,” you whispered back, kissing his cheek. He pulled his fingers from you, lining himself up. He slowly pushed into you until he filled you completely, then stopped, waiting, watching your face. He stroked your cheek, brushing your hair out of your face.

“But what if you weren’t?”

Your heart strained with how vulnerable he sounded in this moment. You clutched at him tighter, resting your forehead against his, looking deep into his eyes. “Don’t worry about ‘what ifs,’ Raf. I’m here, and nothing’s gonna change that.” You tightened your pelvic muscles, clenching around his cock, and he let out a groan. “You can feel me, right? Don’t we fit together perfectly? Just focus on feeling me right now.”

Rafael nodded, kissing your forehead. “I feel you…I feel all of you…I just hate when you’re undercover. I hate not knowing if your coming home, or if you’re lying in the street somewhere, bleeding out.”

“I know baby, I know,” you scratched his back lightly. “But that’s the job sometimes. I don’t try to get hurt. You know I try and come home to you every night.”

He sighed. “I know. Of course, I know. Just…don’t make this”—his fingertips lightly graze over your side, and you sucked in a breath—“a habit.”

“I don’t plan on it,” you smiled at him. And finally, finally, he returned it, the worry and concern disappearing from his eyes as he kissed you deeply. Then, he moved, his thrusts slow, deep, careful. You held him close to you, your lips never leaving each other’s except to whisper how much you loved each other. He reminded you over and over again how much he cared about you, and you let him know that you were home with him, safe with him there. When you eventually came, it was with his name on your lips, his fingers intertwined with yours, and your heart full of love. Rafael came soon after you, his forehead pressed against yours, his thumb stroking your cheek.

He rolled off you, laying on his back next to you. You tucked into his side, and he wrapped an arm around you. He sat up enough to look at your bruise once more before laying back with a huff.

“Next time, you get Liv watching your back. Not fucking Fordham.” He muttered. You laughed, cuddling closer to him.

#rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing #I'm so sorry idk what happened #feel free to send in dom!raf requests #I'll do better next time XD #itsjustmyfantasyroom

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jobrookekarev · 3 years

Text

One Step Forward and Three Steps Back: Chapter Four

Chapter Four of Six

Words: 3486

Chapter Summary: Meredith arrives at the hospital and Stephanie tells Alex about Jo’s marriage to Paul. Later, when Paul wakes up, he tells a different story of what happened in the loft.

Summary: Jo wants to marry Alex more than anything, there’s just a few hoops she has to jump through before she can make that a reality. When she finally takes the plunge to free herself from her past, it all comes back to haunt her.

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy.

Relationship: Alex Karev/Jo Wilson, Jo Wilson/Paul Stadler (Past).

Characters: Alex Karev, Jo Wilson, Stephanie Edwards, Paul Stadler, Meredith Grey, Nathan Riggs, Jackson Avery, Miranda Bailey, Ben Warren, and Isaac Cross.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Physical Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Assault. Medical, Hospital, Police, and ER.

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

……………………………………………………………………

Meredith walked into the Grey-Sloan’s ER with Richard by her side. She watched Bailey speaking with the police and security before she went over to the trauma rooms. She didn’t know exactly where Alex and Jo were, but the trauma rooms were her best bet. Jackson came out of trauma room two, pulling out a stretcher with Cross and Warren. The face of the man on the stretcher was black and blue as his eyes were swollen shut, and his nose was set. Jackson caught her eye and walked over to her.

“Is that him?” Meredith guessed as Cross took the man over to the elevators.

“Alex called you?” Jackson asked, crossing his arms, knowing her answer.

“Yeah, where are Jo and Alex?” Meredith said, looking over at the empty trauma room one.

“We’ve transferred Jo up to Pre-OP Alex and Stepahine are there with her. I’ll walk up with you. Riggs, can you scrub in with me on Jo’s surgery?” Jackson said as they all walked over to the elevator.

“Yeah, of course,” Nathan said with a quick nod as they all followed Jackson.

“What happened,” Meredith demanded, putting her hand on Jackson’s arm to stop him. “Alex said that Jo was attached, but he was too distraught to say anything else.”

“Meredith, you know I can’t break HIPPA and tell you, as much as I want to,” Jackson said as he pressed the button for the elevator.

“Do you need a general surgeon?” Webber asked as they got on the elevator. “You said you needed Cadro, so surely you must need a general surgeon as well.”

Jackson hesitated, but Meredith glared at him and he knew Richard was right.

“Okay fine,” Jackson said, pulling up Jo’s chart on the tablet and handing it over to her. Meredith quickly read over the chart and was shocked to see her injuries. Although they weren't extensive, they could have been. Meredith had seen injuries like this in car accidents or hangings, but never at the hands of another person.

“Heart and lung functions look good, and it seems that there's good blood flow in both carotid arteries, and although she was responsive at the scene and in the ambulance. I want to do a Neuro check post-OP,” Nathan said, reading over the cardiologist report and looking at the MRI and CT results. “I also want to make sure that the swelling I saw on the scans doesn't extend further into her lungs.”

“Which is why I asked you to scrub in with me. I'm about to do a rigid bronchoscopy to check her airway. Stephanie said that she could hardly pass the tube down when she first intubated Jo at the scene, and I suspect that I’ll have to do an airway stenting,” Jackson said as they stepped off the elevator and walked over to the pre-OP rooms.

“I'm going to go get changed into scrubs and I'll meet you both in the OR,” Nathan said before he left, giving Meredith a nod.

Meredith knew she should do the same, but she had to talk to Alex first. Three of them walked into pre-OP and Jackson led them past the other beds to a space that was closed off with curtains. He pulled it back to reveal Alex and Stephanie sitting at Jo's bedside. Jo was still unconscious and the bruises on Jo's neck made her pause. Meredith had watched Jo grow from a shy and unsteady intern to a confident and assertive resident. Seeing her unconscious on the bed was unsettling, especially given the circumstances.

“I'm going to go up to the OR and scrub in, but I'll tell the nurses to wait a few minutes before they bring her up. Do you have any more questions?” Jackson said, his voice soft as he spoke to them, putting his hand on Alex's shoulder.

Alex only shook his hand in a no as he continued to stare at Jo. Jackson left with Webber, leaving the three of them alone. Meredith came over and put her hand on Alex's shoulder, rubbing his back.

“Thanks for coming, Mere,” Alex said, glancing up at her, and Meredith frowned as they both looked down at Jo.

“Jackson told us what happened and I'll be scrubbing in on the bronchoscopy to keep an eye on her,” Meredith reassured him.

“Thank you,” Alex said as he grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“How did it happen?” Meredith asked, looking between Alex and Stephanie.

Stephanie cleared her throat and sat up straighter. She was holding Jo’s other hand and rubbing circles on the back of her hand with her thumb.

“I met Jo at the bar earlier today. She was drunk, really drunk, so I took her back to the loft. Alex came back and the three of us fell asleep. I woke up to the plant breaking on the floor and I sat up and looked over to see that he was on top of her. He was choking her and digging his knee into her chest. Then Alex punched him and got him off of her. Jo was, she was awake, conscious, and moving around, but she couldn't breathe. I had to intubate her and we called for an ambulance to bring her here.”

“Who was that guy that attacked her?” Alex said, looking up at Stephanie, Meredith could see the desperation in his eyes, and she watched Stephanie take a deep breath.

“Jo only told me about his existence a few hours ago and she didn’t tell me his name. She was drunk and I think that's the only reason she told me. Jo was crying, and she just said that he was physically abusive to her and that she ran away from him, but…” Stephanie paused as she was barely able to keep her voice from breaking as she spoke.

Stephanie trailed off as she looked between the two of them. She bit her lip as if she was still hesitant to spill all of Jo’s secrets, but given the current situation, Meredith knew they would all come out eventually.

“Alex, she said that she was still married to him.”

“What?” Alex whispered in disbelief.

“Jo said she was trying to divorce him. I don't know how. She must have a lawyer or something. She wanted to be with you, but she was afraid he wouldn't sign the papers or that he would, well, that he would do something like this,” Stephanie said as she looked down at Jo’s wrist and picked at the hospital ID bracelet. “She said that Josephine Wilson wasn't her real name. I think she changed it when she ran away from him so he couldn't find her.”

“That's why she said she couldn't marry me. That’s why she said no,” Alex said with wide eyes as he rubbed his hand over his jaw, looking away in shock. “This morning, I went back to the loft to get a few more pairs of clothes. Jo was there, and she told me that she was all in, that she loved me, and that we could be a family, but I didn't think that was enough. I told her I was done with drama, that I wanted her to be my wife, and the look on her face, I thought. When she said she couldn't marry me, I just thought she didn't want to. I didn't think it meant that she couldn't actually marry me. If I had known, I would have, I don't know, I just, I never would have forced her to divorce him if she didn’t want to. This is my fault. I pushed her to do this.”

“Alex,” Stephanie said, reaching out and putting her hand over his as they both held Jo’s hand. “You and I both know that Jo doesn't do anything she doesn't want to. If she started the divorce proceedings, it wasn't just because of you. It was because she wanted to divorce him.”

“But I gave her the ultimatum. I said be my wife, or I’d end things, but if I had known, I never would have said that. I should never have said that,” Alex said, shaking his head as he looked down at Jo. “Why didn't she tell me? I would have helped her. I would have protected her.”

“She knew that,” Stephanie stressed as he looked up at her. “But I think she was scared of him hurting you or something, and she said she had to do it on her own.”

Alex shook his head as he pulled Jo’s hand to his lips, kissing her hand before holding it against his cheeks as more tears streamed down his face. “I should have known. I never should have left her. I should have woken up earlier before he got there. I should have protected her.”

“You came back. If you weren't there, lord knows, I wouldn't have been able to stop him. You did protect her,” Stephanie whispered as they both stared down at Jo.

“Stephanie's right,” Meredith said, rubbing his shoulder. “You went back to her, you were there. You fought him off, you helped Stephanie save her. You brought her here, and you did everything right, Alex, and Jo knows that.”

“She's right, Alex. You saved her,” Stephanie said with a slight smile before she shook her head. “I thought I knew all Jo’s secrets after she told me about how she lived in her car as a teenager, but that was only part of the story.”

This was news to Meredith, although it didn't surprise her, given what Alex had said about Jo's past. Alex hadn't shared much with her, other than she had it rough like he did as a foster kid. Meredith didn't push the details because, like Alex, Jo’s past was her own. She, of all people, knew how everyone deserved to have their secrets.

“Yeah, I thought, I knew all of them too, but I get why she kept this from me,” Alex said as he reached down and put his hand on Jo’s head as he rubbed his thumb over her forehead. “For the longest time, I never told anyone about my Dad. Jo only found out about it because she showed up when I was taking a paternity test to be sure it was him. She took care of him when I couldn't. She was there for me, even when I didn't let her, but I wasn't there for her, but I promise you, Jo, I'm here for you now,”

Alex said the last line only for her as he leaned down and kissed her forehead before closing his eyes as he pressed their foreheads together.

Several of the nurses, including Bokhee, came over and pulled back the curtains. “They're ready for her in the OR.”

“I'll walk up with her and change when I get there,” Meredith said, putting her purse and coat on a chair, knowing that they would watch over her stuff.

Alex nodded and brushed the hair away from Jo’s face. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips. His lips lingered on her skin and Stephanie looked away for a moment before he pulled back. Alex stepped back, finally letting go of Jo's hand and gently placing it on her stomach. Meredith remembered how Jo always wrapped her arm around Alex's neck. It was possessive and sweet, and every time Meredith watched them together, she knew they were meant to be.

Meredith helped the nurses put up the railings and switch Jo to manual intubation as they took off the brakes. She stood at the side of the bed next to Bokhee and pushed the bed forward. As they pushed open the doors out of pre-OP, she took one last look at Alex. He stood there waiting for them as another nurse directed him and Stephanie towards the waiting room. Alex just stood there with his hands in his pockets, staring at Jo. Meredith knew that it would break him if anything happened to Jo, and she was determined to watch over her and make sure that never happened.

……………………………………………………………………

The nurse took them to the waiting room, but Alex barely registered what was going on around him. He had barely had any time to process the fact that Jo was married and that she was getting a divorce. He could hardly believe it. All he could think about was the image of Jo lying on the ground with him on top of her. He could still remember the way she gasped for air before Stephanie intubated her and how fragile she looked on the hospital bed as they wheeled her into surgery.

“Dr. Karev, Dr. Karev?”

Alex looked up from where he was staring at the floor to the black female officer standing before him before he looked over at Stephanie, who was seated next to him, holding Meredith’s things that he had forgotten.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“It's alright,” the officer said, giving a slight smile as she sat down in front of him on the coffee table. “My name is Officer Tatum, and I've been dispatched by the detectives to take your statements. Could you please tell me what happened tonight?”

Alex nodded, and he and Stephanie did their best to give a detailed statement to the officer as visions of what happened flashed in his head. To be honest, from the moment he saw Jo on the floor to ending up in the hospital, it was all just a blur. Luckily for him, Stephanie seemed to remember most of it and was able to give the officer everything she needed

“Thank you,” Officer Tatum said as she finished writing. “I have a few questions for you both, if you don't mind?”

“Yeah, sure,” Alex said, not entirely sure that he had a choice anyway.

“Do you know why Dr. Wilson was attacked in your apartment tonight? We have reason to believe that Dr. Wilson let her attacker into your apartment as the door was open, and there was no sign of forced entry,” Officer Tatum said, looking between the two of them before her eyes settled on Alex.

“Yes,” Stephanie said before Alex could even think of an answer. “Jo said that he was her abusive husband. She mentioned that she ran away from him a few years ago and told me about some of the abuse she endured when they were together. She also mentioned that she was in the process of divorcing him.”

“Did Dr. Wilson tell this to you?”

“Yes, she told me about her husband and the abuse, and after he attacked her, I asked her if it was him, and she nodded yes.”

“Okay,” Officer Tatum said, writing everything down before she looked back at them again. “And what kind of abuse did Dr. Wilson alleged happened?”

“She said it was physical. That he would hit her and that's why she ran away from him.”

“And what did Dr. Wilson tell you about her divorce proceedings?”

“Nothing other than the fact that she was divorcing him. I asked if she had a restraining order against him, but she didn't answer.”

Officer Tatum just nodded as she continued to write everything down. “Do you happen to know Dr. Wilson's husband’s name?”

“No, actually, we don't even know Jo's married name. She said she changed it when she ran away,” Stephanie said with a shrug and she shook her head.

Alex just kind of watched the exchange happen. He was still trying to process everything. The fact that Jo was married, that her abusive ex-husband had shown up, and that he tried to kill her.

“Okay, is there any other relevant information that I should know, such as Dr. Wilson’s lawyer's information or other documents she kept from her marriage or proof of the abuse?”

Stephanie stayed silent and it took Alex a moment to realize that they were both staring at him. “Um, no, I didn't know, maybe, I didn’t even know she was married until tonight.”

“So for five years, you had no idea that the woman you've been dating, your friend, was married?” Officer Tatum asked, raising an eyebrow at them.

“No,” Alex said as he looked over at Stephanie, who just looked as floored as he was. He could hardly believe it himself.

Officer Tatum softened as she took in their expression before she closed her notebook. “One last thing Dr. Karev, do the detectives have permission to search your apartment?”

“Um, yeah, but what for?”

“We’ll be searching for any information that can link Dr. Wilson to her husband, the man who attacked her. I'm sure that Dr. Wilson will make a statement and clear everything up when she's out of surgery, but in the meantime, We'd like to contact our own investigation in hopes that we can shed more light on the situation.”

“Okay,” Alex said as he nodded. He could tell that the detectives didn't quite believe their story, but he knew that the truth would out. It always did.

Officer Tatum returned his nod and handed him her business card before she left him and Stephanie alone in the waiting room. Alex looked up at the clock as he calculated how much time passed and how much longer Jo would be in surgery. Then he sat and waited as he processed the events of the night.

……………………………………………………………………

“What kind of person does this to Jo? She's so sweet and her hair is so nice. Who would want to hurt her?” Cross asked as he sat staring at the unconscious man on the gurney after they settled him in Pre-OP, waiting for Jackson to call them up after he was done with Jo’s surgery.

“I don't know,” Ben said as he finished up the paperwork, shaking his head. He still didn’t know what happened but, Cross was right. Jo didn’t deserve this. “According to his wallet. It says that his name is Paul Stadler. His business card says he’s a doctor at Orlando Medical.”

“Orlando, that's weird. Jo never mentioned anything about Florida,” Cross said before jumping away from Paul. “He just moved.”

“Yeah, it looks like he's waking up,” Ben said as he walked over to the bed.

Paul Stadler turned his head back and forth as he opened his eyes. He squinted in the harsh light before he looked over at Ben. He tried to move his hands but couldn't because of the restraints. “Where am I? What, what's going on?”

“Mr. Stadler, don't try and move. You’re at Grey-Sloan Memorial,” Ben said, putting a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to stop jerking at his restraints. “Cross, go get Bailey and the police.”

Cross nodded before quickly running out of the room.

“The police?” Paul asked, looking confused before his eyes went wide and he looked over at Ben. “Yes, please get the police, and please tell me, is Brooke okay? I think she said she goes by another name now, maybe Josephine?”

“You're talking about Jo? The woman you beat up? I can't disclose her personal medical information, but I can tell you that she's pressing charges.” Ben said, glaring at him. Even if it wasn’t fully true, Ben wanted him to know that he wasn’t getting away with this.

“What, what are you talking about?” Paul asked, looking confused. “Why would Brooke press charges against me when I was trying to help her?”

“Look whenever you say went on…” Ben started to say, but Paul cut him off.

“No, you have to believe me. Look, I know we’ve been separated, but I got a call from Brooke last night out of the blue. She was crying and she said she was scared. She said that her boyfriend was hurting her and so I rushed over to her place. When I got there, I found him on top of her. I pulled him off and then he punched me. I guess her other friend woke up or something. I don't remember but, I remember this guy with a scruffy beard and a gray shirt. He was on top of her.”

Ben shook his head, of course, he didn't believe Paul's story about Alex. He was occasionally volatile, yes, but he would never hurt Jo.

“You have to believe me. I would never lay a hand on my wife?”

“Your wife?” Ben asked, his eyes going wide as he stepped back.

“Yes, I have a picture of her in my wallet. It's from our wedding day, please just look at it. You have to believe me,” Paul begged him, looking into Ben's eyes.

Ben narrowed his eyes at him, but stepped back and turned around. He opened Paul's wallet and looked through it until he found the photo tucked in one of the cardholders. Sure enough, there was Paul and Jo, pressed up against each other with happy smiles. Jo in a white dress with a bouquet and Paul and a pristine suit. Behind it was an ID with Jo’s picture with the name Brooke Stadler, meaning he wasn’t lying. They were married.

“Please, I would never hurt your wife. You have to believe me,” Paul said as Ben looked back at him. He had to tell Miranda.

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