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cloud9in · 3 years

Note

You’re the only one who’s writing poppy x mc fics sooo, i have a request “ bea is a bad girl (like in a gang) in high school and also went jail couple of times for getting in trouble in high school senior year poppy was new transfer student and after 2 months bea join back school and met poppy bea and they just click yk like a connection slowly they started dating and in school everyone was shocked to see bea in a relationship ( bad girl and new girl) poppy is always worried about bea and few days before graduation bea got hurt really bad and poppy gives bea 2 options that she has to choose between her or her this (gang).. bea didn’t say anything to her so poppy left, after 2/3 years they met in college bea was a different person but so does poppy they become enemies (no one knows why they hate each other) one day they were arguing and poppy shout at her and says why you're back and bea put her hand on her cheek and smile and say i am here to win you back because i love you 😬

Promises (Poppy x MC)

Part 1/?

Can i just say I'm absolutely invested in this plot? You've got me hooked on my own story, as hectic as my life is, this is enjoyable to write. I hope you like it as well @iamsimpforpoppy

Word count: 1.8k (i got carried away)

“You know what to do Jackson, same old shit.”

“Yeah but it feels like a movie every damn time”, Bea responds confidently as she unbuckles her seatbelt. She sports a black mask with a yellow bandana, a vivacious color worn by only the Southside Spades, a notorious street gang who were known for robbery, and occasional blood.

Bea found herself wrapped up in the world of gangs when she turned sixteen. But before that the brunette would assist in transporting goods, also known as hardcore drugs. There was plenty enough to go around so Bea could indulge in any she wanted. Drugs didn’t give her the high she craved though, instead it was the thrilling game of cat and mouse with the cops.

Every now and then she’d get thrown in the slammer overnight. But this particular evening earns her one year in the NY State Penitentiary. See, the cops never gathered significant evidence to build a case against her, even though she was well aware of Detective Steinhelm who had some sick obsession with her. Following her everywhere, until Bea confronted her directly after noticing the same black sedan parked a street down from her house.

But she played the game right, and nothing ever led back to her. Until now.

“Where’s the money Bradley? I feel like I’ve been kissing your ass all week, the boss needs it now.”

A skinny blonde boy who looks like he had better days grunts in annoyance, “You’ll get your money...I’m just a little short right now.”

“Time’s up Ken doll, you know Carter will have your head for this.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have to know. Maybe this can be between us…”, Bradley strides carefully towards the blonde, a disturbing grin on his face which screams junkie. “Back the hell up now.”

Bea pulled her knife out with ease and pointed it towards him. She didn’t plan on actually using it. Murder was way out her budget for a simple money pickup but she knew that it would scare the boy easily. Except he kicked the blade out of her hold which prompted it to screech across the concrete before coming to a stop. Before Bea could think her fists reacted as she intercepted a punch that aimed straight for her jaw. She twists Bradley’s arm and he falls on his knees in pain. With his back to her, she kicks him down until he’s flat on his stomach.

“What is it exactly that you plan on doing now Bradley?” The blonde boy struggles under Bea’s foot but manages to reach around and slash at her ankle with a surprise shiv. Bea yelps in pain before kicking his head, rendering him unconscious.

“Stupid idiot. Had to make this harder than it should’ve been.”

Bea eventually finds the stash of money hidden under his mattress, an amateur hiding place at best. She congratulated herself for another job accomplished (kinda) and headed home. What the seventeen year old didn’t expect was the repulsive sound of a siren filling her ears as she stepped out onto her driveway. Her blood rushed to her head when she spotted Detective Steinhelm among the police officers surrounding her and retorts, “oh come on. I thought I told them about you harassing me. What do you want? Back here to strip search me again?”

The older woman only watches the blonde in eerie silence before smiling and gesturing to a police officer. “Beatriz Jackson you have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law-”

“What the actual fuck!” Bea yanks her arms out of the officers reach which initiates a struggle for dominance. This was nothing new to her, but it still felt sickening. Like she was some pet.

“You have the right to have a lawyer present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you if you so desire.” Detective Steinhelm finishes speaking and approaches the still scuffling blonde, “if you keep resisting I will tase you myself.”

Bea bites back the urge to headbutt the old hag right in her stupid face but she didn’t need any extra charges, for whatever the hell it was she was being charged for.

“Tell me why the fuck I am being arrested and I’ll calm down.”

That’s when Bea notices a familiar (bruised up) face from earlier. His smirk was enough to eat at her skin and she felt burning hot rage.

“Your blood was found at the scene of Mr. Denbroughs assault. You are being arrested in the case of second degree assault with intent to hurt someone with a deadly weapon.”

***

Bea only got one year in prison due to her kickass lawyer Ina Kingsley who played the minor card at every opportunity given. She also pointed out the fact that the knife wasn’t bloodstained, and Bradley never had any stab wounds so there is no proof the weapon was ever used against him. And it technically wasn’t. Good thing she didn’t bring a gun instead.

She did miss her 18th birthday though. And a few months of her senior year. But that’s what summer classes were for right?

All eyes were on the blonde when she returned, and whispers spread throughout the school about a certain new girl. Bea paid no mind to the fingers that pointed in her direction but the newcomer did manage to catch her attention, and pretty quick at that.

“Hey Jackson, how was solitary confinement?”

“I heard they make you use the bathroom right through the tiny food slot.”

Bea rolls her eyes and pelts a piece of not-so-fresh bread right at Ford’s head. The other people at the table join in on the laughter and Bea shakes her head and smiles, “it was Juvie you dumbass, and they made us sit in a circle together every Thursday like we were in an AA meeting.

“That’s jail for babies, goldilocks here wouldn’t last a minute in a real prison”, Carter joins them at the table with a cocky smirk, yet his eyes soften when landing on Bea. She shares a similar look with him knowing they’ll have a real conversation later. Because they definitely didn’t get to have that when Bea was getting dragged away to the police station in cuffs, and every event after that.

“It’s our girl’s first day out, we have to celebrate. And it’s not like she’s on probation...right Bea?”

“I do have a curfew, and I’m on juvenile probation so…when we partying?” The crew laughs as Bea shrugs. Her mother will deal with it. Zoey scoots in next to the blonde and wraps her arm around her shoulder in a side hug. “So glad to have you back Bea, and we are not risking you breaking parole so let’s just go to a sport’s bar tonight.”

Bea nods her head in agreement as the first warning bell goes off and everyone starts to clean up. Zoey taps on her arm and points towards one of the farther tables where a lone figure sits, wiping her hands with a napkin. All Bea saw were blonde tresses until she turned and they made brief eye contact.

“She’s the new girl, Poppy Min Sinclair. Rumor is she’s got a rich white daddy. You should totally invite her to the party.”

“And why would I do that?”

Zoey squints her eyes and leans in closer, her hands under chin in thought, “she seems like the broody type, you two would click.” She laughs at Bea’s comical expression but the blonde can’t bother to look in her direction, she’s way too wrapped up in what little the stranger a few tables away had to offer. She would sit on that thought, Bea was not one to shy away from anything.

***

The two became friends quicker than anyone could think.

One day after school, Poppy’s car wouldn’t start. It just didn’t comply. You would think she’d be poised and call her mechanic to come fix it, but instead the blonde slumped against the driver’s side window and let out a visibly frustrated, high-pitched yelp. Bea watched her pace around the car and even...kick?...the front bumper with her heels in efforts to wake it up.

“You know I may be wrong but I think that only makes it worse..” She approaches the helpless blonde with a small grin. Poppy’s persistence amazed her though, she’s never seen anyone determined to beat a car up. An expensive one at that.

“I hope you have some idea how to fix it, unless you’re here to waste my time and ask me on a date.”

Woah.

Okay that definitely threw Bea on a whim. She lets out a sharp laugh and bites her lips in amusement. She strolls towards the front of her car, holding Poppy’s gaze the whole way. She liked that the blonde didn’t avert her eyes. “And if I did? We couldn’t take your car of course, it’s obviously impaired.”

Poppy smiles and turns to look at Bea properly. She checks out every inch of her with no visible shame. An assessment so to say, and she likes what she sees.

“It’s your lucky day Poppy, I happen to know a thing or three about cars, and I desperately want to get this thing working so we can go on that date.” She winks playfully but god does she mean it. Bea silently prayed that the blonde wouldn’t take it the wrong way, but she knew she won when Poppy didn't protest, instead getting comfortable under some shade and holding her hand out, “the stage is all yours Jackson.”

***

“So what you’re trying to tell me is that I can’t jump over this obvious not-so-protected fence?”

“Judging by the sign right next to it that says...oh wow who would’ve thought, “DO NOT ENTER”, I don’t think so”, Poppy deadpans. It didn’t phase Bea of course because she was already halfway up the fence when the blonde turned away from the sign. The girl had a point to prove, maybe not a valid one, but still a point.

Poppy pinches her eyebrows in exasperation before looking back up to a nonchalant Bea swinging her legs from the top of the fence. She winks down at the blonde, “join me?”

Poppy didn’t expect to be climbing fences with a charismatic girl who had the same color hair as her when she moved schools, but she found herself embracing every moment of it. Although the trip up there was a struggle and some.

“I swear to god there’s a wire in my ass.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“And we’re both going to end up in the hospital. Get. me. Down.”

Bea tries to hold in her laughter the whole way down but lets it loose when she sees Poppy still up there, partly hovering in the air. “Pops...I’ll catch you, don't worry. Climb down slowly.” She doesn’t. But Bea had her feet planted and ready because any moment with the sassy blonde was unpredictable. And she loved it. Especially because she had Poppy engulfed in her arms and they were so close their noses touched.

Bea promised herself she’d kiss the girl next time.

***

“You’re...in a gang?”

Bea felt a clasp of cold air enter her lungs as she stared ahead. It wasn’t like she could hide it from Poppy. She has a reputation, and word has gotten around about the two getting close. This was just like that one time at the end of sophomore year where Bea met Kelly Hall, a beautiful girl with golden rimmed glasses. Unfortunately she only could imagine what could’ve been after whispers ended up right on the doorstep of Kelly’s parents, and she suddenly changed her number, and switched out of every class she had with Bea.

The blonde didn’t want to entertain the thought of Poppy doing the same, but this was a lifestyle she chose.

“I mean...how?”

Bea sighs and turns to look at her, “I fell into the wrong crowd. Or maybe it’s the right one because I never found a true home until I met them. They’re family, I wouldn’t expect you to get it though and I understand if you want to distance-”

“I of all people know what it’s like to not fit in Jackson. You’ve found people who make you feel safe. Maybe I don’t agree with the troubles that come with being in a gang but I don’t know the whole story.”

“Do you want to?”

Poppy wraps her arms around Bea’s and lays her head on her shoulder, “I want to know that you won’t get yourself hurt but I know that’s nearly impossible.”

Bea exhales slowly, not knowing what to say. She knew that this would upset Poppy but her acceptance meant more. She didn’t know what this would mean for the two of them, if there was a “them”, but she felt more encouraged to share more of her other life with the blonde.

“Just promise me one thing Jackson.”

“Yeah?”

Poppy’s voice comes out softer than expected, and Bea ingests every emotion that comes with it, “Promise me you won’t ever put yourself in a position where you have to choose between me or the gang.”

Bea finds her hand in the space where their thighs touched and latches onto it like a lifebuoy,

“I promise.”

***

“I just remembered something Poppy.”

“What, that you have half a brain cell? I thought that was established Jackson.”

Bea launches a pillow that (purposely) misses Poppy’s head by an inch. If she actually hit her and frizzed up her locks then she’d never hear, or see..or walk again.

“I’m being serious. I just remembered this too, we never went on that car date we talked about.”

Poppy squints her eyes in confusion, but was fully aware of what Bea was referring to. “You mean the first time we met?”

The blonde smiles to herself as she replayed that day in her head over and over again. She couldn’t decide if Bea’s openly flirty behavior is what drew her in or if it was her ability to fix any of her possessions with ease. And for free.

Bea pulls Poppy up by her hands until her back is against the lockers. Another perfect opportunity for the blonde to make do of that promise she made to herself, but something told her to wait just a bit longer. “So what do you say? Poppy Min Sinclair, will you go on a date with me?”

Poppy rolls her eyes playfully, pulling Bea in closer by the collar of her letterman, “now who’s being dramatic?”

“I didn’t hear a no”

“I think you know what the answer is.”

That night Zoey helped Bea prep for her first date with the girl that she could say she was almost in love with. The taller girl brushed some dust off of Bea’s jacket and planted her hands on her shoulders, “remember Jackson, give her the ride of her life. And I mean that in every way possible.”

Thanks Zoe.

Bea watched Poppy drive up in front of her house and something inside her mind couldn’t deny the pang her heart let out when she saw Poppy smile the way she did.

Bea took control of the driving and told Poppy to recline her seat and enjoy the ride, with her seatbelt on of course. Safe sacrifices. They cruised through an empty highway blasting Poppy’s spotify playlist named “Rich Bitch Songs” because that was their ideal perfect date. It’s amazing that the two could even come to an agreement, but here we are.

She watched the beautiful blonde sing her lungs out and couldn’t help but mirror her joy, taking her hands off the steering wheel. The pump of adrenaline prompts a new excitement in the air and Poppy wraps Bea into a secure hug, her hair flying wildly with the wind. Bea slows the car down but the rapid beating of her heart made it seem they were going 100 miles per second.

“I feel so alive Jackson.”

Bea stared at the girl in the passenger seat with a look that could only be described as love.

“You make me feel alive.”

Poppy kept talking and Bea found a way to focus on both the road and the blonde next to her. Because when you truly enjoy something, you’ll find a way to keep experiencing it. And Bea enjoyed hearing Poppy’s voice, she loved everything about her.

“I feel like kissing you.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“...Nothing. I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

They kiss when Bea pulls over. A hot feeling consumes them like fire when their tongues collide and Bea plants her hands around Poppy’s hips, pushing her back into her seat until she’s on top. The windows easily start to fog up in reaction to the heat, and not once did they take their hands off each other.

Promise 1/2 kept

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End Note: This chapter was to build their relationship, more angst incoming. BIG THANKS to @somewillwin for letting me use Jackson <3333

Taglist: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @poppysmc @doey-eyes8 @veenast @straightlikewetspaghetti @phoennixxsblog @a-ghost-girl

#poppy min sinclair #queen b #playchoices #mc x poppy #a huge bug flew onto my screen during the writing process #gave me motivation to HURRY MY AAAAAAASSS UP

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rafivadafreddy · 3 years

Text

Kissing Secrets

A fivr part story about our favorite ADA Rafael Barba and his FBI gf.

Summary: What happens when the SVU squad meets Rafaels’ girlfriend, but under not so great circumstances?

Word Count: 2,373 Warnings: Cursing, angry couple, Spanish, angst, talk of rape and drug case.

Dating never came easy to Rafael Barba. But when he found someone with a job as hectic as him. It was perfect. Neither expected much from the other, when one had to cancel the other would understand.

Of course, Y/N would be more than understanding. She had two bachelor degrees under her belt and after long days and nights with the 20 weeks of New Agent Training with the FBI at Quantico. She, just like Rafael, worked hard to get where she was. Trying to make a name for herself. Starting at twenty-five and becoming a special agent before her twentieth eight birthday, Y/N knew she would make it.

Y/N and Rafael met when she was looking for a job, needing to complete two years of work experience to become a special agent. Working as a rookie cop in a district in Brooklyn. Well, one night an angry cuban man walks into the precinct. His fancy three piece suit was a mess and he claims he was assaulted. Knife wound to his arm, Y/N was the cop to take care of him.

One thing led to another, Rafael left the precinct with a smile. Having left his number behind for the cop. To ‘call’ if she had any questions about his assault. Of course, Y/N was able to find the guy who assaulted the ADA and was able to get his phone back from the man.

Almost three years passed and they were still happy with the other. Dinners, nights in and a couple who were in love with the other. Y/N met his mother and his abuelita, things were perfect. So, when Y/N graduated, celebrating the fact that she made it through the FBI academy. Thankfully, Y/N was able to stay at the federal bureau of investigation in New York City.

»---------------------►

A few months into her new job, Y/N felt as if she was on a high. It was her biggest case yet and it was hers… well, her’s along with her partner, Agent Shawn Carter. Having been staying overtime the past month, getting together evidence and witnesses to take down an organized sex trafficing crime involving a drug lord that’s on their most wanted list, Y/N wasn’t about to let anything get in the way of her bringing every last one of them down. Especially when the last victim she was notified of was a thirteen year old.

“Hola mi amor…” Y/N smiled at the call of her boyfriend. Rafael had been her rock the past few years as Y/N worked on getting into the FBI.

“Hola mi corazón…” she heard him chuckle into the phone. “Dinner tonight? Think you can make it?”

Glancing at her watch, Y/N thought about it. “I think so yeah. We’re going to pick up a perp right now and if it all works out. I’ll be able to spend all night with you.” She told him and sighed. “I’m sorry for being super busy lately.”

“Hey, none of that. I understand. It 's your job. My girlfriend, the badass FBI agent.” the two laughed and Y/N smiled.

“My boyfriend, the hot shot ADA. I’ll get out early to have dinner with you. No matter what, you’ll come first tonight.” She told him, noticing they were nearing Manhattan.

“Now, now… You know you always come first when we’re together.” Y/N could hear the smirk as he spoke and she just laughed.

Saying goodbye with many ‘i love you’s’ Y/N put her phone away and sighed, the smile feeling permanent on her lips.

Ten minutes later, the black car pulled up outside the Special Victims Unit of the 16th precinct. Both Y/N and Shawn looked at one another before nodding. It wasn’t going to be fair and it wasn’t like they knew. But the SVU team had picked up a perp they had been watching and started an investigation on him. Something Y/N couldn’t let happen. No this was her case.

Walking into the building and getting directions to the SVU floor, Y/N walked with her head held high. The skinny jeans she wore, along with the blue button down shirt. She made sure to have her badge clipped to her pants. Gun in its holder and ID already out in her hand.

“Can I help you, agent?” a woman asked, making Y/N turn to look at a blonde who walked over. That caught the other detectives attention.

They were already wondering why the FBI was there.

“As a matter of fact you can. I’m special agent Y/N L/N and this is my partner, Agent Shawn Carter. I’m afraid I’m here to collect the perp you have in custody along with everything you have against him.” she told the women, except her eyes were on a brunette woman. Whom Y/N knew was in charge. She did her research before storming into the precinct this way.

“Why should we do that? This is our case, don’t see why the Feds want a low life like him.” another detective spoke up and Y/N looked over at him. From his voice and stance, it was obvious he was angry.

“Calm down, Amaro.” the brunette finally spoke up. “Olivia Benson.” she introduced herself and Y/N shook her hand. “Now, you say you need this guy. Why? From what we’ve gathered, he’s just a scum who likes underage girls.”

With a sigh, Y/N nodded. But she didn’t say anything when a familiar voice spoke up. “What’s going on here?”

“Ah! Barba, you’re going to love this.” The Amaro fellow looked amused. “The FBI is here to take our case.”

“Oh yeah? On what grounds?” Barba asked.

“On the grounds that he’s a suspect in an ongoing Federal case.” Y/N said, turning to look at the man she just told she loved, not even half an hour ago. “Miguel Hernández raped and murdered a thirteen year old girl three days ago. And I know you guys picked him up cause he was caught in the act of raping another victim. Now imagine my surprise when I found out that SVU caught him. Even though notice went out to contact the FBI if Mr. Hernández is picked up by officers or detectives of New York.” she spoke, informing all of them, even though her eyes stayed on Rafael.

“He also has information about Lorenzo Torsney.” Shawn spoke up for the first time.

“Wait, Torsney, the guy linked to the sex trafficking ring with the underage girls? The same Lorenzo who’s rumored to be the new Drug lord of New York?” some guy spoke up, his thick accent catching Y/Ns attention.

“That’s the one.” Both agents spoke at the same time. “So, Lieutenant. The case files and Miguel if you please.” Shawn said and followed Bensen into her office to grab the paperwork to make the transfer.

Y/N on the other hand went to look at the window that showed into the interrogation room. Hearing footsteps, Y/N smiled at the male and nodded to the detective seeing the coffee he got her. “Thanks…”

“Ah, Dominick Carisi, Jr. but everyone calls me Sonny.” the thick accent said and Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“I get the feeling, no one calls you, Sonny… Sonny.” she smirked and looked at Miguel again.

Thankfully he got quiet after that. Though what Y/N failed to notice was Rafael standing in the doorway. “Excuse us, Carisi.” he said, in his ‘this is my mad, but trying to stay professional” voice.

Sonny couldn't get out of the room faster, not that Y/N blamed him. She would have ran as well.

"You couldn't have told me on the phone that you were coming to pick up the guy from my case?" Rafael whispered, looking real mad.

Yet, Y/N just rolled her eyes. "Tu caso? Last I heard, you were still working in fucking Brooklyn! Que diablos, Rafael!" She hissed at her boyfriend. "You changed fucking districts and never told me?"

"Oh, that's rich. Coming from the one always canceling our dates!"

"¡Vete a la mierda!" Y/N narrowed her eyes. "Who canceled the last THREE dinners? Wasn't me, that's for fucking sure." She scoffed and pushed past him.

"Real professional Detectives.." Y/N rolled her eyes at the SVU team all scrambling back to their desks. Pretending like they wern’t eavesdropping on Y/N and Rafael.

"Y/N, vuelve aquí, ahora."

Only, Y/N ignored him. Pulling out her phone, she had to put in a call for another agent to come out to the district and collect Miguel. All while ignoring Rafael. Who was trying to glare her into submission.

'Good luck, papi. Not gonna work now.' Y/N thought and looked away from the detectives. Answering emails and texts on her phone. Already getting a location of where Shawn and her needed to go after leaving SVU.

»»---------------------►

As Miguel was getting put into cuffs, both around his wrists and ankles. Y/N watched, making sure nothing would go wrong. Turning to the detectives, she gave them a sad smile.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t let you guys have this case.” she told them, sounding sincere. “If he wasn’t important to catching Torsney, I would have let you keep the case.” she added, thanking Shawn as he handed Y/N her FBI jacket.

Hearing two different scoffs, but from two cuben men. Y/N rolled her eyes and shook Olivia’s hand. “It’s fine, at least you’re getting him off the streets… and something tells me, you interrogating him will make what we did look like preschoolers.” she smirked and Y/N shrugged.

“Let’s just say, the cameras are not on all the time.” Shawn spoke up and Y/N shook her head.

“Yes they are, thank you for giving me a heads up to watch all the interrogations you do from now on.” she narrowed her eyes and told him to go wait in the car. Saying goodbye, Y/N turned and made her way out.

Getting into the car, Y/N rubbed a hand over her face and told Shawn they were needed over in the Bronx.

“So… that was your boyfriend. Huh?” the male next to her spoke up after a few minutes of silence in the car.

Of course, with her telling him to shut up the car ride continued on quietly.

Hearing her phone let out a ping Y/N grabbed it and read the text from Rafael.

Papi: So, I guess we need to talk later.

Y/N: Yeah, I’ll tell you when I get off. Don’t know when that’ll be. There was a bomb over in the South Bronx. Was put on the case to deal with it.

Keeping the reply simple. Wanting Rafael to know she was mad at him. Not even replying to his ‘stay safe’ and not cause she didn’t want to. But because they had arrived and the scene they saw. It was a complete mess.

News crews were filming everything happening, people being put into ambulances and being taken care of.

“OK! What do we know?” Y/N asked, tying her H/C hair up into a ponytail.

As they were getting information, Y/N looked around. Not knowing cameras were pointed towards both her and her partner.

Turning to the officer telling them what had happened, Y/N frowned. “What time was the explosion? Exactly.” she asked and Y/N felt like she paled when being told it had been Nine minutes.

“We need every emergency vehicle headed here stopped outside the perimeter, and evacuate the building.” she commanded and stopped when the Battalion Chief spoke up.

“I got half a dozen guys inside checking structural damage, twice that many going door-to-door --”

Y/N just cut him off. “Have them grab anyone they see, and get out. Now.” her confidence leaves no doubt and the man nods. Talking to everyone he can and getting as many people out as possible.

With Shawn helping out on the other side, also helping people move away from the building the explosion went off in. It left Y/N to run after a woman who was running towards the apartment building. Crying about how she wanted her son's body

Y/N was able to get her away, but when the second explosion hit, both her and the woman were flown forward. Y/N being knocked out.

Rafaels’ POV:

He was getting shit for not saying anything to the team about his FBI girlfriend. Not like he knew if they were even going to be that later on when they talk. But still, he sat there and let them poke and joke around. The team had gotten takeout and were relaxing since there were no other cases. Rafael deciding to join them (not like they gave him much of a choice in the matter)

“Hey, Barba… didn’t you say Y/N was out in the South Bronx?” Rollins asked, causing Rafael to turn away from Liv and look at the blonde detective.

Moving his head to see what she was looking at, Rafael felt a chill in his stomach as he watched the News on the TV. They were covering the story of what was happening.

The team were all quiet listening to the man speak, the camera moving to where Y/N stood with her partner. Rafael watched as she took charge of the situation, he felt proud of her. But he had a nagging feeling, seeing everyone move quickly at whatever command she gave.

“By the looks, Agent Y/N L/N of the FBI gave orders to evacuate the building. Will there be another explosion, how does she know to get everyone out of the building? Whatever it is, everyone seems to be listening….” but Rafael turned the man's voice out.

In the background he could see Y/N running towards the woman and he shot up out of his seat when the second explosion happened. Cutting short the camera. No one was moving or saying anything as they just watched Rafael, who looked on the verge of a panic attack.

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart

#rafael barba #Raul Esparza #Raúl Esparza #rafael barba fanfiction #rafael barba fanfic #rafael barba fic #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x female reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x oc #rafael barba x fbi reader #law and order svu #svu

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peachyteez · 3 years

Text

angel nurse ≫ DAY(6) SIX, ARE YOU HAPPY?

this fox hybrid was brought into the recovery facility covered in scratches, whip marks, blood, and every other injury you could imagine. due to this, yeosang has trouble trusting humans, as he was afraid they could just hurt him all over again. until he meets jiyu, his “angel nurse”.

PART OF THE HEAVEN SERIES.

✧ taglist: @defsoul15, @jaeminpeachy, @joongiebug, @sunsethw4, @t-tbinnie, @chanyeolol, @danibookmarks, @hello-its-ya-boi, @murralyn, @alienmashup, @panini, @moon8894, @koasworld, @taetae123094, @luv3rxcha, @treasure-hwa, @etherealbyeol, @hwaseongzzz, @lovely-sanie, @orbitiiny, @pirate-of-the-dark-seas, @babydolljo, @ms-starlight, @everrrlasting, @bls-luv-me, @atzgiggle, @arohabyeol, @rainbowmagicpixecorn, @soverystupid, @ayetothezee, @kingalls00, @sanstreasure0305, @sparklingmallow, @peachseok

✧ notes: courtesy of a certain someone for the day6 reference :)

back。| next。

“yeosang, hello,” jiyu peeked in with a smile and wave. behind her were four other hybrids. they peeked out from behind her and made eye contact with the fox hybrid.

yeosang waved back, suddenly feeling wary again with the new presences in the room, even if they were his own kind. maybe i’m more shy than i thought...

“just like i promised, i brought these four babies with me today,” she teased, earning a ‘hey!’ from mingi.

yeosang now understood why jiyu wasn’t so worried for the bunny hybrid as other people were; the bunny was at least six feet tall, towering above the other predator hybrids. except for the golden–retriever, he seemed to be the same height.

seonghwa slowly approached yeosang and stared at him. he’s heard so much about this fox hybrid being his “twin”, now he wanted to see for himself.

yeosang, on the other hand, remembered jiyu’s comment from the previous day about him being similar to the wolf hybrid. just how similar were they for her to associate them with each other?

the two tilted their heads in the same direction as they observed each other. both of their eyes widened and they pointed to each other. “you’re me,” they both said, before slapping a hand over their mouths. they both seemed so fascinated, and slightly terrified, that they were mirroring each other right from the getgo.

hongjoong, yunho, mingi, and jiyu watched the scene in awe. jiyu didn’t realize they were that similar. “pfft—” they all stifled their laughter.

the other three could now understand why jiyu called yeosang his twin by just looking at him. the two possessed the same intimidating face but once they opened their mouths, they were just soft little kids on the inside.

“a–are you sure you guys weren’t separated at birth?” yunho asked, trying to suppress his chuckles feom spilling out.

“i’m an only child, i swear!” they both shouted before staring at each other in awe once again.

jiyu couldn’t hold it in anymore and she burst out into laughter that brought a smile to everyone’s faces. “o–oh my god, t–this is priceless!” she managed to squeeze out in between her laughter. “i–i knew you guys were similar to a certain extent...b–but this blows my expectations!”

yeosang shyly scratched the back of his neck and looekd away; his cheeks and the tips of his human ears flushed pink. seonghwa mirrored his expression as he turned towards jiyu.

“j–jeez, it’s not that funny,” he mumbled, seeing the other three trying to suppress their chuckles and snickers as well.

“‘i’m an only child!’” hongjoong mimicked as he chuckled. “seems like you and the fox hybrid are soulmates at the moment.”

jiyu calmed down and took a few breaths to stabilize herself. “anyways, yeosang. that’s seonghwa. the tiger hybrid is hongjoong, the golden–retriever is yunho, and the bunny is mingi. they’re all my little fur balls.”

‘d–did she call is fur balls?’ the four sweatdropped as the same thought ran through their minds.

“guys, this is yeosang. remember to be careful if you play with him since his wounds are still healing,” she reminded them.

yeosang quickly glanced at hongjoong. he was always curious about the tiger hybrid from seojin’s stories. by the looks of it, he seemed like he was indeed thriving; the genuine smile said it all. as a matter of fact, all of their smiles spoke for them.

“ji,” yeonjun called as he poked his head into the room. “can you help me sort these papers? i need to process them into the system but they’re all mixed,” he asked, carrying in a three, thick folders filled with various documents.

“jeez, who hated you enough to give you that?” she joked, yelping when yeonjun poked her side. “i’m kidding, i’m kidding!” she chuckled. “yeah, i’ll help you. come in here.” she cleared the table so they could work on re–organizing the documents.

yeosang observed her from his bed, almost forgetting the presence of the other four with them.

“what are you thinking about?” yunho asked, making the fox hybrid flinch at the sudden reminder than he wasn’t alone.

“n–nothing...just...she’s really nice,” he mumbled, fidgeting with his fingers. “i was kind of mean to her the first few days but yet she still came back to talk to me.”

seonghwa nodded, stealing a quick glance at her as she flipped through the papers. “yeah...she didn’t give up on us either, no matter how violent or stubborn we were.”

“it’s her charm, though!” yunho piped up.

“yeah, but she’s too nice sometimes...she could end up helping the wrong people,” yeosang mindlessly mumbled. there were a lot of malicious people out there, there was always a possibility of it happening.

the four sweatdropped again as they remembered the various incidents of jiyu showing her “scary” side when it came to protecting the ones she loved; when she changed into a whole different person in front of yunho’s former owners, and when she tracked down mingi’s former owner and managed to retrieve his adoption forms.

“i–i don’t think we have to worry about that,” mingi sheepishly laughed as he rubbed the back of his neck.

yeosang didn’t question it. after all, he didn’t know her as well as they did.

“this might be an insensitive question,” hongjoong said from the window, “but where will you go after leaving here?”

yeosang grew silent at the question. truthfully, he didn’t even know himself. he could follow the facility protocol of having to be transferred to the adoption floor, and potentially finding a new family.

the only problem was...he couldn’t see himself with another family. it had taken him so long to trust jiyu, he didn’t want to imagine trying again with other people. he knew they’d grow impatient with his personality and just throw him out, heck, maybe even return him.

“...i’m not sure. probably just go with the flow and be put up for adoption.”

the four wordlessly glanced at each other. he didn’t sound convincing; rather, it sounded like he was convincing himself to go along with the facility protocol. seonghwa and hongjoong were in his shoes at one point.

seonghwa quietly sighed. “do you feel happy with jiyu?” he asked.

“...define happy,” yeosang mumbled, looking at each and every one of them. “is that how you all feel with her?”

yunho and mingi enthusiastically nodded. “she makes us feel all warm and fuzzy inside!” mingi declared. “it’s a really good feeling. i could never imagine someone else adopting me.”

“that’s one way of putting it,” hongjoong chuckled at the bunny hybrid before looking at yeosang. “but yes, it’s a warm feeling. she provides us with everything we all lacked in our previous homes,” hongjoong said, quickly peeking in jiyu and yeonjun’s direction. “it’s like...you feel safe around her. like nothing could ever hurt you again.”

and yeosang wasn’t going to lie. he did feel that. he felt all the warmness and fuzziness thst mingi described, he felt safe like nothing would harm him again; but most of all, he felt cared for. he felt appreciated.

his old owners only appreciated him for his monetary value, but with jiyu, he felt a different type of appreciation. like she cared about him for him; the fox hybrid that was shy around others, the fox hybrid that loved drawing little made–up characters called hehetmon.

“i think he found his answer,” seonghwa chuckled.

“what was the point in asking me all that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “to test me?”

yunho shoved a paper up to his face, making yeosang flinch and fall back into the bed. d–did i just flinch from paper? that’s a new low for me.

“yunho! be careful!” hongjoong quietly scolded the puppy.

“oops...sorry,” yunho sheepishly apologized before handing yeosang the paper instead. “this was all of our ideas!” he smiled.

yeosang read the contents of the paper and he almost made his heart rate monitor go haywire from the emotions he felt. the four panicked at the sporatic beeping sounds.

jiyu and yeonjun’s heads snapped up at the sound, concern written across their face. “what’s the matter, yeosang?” she asked, hastily approaching him. recognizing the form in his hands, she lightly gasped.

“well, this is awkward...u–um, you weren’t supposed to see that yet—”

the four sheepishly looked to the ground. had they messed up?

“c–can i really?” yeosang quietly asked, his eyes never leaving the paper. “can–can i really go home with you?”

in his hands was yet again, another filled out adoption form.

seeing the form was the final push for him, the final piece of the puzzle. that he really did feel happy with jiyu. and that he was hesitant about being adopted by other people because he was so used to jiyu’s presence around him. like mingi had said, he couldn’t imagine being adopted by anyone else.

jiyu gently smiled. “i didn’t want to force it onto you so i never said anything,” she explained before putting a hand in his head. “but we all discussed about it two nights ago about bringing you home with us. although, after today,” she playfully glared at the four hybrids were peeking out from behind yeonjun, “i think they grew a little impatient about bringing the topic up.”

yeosang felt a rush of emotions. maybe fate really did feel bad for him and decided to not throw him under the bus. maybe fate really was nice, after all.

“i–if it’s not too much trouble,” he shyly mumbled, “th–then i accept your offer,” he said, a small smile spreading across his face. jiyu smiled back; this was the first time she’s seen him smile.

“seonghwa’s twin’s coming home!” hongjoong jokingly declared, patting seonghwa’s back. yunho and mingi cheered along.

seonghwa sighed, but no one could deny the smile he was trying to hide. “i’m not going to try.”

yeonjun looked back. “so how long am i going to be used as a shield?”

#9th member of ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez angst #kang yeosang #kang yeosang imagines #yeosang imagines #yeosang scenarios #ateez yeosang #hybrid au #kpop hybrid au #ateez hybrid #hybrid!ateez #ateez au

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trashmenofmarvel · 3 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 53

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The ritual begins.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Blood, whump

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Walking into the ritual room, as you now called it, felt more like you were walking to the executioner’s block rather than to perform some magic. Maybe they would end up being one and the same.

Thankfully, there were only three other people in the room besides you. Bucky had balked at being informed there would be several other sorcerers in attendance, and after observing his memories, both in person and through old, grainy film, you could understand why a room full of people during a ritual would be terrifying.

So now there was only you, Strange, Wong, and Bucky. The latter held your attention as soon as you stepped in the room. He appeared calm on the outside, despite the fact he was strapped down with a stone table, but you would recognize the glassy fear in his eyes as intimately as if you’d looked in the mirror.

Bucky wasn’t scared of you, you knew that, but unease gripped your throat still as you approached the table. He was restrained, for his safety and for yours. The thin, silver manacles around his wrists and ankles glimmered in the light cast by the lamps around the room. A room where you’d witnessed a demon exorcism, watched Bucky frozen, and now you would be performing a spell no one had ever done before.

Generally speaking, this wasn’t a room where nice things happened. You could only hope to break that pattern.

“Are you ready?” you asked him, reaching out and taking his hand. He wrapped his fingers around yours without hesitation. Despite the chill in the room, there was sweat beading on his bare chest. All he wore were a pair of dark pants, his wings folded up behind his back, and his searching tail grasped yours as quickly as his hand had done.

“Yeah.” Bucky swallowed down the gravel in his voice. “Ready.”

You reluctantly let go with one last squeeze of your fingers. Bucky’s tail uncoiled from yours, and you missed the contact as soon as it was gone.

Oh-fucking-kay, you thought, taking a deep breath as you positioned yourself at the side of the stone table. Remember to speak clearly, and keep your thoughts clearer. Intention is more important than the words themselves.

Bucky stared up at you, but only for a moment, his jaw working as he braced himself. And then he turned his eyes up to the ceiling, staring blankly, bracing himself for what came next.

It reminded you less of someone visiting the dentist’s office, and more of someone expecting to be brutally tortured for hours. God, you hoped that wasn’t going to be the case, because you weren’t sure if you could stop the spell safely in the middle.

You stared off slow, meticulous, drawing glowing circles and patterns into the air above Bucky’s prone form. Above his chest, his head, various points of “power” all along his body, focusing most of it above the sigil on his left shoulder. That would be the gateway, the focal point of the demonic energy that was bonded to him.

That sigil had been the main focus on your studies, and you’d even taken some time to see if, by some small miracle, the effects could be reversed—that you could cast the demon energy out of Bucky permanently. You found it was impossible, not without killing Bucky in the process, so that idea was firmly thrown out the window. Finding a way to make sure no one could enslave him again was the least you could do, but if it worked, it would hopefully make the demon side more bearable for him to live with.

You chanted the words in Latin, ones that would open Bucky to be bonded to another, but hopefully not in the role of a slave. He gritted his teeth but didn’t make a sound, sweat glistening on his forehead as his breathing quickened. You were tempted to rush it, to ease his discomfort quicker, but you didn’t dare. You would go slow and make sure it was perfect.

After that, you said words that weren’t written in any book. They would signify your willingness to join Bucky in a pact, a consensual one where you were both equals. It wasn’t all that different than making a human pact, except you were saying the intention part out loud, in the language of demon magic, and hoping it was enough.

It should have been. And yet, when you were done speaking them. Nothing happened.

You met Bucky’s eye, the reluctance in them palpable. You both knew gaining direct access to Bucky’s demon side might take more than a few words.

With an apologetic wince, you turned toward the stone podium nearby. On its surface was a red velvet cloth, and on top of that, a glittering onyx blade. Curling your fingers around the athame, the very tool that had done this to Bucky, felt wrong. Profane. You’d never wanted to see it again, especially after witnessing Zemo use it on him, but there was no other option if you wanted to harness the energy within the sigil.

“Are you sure you’re still okay with this?” you asked, voice lowered so it reached no further than Bucky. “We can back out now. It’s not too late.”

“I’m fine.”

He looked anything but fine. As soon as you’d touched the knife, his brows had tensed and his breathing quickened, his tail tightly wrapped around his leg.

“Okay.” You took a deep breath and poised the blade above his shoulder, stomach queasy as you fought not to tremble. This was not the time to have shaky hands. “Tell me if you need to stop.”

Bucky nodded but said nothing. There was nothing more to say. You both knew at a certain point, you would either have to complete the ritual as intended… or seal Bucky to you, becoming his master. Once the pentagram was cut open by the athame, there was no going back.

Teeth clenched together, your heart in your throat, you aimed the edge of the blade… and sliced downwards.

Nothing could have prepared you for Bucky’s reaction to the knife. It was a blessing you were no longer connected, because you would have been too overwhelmed in agony, frozen while Bucky screamed and writhed against the restraints.

The violent reaction, you were prepared for. What you weren’t prepared for was the stones trembling at your feet and the rumble of the walls shaking, causing the lamps to flicker and dust to sprinkle from cracks in the ceiling.

The energy pouring out of Bucky’s wound was searing and nearly blinding. You’d never been aware of it before, but now it was nearly overwhelming, your senses interpreting it as a blaring red light that felt exactly like the demon realm.

And if you didn’t do something, it would continue to pour out of Bucky, until it either killed him or it brought down the entire Sanctum.

The knife dropped from your fingers and you cast out a rapid spell. Fractals split in the air, surrounding you both a good distance on either side, trapping you in a glittering dome.

Strange and Wong were blocked just outside of the Mirror Dimension pocket you’d open. Wong’s stern face was fraught with worry, and even Strange seemed fearful as he banged his fists on the barrier. Orange glyphs glowed around his fists, but it would take time for them to break through.

You ignored them. Whatever happened inside the pocket wouldn’t damage the world outside, and either way, Bucky was still screaming through his teeth. He needed you more than they did.

Sweating, you picked up the athame and stared at the demonic energy coming from his shoulder, studying it, trying to understand how to harness it, even as the floor continued to rumble.

There had to be another way—

Bucky screamed again, and your composure wavered.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t take away his choice, his ability to make choices. Even if you never gave him a command on purpose, it could always happen on accident.

And what then? How was Bucky being your slave any better than you being his food source?

But what else could you do? What other choice did you have than to finish the one ritual you knew would work for certain? There was nothing you could do, nothing else that would—

When the moment comes and the obvious choice feels wrong… trust yourself to find a different answer.

The world seemed to quiet around you, replaced by the Ancient One’s words, so clear as if she’d just spoken in your ear.

The air rushed out of your lungs. Ignoring the world shaking around you, you raised the black knife to your right shoulder, and cut.

The blade sliced through your flesh as easily as it had through Bucky’s demonic skin, and you nearly dropped the knife as fire coursed through your body. Your sigil burned worse than it had ever done before, and tears sprang through your eyes as you stumbled to the stone slab.

Bucky continued to writhe, in so much agony he was completely unaware of his surroundings. You couldn’t tell him what you were doing, he was in no mind to hear it, let alone understand it. So you braced yourself when you took the knife and sliced through the manacle holding his left wrist.

Bucky’s claws would have torn a chunk out of you, but you grabbed his arm and held it against your side. With magic augmenting your own strength, you were able to keep him in place, even as the armored plates shifted and rose as he tried to pull free.

Warmth dripped from your shoulder, but you ignored it. There was a distant banging on the barrier of your pocket dimension, and you ignored that, too.

You focused on nothing else except Bucky’s arm, wedged between your elbow and your side.

“I’m sorry.”

You cut the palm of his demonic hand with the blade.

Bucky arched against the slab, his screams just as intense as anything HYDRA had done to him.

Tears leaked down your face as you thought I’m sorry, I’m sorry, over and over again.

Keeping his arm in place, you transferred the blade to your other hand and cut through your right palm with one swift movement. You were growing woozy and had to hurry.

Dropping the knife, you grabbed Bucky’s wrist and pulled his arm straight, hovering his bleeding left palm over your sigil, just as you positioned your own hand over his glowing shoulder.

Bucky fought against you the whole time, unaware of anything but the pain as he tried to draw his arm against his chest, but you held it firm.

At the same exact moment, you slammed his hand down onto your bleeding shoulder, just as your wounded palm pressed against his fiery pentagram.

Like a closed circuit, heat and electricity surged through your bodies in a loop. Light and heat exploded in your vision, demonic energy filling you past the point of control, and you were sure you were going to erupt in flames—

And then it stopped. The world went quiet, and dark, and then you heard…

Birds.

You opened your eyes. You weren’t in the room, or in the Sanctum at all. You were outdoors, in a yard, surrounded by trees whose leaves were bright green in preparation for the summer.

Both of your hands were curled around something metal, and you looked up to see your fingers wrapped around the chains of a very familiar swing set. Even more confusing, your legs weren’t dragging against the ground, but flat against it.

You leapt to your feet, stumbling because your legs were a lot shorter than you remembered.

“Bucky? Bucky!”

You clapped your hands over your mouth, startled by a high-pitched voice that had come from it.

You were a child again. And the backyard was none other than the one that belonged to your family home in Boston.

How did you get here? Where was Bucky? What the hell had happened?

“Ah, there you are.”

Your breath caught in your throat. No, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

And yet, when you slowly turned around, there she was, standing there. Alive and real and very much able to see you without question this time.

The Ancient One.

Next Chapter

#branded #demon!bucky barnes #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction

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thegirlintheswivelchair · 3 years

Text

You Owe Me Ice Cream || P.P.

Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: +6.4K (...I still write a lot)

Summary: You and Peter made a bet. You won, but right now, Peter is really just hoping he’ll get the chance to get that ice cream with you.

Warnings: Lots of angst (with a happy end). Violence, mentions of blood, surgery, near death moments, talk of death and major injury, anxiety, a few swear words, hospitals, but there is fluff around here somewhere. Let me know if I missed anything. (And as always, bad editing)

A/N: Hey, this is the first fight scene with a major injury I’ve written. (Also, it’s my second fic ever, so that too…) So I’m hoping this makes sense and isn’t too disappointing. It does shift tone a lot after the time lapse! Feedback, likes and reblogs are super duper appreciated

(Italics are a flashback)

——

You were on the other side of the alleyway from Peter. The pair of you were sparring with the rather large group of men you had been trailing since the beginning of patrol. They were putting up a good fight, but it seemed like you and Peter had the upper hand.

“Hey Spidey, if we get done here soon enough, that ice cream shop might still be open.” You spoke into your comms swiftly dodging a punch and kicking the legs out from under one of the men surrounding you.

“The one with the gigantic brownie sundaes?” Peter asked in return, glancing over his shoulder at you while simultaneously whipping one of the thugs he had webbed into the wall.

“Yeah, that’s the one! What do you think, whoever takes down more baddies buys?” You offer the bet, feeling confident as you concentrate your powers to your fists to deliver a stunning blow to the next available target. Your fist makes contact with their jaw, bright energy transferring across their face. They drop like a marionette.

“Oh, you’re on, Sparks.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as the two of you began fighting the men circled around you with new enthusiasm.

With fists glowing, you knocked the last man near you unconscious with a particularly nasty right hook. “Ha! That makes five, Spiderman. I think you might be buying.” You quipped, but your attention was immediately drawn to the other antagonists of the night who were focused on Peter. You ran deeper into the alleyway as Peter kept up his assault on the last two men, dodging their advances and throwing his own hits into the mix. Neither of you noticed one of the bodies on the ground stir, taking an odd looking contraption out of his pocket and aiming it at your oncoming figure.

Peter sensed the attack before it happened. Whipping around to warn you, he shouted your name, but it was too late. He saw the poisonous purple light pierce your stomach and throw you against the brick wall of the alleyway. Peter shot out a web, yanked the alien-tech from the attacker, and stuck it to the wall, quickly sending a taser web to stun the man once more.

He dodged the punches from the other thugs, and began sprinting in your direction as you slid down the wall, one arm holding your abdomen. You looked up at him shaking your head in warning and whispered the word “swing.” His enhanced hearing caught the word just in time to launch himself upwards when you summoned the last of your strength to finish the fight. Raising your hand, shining white hot and blinding, you slammed it against the ground. A pulse of energy flew from your fist at the impact sending the remaining thugs flying into the walls opposite you. Each one hit the brick with sickening crunches and crumpled to the ground.

The moment the wave had dissipated, Peter swung and landed next to you. He fell to his knees with his chest heaving. Big white eyes stared at you wide and panicked as he looked to the quickly darkening patch on your suit. Karen, his AI, was speaking to him, telling him about the injury you had sustained and the state of your vitals. Neither were good. You needed immediate medical attention or—He couldn’t finish the thought. He wouldn’t. He reached out to you, cupping your masked face with shaking hands. You looked up at him with pain in your eyes.

“Shit, Spidey. I’m so—I’m so sorry. I didn’t see the guy was waking up. I should—I should’ve—“ Your words were punctuated with your gasping pants as the adrenaline and your wound stopped you from breathing properly. With your free hand you pulled off your mask trying to get air.

“Hey, hey, no, no, no, it’s ok. It’s not your fault. We both thought he was down for the count.” Peter said his thumb rubbing across your cheek. “I gotta get you out of here. We need to get you to Dr. Cho.”

You looked down at your body. “He really—really got me good didn’t he...” Your voice sounded weak as you spoke. Peter noticed your eyes flutter.

“Y/N, keep your eyes open. You gotta stay with me.” Peter’s voice was soft but urgent. On the outside he seemed to have calmed down. He was trying to offer you strength as you struggled against the black that was closing around you. Just below the surface his heart was hammering in his chest. Fear coursed through his veins as his mind scrambled to think how he was going to move you—and to where. He didn’t think he could actually get you to Dr. Cho. The two of you were miles from the tower in the city.

“I’m not going anywhere spider-boy,” You answered weakly, “You owe me ice cream.” Your lips twitched up slightly as you stared at him with heavily lidded eyes.

Peter wanted to smile, but he saw your grip on your stomach loosen. You were losing too much blood. Red warning signs were starting to go off in the periphery of his mask, alerting him to the steadily sinking state of your health. He needed to act somehow, and fast. He asked Karen about any hospitals, and she said there was an urgent care about 20 blocks north from your location...It would have to do.

Shifting around and getting into position to pick you up, one of his arms moved under your legs and the other stayed cupping your cheek as he said, “I’ll buy you all the ice cream you want after this, but you have to promise me you’ll stay awake, yeah? Now, we really need to get you help, Y/N/N.” You nodded sluggishly, and he moved his hand from your cheek to snake around your torso and lifted you up.

You let out a cry of pain as the movement jostled you. Your free hand came up to grip his shoulder as if to stop him from moving. The sound ripped through Peter, “I know. I know this hurts, but we gotta go. It’s only a mile from here. Just stay with me.” His soft voice broke at the end as he began to run. Whimpers and little cries of pain came from you with each step.

“Peter!” you yelped, “Peter, you have to—to stop!”

“I can’t, you’re bleeding out,” he said, slight panic finally making its way into his voice as he continued his run.

“Peter, please! I’m—I’m…” Your weak voice trailed off and the grip you’d had on Peter’s shoulder fell away to hang loosely at your side.

Peter skidded to a halt when he saw your eyes had shut. His lungs heaved with adrenaline and a new kind of fear that was sending shards of ice through his chest. “No, no, no, no, no! Y/N!” he called out loudly, “Y/N, open your eyes!”

When you still gave no response, he dropped to the ground placing you on his lap. He was cradling you against his chest with one arm and the other going to place new pressure on your wound. “Y/N! Come on, wake up!” He pleaded.

Focused on repeating his plea over and over as you laid unresponsive, he didn’t even realize Karen’s voice of warning had been replaced by another.

“Kid! Hey! Underoos!” A slightly gruff voice broke through Peter’s growing haze of hysteria.

His head snapped up, as if looking for the location of the voice. “Mr.—Mr. Stark?” he stuttered.

Tony spoke quickly through Peter’s comms, “Underoos, what the hell is going on? Friday’s alarm for Y/N’s vitals is going off. Kid, her stats are plummeting—“

“Mr. Stark! Y/N, she—she got shot by some kind of alien tech. It hit her stomach, and—and now she’s bleeding out. I didn’t—I didn’t see the guy waking up, and now...Oh my God, I can’t—she’s barely breathing.” Peter rushed out, stuttering as the panic was trying to take control. He was looking at your ashen face and hearing your heartbeat weaken slowly, and he didn’t know what to do.

“Peter, I’m on my way. I need you to breath,“ Tony said while a cascade of small metallic clinks could be heard over the comms, no doubt it was his nano-tech suit surrounding his body.

“But Mr. Stark, you’re not supposed to—“

“I can, and I will. She needs help. I’ll be there in five,” Tony said firmly.

Peter looked down at you, not answering his mentor. His hand was still pressed to your wound, and his chest pinched as he watched a dark stain transfer to his hand as he held you. “Please, Y/N/N… please stay with me…” he croaked leaning his forehead on yours.

He kept cradling you, listening to your heartbeat, and wishing with all he was that it would keep beating. Finally, he heard the sounds of thrusters and a low clank of metal hitting the ground.

Whipping his head in the direction of the iron suit, his grip tightened around you. “She’s—her heart...” His voice broke as he stared at the red and gold figure.

Tony, inside the suit, stepped closer answering quickly, “I know, Pete. I need to take her, so we can give her a fighting chance.” The suit whirred as he knelt in front of Peter's and your hunched figures, arms extending in an invitation for Peter to place your body into his care.

Peter hesitated, realizing this might be the last time he’d hear your heartbeat ever again. “I can’t lose her.” Peter’s voice was so small as he looked up at the Iron Man mask with his own bright white eyes. They seemed to plead with the retired superhero to make a miracle happen.

Tony spoke softly, “Then let’s go. Come on.” His hands gestured for your body.

Peter shifted your weight in his arms and gently laid you down in the arms of the iron suit. Immediately, Tony stood up, nodded to Peter, and launched himself into the sky rocketing in the direction of the tower.

Without missing a beat, Peter shot out a web and started to swing and follow your fleeting figure.

——

Peter’s whole body was screaming with fatigue as he finally made it to the tower. Clambering through the window Tony kept open for him, he practically fell on his face, but strong arms caught him and set him on his feet. Peter ripped off his mask, and looked up meeting Steve’s eyes. His brown eyes searched the blond’s face for any sign of how you were doing. “Y/N, is she—“ He broke off, not sure how to end that question. “I—I need to see her,” He breathed, trying to move from Steve’s grip, urged forward by his singular focus of making sure you were ok.

Steve’s grip only got stronger around Peter’s shoulders stopping him from rushing into the medical wing. “They’re still working on her, Peter. You won’t be allowed to see her.”

“But is she ok? Is—is she going to be ok?”

Steve looked into the young man’s eyes, brows pinched together, “They aren’t sure. She’s in critical condition, but they said there’s a chance she’ll make it through.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Peter whispered, “there’s a chance…” He set his jaw and nodded like he was solidifying his resolve not to freak out. You had a chance, and the thought lit a spark of hope at his core, and he was going to cling to it like a lifeline.

——

Peter was officially coming undone at the seams. For the last two hours he had seen nurses rushing in and out of the operating wing, some with extra gauze and others carrying new bags of blood. No one paused or came in with new information, and the lack of news was driving him crazy. His hair was sticking up in every direction now having been finger-combed and tugged on countless times. His eyes were burning holes into the ground when he wasn’t looking at the doors the medical team was frequenting. An anxious energy spilled from his body as he paced and bounced on his feet.

A few of the other team members who had trickled in to wait for news about you sat watching him move back and forth, unsure of how to comfort him. Tony had given up trying to get him to calm down an hour ago when he had gotten Peter to try and sit down only for him to fidget and jiggle his legs until Peter felt like he would explode from the anxiety and trapped emotions that were sizzling under the surface. Peter had jumped up the moment he saw a nurse come through the doors, but immediately groaned in frustration as the man had kept moving past the door. Spinning on his heel, he continued his pacing. Tony, seeing it was what helped distract him, let Peter resume pacing—even if it was making his own skin crawl. Anyone who tried to talk to Peter, or even tell him to change out of his suit was met with silence and an intense stare that told them to back off.

Another hour passed, and it didn’t matter how much he moved, how much he paced and tried to zone everything out, he was going to snap soon if he didn’t get an update. He was contemplating charging through the doors that led to where you were being operated on and demanding information, but he knew that wasn’t going to help anyone, especially you.

You—his partner in crime and in battle, the person he turned to when he needed a good hug or a laugh, the friend that challenged him and inspired him. You—the woman that was fierce, good, and beautiful. You—the one who had slowly taken root in his heart, the one he never wanted to let go of—were hanging on to life by a thread, all because he didn’t notice a thug waking up.

He should have been able to stop the attack or warn you faster. If you died…

The thought was enough to stop his breathing and still his movement—something he barely noticed as his mind was starting to crumble under the stress. He felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder. Immediately tensing up, he turned toward the intruder ready to lash out, but was met with familiar hazel eyes and his body language softened at the sight of his friend. Her hand came up to cup his cheek. “Breath, Peter,” she said quietly.

“Wanda…” Peter whispered as he tried to take a breath in.

“Just breath. Take a deep breath with me.” The hand on his cheek moved to his chest, and she breathed deeply while looking into his eyes. He followed her breath letting her presence ground him.

“Wanda...what if she doesn’t—” Peter murmured biting his bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

“Don’t give those words power, Peter,” She said, cutting him off with her accent coming out strongly. Peter saw the worry around her eyes and realized she was saying this not only for him but for herself too. Wanda loved you. He knew losing you would be devastating for her.

Peter pulled Wanda into a bone crushing hug wanting to offer her comfort, and some kind of apology for everything that was happening, and he just really freaking needed a hug right now. She wrapped her arms around him, and they stayed that way just silently offering each other strength.

They didn’t break apart until they heard a small clearing of the throat coming from the door of the waiting room. Peter’s head snapped up, and moved to give his full attention to Dr. Cho.

“Do—Do you have news? How is she? Is she ok? Please tell me she’s ok.” Peter rushed out, eyes pleading with the woman.

She looked tired, but her face and body language didn’t suggest the news she had was bad. Instead, with a sigh that seemed relieved, she offered the room full of waiting Avengers a small smile as she said, “Y/N made it through the surgery, and should make a full recovery.” All around the room, mutterings of ‘thank God’ and huge sighs of relief were heard as Dr. Cho continued, ”You can go see her. She is in the room at the end of the hall recovering, but with her injuries being as bad as they were, we are keeping her sedated for the night to—”

Peter didn’t listen to the last part of what the doctor said. As soon as she had said you were going to make it, he had rushed passed her through the door and was running down the hallway looking into each room until he saw you in the room at the end. You were pale and wires were hooked up to you everywhere. An oxygen tube was placed under your nose, and an IV ran from your hand leading to drip bags. The room was filled with electrical noises and beeps, but all Peter could hear was your heartbeat. Your beautiful, strong, living heartbeat.

Peter rushed into the room and stopped at the head of your bed. Reaching out with a shaking hand, he ran the pads of his fingertips lightly over the side of your face gently trailing down your jaw line and coming back to delicately caress your cheek. You were warm to the touch, and honestly, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt something more wonderful.

Suddenly, the world blurred, and he sucked in a violent breath of air. A sob broke from his mouth as he collapsed into the chair by the bed. The relief and the overwhelming release of all the emotions he had been keeping at bay that night were flooding out of his body with each sob. His hand found yours and he held onto it like his life depended on it. In his head, he could only think one thing:

She’s alive, She’s alive, She’s alive…

——

2 Months later

Right now, Peter had butterflies in his stomach so severe he was sure he was going to barf. He was sitting in the living room of the Avengers compound bouncing his legs and tapping his fingers in an attempt to relieve any of the nervousness that was churning in his stomach. It really wasn’t helping, so he tried to distract himself by picking up his phone to look at it for a few minutes, but then he didn’t want to miss you coming in, so he put it down, and turned his head towards the entrance of the hallway he knew you were going to be coming through. But then as he over thought that, he realized it might be weird to just stare until you came, so he went back to staring through the window. Except that didn’t distract him enough from his nerves, so he went back to trying the phone again.

It became a cycle, and by the fourth round of Peter doing this, and the added leg bounce shaking the couch, Nat finally shut her book with a loud thud and stared at the nervous guy on the other side of the couch. “Peter.” She said in a flat voice.

He was scrolling on his phone again, and didn’t notice her call him.

“Peter.” She tried again.

Nothing.

Rolling her eyes, she picked up the pillow next to her and chucked it at him. It hit him in the head.

“Hey! What was that for?” He questioned a little annoyed as his hand went up to his hair to make sure it didn’t get messed up.

“You’re shaking the couch, and I can tell you’re nervous. What’s going on?” She asked evenly.

Peter’s cheeks and tips of his ears flushed a light shade of pink, at her observation. “Oh sorry,” He mumbled, his legs stopping for the moment. “It’s nothing. Just waiting for Y/N to go get ice cream.”

Nat just stared at him for a moment, her eyes doing their usual cool assessment, until the corner of her lips quirked up in a small knowing smile. “You hang out all the time? What’s different about today?” She asked.

His nerves turned into insecurity quickly as he looked at her. It wasn’t that he couldn’t trust Natasha, she’d been his confidant before. He might even say their relationship had grown into some kind of friendship with the long hours of training and missions they had done together, but this was different. He had barely admitted to himself the thing that was making his heart pound and his palms sweat, let alone anyone else.

See, it had been 8 weeks since your near fatal accident. The one where Peter hadn’t known if you would make it for a better part of 7 hours. It had been some of the worst hours of his life, and he’d had plenty of terrible hours. He still wanted to cry every time he pictured your body lying limply in his arms barely breathing. He had been so scared to lose you.

Between that night and now, Peter had thought a lot about why he’d been so scared. Sure, you were one of his best friends, and yes to lose any of his teammates would be devastating, and ok the situation is traumatic and heartbreaking even if you had been a stranger, but he’d felt a very specific fear that day. It reminded him of the fear he had felt the day his uncle died, and the day he saw Tony burnt and broken after the snap. In fact, he realized in all three situations, it had been the same exact fear. It was the kind of fear that didn’t just plant itself in the chest and make it hard to breath. It was the kind that rooted itself in the soul, making one’s whole being want to scream. It was the kind that anticipated pain, but not of a broken heart. No, this fear knew that if the worst happened the heart would be shattered and never whole again. That was the fear that had raced through Peter’s veins the night you’d gotten hurt.

But in usual Peter fashion, he hadn’t understood why the same fear connected you to these other events in his life until about a week ago. That was when Peter had, what he says, a ridiculously cheesy lightbulb moment. It was during a game night with the rest of the team.

For some reason, the team had landed on Dance Dance Revolution for the night’s entertainment—much to your chagrin. You were being a good sport about it, until the betting part of the night began. Then your competitive side had no choice but to come out. Bets for using someone’s cool new fighting toy, doing someone’s laundry or their paperwork for a given amount of time, sacrificing a favorite food for another person, or simply just lots of cash began circling between the team.

You’d won and lost a couple rounds with Wanda and Sam, and were currently rolling your eyes at Sam who was circling you in a victory dance. You turned to Peter, and just by the look in your eyes, he knew he was your next challenge. You jutted your chin at him like the “cool kid” you were, making him laugh, and said you could do better than he could.

“What do you think, Spidey?”

“What do I think? I think I can win this,” He said a bit cockily, teasing you with his confidence. “But what do I get when I win, Sparks?” He asked using the nickname he’d given you.

“Oh please, this is clearly going to end with me winning.” You shot back before pausing to look at him thoughtfully, “What’s it worth to you?”

Peter smiled a little darkly before humming in thought, “How about, if I win, you have to clean up my web fluid station for a week?”

You grimaced, “Ugh, you always leave the worst mess when you’re experimenting.”

“Yup,” He said, not losing the teasing smile. “And I’ve been thinking of some ways of tweaking it lately. So, I’m sure there will be—”

“Ok! Ok! Deal, I’ll clean up your mess if you win,” you huffed cutting him off, “But if I win,” You pointing your finger at him with your eyes shining, “you finally have to watch the Pride and Prejudice mini series with me!” You exclaimed a big smile coming over your face.

“What? No! I can’t listen to old fashioned talking for that long!” He cried.

“Oh don’t be such a baby, it’s so worth it! Come on, Pete. Do we have a deal?” You asked.

“More than 6 hours of old fashioned drama for a single DDR dance?” Peter sighed dramatically, “Fine.” He held out his hand as he added, “Hope you're ready to deal with a web-filled disaster for a week.”

“Please,” you scoffed while taking his hand, “Popcorn and hours of Colin Firth is where this is headed,” and just to mess with him you let some of your power flow through your hand, shocking him.

“Ow! Hey, no powers!” He whined as he rubbed his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Spidey. You ready to get creamed on the dance floor?” You said, a competitive smile spread over your face as you stepped up to the dance space.

Soon enough the two of you were dancing, laughing and throwing some truly childish shade at each other. At one point, Peter had looked over at you and felt something starting to bloom in his chest. It filled him with a warmth that didn’t have anything to do with the physical exertion of dancing. You were laughing and your eyes were bright, and he just felt overwhelmed by the thought of you being alive next to him. He had had so many of these moments over the last two months that just reminded him of how much you meant to him. How thankful he was you were alive, and it wasn’t helping that each time he looked over, the feeling in his chest got stronger. It was all he could do to not tackle you in a hug.

Once it was over and he had won—fair and square he might add—you had decided to pout over losing to him, and made your way over to sit by Nat and Wanda. You looked back at him and stuck your tongue out, making him laugh. You really were one of his favorite people...then, for some reason, that’s when the feeling in his chest seemed to explode, and it all made sense.

He loved you.

He loved you so much, he stopped breathing for a second.

All the pieces started to fall into place. His fear that horrible night, holding you in his arms and hearing your heartbeat weaken slowly, had been like the day his uncle died or with Tony, because he loved you. He had been petrified, knowing to his very core he’d never be quite whole again if he lost you.

He also knew he needed to tell you. If that night had taught him anything, it was that he was not going to waste a second of time with you.

Which is why Peter was now sitting in the living room, acting like a nervous wreck, and hoping that he doesn’t actually puke due to nerves.

He had decided when the two of you made plans to get ice cream together, he would tell you then. Except, he didn’t actually know how you felt about him. He knew you liked him, but could it ever be as more than a friend? It wasn’t something he had ever thought of. It certainly wasn’t something the two of you had ever talked about. So, he was freaking out that he was about to tell you something that would alter your whole relationship for better or for worse.

Nat was still sitting patiently waiting for Peter to speak. He had turned his head away and had seemed to have gotten lost in thought. His leg had started jiggling up and down again, so she reached over and put a hand on his knee. It stilled and he looked at her. This time, her eyes held more softness as she asked again, “Peter, what’s wrong?”

His worried eyes looked back at her. “I’m gonna tell Y/N, I love her…” He whispered cheeks going pinker than before.

Nat’s eyebrows rose in surprise, “I didn’t know you two had made it official.”

The statement caught Peter off guard. “What do you mean?”

Nat looked at him for a second, “Are you two not dating?”

“Oh, uh no. No, we’re not.” He mumbled looking down at the ground.

“But you still want to tell her you love her?”

Peter took a big steadying breath, “She almost died that night,” He started quietly, “I still can’t get the thought of losing her out of my head. I was so scared that night, and I don’t know if I’ve ever been more relieved than when I found out she was going to be ok.

“Now, everytime I see her, I just want to be around her all the time. I don’t want to miss a moment of life with her, you know? And at first I thought that was normal after something like that night happened, but I don’t think it is. That’s when I realized it’s because I love her, and I feel like I need to tell her...I just don’t know what to expect when I do.” He finished and looked up at Nat, his tone just as quiet as it had been when he started.

She stared back at him with a small smile that told Peter she knew something he didn’t, “Tell her what you just told me, and you don’t have to worry about it going badly.”

“How do you—” He was cut off when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

Peter jumped up from the couch, butterflies raging in his stomach again as he looked towards the hallway’s entrance. Nat smirked and got up from the couch, leaving the room to give Peter and you privacy.

When you rounded the corner, your eyes met his and a large smile spread across your face. Just looking at the way your eyes lit up made the butterflies in Peter’s stomach burst into flames as a new heat radiated through him. How could you be so beautiful?

“Hey, Pete! You ready for the world’s biggest brownie sundae?” You asked brightly as you made your way over to him.

“Uh, yea-yeah, I’m so ready. Couldn’t be more ready.” Peter stuttered out.

Your smile faltered slightly as you looked at him. “You, ok?” You asked lightly.

“Yeah, totally!” He said, mentally cursing how his voice came out higher than normal. He was hoping you wouldn’t notice, but of course, you did.

“Are you sure? Cuz we can get ice cream a different day.” You offered, this time placing your hand on his arm to reassure him it was ok to cancel.

The heat in his cheeks grew even more, and Peter hoped he didn’t look like a tomato. He really needed to calm down.

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, “No, really, I’m ok. I still want to get ice cream.”

You didn’t push him, just gave him one more searching look that Peter hoped wouldn’t see too much. He knew how well you could read him.

You must have decided he would talk to you when he was ready because you nodded and looped your arm through his, and started to head for the door. “Ok, then let's go! I cannot wait to see how massive the brownie sundae actually is. MJ told me they give you an entire can of whipped cream, which sounds like heaven.” You rambled as the two of you made your way out.

On the way there, Peter was quiet for most of the ride into the City leaving you to do most of the talking while he listened. When you did let silence fall, it was filled with a kind of awkwardness and strain that was foreign in your relationship. He felt you throwing him glances from time to time, concern clearly present whenever you did.

It wasn’t until you were just walking up to the ice cream parlor that you finally tugged on his arm to stop him.

“Pete?” You called softly.

He turned to look at you while casually saying, “What’s up?” He was trying to play it cool, even though he knew full well what you were about to ask.

“I know there’s something bothering you. What’s going on?”

Peter’s heart rate picked up slightly. He couldn’t tell you here, not randomly on the sidewalk, shouldn’t it have some romantic build up? He tried again to brush it off, “Nothing, come on. We need to get those sundaes!” He said, a little too energetic while turning to head to the door. He felt your hand slip off his arm.

Once he got to the entrance of the ice cream shop, he looked back and saw you hadn’t moved. The look of genuine concern on your face told him you weren’t buying his act.

He knew you weren’t going to push him to say anything. If he really wanted to he could ask you to drop it and you would, but something about doing that sat wrong with him.

The butterflies came back in full force as he realized this was the moment. He took a breath to steady himself, and shakily made his way over to you. His body buzzed with nerves.

Looking at him as he made his way back in front of you, you seemed to notice the tells of his newly amped nerves which only increased the worry in your eyes. “Peter—” You started to say while raising your hands towards him, but Peter cut you off while grabbing your hands in his.

“I’m ok. I promise. I—I’m just nervous,” He gave you a very small smile.

Confusion added itself to your concerned features as you asked, “Why?”

Peter looked down at your joined hands, “Because...Because I need to tell you something, but I’m really scared to do it.” He looked back up at you and his heart tugged in his chest as he met your y/e/c eyes. They had softened and held a warmth that he felt spreading through him, soothing his nerves just enough to breath.

“You can tell me anything, Pete. Nothing's going to scare me away. Not from you,” You spoke softly, squeezing his hands in encouragement.

A sweet smile started to make its way across his face as he stared at you, and soon he was lost in your eyes, in the sound of your heartbeat, and that familiar overwhelming sense of love for you flooded through him. Without thinking he breathed out, “I love you.”

Your eyebrows shot up, your eyes widened, and your smile dropped into a look of shock. If it hadn’t made his heart sink to his stomach Peter might have thought your face was comical. Instead, he started to panic as he watched your whole body freeze.

“Bu-but i-it’s ok if you don’t love me back!” He blurted out, which snapped you out of your shock enough to cut in before he continued talking.

“What? No, I—why wouldn’t I love you back?” You stuttered out.

It was Peter’s turn to freeze. Was there actually a chance you loved him back? His heart skipped a beat at the idea. He swallowed as he whispered, “Do you?”

You brought his hands up in yours and hugged them to your chest forcing him to come closer to you. Just inches apart, a soft sweet smile slowly spread across your face as you said, “Of course I do.”

Peter might have said the sun had exploded in his chest with how strongly the happiness spread through his body. The smile that made its way onto his face almost hurt it was so big. “Really? Y-You love me?”

“I really really do, Peter.” You said smiling just as big as him now.

He let go of your hands and picked you up to spin you around. You squealed at the suddenness, and the two of you giggled when he set you back down.

Your arms were around his neck now, hands playing with curls on the back of his head. You both stared at each other for a while, basking in this new euphoric feeling, until he noticed your stare flitting to his lips. Ever so subtly your head moved towards him and your lips brushed his in a tentative kiss before pulling back to make sure it was ok. Peter answered by crashing his lips into yours.

You were new to each other so the kiss was slow and patient, and filled with what felt like a lifetime of emotions. He couldn’t believe how right this felt as he held you close. You tasted like peppermint, and your lips were soft against his. He really didn’t want the kiss to end, but eventually you broke away.

He leaned his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“I love you too.” You answered, brushing his nose with yours.

Suddenly, the ice cream parlor’s door swung open aggressively, causing the store’s bell to ring loudly. The two of you jumped apart at the sudden noise, and turned to see two kids running out of the building, giggling loudly with chocolate ice cream smeared over their faces. You smiled at them, and turned back to Peter.

“I think you still owe me a brownie sundae,” You said coyly.

Peter chuckled and held out his hand for you to take, “One giant brownie sundae coming up.”

#peter parker x reader #avenger!reader #peter parker one shot #peter parker #peter parker x avenger!reader #angst #angst fic #injury #avengers #spiderman #spiderman x reader

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icarusbuck · 3 years

Text

31. I trust you

FOX! 911 | minor concussion

∞

Buck turned in a slow circle, careful not to lose his footing on the red clay tiles of Eddie's roof. A long line of string lights spread before him, doubling back on itself and looping around in a mimicry of the Santa hat sketched on a piece of paper in his hand. He consulted the drawing with some amount of skepticism and tilted his head, eyeing the distance between the peak of the roof and the gutter.

"You know," he called out to Eddie, bending at the waist to adjust one of the places where the lights were attached, "this is going to drive your energy bill through the roof." The roof clips were easy to slide around, and he straightened carefully once he was satisfied with the new placement.

"Christopher wants to win the neighborhood contest," Eddie replied, his voice impossible to place over the edge of the roof. He was busy arranging the dozen or so inflatable decorations around the yard.

"Chris does, or you do?" Buck teased, squinting once more at the drawing. The matching hat on his head sat crooked after bending over, the little ball at the end dangling in front of his face. He swatted it to the side and tugged the hat back into place.

"Please. Where do you think he gets his sense of competition?" Eddie's voice had moved again.

"What sense of competition?" Buck laughed. He shifted his weight, careful to keep as much of his rubber soles in contact with the slippery roof tiles as possible. In retrospect, it may have been worth tying himself to the chimney. From his vantage point, it was almost impossible to gauge whether the lights were shaped appropriately. At best, it just looked like he'd tossed the string lights and left them. "Hey, do you think this looks right?"

"Sure. I trust you," Eddie said flippantly. He sounded even further away, which was odd considering how small the front yard was.

"Did you even look?" Buck sighed, rolling his eyes. He turned in place and surveyed Eddie's progress on the yard. There were several sad half-inflated reindeer and extension cords snaking between them all, but no Eddie. Taking a step closer to the gutter, Buck leaned over to scope out to the far reaches of the property.

In either direction, there were only a handful of other houses that boasted any decorations at all, and none were as extravagant as what Eddie had planned. Buck frowned and turned his attention back to not falling off the roof.

"Isn't it a little early to go all in on Christmas? I mean, I respect the commitment, but Halloween was yesterday." He finally gave up waiting for Eddie's appraisal and folded up his drawing, tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans. "Eddie?"

He told himself Eddie had just gone inside, but the little spark of fear at the back of his mind ignited when he received no response. The ladder was on the other end of the roof, and worry made him careless. He didn't pay as much attention to his footing as he'd done before, and with the ladder still several feet away, he slipped.

With a clipped yelp, he went down, landing on one ass cheek on the tile. He began to slide immediately, fingernails scraping against the shaped clay, and then the roof was no longer under him. His stomach tilted during his brief period of free fall. It happened too quickly for him to even pray for a soft landing. One moment he was standing on the roof, and the next his momentum was halted by a body. The air rushed out of him when they both toppled into one of the inflatables.

"How the hell did you know I would be there?" Eddie griped from beneath him, shoving at the synthetic material pressing into his face. Buck scrambled onto his hands and knees, meeting Eddie's glare with concerned surprise. "I swear you aimed for me," he accused.

"I didn't," Buck said, getting quickly to his feet. He reached down to help pull Eddie out of the inflatable. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Eddie winced, rocking back on his heels once he'd gained his feet. He leaned away unsteadily and Buck grabbed his arm again to steady him, frowning.

"Did you hit your head?" Buck bent to get a better look at Eddie's eyes, feeling the back of his skull for a bump.

"I don't think so," Eddie said, but it sounded like a question. "Did you hit my head?"

Buck pressed his lips against a retort and shook his head. "Come on. I'm taking you to get checked out."

"Buck, I'm fine," Eddie scoffed, pulling free of Buck's grip. He stumbled immediately, and Buck was met with no resistance this time when he grabbed him again. "Whoa," Eddie groaned, pressing his palm to his forehead.

"You're definitely not fine," Buck insisted, and he marched them both over to the Jeep. Eddie climbed into the passenger seat willingly, but drew the line when Buck tried to clip the seatbelt for him. As soon as Buck was in the driver's seat, Eddie squinted at him.

"Can I borrow some sunglasses?"

Buck eyed the gray skies and glanced back as he fetched the pair from the center console.

∞

The emergency department was having a blissfully slow day, but the process of getting Eddie checked in and filling out forms and seeing one of the doctors still took them a few hours. The diagnosis was a mild concussion and the recommended course of action was to just rest, and Buck was given a list of symptoms to watch for.

Once, while they waited, Eddie turned to look at Buck.

"Is Christopher okay?" He asked with a worried frown.

Buck had to fight a smile. "Yeah, he's fine," he assured him.

He took care of arranging an overnight stay for Christopher with Abuela. While Eddie's symptoms were minor, they both knew how unpredictable concussions could be, and he didn't want the added stress of worrying about Christopher if his dad needed to be rushed back to the hospital in the middle of the night.

Night had fallen by the time Eddie was released. His disorientation and confusion fluctuated, but never grew severe enough for him to stay. Once they were safely back at Eddie's, Buck left him in the dining room and called Bobby.

"Hey Buck," Bobby greeted, backed by a chorus of voices. The voices quieted after a moment. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Buck said, keeping his voice low despite being a room away from Eddie. "Eddie needs to take a couple sick days, though. He's got a concussion."

"Is he okay?"

"He will be. But I was also wondering if I could use up some vacation to make sure he's okay. Between his concussion and Chris's needs…"

"I understand," Bobby said, picking up as Buck's words trailed off. "Take a few days, make sure he recovers."

"You got it, Captain," Buck said, smiling. He hung up and returned to the dining room, where Eddie was still seated at the table.

"I don't feel good," he mumbled. Buck took the seat next to him and awkwardly patted his hand.

"I know. I'm sorry, head injuries suck. You're supposed to avoid screens and bright lights, maybe we could listen to something?" Buck offered, though he doubted any noise at all would be pleasant. From what little he remembered of his own head injuries, any sound at all was pure misery.

"Why?” Eddie frowned, his gaze transferring from the ceiling to Buck.

"Because you have a concussion," Buck said patiently. He felt a twinge of guilt; this was definitely his fault.

"Oh," Eddie said. He frowned down at his hands and picked at his cuticles. "I'm tired," he complained after a few seconds, his face pinching almost comically. His shoulders fell inward as he leaned forward to put his forehead on the table.

"I know," Buck said again, wincing. "Come on, let's go sit on the couch. At least you'll be more comfortable there." He stood and held out his hand, but Eddie swatted clumsily at it and found his feet by himself. It was almost comical how quickly he reached out to steady himself with Buck's shoulder, and Buck simply raised an eyebrow at him.

"I can do it," Eddie assured him, his fingers patting Buck's shoulder as if that was all he'd meant to do. He drew in a steadying breath and set off for the living room, Buck hot on his heels just in case. When he reached the couch, he sagged onto it with a groan.

Buck sat beside him. A mixture of guilt and worry had him watching Eddie like a hawk, but it was shortlived. Eddie smacked the back of his knuckles against Buck's arm.

"Stop it," he grumbled, shifting about on the couch. "You're so tense."

"Forgive me for worrying about you," Buck said dryly, rolling his eyes.

"Now you know how it feels," Eddie muttered under his breath.

"What?" Buck tried to meet his eyes, but Eddie wasn't looking at him. His eyes were unfocused, directed toward the fireplace. He shook himself and refocused his attention on Buck.

"Huh?"

Buck shook his head, choosing to ignore the little changes the concussion had brought out. He pulled his phone out again and went through the list of symptoms - that one included - to remind himself precisely when it would be time to worry.

"What were you saying?" Eddie prodded, knocking his knee into Buck's.

Buck looked up from his phone, surprised to find Eddie looking at him. He wasn't sure how much of this Eddie was real and how much was the bump on the head, but he figured they were still in safe territory. "I wasn't. You were saying you worry about me."

"Oh yeah," Eddie said, nodding. "You do a lot of shit worth worrying about."

"Like what? Aside from my job," Buck challenged, setting his phone aside. He settled back into the cushions, wiggling in between two of them.

"Like falling off the roof," Eddie fired back, and Buck had to admit that it had merit. Eddie slouched down, searching for a comfortable position, and wound up tipping slightly to lean into Buck's side. He sighed his contentment and closed his eyes.

"Well, I wouldn't have fallen off the roof if you weren't hellbent on winning your neighborhood competition. Eyes open," Buck said, setting his arm on the back of the couch. Eddie took advantage of the space it created, making agreeable noises as he snuggled into Buck's side. Buck raised an eyebrow; it wasn't uncommon for either of them to touch, but this was decidedly different from sideways hugs and bumping arms as they walked.

Eddie's eyes opened obediently after several seconds, and he looked up at Buck. "Thanks," he said softly.

Buck patted his shoulder, squeezing him closer after a moment's hesitation. "It's the least I could do after you broke my fall."

"I'll always catch you," Eddie affirmed, his lips twitching. "Especially when you fall for me." His voice shook, and he gave in to the giggle that threatened.

"What?" Buck asked, a little too sharply this time. He tensed involuntarily and couldn't suppress the odd feeling tugging at the back of his mind.

"What?" Eddie repeated, frowning at him.

Buck wiped his hand over his face, hiding behind his palm in order to school his expression. "You are running in circles, and it's driving me crazy," he sighed.

"Now you know how it feels," Eddie said again. There was a hint of a smirk on his face, but it faded quickly. He cast his eyes about the room as though looking for something. "I won't remember this in a few days, will I?"

Buck edged the shoulder not occupied by Eddie's head into a shrug. "You might, but�� probably not. I don't remember most of mine."

Eddie nodded and set his jaw. He sat up and turned in place to face Buck, lifting one hand to cup his jaw. There was a clarity in his eyes that hadn't been there before. Buck held his breath and waited for an explanation, but the quiet stretched on.

"Eddie," Buck breathed, setting his hand on Eddie's shoulder. "This is just the concussion." He didn't know if he was trying to convince Eddie or himself, though.

"How do you know?" Eddie demanded, his fingertips digging in behind Buck's jaw, pulling at him.

"I know you," Buck asserted, but his resolve crumbled the longer Eddie stared at him.

"You think so?" Eddie loosened his grip. Keeping his hand there, he rubbed his thumb over Buck's mouth, following the movement with his eyes. "Are you sure?"

Eddie met his eyes again, and the rest happened in slow motion. He leaned in, moving his finger out of the way just to replace it with his lips.

They were softer than Buck expected, a tentative press that lasted forever and not long enough. He closed his eyes to savor it, to revel in the ache it caused, to commit the feeling to memory. The side of Eddie's nose nudged against his, and it was so close to perfect, save for the ever present knowledge that Eddie had a concussion.

Eddie held him still and released a shaky breath across Buck's lips. Then he tipped his head and went back for more, taking Buck's bottom lip between his. Against his better judgment, Buck kissed him back.

∞

Buck kept his distance after that. One kiss. One long kiss. One long kiss with a man who had a concussion and a kid and deserved a pass.

He stayed during his time off and carefully avoided the subject, and Eddie, and ignored the longing he felt for another one.

Because it was just one kiss, and knowing Eddie wouldn't remember it made those next few days agony. He was almost relieved to go back to work and escape the persistent feeling that he'd taken advantage, the guilt that accompanied it. Things would go back to normal soon enough, but if he avoided Eddie's texts and busied himself with work instead, normal would return even faster.

That's what he told himself, anyway. He repeated it like a mantra whenever his phone buzzed and signaled Eddie's boredom.

Work only provided a distraction for a few days, and then he wound up back at Eddie's as promised. He was a glutton for punishment and apparently ready for more.

Eddie opened the front door as soon as Buck's feet hit the ground. He looked better than he had the last time Buck had been over, more rested. His eyes narrowed as Buck picked his way in between the decorations. The job had fallen to him to finish after the visit to the emergency department, and he'd done so happily as an excuse to escape Eddie's scrutiny.

"You've been avoiding me," Eddie said, pointing an accusing finger at him. "You know, if you were that sick of me, I could have gotten Carla to come babysit."

Buck rolled his eyes. "You're needy when you aren't concussed," he retorted, brushing Eddie aside so he could enter the house. He held out a bag of takeout and shook it. "Truce?"

"We'll see," Eddie grumbled, snatching the bag from him. He shoved his nose into it and took a deep sniff as he headed over to the couch. There were plates and forks already laid out in anticipation of Buck's arrival, a gesture that managed to ease his guilt further.

The subject hadn't come up again, but in the wake of that first night Eddie grew even more tactile. Touch for Buck had always been important, a way to ground him even on his worst days. Working side by side had taught Eddie when Buck needed it most, and he was always happy to provide it.

Now that it was Eddie who needed grounding, Buck couldn't find it in himself to deny him.

Eddie sat down onto the couch and laid out the food. Buck detoured to the kitchen to retrieve a couple bottles of water, and by the time he returned the plates were already loaded and the movie was starting. He took his place beside Eddie and wasn't surprised when Eddie scooted closer, closing the distance until there was no space between them from shoulder to knee.

They ate quickly and in silence, largely because Buck hadn't realized how hungry he was, but soon he sat back with his bottle of water and a sated sigh.

"Any interesting calls while I've been out?" Eddie asked, nudging the plates aside so he could prop his feet up on the table after he sat back. He leaned into Buck's side and Buck put his arm over the back of the couch, making the space as comfortable as possible.

"The usual. All the crazy shit happened on Halloween."

Eddie snorted and shifted, using Buck like his personal armrest. He rested his hand on Buck's knee, and Buck tensed.

He cleared his throat and took a sip of water, reminding himself that Eddie just needed normalcy while he regained his bearings. Concentrating on the movie was made impossible when Eddie started rubbing slow circles with his thumb.

God, this was going to kill him.

Buck glanced sideways after a few minutes and froze. Eddie was already staring intently at him. His fingers tightened in the beat of silence that followed.

"Okay," Buck huffed. The word fell from his mouth involuntarily and he swallowed as a small smile emerged on Eddie's face. He mentally went back through the week as they stared at each other, realizing after several days that it might not have been the concussion after all.

Or at least, that the concussion had just brought everything to light for both of them.

"Okay?" Eddie prompted.

Buck tipped his head, searching his eyes for answers. He held up his hand to stop Eddie as soon as he opened his mouth again. "No, wait a second. You can't tell me I was wrong here," he insisted.

Eddie shook his head as his smile widened into a grin. He closed the distance between them and covered Buck's mouth with his own, effectively shutting him up.

"You had a concussion!" Buck protested, his words trapped in between them. He tried to pull back and smiled despite himself.

"Shut up," Eddie ordered, chasing after him. He refused to allow Buck any distance, taking Buck's face in his hands and kissing him again. When Buck sat back, Eddie followed, twisting halfway into his lap.

"How was I supposed to know this was real?" Buck murmured against his lips. He set his hand on Eddie's hip to guide him.

"God, will you shut up?" Eddie groaned, breaking away long enough to seat himself across Buck's thighs. His knees tucked in on either side of Buck's hips and he framed Buck's head with his forearms, looking down at him with a mixture of wonder and exasperation. He couldn't escape even if he wanted to. And he very much did not want to.

A laugh bubbled forth and Buck pulled him closer, acquiescing to Eddie's assault. There would be time for answers after they made up for all the lost time.

#fictober20 #buddie #911 on fox #eddie diaz #evan buckley #AND WITH THAT I CLOSE OUT FICTOBER #I FUCKING DID IT #HOLY SHIT #huge huge HUGE shoutout to weresilver-in-space #seriously i don't think i could have gotten through this month without jules and his willingness to read fics and check for selling errors #and all of his cheerreading was what kept me going #even if i asked for ideas and promptly ignored them slfknaskln #jules you're a real one i'm so glad i was able to drag you into buddie hell without you even seeing 911 <3

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decalinethespacecat · 3 years

Text

The Games that We Play-Ch.1

A simple exploration.

That's all this mission was supposed to entail.

Well, in a sense, perhaps they had accomplished such. Stranded on a new, foreign world, brimming with energy, and teeming with organic life. And with that, it was the very life that they had been forced to alter themselves to, the very lifeblood that dwelt on this strange sphere in too great an excess, and thus, should they not adhere to the laws set by this new world, it could mean the loss of their functionality, or even more, their own sparks. Of course, ironically enough, it hadn't just been themselves that had to follow this code: the very ones that had caused their stranding here had also been subject to it. And even more, one amongst their former pursuers had, albeit forcibly at first, integrated amongst their numbers. Now, as the two parties faced each other atop this mountain, five against five, the playing field had been leveled.

The two heads of the opposing sides made direct eye contact with each other, the differences between them evident in far more than just their conflicting ideals and ambitions. On one side stood the stalwart, strong form of a darkly furred primate, leaning on his knuckles as the species he had scanned were inclined to do. His eyes were dark, yet soulful, and in the minds of some of his fellow explorers, dare they say, they appeared almost akin to the small creatures that had aided and catered to their ancestors. On the other was, for all intents and purposes, a complete antithesis of everything the primate was. He bore the outer flesh of a large theropod coated in a sheen of violet with a series of green ridges trailing along his back, ending at the base of his tail. Rows of sharpened, ivory teeth lined the inside of his powerful jaws, small, yet menacing red eyes full of intent glowering back at the primate opposite of him.

"Across the galaxy," the ancient reptile spoke, voice low and smooth. "It has come to this, Optimus Primal." The primate stood his ground, along with the other four organically based Cybertronians with him. "Face to face," a smile crept onto the theropod's features. "Tooth to claw...yesss." Oh yes indeed, he had been clamoring for this very moment! "Have you anything to say?"

The primate's face grew stern. True, he had not set out on this expedition with the intent to seek combat. Yet ultimately, Primus, it seemed, held other plans for them. "I'd say, that's prime." he simply stated before bearing his elongated canines. "Let's do it!"

...

"YEAHHHH!" a chorus of young voices cried out, five to be exact, as they charged in unison at a collection of five pieces of notebook paper held up by a used popsicle stick glued onto the back, each of them stuck into the ground so they would stay in place. The owners of the voices came forward and did 'battle' with the pieces of cut-out paper, lightly striking and flicking the fragile, crudely drawn depictions of their current 'adversaries'.

This was the third time they needed to be redrawn, and frankly, no one was wanting to have to do all five Predacons all over again. Especially if one of them was a young adolescent with questionable drawing skills. If anything, at least they LOOKED like how they were supposed to this time. Sort of.

One amongst the five, a boy with tannish skin and a darkly colored buzz cut, grabbed the cutout of Megatron (at least, it was supposed to be Megatron) and purposefully fell to the ground, bringing the piece of colored paper on a stick close to his face, raising one hand to keep it back, as if it weighed a good deal of weight.

...

The jaws were close. So insultingly close. Just a few centimeters more, and that slagging ape's head would be firmly in his jaws! "Admit defeat, Maximal!" Megatron bellowed, Primal not wavering, yet it was evident that he was struggling against the Tyrannosaurus' massive head. "The Energon shall be ours!"

The silverback needed to act fast. He held no intention of obeying the violet Predacon's demand, yet he needed some leeway. He needed to at least get the larger beast off of him! "Not if I can help it!"

...

"Yah!" the tan boy hollered, behaving as if he had just flung a two-ton boulder off of him, yet the paper cutout landed in the grass with little more than a soft crinkle. "Surrender, Megatron!" he proclaimed, his voice far from the authoritative, triumphant Maximal he was imitating. "You're scrapped!"

'Megatron didn't retort back, the boy realizing then what kind of corner he had just put himself in.

"Uh, guys?" he called out, the other four children ceasing their 'battle' against their respective Predacons and turning towards him. "Who's not fighting at this part?"

One boy amongst them, African and with a top of short, black curls, turned to him. "They all are!" he answered back.

"Yeah, but who's being shown fighting?"

"Uh…" the other boy paused, thinking for a moment. "I think it's just Optimus and Megatron."

"Ok." the tan boy went over to pick up the Megatron cutout, his dark eyes taking notice of a nearby tree. "You mind? I can't really chase myself."

...

The impact was immediate, and even if it had been mere seconds, the shock that came with the splintering rock formation behind them both clearly affected Primal more than his adversary.

A fact that they wasted no time in taking advantage of.

With one swift, precise bite, Megatron put the jaws of the mighty beast he had donned as his alternate form to proper use, the premaxillary teeth that once belonged to the likes of the extinct predator tore through the alpha primate's thigh, right above the joint. Primal released an involuntary wail of agony, the sharpened instruments having torn through his alt mode's synthetic flesh and down to the fragile circuitry and wiring underneath. Not feeling satisfied with just one sample of the Maximal's mech fluid lightly bathing his tongue, Megatron bit yet again, only this time, Primal seemed to have better prepared for it. He was still in a great deal of pain, yes, yet now he could better channel it, using the horrid sensations and transferring it into an unquenchable need to fight back, beginning with delivering a hardened chop with both hands to the top of Megatron's scaly dome.

This blow had put the behemoth reptile in the same position Optimus had been mere seconds prior. And due to the blow he had delivered, it took the Tyrannosaurus a moment to realize that, surprisingly enough, the foolish ape had somehow found it in him to up and began swinging him around by the tail! As soon as the world had begun spinning for him, it stopped, only to then realize he was flying right into the ceiling of the mountainous structure, crashing down with a resounding thud that shook the entire landscape.

"Gah!" Optimus cried out, hissing as he analyzed the injury done to his leg. True, he had managed to stand to deliver that rather 'creative' maneuver against his aggressor, yet it now dawned on him that there was no way he could walk with a tear like this. And internalized repairs wouldn't be able to undo damage such as this. As if to add insult to injury (literally in a sense), the reptile had somehow managed to get up. "It…" Optimus stammered, forcing himself to rise. "It's over, Megatron!"

"It is NEVER over! Nooo!" He could scarcely believe it at first, yet given how the brute's forces traveled all this way to engage them, perhaps anything was possible. After all, what other Cybertronian before them had been forced to adopt a secondary skin of organic flesh? Despite the painful surges the multiple Energon crystals sent through his true form, Megatron did not waver, aiming and sending a missile right in the direction of the wounded Primal. "For if I must die...I shall take you with me!"

There was no way he could avoid this. Its proximity was too close. The urge to flee was great, yet Primal stood firm. He would stand tall and accept this. He had begun to shut his eyes, awaiting the inevitable. 'Till all are one…'

Yet one, he was not yet to be.

The missile had never come to meet him.

...

"Wait, you want me to do what?" one amongst the group questioned with a quirked brow, this time the child, despite the role, a young girl with skin slightly darker than the boy roleplaying as Primal, her thick, black hair tied back in a low ponytail. In her hands was a wooden sword, one that she had made sure to bring each and every time she met with the others. Yet now, the African boy was asking her to do something a little...odd with it.

"Well, in the episode, Dinobot blocks it with his tail."

"So, what? You want me to put this on my butt?"

"Uh...well, it'd be accurate."

It sounded absurd, not to mention difficult to pull off. Sure, she didn't really know how to properly use the sword, yet at least she could make use of it as something of an improv baseball bat. But nooooo, when she batted the "missile" away like that, they had to stop so that they could do it 'the right way'.

"Fine." she moaned, rolling her eyes and tossing the crumpled piece of paper (Waspinator got stepped on, AGAIN) in the African boy's direction. "Throw it again."

...

The one that had once been under Megatron's command, the one that had blocked their way and saw fit to end his life on the stone bridge, allowing the Predacons to catch up with them, had just been the one to strike the incoming projectile with his striped, reptilian tail, sending it off course and away from them both.

The former Predacon and his would-be usurper had just miraculously saved him from certain death.

This revelation was given no time to truly be dwelt on at the present, for the missile had found itself a new target, the explosion sending a chain reaction that soon caused the entire mountain to shake.

"It's going to blow!" a brown rhinoceros bellowed, the once battling Predacons quickly realizing the danger they were all in and making a hasty retreat, leaving their downed leader behind.

"Time to fade, heroes!" one amongst the Maximals shouted, a green-eyed cheetah, he making himself scarce along with Primal and the rhino, a large, grey rat also atop of the horned creature's back, a velociraptor racing alongside with them off of the mountain. None dare to look back, lest they waste precious seconds before the entire formation exploded.

Thankfully, they thought as they now found themselves a good distance away, all of them had managed to make it out of that close call in one piece. All four...no, all five of them.

Optimus turned his gaze towards the newest member of their group, his pale eyes gazing back into the silverback's own. "Thanks." he simply stated, the ancient reptile somewhat taken aback by this gesture.

"My actions did not imply loyalty, Optimus." the striped theropod clarified, momentarily averting his gaze, his voice low and raspy, yet strangely enough, sincere. "I owe you my life." He admitted the act, even if he dare not openly say it, was rather humbling. "Now we are merely...even."

The silverback took no offense to this. In fact, to the raptor's befuddlement, he simply presented him with a satisfied grin. "I'll accept that."

"Yeah, well, uh.." The rat, having long gotten off the rhino's back, wasn't exactly ready to allow this saurian into their ranks, no matter what Optimus declared. Orders or not, he'd make his opinion on "Chopperface", or rather, "Choppahface", known for a long while. Still, there was a burning question on his mind. "At least Megatron's gone, and so is the Energon!" he declared, voice rising in hope. "Can we go home now?"

It was too good to be true. The shaking of his leader's head cemented this fact. "No, Rattrap." the gorilla solemnly stated. "For now, we're stranded here with the Predacons on this unknown planet." the situation sunk in for all of them now, truly. "Megatron may be back, and there is still more Energon. If they ever get enough, they could conquer the galaxy." he could see the trepidation etched into their features. Indeed, he would be a liar if he said he did not share in their collective concern. Still...there was no other way. Their opposition had to be stopped. And whether it be here, Earth, or even Cybertron, his conviction would have remained the same. "So for now," he began, looking towards the endless, blue horizon above. "Let the battle be here, on this strange, primitive world. And let it be called," he shouted, extending his fist towards the skies. "The Beast Wars!"

...

"YEAH!" The five shouted in chorus, full of nothing short of absolute triumph and exhilaration, the sight of the untamed, unconquered canyon and mountainous landscape the Maximals stood upon at the forefront of their mind's eye.

Of course, after a few moments of this, said landscape steadily began to fade, the mowed, fertile, green lawn of the African boy's yard coming to consume the place stationed in their imaginations.

"Uh, ok." a voice amongst them spoke, said voice belonging to another girl in the group, though contrary to the other young lady with them, she bore lighter skin and a head of long, red locks. "So...do we go over the toy fund now or later?"

"I think we've got a more immediate problem than that." the African boy said, picking up the crumpled-up piece of paper. "Somebody's got to redraw Waspinator. Again."

The skies had darkened, the sun just beginning to set. Yet in the small, packed enclosure of the cubical-shaped treehouse, none of the five children paid any mind, a serious and passionate debate taking place amongst them.

"No way! I did it last week! It's Tim's turn!" a blonde boy with scruffy hair protested, crossing his arms.

"Last time I checked," the African boy clarified, gesturing an accusing finger back at the blonde. "You only did it last week because you skipped out on the last time it was your turn."

"Hey, I was sick that week!" he protested.

"Yeah, that was boring." The black-haired girl admitted. "I was tired of acting out that episode where Cheetor got kidnapped by Tarantulas."

"You got tired?" another girl questioned, she of lighter skin and a head of fiery red hair, even if her voice was meek and smooth. "I had to make sure the cutout we made didn't get too messed up."

"At least Rattrap got to do stuff in that episode!' the other girl retorted, looking to her wooden sword. "Dinobot was barely in that one!"

"And we can only do so many with just five of us!" the blonde added in. "Soon, it's going to get to where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!"

"Ok, look!" the tan boy interjected, the other four quieting down. "We're getting off track. The point is that Waspinator got messed up, again, and somebody's got to make another cutout-"

"Again." the other children finished for him, he somewhat startled by how quickly they picked up on what he was about to say.

"Right, so one of us is going to have to do it. But we've got to find out who's turn it is to make a new one-"

"Timothy Leblanc!" each and every one of the five adolescents jumped at the voice piercing through their private space up in the crudely constructed, yet still standing treehouse. And whilst the feminine, rather irritable voice called out for just one of them, each didn't need to ask what this also meant for them. "It's thirty minutes past five now, and you're STILL up there?! Your father's going to get here in less than five, and your dinner's had to be heated up twice already!"

The African boy winced, looking at his friends with a rather sheepish expression. "I've got to probably get going too." the red-haired girl confessed.

"Me too." the blonde added. "Mom's going to kill me if I don't do the dishwasher before the day's done."

"And my mom wants me to help her with the...the…" the black-haired girl paused. "I think she called it a…bistek tagalog?"

"A what?" Tim questioned.

"Your mom always makes the weirdest stuff." the blonde added.

"Whatever it is, she wants me to help mix the sauce and put the onions in."

"So, who's going to redraw…" the tan boy began, only to find that all eyes were on him.

A few hours later

"Thanks a lot!"

"Yeah, totally!"

"You're always so thoughtful!"

"Yeah, the best!"

Even now, he was STILL seething mad at all of them.

True, there really wasn't a rush, and he could probably get it done during study hall tomorrow, but still, once again, he had been sacked with the task of redrawing Predacons (correction: one particular Predacon) AGAIN, when the rest of them knew well and good that it was someone else's turn! Still, in a way, he sort of knew why he got this particular task the most, mainly because he was the only one that could actually make them LOOK sort of accurate. As accurate as a fourth grader that had a decent enough grade in Art could get.

'Yeah, well, let's see them when we act out 'Starscream's Ghost'!' the boy thought, scribbling a green crayon in the thick pencil lines that made up Waspinator's outline. 'I'll be Waspinator on that one! And...oh wait, no.' he just remembered. 'We don't have anyone that can be Tigetron or Airazor.' let alone did they have anyone that could've filled in the role of Blackarachnia or Inferno.

'And we can only do so many with just five of us!' the blonde boy's words echoed in his mind.. 'Soon, it's going to get where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!'

"Inuksuk!" a man's voice said from the other side of the door, the young boy ceasing his doodling. "Don't tell me you're still up!" the child inwardly groaned at hearing his full name. Culture and heritage aside, he still hated it. "Have you even brushed your teeth yet, young man?"

Brushed...oh shoot!

The older, far taller adult standing outside of the boy's room was knocked back by the door, quite literally, slamming in his face, a small figure rushing out and into the bathroom. "Well, at least you know to stand out of the way next time." a woman shouted at the bottom of the stairs.

"Y-Yeah...guess so…"

Bathroom

Not so much brushing as he was grinding the bristles in and around his teeth, yet from what he could see in the mirror, his mouth was foamy enough for it to count! Speaking of which, he took a moment to eject said foam from his mouth and into the sink, washing it down and getting out the dental floss, tearing off just enough (just as mom showed him) and tying the ends around his fingers (just as mom showed him, though he struggled more with that particular step). Inuksuk looked good and hard in the mirror at his still growing teeth, a couple of empty spaces from recently pulled ones serving as areas he needed to keep extra clean, this particular tip from his father (of whom he just realized he might've just slammed in the face with a door).

He'd have to apologize when he got out. Assuming he hit him hard.

Still, as the young boy garbed in a simple, grey t-shirt and worn down, dark grey sweatpants navigated the floss through his available teeth, he found one thought running through his mind on repeat as he went on with his (very belated) nightly routine.

"Soon, it's going to get where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!"

...

"...making up our own episodes!"

Making up their own episodes...hmm.

Perhaps the better term for it would've been 'making up our own stories, as really, how were a bunch of kids going to get ahold of anything better than a handheld camera, let alone, by some miracle, contact Mainframe with a stack of papers detailing these new exploits and adventures of the Maximals?

Still, Tim thought, as he spit out the strong tasting, even stronger stinging Listerine, it could work.

Yeah, they'd have to go through the process of deciding on a plot, a script, who'd be the 'star', all things that, frankly, he would've been more than content to leave for the fine folks who were in charge of the show to decide. But, seeing as it was evident that they'd probably be playing out these reenactments with just five, Timothy couldn't help but entertain the potential Mathis' proposal brought with it. What if, just if, they did go through with it...what could they do? Or perhaps the better question was, what COULDN'T they do?

Oh man, oh geez, oh gosh, oh man! He had just meant it as a way so that they wouldn't have to act out the same stuff over and over again! But thinking about it now...oh geez, he was near slapping himself for not suggesting it earlier!

...

"Mathis, bed!"

"Ok, mom! Just a minute!"

The blonde boy heard the door to his room open, a hand setting itself on his shoulder.

"It's been ten." a low, feminine voice told him. "And unless you want to go through the ritual of me setting the radio on at max volume for you in the morning...and also, did you even brush, let alone take your pills yet-"

"Ok, fine." Mathis groaned, getting up from the dining room table and to the foot of the stairs.

"Clean up first."

He turned back to face his mother, she bearing his blonde locks, yet not his chocolate brown eyes. "But didn't you just say-"

"It's going to take you five minutes to get all these crayons and pencils up." she answered, a small, curt grin coming to her lips. Once again, she foiled him. As the young boy went back over to the table and began putting the art supplies back in their proper boxes, correctly, as she was watching him, the woman couldn't help but notice what her child had been drawing. "Who's that?" she asked, picking up the piece of lined paper. "One of the characters from that show you and your friends watch? Um…" she tapped her finger on her chin, trying to recall whom exactly her son fawned over. "Cheetara or something?"

"That's Thundercats, mom." Mathis moaned. "It's Cheetor from Beast Wars." well, technically, that wasn't what it was called over here, yet he and his friends were in mutual agreement that 'Beasties' sounded ridiculous, not to mention stupid. Besides, Optimus outright even said that the fight they were in was called the flipping 'Beast Wars'!

"Ah, right. He's the...leopard, right?" This earned the woman another groan. "Kidding, kidding." She scanned the crude markings meant to resemble the computer-generated robot cat (at least she thought that was what he was, she only saw the show in brief intervals), and found a strange, new figure beside him. "Who's this?" she questioned her child, gesturing to the right of (what was supposed to be) Cheetor.

"Oh, that's…" Mathis began to answer, stopping before he could finish. "Well...I don't really know what his name is, but he's somebody I made up."

"Ah, like it's supposed to be you in the show?"

"No, it's not me. It's someone I made up." the boy affirmed. "He's a Saber-toothed Tiger."

(AN-I know it's more accurate to call it a Saber-toothed cat or Smilodon, but being a kid in the 90s, and in general, a kid, everyone I knew, both other kids and adults around me, just called it a Saber-toothed Tiger.)

"Oh, ok. That explains the teeth." his mother nodded.

"Yeah," Mathis confirmed. "There's only five of us, so we only have so many episodes we can act out as the Maximals. So I got to thinking we could maybe make up our own episodes."

"And in turn, make up your own characters?"

"...yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"Yeah, well," the woman ruffled the younger boy's hair. "You have all the time in the world to do that tomorrow and on the weekend. Right now, everyone, even Saber-toothed Tigers, need to get up into bed. And they definitely need to keep their teeth clean"

"Before they have pills in some ice cream?"

She smiled, going over to the freezer. "I guess that can be arranged. Though, I'm not sure how you could eat anything with chompers like that."

...

'Making up our own episodes…' she wondered, as she climbed on into bed, her long, red locks contrasting greatly with the ivory fabric of her pillow and pale pink of her sheets, as well as a majority of her room, of which followed in a similar color scheme. 'How are we going to do that when we can't even save up enough to get some actual toys?'

Indeed, before the whole discussion involving who was going to be tasked with re-drawing Waspinator, she had collected what everyone had to offer that week to the 'toy-fund'. Inu (of which she and the rest had called Inuksuk, seeing as his name was somewhat difficult to pronounce) was the only one to have actually brought a full dollar along with herself. Everyone else ranged from fifty to no more than five cents.

'Five cents?!' she remembered losing her cool at that. 'Really, Mathis?!'

'Hey, it was hot out!' he in turn retorted to her. 'And Dr. Pepper was RIGHT there in the machine!'

She was still more than a little peeved about it, but ultimately, there was little that could be done now. 'We've gotten up to twenty-five, but if each toy costs around ten dollars, each separate toy, then…' her hand traveled to her forehead, realizing in horror what this meant. 'We're going to have to get around fifty dollars total! And that's not even with tax!' she flopped onto her bed, her red hair fanning out underneath her. 'We're going to be stuck using paper cutouts for the Predacons forever!'

This pessimistic musing, however, was cut off by the cracking of her door, her blue eyes watching as a large, furred, quadrupedal creature squeezed through the opening it had created and made its way to her bedside, sitting on the small, white floor mat stationed beside it.

"Hey, Zoe." The young girl greeted the massive Main Coon, this vocal utterance being all the greyish-brown feline needed to act, hopping on her bed and planting herself at the footboard, curling up and tucking her head under her tail. She folded her hands underneath her head, still more than a little perturbed that it'd be even longer before she and her friends would reach the desired goal of however many dollars before all the Predacons could be purchased. Assuming they would even be able to find any at a Wal-Mart or Toys R' Us. "If anything," she spoke aloud to herself, Mathis' words coming back to her. "Making up our own episodes would probably mean that we'd have to do even MORE work. Because then, we're going to start making up our own Maximals and Predacons!"

...

'Which would be so cool!' The Filipino, black-haired adolescent mentally declared, having been warned already to not be too loud, and that she had school to look forward to in the morning. 'Looking forward to school...yeah, dad, that was a REAL good one.'

'It'll be even better if you get in those eight hours. Now haul yourself up to bed.'

Frankly, she wasn't sure she'd be getting any sleep tonight. Not with this running through her head.

'Like...like there are already characters that are toys that aren't in the show yet! Like Claw Jaw, or Armordillo, Wolfang, and…' as she continued on, listing each and every Maximal and Predacon she had seen on the shelves (Dinobot WOULD be hers! Eventually.), her brown eyes surveyed her environment before she got out of bed and locked the door to her room, then went back to her bed and cut on the lamp stationed on her dresser. She then opened the single drawer on the small, wooden dresser, an even smaller, black notebook, and a single, number-two pencil residing in the compact space, the label 'Lulu' stuck on the cover via a small piece of paper and tape.

'Ok,' she mused to herself, grabbing the two objects and flipping open to a page with just enough room. Then, she began writing. 'Now...there was Claw Jaw, Armordillo, Wolfang…'

...

'...some guy that's a German Shepard...don't know how that happened.' indeed, he didn't, but lo and behold, it WAS indeed a toy. Inu rolled around on his left side. 'Maybe we could start with something a little more simple. Like...like after they left the mountain, they got the ship up and running better.' Despite his eyes being closed, scenarios and 'what ifs' began playing out in his mind. Yeah, that could work. Lulu could maybe play out how Dinobot settled in...and Mikaela could come up with some stuff to throw at her as Rattrap does in the show. Granted, that in itself might've been a little difficult. The Filipino girl could play out her role well enough without much assistance, yet the redhead kind of needed some 'coaching' on how to be snarky. Bizarrely enough, she could channel the rodent-based Maximal quite well whenever the subject of the 'toy fund' was brought up.

Inu continued to ponder and think, drowsiness steadily beginning to creep in, the faces and forms of his small circle of friends steadily transforming into the characters they portrayed in their reenactments.

'Hey.'

Yet...as he drifted off, the smallest bit of his mind that was still conscious noticed that despite the boy himself playing the role, the transformed silverback in his mind seemed to be paying attention to something or someone ahead of him. Something or someone that clearly wasn't present there before, yet he behaved as if they had been there all along.

'Thanks for the help back there.' Inu took a moment. This had to be a dream, yet...he certainly wasn't complaining. 'If it wasn't for you clearing out that path for us, we probably wouldn't have gotten off that mountain at all.'

"Oh, uh, no problem, sir." the young child answered, standing to attention like a soldier, salute and everything. He was far from a Maximal in this developing vision, let alone anything that could've ever had the potential to supposedly clear out a path, yet such details were trivial and minute to him. This was getting good, and he wasn't about to risk spoiling it.

"Despite your size, I'd be more than willing to allow you into our, heh," Primal chuckled, looking at the variety of fauna around him that were his comrades. "Ranks. Besides," he continued, extending one large, darkly colored hand. "I've always been curious about humanity and their culture."

...

Normally he'd totally be against this.

"Ah, here are some nice ones."

Here he was, some kid, in a time where people didn't exist yet, riding upon a talking rhinoceros as if it were the most mundane, normal thing in the world!

"Tim, you mind getting a few samples of these also?"

And even more...he didn't have a single problem with it.

"Sure thing. Just a second.'' The boy addressed both his transportation and 'favorite', hopping down from the Maximal's back and to the fertile, grassy plain below, said plain coincidently teeming with flowering specimens of all kinds. Some of these he had never seen before in his life, let alone in the pages of any book he could potentially check out from the school's library. Thus, he wanted to get the best one. The most fascinating and intriguing, not to mention definitely alien specimen…"Aha!" he cried out, wasting no time in plucking the desired flora from its place and bringing it to the brown rhinoceros. "Here.'' He presented his 'present', a strange, budding thing with fanned-out petals of primary colors.

"Now THAT'S one I might have to keep for myself," Rhinox admitted, the human boy in turn put the flower in a glass compartment he (somehow) had on his person. Dream logic, but he wasn't willing to spoil this. "Truly though, Timothy, sometimes I feel like you, aside from Optimus, are the only ones that can understand and appreciate the majesty of this place."

It was then that the child swore his heart had stopped. True, it probably hadn't, as he certainly didn't feel like he was dying in his sleep, yet to hear those words from the disguised robot, his 'favorite'...well, he was quite ready to go and pick every single thing that was growing in this imaginary field, should the rhino wish it.

...

His two legs carried him forward, the grassy plain and clear, summer sky nothing short of a picturesque perfect day. The slim spotted big cat with vibrant, green eyes that ran beside him was far from allowing the blonde boy to catch up. Far from it.

"Awesome!"

Impossible as it was, Mathis was actually catching up with HIM.

"You're almost as fast as I am!"

"Wait, almost?!"

"Yeah, almost!" With that, Cheetor gave himself a little bit of a boost, propelling forward and leaving the blonde a short distance behind.

Oh, it was on now.

The boy wasn't even getting tired. His legs were burning, his entire body drunk on adrenaline and whatever other chemical that flowed through his body (he'd have to remember to copy the notes off of Tim for Science class again), but by God, he was in absolute nirvana.

"Whoa, you actually caught up?!" the younger Maximal exclaimed to the human child, more than a little surprised at this.

"Y-Yeah!" Mathis shouted back. "Yeah, guess I did!" who cared about being a Sabertooth Tiger or whatever other animal, he was killing it just being an ordinary, boring….well, kid!

...

"..."

"...ok, look kid, you gonna stare all day?"

The red-haired girl giggled at the grey rat's annoyance. Even if she was the current source of such, she found she didn't particularly mind it. "I guess I just never realized how…"

Rattrap quirked a brow, taking another bite of the rotted blue apple (another indication this was no more than a dream. Not the giant, talking rat, oh no). "How what? You said it now, you can't leave me hanging."

Her teal eyes shifted. "I don't think you'll like it."

"I reiterate my prior statement."

"Fine," she said. In truth, she was somewhat anxious about how he'd react, yet all the same, a part of her hoped it'd be something he'd react to. "I never realized how fuzzy you are."

Any contents that once rested inside his mouth were promptly spat out. "Wh-WHAT?!" he exclaimed, scarcely believing what he had just heard. "What'd ya just say?!"

"I said you were fuzzy!" she repeated, a part of her somewhat fearful she offended him, yet another just as excited. "Right now! Your fur's getting all ruffled up!"

"It-it is not!" it clearly was. Robotic at spark he might've been, his outer skin was still a slave to its species' "quirks".

"Yes it is!" she chortled, fear finally gone and replaced with total amusement.

"It is not, kid!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it ain't!"

The vocal back and forth continued on and on, his growing frustration and embarrassment seemingly only channeling more and more humor for the human child, she then actually having the gall to come over and stroke him. Actually stroke him, as if he were some pet she had owned! Even worse, as he came to see as she continued to do it over and over, her hand traveling through his grey fur, Rattrap didn't entirely seem to mind. Daresay, it actually felt kind of...nice.

"Still don't know which of yous is worse. You or Choppahface."

"...you're still fuzzy."

"...it's you."

...

Block.

Thrust.

Block.

Swing.

Block.

Upward swing.

How she had managed to conjure up this particular kata in such a small amount of time, mattered not to her.

"Come now!" all that mattered was whom she was doing it for. "You're surely more capable than that!" Twisting herself around, the Filipino girl lifted her wooden sword and brought it down on the winding blade of Cybertronian origin, the wood miraculously not splintering upon impact. The azure features of her idol transformed into something of a curt grin of amusement. "You really believe you have a chance against me?"

"M-Maybe?" she answered. How she was doing this, she didn't know, yet frankly, she didn't care. And now she just up and made herself look like an idiot in front of him. Great.

Their weapons continue to strike and hit against each other, Dinobot outranking her in strength and size, yet she found that her smaller frame led to her gaining some clear advantages. Ducking under his legs, she aimed to stab upwards, he, in turn, whirling around and leaping forward, away from her strike. She got up, ready to go at it again, yet on the transformed Maximal's azure features, she beheld something that, had she not been so determined to keep her composure in front of him, she could've died happy right then and there in her sleep.

A smile.

A smile that echoed nothing short of absolute pride. Pride for her, of her, of one that had called him her favorite.

"You're far from ready to be partaking in any battle." the transformed velociraptor told her. "Yet...I will say this: there is a degree of potential in you."

...

Despite the distance between each of them, some greater than others, the same consensus was shared among all of them that night. And for many more nights to come. If their fantasies could either become their reality or better yet, have the ones they fantasized of step into the one they were unfortunately stuck in, then their young barely lived lives would be nothing short of absolutely perfect.

Primal's best soldier.

Rhinox's number one assistant.

Cheetor's best friend.

Rattrap's favorite (though he'd never say it).

Dinobot's best student.

The ideal scenario, should it ever be granted to them.

Though even in their young minds, they all knew such things, and their idols were regulated to the television and their own minds. True, it far from curbed or starved the desire to wish and hope for it, yet ultimately, it would be for naught.

For now, they had to make do with what they had at their disposal, regulated and limited to the simple, partially fulfilling games that they played.

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anotheronechicagobog · 4 years

Text

The Crackship Sails To Molly’s-I’m Not A Nurse - Rheese - Connor Rhodes x Sarah Reese

written by: @anotheronechicagobog

A/N: My second Halloween fic, and my first Rheese fic, hope you guys like it!

Warnings: swearing, mention of drugs, mention of how Halloween has been oversexualized, Protective!Ethan, seriously he threatens him and it’s a little intense

Sarah used to love Halloween. Her favourite nanny, Katya, used to be a seamstress and so she would hand make Sarah’s costumes. Sarah had loved it so much that she’d actually gotten the older woman to teach her how to sew, something that came in handy later in life for suturing, and she had been making her own costumes since Katya left to pursue another career. But as she got older new problems arose. Starting at fourteen she was expected to dress in... Revealing costumes. And Sarah did not like that, first of all, it was disgusting to expect women to dress in ‘slutty’ costumes, and second, it was appalling that the expectation was pressured on them so young. So the magic of Halloween she’d loved as a kid shattered, she didn’t even dress up for the holiday anymore unless it was for a costume party where she knew it would be appreciated. That Halloween, she was working in the ED. Even worse, it was the night shift. That meant the usual hell of calling time of death and cranky nurses, while also dealing with drunk morons who use Halloween as an excuse to fuck shit up.

Most of the usual ED staff wasn’t scheduled that night, they were here during the day which had been bad enough, but Sarah, Ethan, Connor, and Ava were all working doubles. Ethan was still avoiding April after their breakup and Noah was helping move her stuff out of their apartment that night before heading to Molly’s, Connor had requested it for some unknown reason, and Ava stayed because she and her girlfriend had gotten into a bad fight but she was using a patient’s touch-and-go condition as an excuse. Sarah downed her sixth coffee before stepping back out into the pits of hell. Connor wasn’t in the ED, probably went back up to the cardiology wing to help with Ava’s patient. Their relationship had improved drastically when Ava figured out she’s gay. It wasn’t something that was accepted in South Africa so she repressed it, even in Chicago, until she met Emily Foster. Ethan was sitting behind a computer with nurses bustling behind him, glaring at his computer screen. Sarah suspected it had less to do with whatever he was reading and more to do with whatever Doris was gossiping about right behind him.

Doris was an excellent nurse. Intelligent, experienced, and sympathetic when necessary. Unfortunately her sympathy did not extend to the other staff at MED whenever they were going through something gossip-worthy, read: deeply personal and often heartbreaking. Sarah had a basic amount of respect for her, but it didn’t expand past more than that since she heard her call Natalie the ‘ice princess’. The woman lost her husband and then found out she was pregnant a month later, had to deal with her mother-in-law constantly, all while continuing her fellowship, and Doris couldn’t say anything nice about her? And while she was right behind her. Another flaw of Doris’, she rarely kept stock of where anyone was in the ED at any given time so she usually ended up supplying MED’s gossip mill right in front of whoever it was about. It was distasteful, really.

“Dr. Reese, incoming, you’re going to treatment three.”

“What do we have?” Sarah’s eyes began wandering them patient’s body, taking mental notes, as she listened to the debrief from Sylvie Brett and Gianna Mackey. “Male, 24, laceration on the forehead, we stopped the bleeding, but he lost consciousness once at the scene and three times on th way over. He was in a bar fight.”

“Okay, transfer on my count, 1, 2, 3. Good, thanks guys, be careful tonight.”

“You too, Reese.” And with that, the two paramedics left leaving her with a drunk patient and a couple of nurses. Sarah went through her usual checklist of examinations based on the physical exam, questions answered by the patient, and information from the paramedics. “Can you tell me your name?”

“My name’s Brad, am I terr yous anytingting yous wans tas know.”

“Well Brad, my name is Dr. Reese, does anything hurt?”

“Non, non, nona, yous a nurse, ot a-”

“I assure you Brad, I am a doctor, now can you please tell me if you’re feeling any pain and where?”

“Nursh, yous nursh. Where you fish nets? Ans I wants yous boobies.”

“Okay, let’s get him to CT and run a tox screen, his bandage is good for now and the wound is clear, I’ll stitch him up after we run the tests.”

“SOW ME YOUS BOOBIES!”

“... Are there any male nurses available?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of Reese’s night went like that, drunken fools, high morons, and an absolutely swamped ED. Brad shockingly did not have a concussion, and was refusing to let Sarah stitch him up and send him out. She would have just let him sign out AMA, but his tox screen came back with copious amounts of alcohol and ecstasy in his system, so she couldn’t under good conscience let him sign out and leave without the proper treatment in his state. So he was moaning and groaning about... Everything and kept demanding a ‘real’ doctor. “Hey Sarah.” She turned to face him, her shoulder relaxing as she signed in relief at the sound of his voice. A beaming smile graced his features that immediately made Sarah’s day and she really wished that they could just stay like that for the rest of shift. Or eternity, either would do.

“Hi Connor, how are things up in cardiology?”

“Good, good, they don’t really need me up there so I came back down here. Were you scheduled for just the ED tonight or neuro aswell?”

“Just the ED for tonight, I’ve been putting in more hours up there recently so Ms. Goodwin suggested a couple of doubles to catch up.”

“Ah, hey have you seen the movie ‘Knives Out’ yet?” Connor had tensed slightly, and was giving an odd amount of attention to an old coffee mug sitting on the nurse’s station, and a nervous look drained onto his face as he glanced between Sarah and literally anything else. Honestly it bummed Srah out a little, working with Connor was the only silver lining she had while working the graveyard shift, and she’d be lying if she said that her heart didn’t hurt a little everytime Connor looked less than ecstatic. She’d also be lying if she said she wasn’t head over heels in love with him.

“No, I just haven’t had the time! I have to keep running out of the room anytime my housemates talk about the movie so I don’t get any spoilers.”

“I still haven’t seen it either, maybe we could make a day of it, grab some dinner at that Thai place you like and then head over to that theatre by Navy Pier to watch it?”

“You know what Connor, that sounds like a great idea.” And just like that, Connor perked up, his smile was back and so was Sarah’s.

“Really? I mean-”

“Nursh! NURSH! NURSH REESH!” Connor cocked his eyebrow in annoyance un the direction of Brad’s room. Both at the interruption and at the language the man was using.“I keep telling him I’m not a nurse but he just won’t listen to me. And he’s in detox right now so we can’t discharge him yet.”

“Do you want some back up?”

“No, I’m good Connor, but thanks.” So Connor stayed in place as she drifted over to treatment three, his lips pursed together in worry. “Reese’ll be fine, man, she can take care of herself. And did I overhear incorrectly, or did you FINALLY ask Sarah Reese, third year ED and neuro resident, out on a date?”

“... Shut up, Choi.” All the other man could do was let out a boisterous laugh, while Connor didn’t really appreciate that all the attention was on them now, or that he was being mocked for finally addressing his feelings, Connor had to admit, he hadn’t seen Choi laugh in a while, let alone so sincerely. So he cracked an embarrassed smile and chuckled along with him. “I’m happy that I won’t have to see you looking after like a lost puppy, but in all seriousness, Reese is like a little sister to me. I you hurt her I’ll string you up by your toes and make you eat your own kidney.” Choi’s eyes had gone completely devoid of amusement, they were hollow and dead serious, at that moment Choi looked how he did whenever he had to think about his time overseas. A pang of fear fluttered through his chest. “I’ll- ahm- I’ll keep that in mind.” Connor forced himself to break eye contact and Choi nodded definitively. The tension still hadn’t dissipated by the time Sarah got back. “You know, I used to love Halloween. I used to handmake all of y costumes. Now? Hate. It. Women are expected to dress in ‘slutty’ costumes, and everytime I work the day of, before, or after Halloween I get idiots who will ask why I’m not in my ‘proper uniform’, and some more idiots who are far to handsy. I just can’t wait for this shift to be over.”

“I take it Brad is being a little too friendly, then?”

“Yeah, I just have to keep thinking ‘only one more hour, only one more hour’.”

“And you used to make your own costumes? They must have been great!”

“They were! When I was twelve I was Medusa, fourteen I was one of the Beauxbatons from ‘Harry Potter’, Poison Ivy when I was sixteen, I had a lot of awesom costumes over the years but those were my top three. Oh! I saved pictures to my phone, hold on.”

“Well why don’t you still dress up? You clearly love it, and those costumes are amazing.”

“Other people have certain expectations for Halloween, as I mentioned before, and I started to get a lot of negative attention for it. So unless I’m going to a Halloween party that hasn’t been thrown by horny teenagers masquarading as adults, I just don’t dress up anymore.”

“I’m sorry Sarah. It’s a bit too late for this year, I think you’ve inspired me to throw a Halloween party next year.”

“Connor, you don’t have to do that just for me.”

“I know, which is why I’ll also be doing it for me. I used to like Halloween too, but like you said, it just gets so... Pervy when you grow up. I think it’d be really nice to have a Halloween where I can get excited about costumes again, it used to be my favourite part, too.”

“I’ll right, well I’ll keep my calendar open. For that one day, three hundred and sixty-four days from now.”

“That’s great. I loo forward to it.”

“And as for our ‘Knives Out’ date, would you be free for it tonight?”

“Uh...” Connor was taken aback, he had asked her out, yes, but he wasn’t sure if it actually came across as a date. And he was too nervous to ask himself because he really liked Sarah, she had become one of his best friends and she truly had carbed out her own spot in Connor’s heart, something he welcomed. “Unless... You didn’t aske me out and I just and I just made everything super awkward...” Connor could see Sarah start to internally chastise herself, so he gently grabbed her elbow before she could walk away, hope blooming inside of him. “I did ask you out on a date, and tonight sounds perfect.”

“Really?” Sarah smiled up at him and Connor couldn’t help but wonder what exactly he did to be lucky enough to have her in his life. “Yeah, really.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you later tonight, Connor.”

“Yeah, you will.” And twenty minutes later, after both of their shifts had ended and they were free to go, they left smiling, excited for the future and not despising a mutually memorable holiday as much as they did going in.

#One Chicago #chicago med #connor rhodes #connor rhodes x sarah reese #Sarah Reese #sarah reese x connor rhodes #rheese #ethan choi

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k-writer1998 · 4 years

Text

Not Bad, Rookie

Prompt fic: officer! jeongin x detective! reader

fluff

w.c: 2.3k

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

Waking up to a call about a crime scene was a given with my occupation but it wasn’t appreciated when I was at the station late last night. I’m glad my hair didn’t need much care after I got a boy cut although my bangs have grown to my cheekbones and keep getting in my face. Brushing my hair to the side, I got ready and went to the crime scene. There were already officers around taking photos and numbering the scene but my eyes zeroed in on a particularly cheerful face talking with forensics. The moment he saw me approaching, his face fell a bit.

“I can’t believe we’re stuck being partners again,” He muttered under his breath.

“Well honey. Hate it or not, the universe loves to conspire us together,” I remark sarcastically.

“We are not in the Shakespearean era my guy.”

“I am either “detective” or “y/n” not “my guy” or whatever slang you have up your sleeve.”

Although I understood why the chief continued to pair us together it didn’t mean I liked it any better than Jeongin did. Yang Jeongin… a fresh-faced officer known for his bright personality and friendly disposition, the complete opposite to my strict personality and blunt words. The chief says to learn from each other but playing nice with people isn’t really my cup of tea so not sure what else I could learn. I give him one thing though, the kid knows how to use his mouth if he doesn’t agree. The crime was a clear break and enter case, multiple stab wounds to the victim’s chest and abdomen, but no signs of robbery. Possibly premeditated… a stalker? Ex-lover? After investigating the crime scene more we headed back to the station.

“I’ll look into people close to the victim, check to see if there are any similar crimes. The scene feels too clean for it not to be a repeat offender.”

“Do y-”

“Y/n the chief wants you in his office.”

I gave Jeongin a shrug as he let out a defeated sigh and went to do as I asked. When I entered the office both of us gave displeased looks which I don’t know what his was for.

“Do you remember what you did on the last case?”

“I caught the culprit?”

“While endangering yourself and everyone in the surrounding area.”

“There was no danger to anyone else other than myself and I had everything under control.”

“You need to stop with this reckless behavior. You’re good at your job but if you make the wrong move you’re not going to be doing it anymore.”

“Sir-”

“Don’t argue with me on this. I talked you out of a transfer today because the higher ups didn’t trust in your methods even if you bring in the bad guy at the end of the day. They’ll be keeping an eye on you so just stick with Jeongin on the case and don’t be reckless.”

“About that, why do you keep partnering me with him? I know you tell me to learn from him but I just don’t get it.”

“You need to stop letting your ego get in the way then. You’re a great detective, do your job and pay attention to the details and you’ll know.”

Dang. Okay I do admit that there are times where I’m too rushed in my decisions which may have resulted in minor injuries to myself… and property that one time… With a sigh I sit back at my desk and start working. After going over her personal records, noting contacts, and making calls I realized how late it was. Stretching before cleaning up my stuff, I started to head out but as I headed to the door I noticed a light in the very corner of the room. All I could see was a stack of files and a tuft of black hair peeking from behind it. Who knew there was someone who loses track of time other than me, the others are always teasing me about it. With it already being late I decided to let the person know they should head home soon but then they leaned back in a stretch and the familiar baby face appeared. Jeongin? Is he still working on the task I gave him? Walking up to his desk, I knocked on the shelf behind him.

“It’s late you know.”

“Oh is it?”

“Yeah, everyone else already went home.”

“Couldn’t tell behind all these files,” he awkwardly laughs.

“Do you always stay this late?”

“On occasion yes. I read more into other cases to make up a bit for my lack of experience.”

His honesty threw me off a bit. We butt heads so much I never realized how honest he is. That on top of his effort to make up for the experience gap… maybe he isn’t bad after all. The air grew tense as neither of us spoke. This was the first time we’ve casually chatted and it wasn’t about work. On instinct my eyes scanned over his desk and noticed a small pile separated from the rest of the stacks.

“What’s that pile over there?” I nodded my head in it’s direction.

“You were right about it being too clean. There are three other cases in the last year with similar set up. Home invasion but no burglary and stab wounds in the victim’s chest and abdomen.”

“Is there a similarity between the victims?”

“Uhm… they’re all low ranked office workers in their twenties, female, short dark hair-”

“Okay, next thing tomorrow we’ll look into if there are mutual contacts among the four and any other connections but for now let’s go home kid.”

Two weeks passed with reinvestigating the old cases and following leads, some which were dead ends, we were able to single out the culprit and gather enough evidence to convict him. Our investigation, no matter how careful we were, came around to him and spooked him so he hasn’t been around his home or work though for the arrest. We were currently discussing how to arrest him… well more of arguing. Let me be clear though in those two weeks investigating Jeongin and I had gotten to a pleasant place in our partnership. Once I stopped the superiority thing in my head, he was a smart kid who worked in a less direct, and at times more effective, way. He still talked back a lot but they were valid points he brought up when countering my probable bad choice of rushed decision making. Currently we were arguing over me being the bait.

“This is the best option, I check off all of the killer’s preferences.”

“But he’s jumpy right now, he knows we’re on his tail. You don’t know what he is willing to do to not get caught plus he’ll be careful about his marks.”

“I’m a trained officer Jeongin, plus you and several other officers will be in there to cover me.”

“It’s a crowded place though, it’s easier for him to take a hostage and it’s a possibility that we can’t get to you on time or might lose you.”

“Okay we obviously aren’t getting anywhere with this. Let’s flip a coin fair and square to decide cause neither of us will let up.”

“... fine.”

He begrudgingly agreed and I pulled out a coin. I told him to call it and he said heads, oh Jeongin. I’m sorry for tricking you but you’re also at fault for being naïve enough to believe I wasn’t stubborn enough to force my way. I purposely flipped the coin in a way where it was sure to land on tails.

“There, no more arguments. I go in.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“I trust that you won’t let that happen kid.”

“I’m only a year younger than you,” he rolls his eyes.

“With that attitude, you got some ways to go before I stop calling you kid.”

Too many bodies, drunk people, and music so loud I can’t even hear my thoughts. If this wasn’t the killer’s main hunting ground I wouldn’t be in this club right now, not my scene. At the bar I grabbed a drink and turned to scan the crowd, pinpointing each officer and Jeongin in the crowd. I ran a bored hand through my hair as a guy tried to hit on me until I caught sight of my target at the entrance. As he travelled through the crowd he kept his eyes trained on me and I was thankful for my friend for lending me this maroon off the shoulder top and leather jeans because I owned nothing that was similar to the victims’ styles. Before he reached me I nodded at Jeongin before facing the bartender with a smile as the killer pulled up beside me. We started talking and everything was going according to plan until the killer leaned in to speak to me.

“How about we take this outside?”

“Wow forward aren’t we?”

“You can say that.”

Suddenly the tables turned as I felt something cold poking at my side. Instinctively my body wanted to jerk away but his arm had wrapped around my waist, holding me close to him and the weapon.

“Ah, ah, ah. Don’t want to cause a scene now do we? Let’s head out now.”

Shit. My eyes caught with Jeongin’s whose eyebrows were furrowed as he saw us starting to move out. I used my eyes to signal him to follow but then the killer was pulling me through the crowd and my focus had to go back to avoiding the mass of people. My eyes tried to scan the crowd for any familiar faces but there were too many people and the killer was purposefully pulling me through the most crowded parts of the club. By the time we reached the street there were no signs of the others coming. He pulled me to the left, continuing down the road until we reached an off road where a car with a small group of burly men waited. One opened the door and the killer moved towards it but stopped short as he addressed me again.

“So Ms. Officer are you disappointed I caught you?”

“Surprisingly not really but how’d you know?”

“Your hands. They’re too rough and most women who work in offices are very careful with their hands.”

“Valid but insulting.”

He pushed me into one of the burly men who locked his hold on me as the killer got in the car, the whole time the gun still trained on me. The door closed and the window rolled down to show the killer’s face once again. Of course he has to get the last word, typical villain but what did I expect when he hired bodyguards? I rolled my eyes.

“I believe this is a checkmate,” he turned to the guard, “make sure she doesn’t follow.”

And with that the car drove off leaving me with two of the guards flanking me. I struggled against them as they tried to pull me away from din on the main road. I didn’t have my gun and I wouldn’t be able to take both of them like this so I did the next best thing. I screamed. It was a short lived one, because the man holding me clamped his hand over my mouth, but hopefully it would be enough to draw eyes so they can’t do anything. The next thing I knew I heard the fall of footsteps and one guard was rammed into by Jeongin before I saw his arm wind back. Instinctually I ducked right as his fist connected with the other one’s jaw, loosening his hold enough on me to be ripped free by Jeongin who started running… deeper into the abandoned street?

“What are you doing? You have your gun, why are we running?”

“We’re still too close to the crowded street; we'll corner them further away.”

I… he was right so I continued to keep pace, cursing the fact of these stupid heels slowing me down. We turned a corner into an alley and I grabbed his comms to let the others know the killer got away in a black sedan and gave them the license plate number. As I finished giving the rest of the orders the two men barreled in and Jeongin pointed his gun at the two. Back up showed up and the two men were sent to the station. There was no pin on the car yet, leaving me and Jeongin to be sent home by the chief while everything else gets handled. As we walked back to the main road I couldn’t help but smile.

“Why are you smiling? If I wasn’t there to get you out of it you would’ve been in trouble with those two guys.”

“Cause I was right. I said I trust you would get me out of it and you did but I didn’t think you would go after us alone.”

“I didn’t. I sent the other officers to the right since it led to the main road and there was more ground to cover but a gut feeling told me to go left. The others are right when they say you’re reckless you know.”

“Smart move to send the bigger group to the more crowded area. Not bad, rookie but I hope you can deal with reckless. I heard the chief is making permanent partners so I guess you're stuck with me now Jeongin.”

My smile grew bigger as he froze for a moment taking in my response, what can I say? He’s grown on me and if we’re to be stuck together might as well address him properly. I took that time to put distance between us but I could hear his footsteps fall after me as he called after me, the happiness evident in his tone.

“So I’m finally not “kid” anymore?! Y/n wait, say it again!”

#skz gc prompts #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids #skz #skz imagines #skz scenarios #yang jeongin #jeongin imagines #jeongin scenarios #my writing

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lavenderslotus · 4 years

Text

Macarons and Chill

My first BakuCamie fic!! Hope you guys enjoy 🤗 Also cross posted on FF.N and AO3!

Summary: In which Bakugo and Camie try to make macarons in the midst of a global pandemic.

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“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kick you out of my goddamn apartment, woman.” Bakugo snarls as he nearly rips the door off its hinges.

Camie merely blinks, clearly nonplussed by his tone. “Chill, Bakubae. I’m not even inside yet. Were you trying to hide your porn stash?”

“Can’t you see I’m in the fucking middle of something?!” Bakugo ignores her obvious jibe.

It’s only then Camie registers his uncharacteristically disheveled appearance. Donned in a black tank top that was smeared with flour and an orange Ground Zero apron that hung haphazardly on his hips, Bakugo looks positively dripping with annoyance. His already unkempt hair is matted in several different directions and if Camie didn't know any better, she would say that whatever he was attempting to bake was currently besting him.

Despite the atmosphere of the room, Camie pushes her way around Bakugo and flounces into the living room. “Ojamashimasu!” She sings as she kicks off her shoes in a hurry and practically runs into the kitchen.

“Fuck me, right?” Bakugo mutters as he bends down to fix her shoes so that they were perfectly aligned. She had been appearing more times on his doorstep than he cared for during this whole quarantine bullshit yet still didn’t have the decency to pick up after herself. “Oi, get out the hell out of my kitchen before you ruin shit!”

Camie turns around, already tugging on a bubblegum pink apron that Bakugo definitely does not keep around just for her. She juts out her lower lip. “I'm just trying to help out my favorite next-door neighbor.” She peers over at the bowl of whipped meringue on the kitchen counter. “Macarons, Bakubro? Do you have a death wish or something? Those are like, mad hard to bake, even for you!”

Bakugo resists the urge to thump her on the head. Instead, he settled for aggressively whisking the meringue once more, nearly ripping the appliance in two. “As if I’m going to be shown up by some shitty wannabe sandwiches. Tch.”

“Ehhhh? Is that so?” Camie tip-toes to place her chin on the shoulder that wasn’t vigorously moving with his stirring. Bakugo tries to ignore how close her cheek is to his, the soft plush nearly grazing him. “Well, no doubt they’ll be totally delish when you’re done! Anything I can do to help?”

Bakugo smirks, a cocky grin splitting his face. “Fuck yeah they will be. Go pick out the food coloring.” As Camie sashays away happily (“These are totes gonna be the prettiest macarons bae!”), he tries not to let his eyes linger. It’s like Camie intentionally picks clothes that loves her as much as she loves herself, because they cling to her figure like glue.

Their relationship was… Complicated. After they both graduated high school, her a year before him, Bakugo had no intention of keeping contact with anybody, save for maybe shitty hair. What was the point? He knew he’d see his former idiots of classmates and peers eventually. They all entered the same fucking industry; if anything, he had a feeling he’d them too often. It was only by chance that he and Camie wound up at the same agency, and it was even more of a twisted fate that he had happened to be assigned to live one door down from her. Which meant slowly but surely, Camie Utsushimi forcibly wedged her and her love for K-Pop into his life (and his apartment).

He didn’t know why she was so adamant on getting to know him. At first, he had thought it was just out of the pure convenience of living so close. He figured she would lay off after shutting her out a couple times. But goddamn, this woman was persistent. When she wanted something, she sure as hell knew how to get it. And he still didn’t know what it was she wanted from him. He never knew what she was thinking, for better or for worse.

“You know what’d be lit? If you had edible glitter.” Camie sighs wistfully as she lines up the bottles of food coloring. Bakugo grimaces at the array of pinks and purples but doesn’t say anything.

“What the fuck for?” Bakugo huffs as turned the bowl upside down. A smug expression flits his face when nothing falls out, a testament to the stiff peaks of the frosting.

Camie stares at him as if he had sprouted a tail. “Hell-oh! To decorate the macarons?! Jeez Bakubae, it’s like you have no eye for pretty things in life. No wonder you haven’t asked me out on a date yet.”

Then there was that. There always seemed to be something simmering between them, and it pissed Bakugo off to no end that he couldn’t figure out what the hell it was. Irritation? Sexual tension? Both? He didn’t know when she was serious or joking when she said shit like that.

Bakugo snorts to cover his inner turmoil and sticks his hand out. Camie wordlessly passes him a small bottle of food coloring. Without even looking at the color, his hand steadies as he carefully squeezes the gel into the meringue – bright pink, he discovers. Gross. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“You already know I’m not gonna. Am I not your type?” Camie twirls a strand of her fawn-colored hair around her finger pensively. “You’re gonna die a virgin if you don’t hop on the dating scene, you know. Such a waste of a handsome face.”

“Fuck you.” Bakugo snaps as he stirs to incorporate the color. His grip is tight around the rubber spatula. “As if you have it any better, hag. You should stop hanging around this apartment if you want to put your money where your mouth is.”

Camie sighs contemplatively. “The hero life really doesn’t allow any time for dating, huh? We sure have it rough.” She cracks her knuckles and grins. “Not that we can go on dates or anything during this quarantine. I’m lucky I have you to bother, Bakuboo!”

“Yeah, so lucky.” Bakugo mumbles sarcastically under his breath. “Gimme that bowl.”

“But like seriously, what is your type fam?” Camie asks. Bakugo dumps the dry ingredients and begins to macaronage. “For a while, I totally thought you and Deku were gonna get it on.”

“Fuck no. Weak ass Deku wouldn’t be able to handle me, I’d rock his shit.” Bakugo scoffs. Camie lets out a delighted peal of laughter at that. “Besides, I ain’t gay. Can’t speak for him though.”

Camie raises a brow. “You do know that Deku and Uraraka-san are like, def canon right?”

Bakugo hates how he knows what ‘canon’ means because of her. He grunts. “I don’t give a shit. Hand me that piping bag and a tray, quick.”

“Don’t be like that Bakubae,” Camie chides as she bends over to reach for the baking trays stashed inside his oven. He averts his eyes at the way she juts her hips and arches her back. “You noticed it too, right? All our peers are like, getting it on. I’m banking on Todomomo next.”

Bakugo works quickly to transfer the macaron batter into the piping bag. The bright pink is an eyesore and he frowns. “Like I said, I don’t give a shit.”

“You’re totes gonna care when your options dwindle down to no one.” Camie taps her nails against the counter. “And you’re already picky as it is.”

Bakugo scoffs again as he rips out a sheet of parchment paper. It tears through the air like a record scratch. “How would you know that? I haven’t said shit. For all you know, I could have a secret fetish.”

“Do you?” Camie’s voice heightens with interest. Bakugo glares at her, but the curiosity in her face doesn’t waver.

“No, you sicko. Even if I did, it’s not like I’d tell you.” Bakugo begins to pipe the macarons onto the parchment paper in earnest.

“Everyone has their kinks,” Camie sing-songs. She walks two fingers up Bakugo’s arm and he would smack her arm away if he wasn’t already preoccupied. If each macaron wasn’t exactly 1½-inches, he was going to lose his shit. “It’s only a matter of time until I find out yours, bae.”

Bakugo pipes the last macaron onto the tray and tosses the piping bag. It tumbles away on the counter, smearing pink meringue everywhere. Great. He pretends not to notice her hand still resting on his upper bicep and rolls his eyes. “Good luck with that.”

“I bet you’re really into the whole power dynamics thing.” Bakugo chokes and Camie removes her hand to place both on her hips. “Y’know, all that sub and dom stuff. Kind of a mild kink if you ask me. Personally, I’m down for whatevs but idk, I think I draw the line at tentacles, not that I judge –”

“Yeah well, luckily no one fucking asked.” Bakugo barks as he airs out the bubbles in the batter by repeatedly slamming the baking tray onto the counter. Camie yanks the tray out of his hands and begins to tap the tray much more gently. He scowls and crosses his arms. “You know an awful lot about kinks for someone who doesn’t get laid.”

Camie winks and leans forward. She purposely pushes her cleavage together so that it spills over, her up-and-down ministrations of bumping the tray against the counter making them jiggle. Bakugo stubbornly doesn’t give her the satisfaction of looking down and meets her gaze dead-on. “How do you know I’m not getting laid?”

Bakugo feels an uncomfortable twist in his chest, but the sudden anger that floods him is almost unbearable. Camie? Having a fuck buddy? The thought stamps a hot iron brand of jealousy in his stomach. What the fuck? In an instant, he sees a vision of another pair of arms wrapped around Camie’s tiny waist, kissing her, tousling her hair. A throb of possessiveness goes through him. It’s what makes him snap, “Yeah fucking right. Why the fuck are you here and not with him then?”

“I mean, we are kinda in the middle of a global pandemic.” Camie drawls. She pushes back from the macaron tray. She cocks a head and her eyes rake his face. The tension that normally simmers between them at a tolerable five has knocked its way up to an insufferable ten. “’Sides, even if I had one, I’d rather be here.”

Bakugo deflates but only slightly. The crease between his eyebrows deepen and the feelings of anger, jealousy, and irritation still make him see red. “So you don’t have one.” He says it like a statement of verification rather than a question.

“No,” Camie shakes her head. She sounds a bit breathless. “I don’t.”

In two strides, Bakugo has her pinned against the wall. Camie’s eyes are wide as she takes in his narrowed ones, zeroing in on her like prey. Her arms are locked above her head, held by Bakugo’s, and he leans dangerously close. Their noses graze and Camie barely has a second to register just how long his eyelashes are when their mouths fuse together. Bakugo isn’t gentle but he sure as hell is an amazing kisser – Camie has to hold back a chuckle. He totes has to be the best at everything, huh? He claims it all, tongue sweeping and staking hold of everything that’s hers. She can hear the subliminal message being conveyed. Mine. Mine. Mine. His hands are greedy, falling from her wrists to touching her everywhere, gripping, pulling, pinching. She scrapes her hands along the hard muscle, equally as needy and lets him take and take.

“Bakugo,” Camie finally manages to gasp as he trails down her neck, sucking, biting, kissing. She can feel her skin puckering under his assault. “The macarons –”

“Fuck ‘em.” He grunts. “They need to chill for an hour anyway.”

Sorry Todomomo, Camie thinks to herself as she grins wildly. Looks like Bakucamie’s beat you to the punch.

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blissfulalchemist · 3 years

Note

“You can share my jacket with me, since you’re shivering.” + dealer's choice!

Thank you Kate! Look at me posting some writing with Hypatia without formal introduction. I hope you enjoy it. X

Cities were never much my thing. Even as a kid I always felt this need to get away to find open space, so much so my mom used to joke about putting me on a rocket to the stars, then I could have all the space I wanted. So while St. Louis was no New York or Los Angeles it was still a city and so it felt like a prison, a feeling that didn’t get better by being cooped up inside a building near twenty four seven. Those of us that were recruited were only allowed outside, fully equipped with fresh air, with supervision at specific times of the day, and then confined to our rooms once night came. Those were the rules and for me….rules were made to be broken. After a few failed attempts I managed to find the one way I could always, one hundred percent guaranteed, have access to the roof in the dead of night. My small haven on nights I couldn’t sleep, the moments of peace I could cling too.

Two years, I had spent two years with the Alchemists readying myself for whatever they had in mind for me. Though they never said much about what they wanted from me specifically but it seemed so far that I was to stay at one of their biggest facilities, never to be transferred out. I had seen other witches come through the doors, get some training or teach some class, and then leave just like that. Some of the women giddy with excitement about where they were being sent too, others rolling their eyes about how their job was probably going to be desk work, but I never left. Little orphan Annie, I stayed where I was, mastering my craft and being put through so much physical training I almost wanted to ask if I was to become an assassin. Not that they’d tell me, it was a need to know and I wasn’t in the loop that needed to know. Soon though, I hoped that it would be soon I would have a chance at my first field run to show them I was more than ready to help them in their cause.

For now I’m left sitting on the edge of this building looking up to the few stars I can make out and the cityscape sounds below me. I can hear footsteps as they approach the door on the far end of the roof, panic surging in my body for only a moment. I swing my legs back over from the edge, ducking down behind some electrical boxes, peeking just over the edge, heart pounding. The door opens and a figure steps out into the low lighting, male and tall, with a medium build. His clothing is a white collared shirt and beige blazer with matching pants, typical stiff Alchemist fashion. His features become more detailed as he leaves the shadow of the door, his auburn hair is falling into his grey eyes, hands in his pockets walking in my direction. The smile he wears almost hides the golden lily on his cheek from this angle as I stand, meeting his smile with a small eye roll, “No unauthorized personnel allowed up here Caro.” I cross my arms, shifting my weight onto my left leg, “Last I checked you’re not authorized.”

I smirk cocking an eyebrow, “And last I checked, neither are you, Conner,” he chuckles pushing his hair back, the pieces falling back to where they were, “Thought you left for the day already?”

He jumps up on the electric box crossing his legs beneath him, “Went to go and check on you and the recruits.”

My eyes widened, biting my lower lip, looking to the ground, “And you didn’t find me where I was supposed to be.”

Conner taps his nose twice, “Third time this month, T,” my mouth falls open and my heart races, “Don’t worry. I haven’t told and don’t plan too.” I let out a sigh taking a seat next to him.

“Not like they could do much about it if you did,” I shrug flipping my hair behind my shoulder. It seems I need to make the illusion spell stronger.

“I don’t even get a thank you,” he shakes his head playfully, “Typical Caro move,” he turns to me, face serious, “They could punish you still if they did find out though.”

I snort, “How? By transferring me out of this place,” I bring my knees to my chest, “I’d be glad for it. I’m starting to hate everything about this place.”

“You can’t hate everything about this place,” he says softly leaning his arms on his knees, “Can you?”

I glance over to him frowning as I see his solemn face, “No. Not everything.” I nudge his shoulder gently with mine, “Don’t hate you Conner. You’re about the only best thing about this place.”

The smile returns, “I could say the same about you, Tia,” I feel the corner of my lips start to pull into a smile, “If I felt that you were the best thing about this place, but the cappuccino machine takes that spot.” I groan rolling my eyes, of course he’d never admit to it, if he did it could be seen as getting too close to the “impure” witches. The Alchemists couldn't have that, nope, not while we still used our unnatural magic. All of us that joined made a vow to forgo our magic once the mission was over allowing ourselves to be pure once more. We both look to the city below us, the passing of headlights on the freeway grabbing our attention the most, “I always loved to see cities from above like this. Highways always reminded me of a river.” I scoff, rolling my eyes, “What was that for,” he asks, a smile evident.

“What was what,” I mock looking away from him to my right, nose pointing up.

He mimics my scoffing, “That. What was that for,” Conner pokes my shoulder a few times. “You got a problem with my views on the city?”

The longer I hold back any kind of response his teasing gets worse, until I groan, pushing his hand away, “I don’t have problems with them,” he rests his chin on his hand, eyes tired fixated on me, Conner doesn’t believe me. “I don’t honestly,” my hands are held up in defense, crossing my legs like him, “Just seems typical of a city boy to say something like that.”

Conner laughs, “Oh I see how it is now,” he shakes his head, “I didn’t live in anything close to a city until I was sixteen and even then it was only a small town.”

“What did you live on a farm before that,” I clear my throat, readying a terrible southern accent, “Hey y’all, my name’s Conner and this here is ma horse.”

I laugh as he rolls his eyes, “You think you’re real cute with your antics don’t you?”

“I think I’m down right adorable.”

“You’re far from adorable.”

“You got a better word to describe me farm boy?” I lean towards him resting my chin on his shoulder, my lips near brushing his slowly reddening cheek.

“I do,” he faces me, lips close to mine, whispering, “Annoying.”

I clutch my chest pulling away from him, “You wound me, Smallville,” the back of my hand makes contact with my forehead, leaning back, “I shall never recover from such an insult.”

“You insult me all the time.”

“I do not,” I lie, mouth falling open, “How can you accuse me of such a thing, cornhusker?”

“Just this morning you said the coffee had better taste than me for hair styles,” he starts to count on his fingers, “Then there was the other day where you said I was so stiff that even a stick wouldn’t fit up my ass. Or the time you said I don’t even shop at a thrift store for my clothing but the knock off of thrift stores.”

“Those are facts not insults,” I correct.

Conner gives a smirk, the only way his dimples show, shaking his head, “Guess it’s just tomato, tomato with you isn’t it. Also are you going to keep going with the farm related nicknames now?”

“Just until something sticks, Kansas.”

He runs a hand down his face, “I didn’t even grow up on a farm you know that right? You just assumed that.”

“So you just grew up in a house in the middle of nowhere?”

“Not really,” he leans back on his hands, eyes looking to the sky, “It was a single street with some houses scattered around it. The school I went to was next to the store, which was next to the bed and breakfast, and so on.” I stare as his eyes become a little glassy with the memories, “Our house was on a few acres of land, still within walking distance, and we had a garden.”

I almost want to laugh at the idea of him tending to different flowers, hands and hair filled with the blossoms, I don’t though, not with the look of happiness in his eyes, “Your mom a florist?”

He smiles, “Yeah. I guess so when you really think about it.” His head rolls to look at me lazily, “Guess we end up craving what we never got in the end.”

I tilt my head, “What do you mean?”

“You grew up in a city your whole life and yet when we found you, you were traveling the open road,” my heart aches at the mention of my life before here and how I may never have that again, “Always seemed to stick to the big open spaces of the desert.”

I flinch, “How do you know it's the desert that I spend the most time in?” Were they watching me for a lot longer than they told me originally? If they were, the question became why?

“Whenever I ask you about your favorite places you always respond with places in the southwest,” he says matter of factly. I should have guessed, Conner’s smart and the only person I have real conversations with in this place. He looks me up and down, the wind has started to blow harder sending a chill through my body, “Your clothing also says a lot about your weather preference.” I look down to the dark purple tank top, with jean cutoff shorts, fishnet stockings, and black boots, my eyes narrowing.

He laughs as I give a light punch to his arm, “It does not. I just like dressing this way.”

“Tell me this then: Do you own anything heavier than a jean jacket?” I look away grumbling, crossing my arms, the goosebumps prominent, “Thought so. You never see yourself as needing one since you’ll never go as far north as Utah.” I hate that he’s right, even in the summers I never go much farther and the forests somehow feel just as packed as the city. I always keep saying one day, but it never came, an excuse always coming up as to why I couldn’t and shouldn’t go. I shiver again, rubbing my arms, Conner already shrugging off his blazer, “Here,” he places it on my shoulders, “You can share my jacket with me, since you’re shivering.”

I push my arms though the sleeves, the warmth spreading through me as I inhale the spearmint and fresh cut pine lingering from his aftershave. “Thanks,” I smile, my dark hair blowing in the wind hiding the small blush I can feel on my cheeks, “Don’t think that I’ll be nice to you after this though.”

Conner laughs, lying back on the box, letting his legs hang off the edge, “Wouldn’t expect anything else from you Patia.” I shoot him a glare at the near use of my full name, “It’s not your full name, so I can get away with it.”

I sigh, stretching myself next to him, “For now, but you're on thin ice buddy.” My eyes search the stars picking out the different constellations hoping to see the one on my pendant.

“Why do you like the open spaces of the desert so much, T,” I hum, my mental star map lost for a moment, “The one thing I never really understood. I mean it’s pretty but there’s always something more with you to places.”

My hands reach for the silver pendant resting at the hollow of my collar bone, tracing the black engraved stars in the connecting parallelograms of Orion, “The stars. You can see all the stars at night.”

“That why you come up here?” I can feel his grey eyes on me as he shift slightly to get a better look, “To take in the ten stars that are visible?”

My brow knits, frowning as I turn to face him, “There’s more than ten stars to be seen here.”

He shakes his head, “I have counted many times over and I only get about ten, sometimes twenty on a really good night.”

I scoot closer to him, grabbing his hand, pointer finger out, “Let me show you. I can point out three constellations and the other stars I can see.” As I make invisible lines he keeps shaking his head, the lights hard to see or not there at all he claims. “I think you need to get your eyes checked, C-man,” I declare, shaking my head sadly, “cause you might be going blind and I can’t have that happen.”

“And why is that?”

“Because your life will fall to shambles if you can’t be graced with my beauty, that's why.”

He groans covering his face, “God what am I going to do with you?”

“You should be asking what you would do without me,” I tease, laughing at his features getting more tired with each word coming out of my mouth.

“I think it’s time to send you back into your cage for the night now,” he says, sitting up.

I whine, I know he’s doing it more for my safety, I’ve already spent too much time out here and the next checks would be coming soon. “Few more minutes,” I place my hand over his, Conner’s eyes glancing between his hand and my face a few times, “Please. You get to have me all to yourself for a little while longer.”

He stiffens, silent for a few moments before he swallows, nodding, “Okay. Just a few more minutes Caro.” Conner settles next to me, gaze avoiding me, keeping to the sky. The heat from his coat vanishing, the warmth of him that replaces it is enough to make the night wind more bearable, and I just know that the smell of spearmint will linger in my hair for the rest of the night. He really needs a new aftershave, he was never going to get a date with the scent of spearmint. That’s something for me to tell him tomorrow, because for now I just want to enjoy this moment of peace I’ll cling on to.

#hypatia caro oc #opinions and feedback are much appreciated #I'm also testing out potential partner for her as I will have to make one

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manikas-whims · 4 years

Text

Kiss it better

Pairing: Shouto Todoroki X Momo Yaoyorozu

Words: 1639

Rating: T

Read on: AO3 | FFnet

“This is foul play!” Momo protests against her friends with an adorable pout. “You can’t be serious.”

“Now now Yaomomo, don’t try using your pout on us. We’re very serious.” Hagakure teases.

“Yes, this is just how a game of Truth Or Dare works.” Ashido says matter-of-factly, high-fiving an excited Uraraka.

This is so unfair. Momo Yaoyorozu has never had the luxury of enjoying fun activities that every teenager had. A courtesy of her strict parents. For fifteen years of her life, she was bound by the rules and regulations of the Yaoyorozu household and being the only child to her parents, they were even more stringent on her.

Last week, she informed the girls in her class about her lack of knowledge when it came to games like these. They were beyond flabbergasted and made it their personal mission to make Momo experience atleast half of what she missed out in these past years. Thus, they’ve promised to play one of their childhood games together on every weekends.

Today they’ve introduced her to “Truth or Dare”, a simple game in which the only rule is to choose between the two aforementioned terms and then do as instructed by the rest of the players. It sounded entertaining in the beginning but now she’s starting to regret ever agreeing to this.

“Can I switch to truth?” she asks hopefully but Tsuyu wags a finger at her in complete rejection.

Momo whines, her lips jutting out in another pout and Kyouka pats her back reassuringly but then sides with the other girls. She places the palms of her hands on her waist, breathing out in defeat as she motions her feet in the direction of the common area. Knowing well about her massive crush on Shouto Todoroki, her friends have dared her to kiss him. How is she supposed to lock lips with him when she can barely look him in the eye!?

In the common area, Bakugou and Todoroki are lounging on the couches, wet towels hanging around their necks. They must’ve just returned from their provisional license class and taken a shower. The wounds from their training are visible and fresh. She scoffs. Such a boys thing to carelessly let their scars remain untreated.

She observes the two who are too busy with their cellphones to pay attention to the show being broadcasted on the television or to each other. Craning her head back, she finds her friends standing stealthily at the wall near the stairway, expecting her to execute her dare. She sighs. How can she carry out such a task when she easily gets flustered by him. She racks the gears in her brain to come up with some kind of solution and her eyes widen at a sudden realization— she’s been asked to kiss Todoroki! However, it hasn’t been specified if the contact between their lips is mandatory, which means anything counts as long as her lips touch any part of his skin. Great! This has reduced her nervousness, albeit only slightly. She still has no plan on how she should convince him about this since she isn’t even allowed to mention about the game to him.

She frowns, her brows creasing in concentration as she watches the boy of her dreams, staring with disinterest at his phone.

Yaoyorozu is acting strange tonight. She’s been standing by the staircase for a while now, doing nothing but..observing him? Her charcoal irises hold a fiery sort of conviction in them. It may look like he’s indulged in something on his cellphone but she’s actually making it hard for him to concentrate.

He wonders if she’s mad at him for reasons unknown. Maybe because his wet hair is soaking the headrest of the couch? Or is it because he’s carelessly left his dirty shoes on the carpet? Whatever it is, he’s too tired to deal with it. He’s just returned from his provisional license training (yes, they aren’t allowed rest even on their days off) and he’s so drained that he took a quick shower and decided to dump himself on the couch until its time for dinner.

“Todoroki-san” the dark haired beauty finally approaches him and he tilts his head up to listen. “Does this wound hurt?”

He blinks as he realises she’s referring to a particularly deep cut on the left side of his cheek. Inasa had been too rough during their sparring session. Well, it obviously does sting a little as he hasn’t put a bandage on it. As a child, he was always told by his father that real men don’t cry over a little pain from their wounds. That these wounds are a constant reminder of his own weakness at being unable to protect himself from getting hurt.

“Don’t worry, it’ll heal.” He responds, his face stoic as ever.

Her eyes widen on hearing his precarious words and she shakes her head in disbelief. “I can help it heal faster.”

He arcs a brow in interest. She can? How? Has her quirk evolved further? Does her quirk now possess healing properties like the Recovery Girl? His mind starts nerding-out like Midoriya, a myriad of questions swarming his head but he curbs his curiosity and asks, “How?”

His vice class representative chews on her petal lips as if contemplating whether or not she should explain. But with a hesitant voice, she answers, “I..I can kiss it better.”

If anything, his confusion doubles. Kiss it better? Like the Recovery Girl does? She really isn’t making any sense right now.

“When I was a child,” she speaks up in a small voice when she notices his puzzled look, her hands fisting into her pink top. “My mother told me that every wound heals faster if someone kisses it. That the kiss transfers that person’s concern and affection into the wound to help it get better. So she used to do it a lot.”

The youngest Todoroki is at a loss of words. “Oh..” he says innocently.

“Yeah, everyone’s mom does it.” She adds sweetly.

He chuckles bitterly. How could he have known this when his mother wasn’t around for ten years of his life? How could he have any knowledge about such small gestures of love when his father didn't let him!? But before the thoughts of his tragic past can consume him any further, he sees her bend forward. Levelling her face with his, she inches closer and her lips gently caress the cut. It’s brief yet powerful, making him clench his left hand to keep his flames at bay. And in a heartbeat, the warmth is gone. The feeling of her soft lips is gone as she straightens back up and smiles the purest smile he has ever witnessed. A bit of the un-dried blood from his wound has smeared her lips but he finds it even more attractive, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The hell is wrong with you two!? I’m sitting right here!!!” The booming voice of Katsuki Bakugou instantly shatters their moment and the two teens jerk away from each-other to see their classmate fuming.

Ignoring the blond’s usual angry outburst, Shouto turns to Yaoyorozu. “It worked.” He states, thankful.

The girl’s face starts flushing with embarrassment at his admission and she only nods in response before running off.

A combination of squeals greet her by the stairs and Momo finds her girlfriends grinning at her.

“You sly girl!” Ashido teases, slapping a hand on Momo’s shoulder in approval.

“The puppy-like look on Todoroki’s face made it all the more adorable.” Hagakure adds as they all ascend upstairs.

"Jeez you got some of his blood on your lips." Jirou comes forward and wipes it away with the back of her hand. Momo blushes lightly but smiles at her bestfriend.

Upon catching sight of Todoroki's wounds, Momo came up with that brilliant excuse to kiss his cheek and thus, complete her dare. But the child-like look on his face as she told him about the custom of mothers kissing their children’s wounds, was priceless. So innocent. Has he never been kissed by his mother? The mere thought saddens her but she pushes it away as she follows her friends back to her room to continue playing the game. She can’t wait to get her sweet revenge.

It’s seven in the morning and most of her classmates are still asleep. Yaoyorozu enters the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She didn’t expect Bakugou and Todoroki to be up so early but then again, they have their rigorous provisional license classes regardless of today being a Sunday. She nods at them in acknowledgement and walks towards the refrigerator, pulling out some tomatoes. She begins chopping them but in her drowsy state she ends up injuring herself, the sharp edge of the knife tearing through the skin of her index finger.

“Ouch!” she moans at the painful sensation. Okay, so maybe an early morning snack was a bad idea afterall. Should she go back to her room to get some bandages. Or should she save herself the trouble and make one right now with her quirk? So then what are ingredients used in the making of a bandage?

Her thoughts are interrupted by her dual haired crush as he’s immediately at her side. Shouto takes her fingers between his own to examine the wound. And before she can even process whats happening, his thin lips are grazing the cut. She yelps and blushes as he pulls back, a small smirk evident on his face.

“There, I kissed it better.” He supplies smoothly and she averts her eyes, her face turning as red as the tomato she was chopping.

“Seriously you two! Right infront of my coffee!?” comes the shouts from Bakugou, whose presence they had failed to acknowledge yet again.

A/N: hello TodoMomo Fam. If you've read this fic, then please feel free to share your views about it via comments ☺

I'm still new to this ship so I'm trying to practice writing these two before starting an actual multi-chaptered fic. I have a plot in mind but I'm still practicing with one shots so i hope you appreciate my contribution to this ship ☺

Until Next Time...

~Manika

#todomomo fanfiction #todomomo #todomomo fanfic #shouto todoroki #momo yaoyorozu #shouto x momo #todoroki shouto #yaoyorozu momo #todoroki x yaoyorozu

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justimajin · 4 years

Text

A Lone Wolf’s Howl ☾ Part 9

⇾ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

⇾ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Action, Eventual Smut

↳ Werewolf AU

⇾ Words: 3k

⇾ Warnings: more angst but with a touch of fluff

⇾ Summary: Jungkook and you have been like two peas in a pod for the majority of your lives; whether it was going through the ups of downs of the horrid teenage change, to transitioning to the racing world of attempting to be adults. Simply put, you’ve been inseparable and glued to each other’s sides longer than you can remember. But one fateful day seems to completely change everything you had faith in and you begin to wonder if there was ever a time where you and your best friend even knew each other’s true colors.

⇾ Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

You can’t seem to recall how long you were in the same spot, Jungkook holding onto you as tears kept streaming down your eyes. It was like you had just opened up Pandora’s box, hoping that taking the daunting step forward to do so would grant you more solace about what had happened to your parents, but instead, you’re only met with a swarm of information that hits you in the wrong way.

Within the impending silence of the room, Jungkook speaks up, “I knew you hated werewolves more than anything, but I didn’t know about your parents.” He sighs, leaning away from you and attempting to look into your silver eyes, “I thought they were still alive.”

You shake your head, wiping away a fallen tear, “I knew telling you about them would reveal my identity as a slayer, but-“ A frown settles on your lips and you wonder how you could have been even more wrong when you were so sure of yourself, “I never expected Namjoon to say that it wasn’t possible.”

“You saw werewolves, right?” You nod and he sighs, shaking his head, “It doesn’t add up Y/N. Rogue werewolves are a rarity these days, I can’t even remember the last time I saw one.”

You shift closer to him, “What are rogues exactly? Namjoon mentioned them but I don’t think I’ve ever heard about anything like that.” Your mind shifts back to your training, not being able to put a knowing finger on if it was ever brought up to you.

“They’re like werewolves, but in a constant feral state.” Jungkook explains, “They have no sense of identity or direction and they just attack whoever they see.”

“Like a zombie?”

Jungkook chuckles, “Weird comparison but yeah. Imagine the zombies from a Train to Busan except they have claws and weigh a ton.”

You softly smile at that, but then your lips pursue, “Hey Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Could I ask you a question?”

“Go for it.”

“Do you…“ Your voice fades and you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut, “Do you…hate me?”

Jungkook turns around, frowning, “Why would I hate you?”

“Because I put you through so much.” You exhale, “When I found out your identity, I hated the idea of you being a werewolf and then you got injured because of me…” Your eyes trail over to the healing wound on his side, “And now just knowing that everything I’ve been taught since I was little could be wrong, I-“

“Y/N.” Jungkook softly calls your name, causing your wide eyes to look up at him when you go silent, “You’re my best friend and mate before you’re even a slayer in my eyes. That’s not going to change.”

There’s a warm look residing in his eyes and you nod, feeling a bit relieved after all you’ve gone through. However, his words spark a peek of curiosity within you, making you wonder even more, “Can I ask you another question?”

He nods, “What is mating? Like the process and such?” You sigh, “I wasn't really told anything about it.”

“Oh.” Jungkook suddenly becomes a deer in headlights and the room plunges into a brief silence as you can catch glimpses of red rapidly scattering over his cheeks. You raise an inquiring eyebrow at that, until something sparks in your eyes and you point it out with a small laugh.

“Jungkook, are you blushing?”

“What?! Of course not!” He suddenly gets up, startling you a bit when he paces around the room and doesn’t make any eye contact with you. You rise as well, wondering if perhaps you shouldn’t have asked in the first place if he was going to react in such a way.

You smile, “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not!”

“Jungkook, I’ve known you for years.” You draw closer to him, tilting your head and getting a perfect view of his completely flushed features. “You know you can’t hide from me.”

Jungkook stares at you, like he knew what you were saying was right despite him turning away. He sighs, attempting to collect himself so he can at least explain it somewhat decently well to you.

“M-Mating happens when a wolf claims someone through a bite.” He gestures over to your neck, yet still dares not to look at you, “And the process,” He sighs, catching a glimpse of your clueless eyes, “is complete when the wolf claims his mate entirely.”

“Entirely?”

Jungkook simply nods and you contemplate about it, thinking his words actually confused you more than clarifying things. “I don’t think I follow…”

You move closer, reaching out a hand to place onto his shoulder so you can properly meet his eyes when he speaks to you rather than getting a collection of muffled words in return. He instantly flinches, moving away from you and causing you to misinterpret the gap when you’re suddenly stumbling forward.

“Are you okay?!” He asks, spinning around immediately when he saw your form falling down and you nod, still amused by the slight pink still blooming along his skin when you begin to piece together the answer.

Since he’s finally facing you, you decide to tread closer onto the thin ice, “If wolves initially claim their mates with a bite,” You bring your fingers to the side of your neck and his eyes linger against the column, “Then they probably need to claim more to be fully mated right?”

He just nods, not trusting his voice at all when you move closer to him and smile, taking your best shot at the true implication hidden within his explanation, “So we have to spend the night together?”

Suddenly you’re falling again, heading face forward onto the ground. Your hands shoot out, breaking your fall instantly a mere inch away from the hard floor.

“Jungkook!” You harshly whisper and he immediately leans down, assisting you in getting up as a string of apologies escape his lips.

“Sorry…” His voice contorts, attempting to get a hold on himself and letting out a deep sigh, “You’re right. That’s the process.”

Once you get up, he stares at you intently, like he was watching how you would react or what you would say, if you would say anything at all.

“I see…”

“You don’t have to!” Jungkook immediately clarifies, “It’s part of the process and it’s new for you but I’m not going to push you into anything an-“

“But you did claim me.”

“Well, that was because- “

“You couldn’t bear seeing me with Jimin?”

A giggle blooms out from your throat and Jungkook just glares at you, shedding off all the nervousness he was feeling in an instant. “I was actually going to say wolf instincts.”

“Right, right.” You smile, “Keep telling yourself that.”

Jungkook looks at you in disbelief and just as he about to retort something back, the door opens and a serious Yoongi enters the room.

“Hey, we got our hands on some new information. We need the hybrid to come.”

“Her name is Y/N Hyung.”

He shrugs, “Y/N. Hybrid. Same thing.”

You roll your eyes at that and gesture for Jungkook to come along with you. He obliges and you close the door, trailing after Yoongi who brings you to the library.

Jungkook walks next to you and you smile, everything slowly falling back into place and filling you with a sense of relief that you haven’t lost the ability to talk to him normally anymore. Even though it was only for a moment, you’re glad that in the midst of all that was going on, it didn’t fade away.

You enter the room with a grin, not realizing that the small bubble of happiness you had managed to create was going to burst.

***

Namjoon sits on the opposite end of the doorway, leaning back into his seat as his finger mindlessly taps against his chin. The door softly opens, and his concentrated gaze is transferred over to it, watching you and Jungkook enter into the room with expectant eyes.

“You had called for me?” You seat yourself down next to Namjoon and he nods, but you notice how his eyes intensify with every passing moment.

You’re aren’t sure what to expect. Learning that your parents weren’t killed by the very thing you’ve chosen to hunt was a harsh blow. You had seen it with your own eyes and unless you were hallucinating at the time, it doesn’t seem to connect any of the lingering dots. However, it does beg the one question that has been swimming endlessly within the confines of your mind.

What did happen to your parents?

“We track every single one of our moves, keeping records to carefully strategize with our pack as well as neighbouring packs.” Namjoon reaches out and Yoongi enters the room to hand him a collection of letters which he places in front of you. “I’ve spoken to all of their Alpha’s and none of them have records pertaining to an attack on a family.”

You furrow your brows and Namjoon continues, “We kept investigating and I talked to one Alpha in particular.” He slides a letter over to you, gesturing for you to open it, “His pack had history with the Crimson Clan, specifically the Elder.”

You take the enveloped paper, carefully tearing the opening and sliding the letter out. There are intricate swirls all around it similar to the designs on the rooms you have seen, however, this one had blue instead of gold printed on it. Looking down, you see the initials JB on the bottom.

“Jaebum had informed me of encountering the Elder when she used her slayer skills in a fight against him.” Namjoon explains as your eyes continue to grow wider with every inked word you read, “He managed to overcome her, however shortly after there were more and more sightings of her from his members.”

“She began to attack his clan repeatedly after that, with a higher number of slayers by her side every time. It was confusing for Jaebum because slayers weren’t needed as much at the time and seeing their numbers suddenly grow alarmed him.”

“After some investigating had been done by his pack, it was discovered that the elder had been collecting slayers.” Namjoon says, “Recruiting as many as she could to create a new clan of her own.”

“The Crimson Clan.” You whisper and Namjoon nods.

“Still, creating such a large clan on her own isn’t easy to accomplish, so our assumption is that she had something else helping her. Something a lot more powerful and something that would listen to her commands without hesitation. Almost like–“

“A zombie.” You finish, eyes growing hollower by the minute with Namjoon’s words.

“Correct.” Namjoon states and you swallow hard, feeling Jungkook stiffen next to you.

You want to stop. You don’t want to keep questioning her motives or her beliefs, but its stinging you, a pricking sensation that makes you just want to rip the bandage off already. “These slayers, that the Elder ‘collected’,” You take in a deep breath, “What do you think her end purpose for them was?”

You know asking Namjoon for an opinion is the last thing you ever wanted to do, however that fine line of what was right and wrong is starting to blur even more in your mind and you don’t know which is which anymore.

“I’m not too sure.” Namjoon truthfully says, brows contorting and thoughts searching to give you an answer that would ease the violent spike ensuring inside you, “If she really had such powerful forces on her side, then it begs the question of why she even thought to collect so many slayers.”

“Maybe it was to recreate the once faded slayer population again. Maybe it was because the rogue population was starting to emerge. There’s various reasons as to why she took the decision, but considering as to what slayers hunt, it does lead to one thought in my mind.”

Namjoon somberly gazes at you, like he knew that you had the same thought too and it wasn’t his place to bring it into light.

You clench your teeth, gloss spreading over your eyes as you glance down at your feet. Letting out a shaky breath, you say it.

“She needed weapons.”

Namjoon doesn’t respond, simply sinks back into his chair and stares at you with apologetic eyes. It’s like he was trying to prevent the whole conversation from happening until the chain of events from his research had led into it and his expression tells you that he ultimately didn’t want the truth to hurt you in any way. You appreciate it sincerely, however knowing the truth was something you had greatly pushed upon and needed to know no matter what.

You just wish it didn’t feel so horrible.

Namjoon immediately senses the atmosphere thankfully and he gestures to Jungkook to take you back to your room. Jungkook nods, holding your shoulders carefully with his hands and you let him, not having will in you left anymore when you become as limp as a doll.

***

Grabbing onto the glass from the table, Jungkook pours water into it and turns around, seeing you seated on your bed silently with your gaze fixated on the ground. He walks away, quietly sitting down next to you and offers you the glass, which you gladly accept with a weak smile.

The silence dips in as you bring the glass to your mouth, taking a few gulps and then keeping the empty glass in your hands, occasionally smoothing your fingers over the similar design that’s on the door and the hallways.

Jungkook just watches you, his eyes not moving away but seemingly diving more and more into concern.

You take a deep breath, but before you can say anything, he beats you to it, “…sorry.”

You frown and glance over to him, noticing him fidgeting with his sleeves now instead of the prolonged eye contact he was having with you before, “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because you would have been fine if you didn’t know.” He looks up, a remorseful smile on his lips, but you know his words go far past then your current situation, “Sometimes not knowing can save a person from the truth.”

You nod but then a bitter smile crosses your features, “Sometimes not knowing can leave your whole life feeling like a lie.” Your eyes drift over to the glass in your hands again, carefully craving over the ridges with your fingertips, “And instead of fighting for someone else, you would have fought for the people you really care about.”

“But you did care.” Jungkook intervenes right away, leaning closer to you, “You cared about the Elder and that’s what you were fighting for.”

“So that I could forget the people I really wanted to fight for?” You turn to him with wet eyes, not being capable of holding it back anymore, “My parents, I thought they were killed by werewolves this entire time, but to find out that was all a lie, that I was fighting for the wrong cause when all I wanted to do was the right thing.”

Jungkook nods, intently listening to you but you chuckle, looking up at him, “And you. Fighting against you, my best friend. Someone I want to fight for, never against.”

Jungkook stares at you but you can see the warmth cascading slowly through his eyes, like they had been genuinely wanting to hear those words. He doesn’t say anything though, letting you have a moment to process all of these thoughts.

“To know the result of all this could be her.” You bite down on your lip, harshly contorting your features, “It makes my blood boil.”

“Then decide.”

A deep voice beckons you from the doorway and you turn to see Namjoon standing with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall. He pushes himself off and walks closer, glancing at you with challenging eyes. “You’ve been torn, haven’t you? Of where you stand now?”

Your eyes widen from his observation and for a moment, you wonder how transparent you’ve exactly been.

Namjoon speaks again when your silence only responds back to him, “Y/N.”

You look up when he calls for you, “Despite whichever you choose, we will help you.”

Namjoon states the words like a promise that won’t ever be broken, and you stare at him in surprise, wondering how he was able to even suggest helping you when the very idea of not joining them meant your own demise.

“Why…why would you do that?” You ask out of mere disbelief and curiosity, but his answer takes you by even more surprise.

“Although we don’t know the full story,” Namjoon pauses, shaking his head in disapproval, “No one deserves to be conditioned in such a way regardless. Be it slayer or wolf.”

You nod, a collection of thoughts soaring inside your mind at his words. Jungkook places a hand against your shoulder and you turn to meet eyes with him, faintly smiling when you know he’s telling you that he agrees with Namjoon.

No matter what side you choose.

They will help you.

You’re thankful, however in the past few days, you’ve been exposed to a lot of new information you didn’t even think was possible. You second-guessed yourself and you were forced to face some hard truths, for it to lead up to this single moment.

Standing up, you walk over to Namjoon with firm steps, silver eyes darkening when the decision you’ve made has come to light and there’s nothing more that you want then to see it take place.

Looking Namjoon straight in the eyes, the words you utter not only throw him completely off guard, they startle your best friend as well.

“What would it take to destroy an entire clan?”

#btswriterscollective #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook fanfic #bts werewolf au #jungkook fluff #bts jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook werewolf au #jeon jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook werewolf au #jungkook angst #bts jungkook angst #jeon jungkook angst #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts imagines #bts scenarios #justimajin

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orsino-the-enchanter · 4 years

Text

Dungeons and dungeons

Few things frightened Jowan more than being returned to the Circle Tower, but Amell, despite his best efforts, could not spare him the Guerrin family’s sentencing. But...Amell did what he thought was the only thing that MIGHT save Jowan’s life, despite the fact that if Jowan had to spend even one more day in the Circle Tower he would set the place ablaze.

He never even got a chance to cast a spell after he awoke from the Fade though. His life was spared on the condition that he would be returned to the chantry’s custody upon the Warden’s return to the castle. True to their word, the Templars did not run a sword through the apostate’s chest on sight, but that /did/ beg the question-just what should they do with him??

The answer was unclear even to Irving. Making him Tranquil was the most...obvious choice. But Jowan had defeated a demon in the Fade in single combat-which technically matched the accomplishment of a Harrowed Mage. That would make the Rite of Tranquility an unjust and illegal move. And Irving knew Amell well enough that if he found out his former friend was branded, Jowan would die anyway. A mercy killing by Amell’s hand was still a promise broken.

So while the good folk of the Chantry bitched and bickered over what to do with Jowan he awaited sentencing in the dungeon at Kinloch Hold, no one visited him save for the Templars who so graciously offered him stale bread. Not eating was better than giving Templars the impression he was vulnerable. Maybe Jowan would even be stubborn enough to die. Amell has claimed to care for him but at the end of the day, the man had betrayed him to the First Enchanter and THEN attempted to get him a stay of execution?

Ohhh what a cruel game the system played with weak mages. It was the only reason Jowan was locked up, probably forever. He was believed to be weak. A weak mage wouldn’t save a child’s life, now would he? He was only a smidgen bitter. At least no one was beating or torturing him like Isolde had. He’d expected more cruelty in that regard.

But what he hadn’t been expecting was his sentence to be a transfer. To Kirkwall’s Circle. The gallows. Ultimately it was his choice. The gallows or tranquility. (He guesses a Harrowed mage could be made tranquil as long as it was “voluntary.”This was such a no brainer, as soon as he was given the chance to speak Jowan had already made his choice.

“I choose the Gallows.” He said, in a voice he almost didn’t recognize as his own. There was determination in his tone. A sense of stubbornness too. He refused to let anyone know how terrifying this turn of events was for him. At least he’d never hear from Amell again, though, right?

“You are braver than you look my boy. Very well. The Templars shall arrange transport -but I must warn you, and offer you one last chance to change your mind...you will be sent to the Gallows upon the condition that you will remain in their dungeon for six months. More if they deem it necessary.”

Jowan gulped at Irving’s words. But he stood fast, forgetting the ever present Templars who held his arms despite the fact that his hands were bound in heavy chains.

“Pass me from your dungeon to theirs then. Fine. I wanted to prove to you and yours that I’m not weak or evil-I’m well on my way to doing that. Send me to the City of Chains. At least tell Amell to never contact me or visit me.”

One of the Templars sighed loudly and Greagoir nodded to his escorts.

“You will need to learn to curb your tongue there, Jowan.” Irving pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away.

“Goodbye to you too, Irving. You know, I regret a lot, but I will never feel bad telling you that you bow to the Chantry’s every whim.” With that Jowan was led away, and he didn’t struggle.

The journey through the Blighted land was long and slightly terrifying for Jowan but the Templars did a good job keeping their group safe from darkspawn at least. The wagon was harsh in its movement and the cage in the bed of the wagon held Jowan for most of the journey, but he spoke to none of the escorts. It didn’t matter, they wouldn’t listen to him and he imagined if he talked too much, even just to himself, they’d gag him. So he didn’t bother. It was several days before they reached the sea. He enjoyed breathing in a few desperate breaths of fresh sea air before they cut him, poured magebane in the wound and threw him, hands still chained tightly, into the brig.

The ship was creamy and Jowan was at least allowed better food on this journey. But he usually threw most of it up if the sea was unsettled. Once in a while, before the cut on his arm healed he would be re-doses with magebane. That stuff put a huge damper on the former apprentice’s spirits and it made him ill most of the time. By the end of the journey he was so happy to be off that ship he could sing. But the Templars would likely gag him and/or beat him for that. Spoilsports. His journey ended when the gates of the Gallows closed ominously behind him and the small army of Templars they’d sent with him dissipated into just four or five. Two Gallows Templars met them at the doors to the inner quarters.

“Do the knight commander and First Enchanter wish an audience with this new mage before he is taken to the dungeons?”Jowan’s head escort asked.

“That will not be nesessary Ser Knight. We will take him from you. This is the Ferelden apostate we were expecting, with a history of dabbling in blood magic?”

“The Redcliffe one, yes. He’s been real quiet on the trip here. Might be a good idea to keep him isolated from the other mages until you know he isn’t planning anything.” His escort replied nonchalantly.

“Quiet, eh? We can change that. Knight commander has ordered a flogging for him on arrival, regardless. We agree that a problem mage must be made an example of? Don’t we?”

He felt all eyes turn to him. He was terrified and now the Templars could probably see it in his eyes. His face went very pale.

His escort nudged him roughly. “I agree with that, but I believe that question was directed at you, lad. Answer when spoken to.”

“Sorry. Irving told me to curb my tongue.” Jowan replied with a solid frown about his normally gentle features.

The Templars laughed and then one of them kicked the back of his calves, putting him on his knees.

“You insolent little bastard. You will learn to respect those above you. Now I think that flogging is long overdue?” The Templar in charge of the Kirkwall group asked.

“Want someone to gag him, Ser Karras?” Another Kirkwall Templar asked.

“No, let the boy scream.”

Jowan was struggling against the men holding his arms now. Not begging or pleading, just scared and stubborn. He was dragged to a metal stake cemented into the ground. His hand bindings were fastened into place hmwith it and then someone unsheathed a knife.

Jowan’s heart was racing.

He didn’t handle pain well even when he’d used blood magic. His shirt was cut off and then he heard who ever held the whip give it a test crack.

Then he was blindfolded. Jowan panicked. No one knew how afraid of the dark he was except Amell ... he pulled at his restraints uselessly.

“All right. Let’s get this done.” Someone said.

“Yeah Karras, stop making it into a show. Bad enough you gotta punish the kid.” A younger female voice retorted.

“Silence. Anyone who objects to this maleficar’s treatment gets the same as him. Including you, Recruit Shannon.”

He heard a sigh after that and he reminded himself to pray recruit Shannon never became like Ser Karras. One less horrible inhumane templar in this terrible place. Why hadn’t he chosen Tranquility again? Oh yes. Not giving Templars and first enchanters what they wanted. Speaking of which-

-CRACCCK-

Jowan didn’t make a sound.

-CRACK-

He was screaming by the fourteenth lash and when it was over, or he at least thought it was over, cold water was poured on his head to revive him so Ser Karras could continue to beat him.

He made it to...twenty nine? Before he passed out again. By fourty it was over,truly this time. Then he was dragged down to the Gallows’ dungeon. He was unconcsious but fully aware that his mana was sucked away the moment he entered the hall. He whimpered in Recruit Shannon’s arms as she carried his dead weight through the hall and his mana supply weakened down to nothing.

He let out a loud cry as she placed him down on his side on the lone cot in his cell. No blanket or pillow. Just a cot. Jowan was still seeing stars under the blindfold they hadn’t bothered to take off, but he swore he heard her say “Sorry you ended up here, lad. Good luck.”

Then he was alone. He drifted in and out of consciousness for a long time before the door opened again. Maybe it had been hours. Or days. He couldn’t tell. He was feverish for sure. His wounds weren’t healing and he couldn’t tend them himself even if he was able to cast spells -he was too weak. And afraid. And his hands were still bound anyway.

_________________________________________

Way above the Gallows’ courtyard where a metal stake was casting its ominous shadow waiting for its victim to arrive, another battle was being fought.

"I have questions, Orsino.” Meredith’s expression was more grim than the sight of the stake down below and her careful choice of words did nothing to conceal her irritation; however the determined stare from across her desk would not waver. “That maleficar who is responsible for almost killing Arl Eamon is being transfered here... and noone thought to inform me of this travesty?”

The First Enchanter kept his expression neutral as he replied, "I assume you mean apprentice Jowan." Meredith nodded impatiently, gesturing for him to continue. “If noone had informed you, Knight Commander, we wouldn’t be having this discussion right now. You did receive a letter concerning today’s transfer, did you not? It is on your desk this very moment.” The envelope with Knight Commander Gregoir’s signature was indeed laying on the desk half open like a smile that seemed to mock them both.

The Knight-Commander's eyebrows drew down, a sure sign she was displeased with the answer she received. “You do not need to state the obvious. This letter, Orsino, arrived only this morning. The maleficar is supposed to arrive in any minute, and I knew nothing of this.”

“Too bad. Gregoir should have sent a raven, then.” Orsino casually replied, with a shrug that irritated Meredith even further. “Apparently he does not share your overzealotry and thought there was no hurry in informing you. I still do not see how-”

“ORSINO!” The yell that cut the elven mage’s sentence was loud enough for the templars outside the office to hear. “It was not your decision to make!”

“It was not yours either. First Enchanter Irving and Knight Commander Gregoir had their hands tied when it came to the fate of the particular mage, until Senior Enchanter Uldred made the suggestion that he should be transfered here because the Templars are more vigilant in case he dabbles in blood magic again. I just happened to send a very persuasive letter in favor of Uldred’s suggestion, nothing more. The final decision belonged to the Ferelden Circle of Magi and the Arl Eamon, the injured parties of the mage’s endeavors and they were both in agreement to send him here instead of killing him. Jowan made his choice too.”

“And how did you know of this and I did not, until an hour ago?”

“I have no obligation to disclose the nature of my informants. As for you, you never asked so I never told you.” he replied smoothly. Meredith just huffed. This was proving to be a lost case, as it seemed there was nothing she could do to prevent the arrival of this maleficar. This accursed elf’s ability of fade-walking could be his informant for all she knew, but even if her suspicions were right, there was no way to push the First Enchanter into a confession, unless torture was involved. A Maker-destined pleasure for another time. The last thing I want is to make a martyr out of him.

“I just want to know how you persuaded Gregoir to agree to this.” she eventually said without bothering to conceal her murderous intent. “It must have been via blood magic.”

“Blood magic through a letter? Your underestimation of my diplomacy skills wounds me.” Orsino faigned a shocked and hurt expression.

“My fist will wound you more if you keep this up.” Meredith warned.

“He’s going to remain in the dungeons for six months, Meredith. Six months. It will take him at least one more month before he’s able to cast again, even if your templars -he uttered the word as if it were a curse- treatment of him is amiable. Speaking of which...” The moss green eyes darkened. “What are you going to do to him?”

“Seeing that I cannot kill him or send him back? I will make him regret he was even born.”

“I expected no less from you.” Orsino commented dryly. “I was hoping for a little more specific answer, though.”

“Why, you dislike the taste of your own medicine? I’m not-” Meredith scoffed.

“You are.” Orsino cut her off solemnly. “Bringing him here was out of your hands and you have every right to resent me for it. But when it comes to punishing my people, Chantry law gives me the right to ask and you the duty to answer.”

It took Meredith a while to reply, but when she did, her eyes were cold as steel.

“I will make sure he never thinks of doing blood magic again. They gave me six months with him in the dungeons. I will make the most out of it. Fourty lashes for starters. Then we’ll see.”

____________________________________________

~CRACK~

Orsino gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to turn away from his office window at the sound of the first whiplash coming from the courtyard below. Instead he steeled himself and gripped on the thick bars of his windows with white-knuckled resolve. It was one of them they were torturing; one of the very people he advocated for. It was his duty to watch and feel his pain as if it were his own.

He hadn’t lied to the Knight Commander, but in true Orsino fashion, he didn’t reveal the whole truth either. Neither he or Meredith had much say on the matter, and yes, this wasn’t the first mage that had been transfered to the Gallows due to bad conduct, but it was not the same. Meredith knew that; that was why she was furious. Being able to save a criminal like Jowan from death sentence was in itself something of a miracle, and even Orsino didn’t expect he’d be able to make it. It seemed Meredith had indeed underestimated his prowess in diplomacy; although having friends in high places and excellent knowledge of the Chantry Law didn’t hurt either.

Uldred, Jowan’s mentor in magic, was to be praised for this victory as much as he were. There was no doubt in Orsino’s mind that everything Jowan knew on blood magic had come from him; he had taught him many things on the matter as well; albeit years ago. The older man seemed to have a soft spot for the young apprentice, and was concerned about his safety even long before things went downhill. Orsino had promised him that if anything were to happen he’d look after the boy for him by taking him to the Gallows. Sure, he were the youngest first enchanter in the history of Thedas and the third elf to reach that position, but he already knew never to give his word lightly and always to keep it. If he wasn’t like that perhaps he’d be living a much easier life as a mage. Now, however, that Jowan’s pained cries reached the First Enchanter’s window, he was starting to doubt whether bringing him here was the best option.

I’ll make him regret even being born, that was what Meredith said. In that respect they were quite similar, for the Knight Commander was as good as her word too. With thirty years of Gallows experience under his belt, Orsino had no doubt that there was no shortage of Templars who would be more than glad to follow her orders on the matter... fenedhis; as if there weren’t enough incidents of abuse even without official authorization; some of which not even he was excempt. The templars were too afraid of him not to remind him constantly. Good. That meant he still had some power over them. It was now his job to prevent them from proving Meredith’s statement true. Jowan being whipped with nothing he could do about it was admittedly not the best start, but still, better whipped than dead, he forced himself to remember. We should take our small victories no matter where he find them.

Eventually it was over. The Templars untied the half dead by now mage and carried him to the dungeons. Orsino’s first instinct was to immediately follow, but he restrained himself. He needn’t see Jowan’s injuries to know how bad they were, and the mage would probably be half starved too. The elf first went to the kitchens and instructed the tranquil in charge to prepare a basket of food suitable for an ill mage, then to his chambers for a healer's kit and blankets. The basket of food was ready when he came back down, and so laden, he gave the tranquil the request to inform the spirit healer to meet him at the dungeons and headed into the dim lit stairway that led deep into the Gallows’ guts.

It was an intimidating walk, each archway guarded by seasoned templars, faceless in their helmets, glaring at him through the eye slits. At one point Orsino was forced to stand and wait while one of the guards went through his supplies and searched him. It was humiliating; the templar was rougher than he needed to be and seemed to enjoy the power he had over the First Enchanter. The worst part was, this was nothing unusual. He went through it every time one of his mages was shut away down here. "He's clean," the templar finally said, sounding almost disappointed. The elf was allowed to continue past. It was freezing cold in the dungeon, and the cells down here drained mana constantly, so casting was nearly impossible. Orsino wasn't sure if the Tevinters built it this way, or if it was something the Chantry added later. Either way, there was very little documentation. He supposed the Tevinter magisters must have built it though. If the Chantry had found a way to drain mana, every Circle would be built with nothing but.

Finally he was there, The templar accompanying him unlocked the cell and he pushed the iron door open, cringing at the creak the old hinges made. Jowan was huddled on the floor, torn robes pulled tight around her for warmth. His hands were still tied up as the First Enchanter noted, but the blindfold...? He cursed internally. That was utterly uncalled for. One more exhibition at the extra length some templars would go to cause more suffering to his people. This must have been Ser Karras’ handiwork... or perhaps Ser Alrik’s? At this point he was just glad he had Ser Thrask, Samson and Recruit Shannon on his side. At the sound of the door opening, the young mage crawled back, terrified. "Peace child. I've come to check on you," Orsino said softly, placing down the basket of food and medical supplies he was carrying and removing the offending blindfold from Jowan’s eyes. He nodded to the templar and he retreated, leaving them alone in the dungeon’s semi-darkness.

#orsino speaks #dungeons and dungeons #jowan #rp #submission

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phcking-detective · 5 years

Text

8. Baby’s First Crime Scene

Fic Title: First Blood

Rating: E

Length: 7/33 chapters, ~128k

Tags: Slow Burn, Idiots to Lovers, Trans Character (gavin), Autistic / Asexual / Non-binary Character (nines), BDSM, learning to use good etiquette and safe words, Dom Nines / Sub Gavin, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Chapter Tags: more Tina Chen, Nines works his first crime scene without Gavin, Nines goes nonverbal during a confrontation, Nines and Tina discuss how the victim was shot (medical and detailed, but not overly graphic)

Link on AO3

***

Nines returns to the crime scene to find Officer Klein under the delusion that he is now in charge. His partner seems to better understand his place on the food chain at least, slumped against the wall of the hallway while enjoying his coffee and donut.

Officer Rogers, age fifty-nine, active member of an online boston terrier fan club. A nearly negligible threat who barely even glances up as Nines enters the victim's apartment.

He stands quietly behind Officer Klein with his audio processor set to strip out the human's voice so he can focus on prioritizing the crime scene. [retrieve Gavin's jacket] receives an unnecessarily high priority. Nines attributes the discrepancy to the jacket containing his partner's cellphone, a device he frequently hacks for his own communicating convenience.

The laptop sitting on the victim's desk takes highest priority, followed by examining all surfaces for trace amounts of blood tracked away by the perp—before the human officer and two android units inside bumble their way through all the evidence.

Nines slips around Officer Klein's side when he turns to lecture the PC200 and calculates the optimal position for reaching Detective Reed's jacket without stepping in any of the blood.

Officer Klein stomps directly through it.

The human's lips move, so it is likely making sound, but Nines cuts that off when he grabs it by the throat and removes it from the crime scene. Flailing and kicking prove ineffectual. Still, to prevent the human transferring blood from the bottom of its shoes to Nines' dress pants, he tosses it down the hall.

The other human officer moves to place its hands on him, but then quickly rethinks that idea when Nines makes eye contact.

You just assaulted an officer. The human's lips move. Klein—hey! Stay over there, Klein.

The PM700 moves closer slowly in his peripheral vision. It holds Detective Reed's jacket, lips clear in Nines' peripheral vision.

Is this what you wanted?

Nines reaches out and takes the jacket without breaking eye contact with Officer Rogers.

You can't just lay hands like that on—for fuck's sake, Klein, you don't want to bother the Captain about this, trust me.

Nines locates the cellphone and pulls it out for the human to see. He gets a gun pointed at him for his effort in communication. Not that it would be effective in any manner, but still. The bullet ricocheting off his chassis could damage the two other police units or worse, contaminate the crime scene.

Are "—you all right?" The PM700 asks.

Nines broadcasts his reply from the cellphone. "Yes. Officer Rogers."

"Uhhh." The human looks at the phone, then stares up at him before intelligently asking, "Yeah?"

He has Rogers' attention now, but using the cellphone's text-to-speech function is tedious. Text alone would be much faster. Nines shows the phone screen to the PM700 without relinquishing it to her.

"I require the crime scene to actually remain secure," she reads aloud. "If Officer Klein tram—um, tramples through the evidence—"

Officer Klein beings yelling again.

"Then I will remove him. Again."

Officer Rogers attempts to calm the yelling. The PM700 glances between the two as her stress levels rise. The PC200 stands half behind the doorway of the apartment and flinches every time the human's noise rises above seventy-five decibels.

Nines considers removing them all from the building.

The yelling temporarily stops at least, at Detective Chen's arrival. Nines had not picked up on any additional transmissions for assistance, either from the other androids or over the DPD radio.

"I got here as fast as I could." Detective Chen ignores the other humans to address Nines. "Gavin texted me from this random number about blood and being in a hospital and—"

Nines reads through her recent chat history with Gavin, who apparently though it would be a good and coherent idea to text his friend and follow police detective:

123 &131

blood @ hosiptal

Given that Detective Chen has every right to believe Gavin has been shot, Nines decides clarifying the situation takes a high enough precedence to broadcast his actual voice through the cellphone.

"Detective Reed and I responded to a code one-forty. We found the victim still alive. He is currently donating blood at the Henry Ford medical center."

"Oh Jesus." Detective Chen bends over with her hands on her knees. "That asshole! I'll show him a fucking code one-forty. Goddammit."

Everyone stays blessedly silent while she gets her breath back. Almost everyone.

"He threw me!" Officer Klein suddenly feels the need to complain.

"What?" Detective Chen straightens back up and surveys the hallway. "Nines, report."

"Angelica Juarez, age twenty-seven, subject of the codes one-twenty-three and one-thirty-one. I have secured the crime sce—"

Officer Klein interrupts. "The fucking murderbot over here picked me up by the throat!"

"Nines." Detective Chen looks at him and lets out a sigh. "Why did you use your big boy hands on Peter?"

Officer Klein splutters and opens his mouth to say something else, but a sharp finger stab in his direction by Chen cuts him off.

"If you boys are going to act like first graders, I'm going to treat you like first graders," she says. "Nines. Report."

Nines continues to broadcast through the cellphone. He has no way to estimate if Detective Chen has done so for his benefit, but responding to an order to report is much easier than simply vocalizing. If the other humans leave, he may even be able to skirt his lack of a social module enough to hold actual conversation from his own voicebox.

"Officer Klein walked through trace amounts of blood that could have yielded a footprint from the perpetrator."

"Bullshit, no I didn't!"

Detective Chen lets out another loud sigh and pulls out a package of plastic booties from her utility belt. The other two android units already wear their own, unlike Officer Klein. Nines moves to follow Detective Chen inside the apartment after she finishes equipping hers, but she stops him with a hand in front of his chest. No physical contact though. Nines rates his estimation of her a little higher.

"Booties," she says.

"Unnecessary. I can perfectly predict where I—"

"Booties in the crime scene, that's the rule," Detective Chen insists.

The two human males snicker. Nines would protest an unnecessary and illogical rule further, but there's no need to subject any of them to more immaturity. However, even after deciding to comply, he recognizes that her pairs meant to fit over a woman's size 6.5 will not fit over his shoes.

"Here," the PM700 says. "These should fit you."

The official DPD database lists a PM700 and PC200 working together as partners. That is accurate. Yet the two have swapped appearances and seem to have altered their files accordingly as well.

While the PM700 has modded her physical model to have the appropriate facial and secondary sexual characteristics of her new series [gender?], she cannot change the size of her feet. Since that affects neither himself nor his partner, Nines designates that information as [irrelevant].

"They're … my partner's," she lies.

The PC200 who still hasn't dared to venture out of the doorway doesn't make eye contact. His feet clearly aren't large enough to fit either that statement or these booties.

Nines accepts the booties and practices giving [a nod]. Gavin does that when he doesn't want to actually say thank you, and speaking directly to the PC200 might raise his stress levels even higher.

Except now Nines has to actually put on the booties. Bending over or sitting on the floor would be undignified. From the [smirk] on Officer Klein's face, the human knows it as well.

Nines maintains direct eye contact with him as he lifts his foot and crosses his ankle over his knee, as he has observed some males prefer to sit. He remains standing however, for the first bootie and then the second.

"You." Detective Chen points to the PC200 in the meantime. "Sync up with the other androids who have human partners. I want officers canvasing the neighborhood in case the killer is hiding out somewhere or anyone saw something."

"Yes, ma'am."

Chen motions for Nines to follow her into the crime scene now that he is properly outfitted. Officer Klein is left outside as the PM700 tells him that was their last pair.

Nines reaches for Chen when she approaches the edge of the blood splatter too fine for her human eyes to see. He also does not initiate physical contact, only steps quickly to her side and holds his hand in front of her.

"The perpetrator attempted to shoot the victim in the back, but only hit her arm," he says with his own voice now that they are relatively alone.

"Might've dropped down when she heard the shots or tried to hide beneath her desk," Detective Chen mused out loud.

She surveys the desk, then crouches herself without letting her knees touch the floor. She should be able to see the bullet embedded in the wall beneath the desk from her current angle.

"That from the second shot or the third?" she asks.

"Second. Clean through and through the victim's shoulder." Nines stands at military attention with his hands clasped behind his back as he delivers his report. "The shooter then stepped forward, grabbed her shoulder, and shoved her onto the floor."

"Face up or face down?"

"Face up, on her back. Third and final shot directly to her chest. No exit wound."

Detective Chen stands back up. "So he's not a good shot. Aimed for center mass three times and could only hit her point blank."

"We should not assume gender at this stage, but correct," Nines says.

Chen looks back around the crime scene without moving from her spot. "Bullet from the first shot?"

"Entered the potted plant on the desk there." Nines points out the location. "Likely still within the soil. I will leave recovering the bullets to ballistics."

"All right, so where's this blood splatter Klein stepped in?" Detective Chen asks next.

"On the floor diagonal to the bottom left corner of the desk."

Nines steps carefully around the congealing pool. Chen follows exactly in his footsteps until they're close enough for him to physically point at the evidence.

"If you cannot see the spray left on the floor, even human eyes should be able to note where the blood hit the corner of the desk. Being closer to—"

"Yeah, yeah. I can see that," Chen mutters, crouching back down again and staring hard at the floor. "This would be from the first shot, through her arm?"

"Correct."

"I can see the blood splatter underneath the desk over there."

"Second shot, through her shoulder. As it is located underneath the desk, it contains no foot or finger prints," Nines informs her. "As such, it will be of interest to ballistics only, for the purpose of establishing—"

"I know how ballistics does their work," Detective Chen interrupts. "Do you overexplain to Gavin too or is it just women?"

"Overexplain."

Nines replays the parked car conversation he had with Detective Reed. The human had yelled and hit the steering wheel in an attempt to communicate that Nines should not inform him of "basic shit" about crime scenes. Yet failing to inform the detective that the maid had cleaned all the floors at the previous crime scene had been an oversight of important evidence.

"I provide Detective Reed with the same amount of information," Nines says. "He has requested I text it to his cellphone so that he may privately sort what is relevant. You have requested I never interface with your phone again. Therefore, you are receiving my reports verbally."

Detective Chen stares at him a moment longer. "So Gavin wasn't just being mean or joking when he said you don't have a social module."

"I do not see how that is relevant now," Nines says. "We are working, not socializing."

"Oookay. Hey, Klein!"

Officer Klein enters the room, stopping short of approaching them when Detective Chen holds up her hand.

"Did you step here?" She points to the fine blood spray on the floor where Officer Klein stepped.

"I mean." The human shrugs and hooks his thumbs into his utility belt. "Yeah, I might've, I guess. But there's nothing—"

"There's blood here."

"Aw, c'mon! Reed walked through all—"

Nines interrupts him this time. "Detective Reed provided emergency medical assistance and is currently at the Henry Ford Medical Center to donate blood to the victim. If she survives, it will be due entirely to his actions."

Detective Chen draws in a breath, and Nines is aware that is typically a signal that a human will begin speaking soon, but he has already preconstructed what he intends to say and he will be saying it regardless.

"Your actions were nothing except negligent, and to imply that the two share any correlation is—"

"RK!" Detective Chen snaps. "Only person here who gets to chew out the rookies is me." She turns back to Officer Klein. "So fucking speaking of which—this is why you always wear booties and pay. Attention. You can practice the latter outside, in case the ME didn't get the message there's no body. And keep the media out. Go!"

Officer Klein stomps away upon being dismissed. Detective Chen rubs her temples, then smooths her hand over her hair and tightens her ponytail.

"All right. What do we have left?" she asks. "Like, tell me you can do something about that laptop."

"Correct," Nines replies. "I can provide an initial examination to determine what parts are damaged, if it can still run, and the most likely explanation for how it was fried."

"OK, great. Where are those other two bots—uh, shit. Androids?"

The PM700 and PC200 appear at the doorway. The PM700 waves. Nines does not wave back. This is not a social function and they have already been introduced.

"Are we allowed in?"

"Yeah, yeah, get in here," Detective Chen says. "RK, do you need any help … doing your thing?"

"I do not require assistance."

"Great, sure. What do I call you?" Detective Chen asks the PM700.

"Um."

The PM700's LED swirls yellow. She sends a message through the open network available to all androids. Nines monitors this network, but it is far too much of a security threat to join. Any android—or even a particularly adept human hacker—could send anything embedded in a message through that system.

"My name is Lisa," she finally says after Nines ignores several messages that were presumably intended for him. "And this is John."

"Hello, ma'am," PC200 [John] says.

Nines decides this conversation is no longer relevant. He makes his way over to the other side of the desk without disturbing any of the evidence and examines the laptop while Detective Chen chats with the other two androids before assigning them to interview the leasing manager and knock on doors to find any possible witnesses. Definitely not relevant to his own skill set.

The laptop is nearly obsolete even if it were running. The serial number on the back identifies it as a MSI GS97 Razor 0-87 that only has a tenth generation i9-1050H core processor at least ten years out of date. Parts of the plastic casing have melted from what Nines estimates at first preconstruction was a surge of electricity.

The power cord nestled beneath the desk still features a business card sized hunk of a power block, which has also been blown out. The outlet it connects too appears fine. Nines unplugs the cord, retracts the synthskin on one hand, and extends a single metal nail. 120v at 60Hz flows through his circuits, as is standard for an American outlet.

"Please tell me sticking your finger in the socket has something to do with the case," Detective Chen says after finally dismissing [Lisa] and [John].

"The laptop was most likely fried by an electrical surge." Nines stands back up for his report. "Ninety-six point eight percent chance. I have now established that the outlet has not recently experienced a surge, protected by the power block in the laptop's charging cord that absorbed the excess electricity."

"So something hit the laptop, jumped through the power cord, but then fizzled out before damaging the outlet," Detective Chen summarizes. "Gavin said you were looking at an android perp. Could one of you do that?"

"I could," Nines says. "Technically, any model sufficiently modified could as well, but such modifications are unlikely to be compatible with models created before twenty-thirty."

Chen makes a sucking noise with her mouth. This is an indication of thought in humans. Nines saves a recording of the action and reconstructs a facial model as well.

"What about unmodified?"

"Units created between twenty-thirty and twenty-thirty-five could possibly produce enough electricity to fry an older laptop, depending on the model. Any units from thirty-five to the current year could, regardless of model. Commercial models have internal protections in place specifically to prevent this however."

Chen leans over the laptop but keeps her human hands with their human fingerprints to herself. "So does that rule them out or not?"

"A deviant could theoretically bypass its own protective measures. May I continue my investigation, detective?" Nines asks.

"Yeah. Let me know if you get that thing running. I'm going to do another walk-through."

Nines acknowledges the statement with a nod, then returns his attention to the laptop. His attempts to connect with it wirelessly have been unsuccessful, so he tries a traditional interface next. No response.

The only fingerprints on the laptop belong to the victim, Angelica Juarez, age twenty-seven, arrested twice during public protests in 2036 and 2038. An android perpetrator would not leave prints, and neither would Nines, but he still equips his recently-purchased black leather gloves before handling the evidence, as per Detective Chen's preference.

Removing the plastic covering on the laptop's bottom reveals much of the circuitry inside has been fried, as suspected. While unlikely to be the only problem due to the extent of the damage, it is technically within the realm of possibility that the laptop cannot boot up because the information in the CMOS has been scrambled.

Nines picks out the motherboard battery with his extended nail, inspects it for damage, and replaces it after exactly three seconds.

The laptop does not interface with him.

Solely so that Detective Reed and possibly Detective Chen do not mock him for missing the most obvious solution, Nines manually presses the power button like an absolute barbarian.

The laptop still does not boot up.

Nines downloads a live version of Linux and attempts to connect to the laptop again so he can burn the OS to his own system and boot it up within his quarantined space, but the laptop is too dead for him to even force the Linux into it.

An actual, physical flashdrive may be necessary. Or even worse—a SATA-USB cord to connect him to the laptop like an overgrown iphone.

Gavin is going to mock him for weeks.

***

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 29 / 30 / 31 / 32 / 33

I also have a Patreon for this fic, if you want to support me! $1 gets you access to chapters a week early, $2 gets bonus content and deleted scenes, and $3 gets short chapters from two AUs I’m writing: an A/B/O heatfic and reverse!AU

this week’s bonus content is some more backstory on how Nines gets an apartment before the start of this fic, plus another chapter from the A/B/O AU where Omega!Gavin is in heat and Alpha!Nines offers to help (fuck him)

the money I make from patreon goes toward paying for therapy and hopefully HRT, since I have my first appointment to start taking T this October!

#reed900 #reed900 fic #dbh #dbh fic #gavin reed #my writing #ch 8

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