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xaphrin · 3 years

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I am hoping to post this whole fic all at once, but I was so happy with this chapter that I wanted to share it. So, here. Have some "I wasn't supposed to fall in love with my wedding baker" AU.

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When Damian opened the door to find Raven standing in the hallway, the expression on her face spoke volumes about her feelings of being here when most people were dead asleep.

She adjusted the large plastic container in her hands and shook a lock of hair out of her eyes. “You are aware that it’s two in the morning, right?”

Damian knew. Of course he did. A part of him almost felt apologetic for calling Raven and forcing her to come to his home in the middle of the night (especially over something as insignificant as lemon curd), but with the premium he was paying her for an off-hours house call, he didn’t allow that apology to take root. He’d been accused of being a “night owl” on more than one occasion, but the truth was that he suffered from occasional bouts of insomnia. And if he had to suffer through this ailment, then so should others - including the baker for his wedding.

“I’m paying you enough to make up for your interrupted sleep schedule.” Without any ceremony, he ushered her into his penthouse, closing the door behind her. Titus pushed past him and nudged Raven’s hip, begging for pets. Damian couldn’t help but notice that Titus paid Raven more attention than he paid his own fiance. “Sleep when you’re dead.”

Raven’s lips pulled to the side in a teasing half-smile, her eyes meeting his. “How chivalrous of you.” There was a small pause as she set the plastic container down on a small table by the door and bent down to scratch Titus behind the ears. “You know that your night time doorman seems to think I’m here for purposes other than cake. Why else would some strange woman be visiting you at an unreasonable hour?”

Damian didn’t care what his doorman thought, and he highly doubted Raven cared. She was just trying to get under his skin. He shrugged and turned away from her, motioning her to follow him deeper into his flat. “I hardly see how that is my problem. Besides, didn’t you say that you get up at four in the morning anyway?”

Her face fell. “That is entirely beside the point, and you know that, Mr. Wayne.”

“You can call me Damian.” He had reminded her of that fact at least half a dozen times now.

“Ha.” Her sarcastic laugh made him smirk. “No one calls a Wayne by their first name. It’s akin to social suicide. I’d be willing to bet that you even call your father Mr. Wayne.”

Damian walked her through the massive living room, heading towards the kitchen at the far end of his flat. “Only on holidays, and the occasional birthday.”

Raven snorted. “Ah. I see how deep the decorum runs.” As they walked into the kitchen, her face lit up with surprise, and she let go of a low whistle. Pushing past him, she inspected the appliances with blatant envy. “Do you even know what I would do to have this oven in my posession? I would commit war crimes to get this oven in my apartment.” She opened the oven doors and looked inside before standing up and turning to him, eyes narrowing. “Is this just for show? Do you even bake?”

“No.”

Raven closed the oven door and sighed. “Pity.”

“I cook.”

That seemed to pique her interest, and she leaned against the marble countertop, watching him with a sharp stare. There was a long stretch of silence, and it felt like her eyes were boring into him, stripping away everything that protected him until it felt like each flaw was exposed to her scrutiny. In any other situation, Damian would have slammed up some kind of barrier to keep her from looking too deep, but this time he found himself oddly comfortable with letting her investigate him. He didn’t mind showing her his weaknesses, and that thought should have scared him, but it didn’t. He kept his face blank and let her watch him.

“You know… I am having a hard time imagining you slaving over a stove in a hot kitchen.” Her head tilted to the side and she smirked. “Although I like the thought of you wearing a frilly apron. A soft pink one, with ruffles and bows.”

His face fell and he crossed his arms over his chest. Cheeky. “I am docking your home visit fee until you take that back.”

“Mm. Worth it.” She turned away from him, and reached for the plastic container on the counter, unsnapping the lid. In an instant, Titus was at her side and Damian watched her sneak him a treat she had obviously made for him. Raven seemed to make herself at home in his kitchen, as if she belonged there. He found himself smiling at her, and a strange kind of warmth filled his chest.

“So, tell me your fear with the lemon curd, and why it was so imperative that you force me out of bed at two o’clock in the morning to travel all the way across town with cake samples.”

Well, when she put it like that, it did make him sound like a typical, spoiled son of an eccentric billionaire. Damian ignored that small spot of guilt again and settled on a stool at the eat-in counter. “I think my fiance is allergic to lemons… or curd. I can’t remember, but it’s one of those.” He thought for a long moment, trying to remember what it was that she had said last time he had spoken to his fiance.

“You can’t remember?” Raven turned back around and looked at him, her expression incredulous. “Haven’t you two known each other for years? That's what all the tabloids say anyway.”

Oh, right. The tabloids were spinning the relationship into some falsehood of star-crossed lovers who used to be childhood best friends. The truth was far less interesting. “We have known of each other for years. We’ve crossed paths at various parties and events, and my father and hers have a mutual business relationship. But, knowing each other implies some kind of deep, long term relationship. Something more than casual friends.”

“Ah.” Raven rummaged through his cabinets for plates, setting them next to the plastic container containing cake samples. “And I take it that’s not what you have with the daughter of Queen Consolidated?”

Damian shrugged, knowing that talking about the arrangement was opening himself to all kinds of scrutiny from her. But, there was something about Raven that made it almost comfortable to open up to her. In all the times they had been together, she never seemed like the type to spill his secrets. In fact, she seemed to keep them closer than most people he knew. He actually liked talking to her - even with her cheeky attitude. “We’ve only been together in an official capacity for a few months.”

“Oh…”

Her tone seemed to waffle between pity and understanding, and Damian felt like he had to scramble for an explanation. It felt like he didn’t want her to think less of him as a person.

“The marriage is one of a business nature. Our families would be brought together with the marriage of children. It would strengthen the ties between us.” After saying it out loud, Damian realized how cynical that sounded. It was more than just a business move. For all intents and purposes, he liked Emiko, she was smart and polite and reasonably attractive. Marrying her was a good, sound move. He would be content though their marriage.

“I didn’t realize that was still a thing - marrying for business purposes.” Raven pulled out cake samples from the plastic box and placed them on the counter. “Sounds a little medieval, if you ask me.”

Damian shrugged, not feeling any particular way about her comments. “She’s a lovely woman.”

“Is she?” Raven scoffed. “My landlady is a lovely woman. The mail person is a lovely woman. The person who delivers my takeaway is a lovely woman." She gave him a flat stare, pursing her lips. "Lovely woman is not a term of endearment you use for someone you're madly in love with."

"I never said I was madly in love with her."

"Ah. I see. I must have misunderstood." She handed him a slice of cake, her eyes as sharp as a hawk’s as she watched him. "Raspberry and chocolate." She paused. "Is that the business agreement to the marriage then? You marry Emiko Queen, and in return both families have fingers in each other’s pots… so to speak.”

"Yes." Damian took a bite of the cake, and he tasted the sharp tartness of the raspberry at the forefront of the cake before melting away to luscious chocolate. Just like the first time he tasted her cakes, he barely kept himself from moaning in pleasure. She had to bake magic into her cakes for them to taste this damn good. He chewed slowly, letting himself wallow in the flavor.

"Does she love you?"

Damian swallowed and stared at her. The question caught him off guard. He knew for certain he didn’t love her, but he had never really thought about whether or not she loved him. "That's forward of you."

"Asking if your fiance loves you?" She snorted and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "You're right. How rude of me." Another slice of cake appeared. "Pistachio and cardamom."

He took a bite and tamped down a shiver. She was a magician, there was no other explanation. The flavor curled in his mouth like spiced smoke. "It'll be a fine arrangement."

"Mm. How romantic, an arrangement. Be still my fluttering heart."

Damian rolled his eyes and took another bite of cake. "I am amazed you manage to keep clients with the mouth on you."

She gave a one shouldered shrug. "I let my work speak for me." There was a pause and she leaned over the counter to look closer at him, trying to decipher his expression. “But you never answered my question. Does she love you?”

Damian blinked, letting her question settle in the pit of his stomach. Did his fiance love him? He doubted it, but then again, he never thought to ask. Emiko wasn’t frigid to him, but she wasn’t overly attached either. Indifferent seemed to be the best way to describe her feelings, as though she cared for him as nothing more than a distant friend. She seemed to view this arrangement the same way he did - a duty to her family and a business transaction. Nothing more.

“Your silence speaks volumes.” Raven’s head tilted to the side and she stared at him again, blatantly reading his face. He felt uncomfortable, letting her sharp eyes watch him. She seemed to see more than anyone else had. “I see hundreds of couples a year, and I’ve learned to pick out who truly cares for each other, and who really doesn't know what they want."

Damian took another bite of the pistachio cake, never looking away from her face. Even when she was picking him apart, she was beautiful. "And I take it that you believe I'm the latter?"

"I don't just believe, I know." She handed him another slice of cake. "Orange spice."

"I'm not particular about marrying for love. I've never subscribed to the idea." The orange spice was by far the best, and it immediately went on the short-list.

A pitying look crossed her face. "You don't believe in love?"

That question made him pause, and he looked back at her, his head filled with something akin to smoke. It was like he couldn’t think beyond her question. "I… don't know." He realized with some small amount of shock that he really didn't know. As he sat there, watching her, he realized that he never thought he would fall in love. He had crushes and minor relationships, but nothing that he would call love. Nothing that made him feel like the world was falling out from under his feet, and he was left clamoring for something that made him whole.

“You look surprised by your own answer.” Raven’s voice was soft, nearly swallowed up by the silence between them. “Did you honestly think you would never fall in love?”

“I suppose I did.” Damian took another bite of cake and shifted in his seat. “Love never seemed like something I gave much thought to. My duty has always been to my family, and as long as I am comfortable, I don’t see the need for much else.”

Raven pulled out another slice of cake. “Have you thought that maybe you haven’t met the right person?”

Damian’s face fell and he stared at her, taking the slice of cake from her. “That seems a trite response.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. That’s vanilla and rose water.”

Damian’s face scrunched at the flavor and he pushed it away. “That rose water is abhorrent.”

A soft laugh escaped and Raven shook her head. “Rose water is very en vogue right now. I’m not fond of it, but some people like it.” She took the slice back and leaned against the counter. “So, tell me if you don’t mind, why are you putting all this effort into a wedding with someone you don't have feelings for?"

"It's meant to be a performance." He hummed softly, thinking. “Both of our families have a reputation to uphold, and if we don’t live up to that expected standard, the media will tear us apart. Emiko doesn’t need any poor publicity.”

“Mm. I understand to a point.” She paused and pulled out another slice of cake. “You’re very pragmatic about this.”

The way she said that didn’t sound like a compliment. Damian took the offered cake. “I don’t require your approval.”

“I never said you did. I’m only in this for the absolutely exorbitant fee you’re paying me.” She smirked. “But… I am curious, don’t you want to fall in love? Just once?”

“And who would I fall in love with?” He took a bite of cake and practically sighed. Chocolate and orange.

“You’re a Wayne. More than half the world would be willing to fall in love with you. Take your pick.”

“I don’t think you can force love.”

Raven shrugged. “Well, your upstanding camaraderie with your fiance doesn’t fit the bill either.”

He blinked and took another bite of the cake. This was the one. “I never intended to love her. Our partnership will be fine.”

Raven lifted an eyebrow. “So… what happens if you fall in love with someone before you get married?”

“I hardly think that will happen.” He scoffed and took a third bite of the cake. He doubted he would find anyone who could coax him to fall in love. That seemed like an impossible task. “And even if I did, it changes nothing.”

“You’re so committed to this marriage. It’s admirable.” Her smile widened. “I take it the orange and chocolate one is the winner? You’ve eaten half the slice already.”

“You’re talented at this.” He took another bite and met her stare. “What about you?”

“I think the chocolate orange will both make a statement and still be appropriately conservative.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His eyes searched hers, and he suddenly realized he had to know. He had to know if there was anyone in her life that meant more than just a friend. He wanted to know who her heart beat for. “Are you in love?”

Color crawled up her neck. “That’s a pretty personal question to ask your baker.”

Damian shrugged. “For what I’m paying you, humor me.”

She chewed on her lower lip and glanced away, and she shifted for a moment. “Currently? No. I was in love once, but… it faded.” She looked back into his eyes. “But that doesn’t make it any more special and important.”

"And you want to fall in love again?" He felt strange and a little invasive asking these questions, but some part of him wanted to know. He wanted to know not just about falling in love, but Raven falling in love specifically. Would she fall in love again? And with whom?

"Of course." Her voice was soft and gentle, and she gave him a small, almost sad smile. "I haven’t found the right person to fall for just yet. But it’ll come.”

Something in Damian’s chest twisted and he found himself reaching across the counter to rest his hand next to hers. It was as close as he dared to get to her. She met his stare for a long moment, and that feeling in his chest turned almost painful. He wanted to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, to feel her skin under his fingertips, but his hand stayed firmly pressed against the cool marble of the counter.

He swallowed slowly and nodded. “The chocolate orange.”

#damirae #demonbirds #I DID SOMETHING #whatever this is #baker au

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necros-writing-stuff · 3 years

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Could we get some more non-con with bailey and either pre-pc or pc, pretty please?

I'm going with canon PC because I want ruthless, remorseless bastard Bailey and defiant PC. Gender neutral reader.

TW for non-con. Also stuckage.

He can't belive what he's seeing. You're such a fucking idiot, trying to use a hole in the garden fence to sneak out and avoid his payments. Now you're stuck, ass sticking out as you try to wiggle free. Should have jumped over the fence like he used to back in the day.

"Give me one good reason why I should help you out," the amusement in his voice is obvious, not like he's trying to hide it.

Muffled through the fence, you cringe as you call out "Come on! I'll do a job for you, or pay a little extra, can you just pull me free? I don't want some pervert to come and get any ideas."

It's not a please. Hadn't heard that from you in a while, but you must be desperate enough to ask for any help from him. Still, Bailey wants something out of this- needs to take advantage of your vulnerability.

It's about 4am. Most people are still in bed, the garden is silent. He could do what he liked right now, and you be powerless to stop him.

"Extra payment?" he knows you mean more money or stealing something, but honestly it's been a while since the caretaker had had some action. You are his prettiest little shit, not like he hadn't thought of ruining you before. This just made it ridiculously easy to do so.

"Yes! What do you want, you old twat?"

There you go mouthing off again. That just solidifies his choice. Maybe if you'd been nice he would have chosen a different payment.

You push against the fence, wincing at how the wire digs into your hips and stomach, but there's no give. Backing up does the same, only with your chest. Constantly scanning the back alley has you paranoid - anyone could come down here and see you like this. Anyone with nefarious purposes.

Bailey's hands on your hips is at first a relief. At least the old bastard decided to help, and when you were free you could run away before he could demand his money, or fight him like you had countless times before. When he starts pulling your pants down to your ankles, however, you freeze.

"What are you doing?" you demand, shivering as the cool night air hits your thighs. Another shiver goes up your spine as large hands stroke up the insides of your thighs, making the muscles twitch.

"I'm taking my payment in advance. You think I don't know you well enough to know you'll try to get out of it?" you feel him grabbing your underwear at the same time he speaks, kicking out your legs in response.

There's a crack in the air as Bailey spanks your ass, making you jump and yet again feel the fence dig into your skin.

"Behave, brat. Stay still and it'll be over quicker."

He tugs down your underwear, exposing your sex, and he can't help himself from admiring how it looks. You'd be worth so, so much if he could sell you.

He undoes his belt, then his fly, pulling out his half-hard cock and giving it a few pumps, focused on the piercings he has, while watching you frantically try to pull yourself out of the hole.

"Don't you fucking dare, Bailey! I swear I'll kill you when I get out of here, I-"

"Do you want out or not?" his voice is flat and bored. "I'll be happy to leave you here. Let the others use you as their own personal plaything for the day. Or you can ask nicely, and it'll be just me ruining your pretty little hole. Your choice."

You're glad he can't see your face right now, because you're starting to tear up. You'd die if he knew how scared his threat made you.

Swallowing your pride, you gulp and will yourself to hold still. Your legs start to shake from unease. "... please get me out, Bailey."

He barely hears it, but its enough. "Good brat."

His hand spreading you wide is a shock, the warmth of his palm contrasting with the cold of the night. The sound of the caretaker spitting is followed by something wet hitting your hole, then a thumb rubbing the saliva in. You can't deny it feels good, and Bailey can see evidence of your growing arousal.

"That's it, stay still and let me take care of it all. Just like I always do."

Of course he's having some weird power trip doing this.

The thumb presses inside and your mouth opens in a silent moan. Again, you're glad he can't see your face. Over and over again the thumb strokes your insides, and your thighs are now quivering from the pleasure. Breaths come out shaky, your fists clenched.

Curse this man. Curse him for making you feel good while violating you.

Another glob of spit lands and is rubbed in, but the thumb leaves and is replaced by the thick head of Bailey's length. It still stings as he pushes it in, slowly sinking in till his hips meet your ass.

"Fuck, you're tight. Should have known you would be," he huffs out, letting himself stay still and adjust to the way your heat sucks him in.

When he starts rolling his hips back and forth, you note something feels different about his dick. There's a strange, pleasant friction from the underside that you weren't expecting. What could that be? What's making you feel so good?

Bailey has both hands clutching your hips, using them as leverage as he takes his time using your body. No need to rush, he can enjoy himself for once. You weren't going anywhere.

Each drag of his cock feels like heaven, especially after so long since he last had someone. Maybe he should fuck you again after this. Start using you as stress relief, to make up for how annoying you've been.

Your skin feels so soft in his hands, he wants you bent over his desk later so he can mark up your neck with his teeth. Have you pinned to a wall, legs around his waist, or even on your back in his bed moaning his name.

A cramp creeps up his leg, and Bailey adjusts his stance, hitting a new angle - and pausing when he hears you yelp out.

"Like that, do you?" he teases, grinning wide and cocky.

Deciding not to give him the satisfaction, your hands cover your mouth and your bite down on your lip. He's not expecting an answer, aways, just decides to stop pounding at a leisurely pace.

The new pace is brutal, assaulting your body and making you stand on your tiptoes. Even with your hands over your mouth, Bailey can hear the moans. Can feel how you clench down around him and how you're getting close to your peak.

He'll make you cum, alright. Maybe then you'll remember that you belong to him.

One of his hands snakes between your legs, teasing you sex while he fucks into you, and you keen in response to the touching.

"Bailey- Bailey, nooo," you beg, panting like a dog at how good you feel.

"No what? Don't stop? Don't not make me cum? Come on, use your words," you're going to have to tell him what you want instead of incoherently whining like a whore.

"Don't want to-to cum," you manage to stammer out, but Bailey tuts in response. Tough shit, he's going to have you finish whether you like it or not.

"That's a shame then, isn't it?" the caretaker taunts in between breaths. He's getting close himself, just a little more. Just needs to feel your needy hole convulse around his shaft.

His wish is fulfilled sooner than he anticipated, your body tensing for a moment before spasming as you cry out on the other side of the fence.

Bailey groans out as he empties himself inside of you, hips not stopping as he does so. Some of his seed drips onto the grass below, coming out when his length retreats.

His final thrust is deep, pressing harshly inside and you push back against him. That's how you stay for a few seconds, both stopping to catch your breaths.

Bailey removes himself from you, tucking away his dick and straightening his clothes. Watching your legs flop from exhaustion, pearls of white trailing down your thighs, almost has him wanting a second round.

"I'll be right back," he sighs, moving to the shed to get some wire cutters. He sticks to his word, returning and snipping the fence around your scratched skin.

As soon as there's enough slack, you fall backwards into the garden and stay flat on your back, not bothering to fix your clothes yet.

He watches you for a few seconds, noticing how your eyes still seem glazed over in a post-sex haze.

"I'm still expecting my money by 8am."

"Fuck you."

"You just did."

With that, Bailey strides back towards the orphanage, taking out a cigarette and lighting it on the way. You can pick yourself up now. He needs a shower and some breakfast.

#degrees of lewdity bailey #degrees of lewdity #spill your guts #anonymous #tw noncon #tw stuckage

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namjoonchronicles · 4 years

Text

impression | yg

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 5.5k

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

↳ warning that side of adulthood, lockdown because of pandemic, self-worth, over-sensitivity, pisces dude, married life conflicts

↳ song ariana grande ‘pov’

Just this morning you woke him up with ‘Daechwita’ blasting on his ear drums, dancing and prancing around the home gym in your spandex bra and sweatpants, rapping to every word he wrote, with more swag than ten Yoongis combined. Forehead glistened with sweat, rosy cheeks and more life in you than he ever had. He leaned by the door sill just watching in utter disbelief and renewed admiration to just how much you loved his music. It never gets old. But how the tables have turned, two minutes before midnight.

You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom, him leaning his back on the wall, speaking through the closed door, calling out for you.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through. Fat chance, but at least he tried.

Must be something in his drink last night for him to hear his own song even when he is sleeping, Yoongi thought. But he didn't drink last night? Yoongi pulled the duvet down his head, contorting his entire face and the blaring boom bass music, rippling through the miniature figure standees of famous baseball players he had lined up on the TV cabinet. The music was so loud, the pictures hung on the walls began rattling at each beat drop. Where is this music coming from??

Two seconds in, and the empty spot next to him spoke volumes. All answers were as clear as day.

Yoongi sat up on the bed, duvets pooled around his waist as he yawns loudly and his bed hair flopping on either side leans towards, some baby strands standing in all directions. He scratches his arms, neck and belly as he comes awake. Face puffy, eyes barely open, and cheeks as circle as they could be. He gathered the duvet to the side and pushed himself off to the edge of the bed while shoving his feet into his indoor slippers. He tried to fetch his phone from the bedside table and saw it vibrating on its own from the loud music.

"Better stop her before the neighbours come complaining…"

He waddles about the room lazily, dragging his feet, his arm reaching for the switch panel before he even arrives to have the curtain open and let the sun in. The automated curtain aligned and folded creases perfectly as it gathered itself to each designated side. The bed, the bed will be made up later after he advises his wife not to deafen the whole neighborhood with his albums and he could finally think.

The teal-colored walls that extended along the hallway of the house, decorated with wedding pictures, family pictures, his signed baseball jerseys, picture of his basketball days (the one he jumps for a slam dunk and especially proud of, you know the one), your graduation picture (with him professionally photoshopped in) and some lovely polaroids of your first unofficial date that he insists was official. More on that later. Yoongi walks pass this memory lane with a stern face, shooting glares ahead, marching in the direction of the music, which seems to be coming from the gym. What he saw was a petite figure, all hyped up, sweaty, holding up a water bottle to your lips like a microphone, mouthing his rap like it was your own. You saw him in the mirror reflection but instead of coiling away, shy, you spat his rap to his face with flaming confidence. Yoongi looks down with a shy smile, eyes turning small and polite, skin blushing pink with second hand embarrassment. His face is hot and your sweaty skin, hair plastered to your neck and forehead, in revealing spandex was not helping. Neither is your swag. He clamped his lips with his teeth while you pulled his arm so he would join you. He protested lazily but didn't resist as hard. He throws his head back, whining dejections but you couldn't care less.

"Are you making your own concert here? Plagiarising my songs?"

You heard him and grinned widely at the mirror. He folded his arms and watched you dance seductively and just as the rap got to the 'my tongue sends boys and girls to China' part, the music stops and he is no longer next to you but by the stereo and turning it off.

"Yoongi! I was working out!" "People are gonna come and complain…" "They know who you are…" "They know my name from you…"

Screaming underneath him, that's what he meant. You rolled your eyes at him. He passed you a face towel with a sheepish smile. Wiping your face with it, you watched Yoongi unplug your phone from the sockets. It reveals several missed calls from your mother in law, Yoongi's mom.

"Mom called…" "Really?"

You moved closer to him to see. Yoongi reads the message she sent you outloud and the colors drained down your face.

"What do I cook? What do I do? What does she usually have for lunch? OMG, I don’t know. Do we even have kimchis left? I hadn't restocked…" "She likes fried dumplings and soy garlic chicken stew… it'll be okay. She said she is coming around noon. It's just a little over 8 am… Go take a shower."

You scurried to the bathroom and did as told. Yoongi made the bed while he waited. He turns the cordless vacuum cleaner on but it beeped soullessly because it wasn't charged. He sighed. You always forget to charge them after using them. He opted for a broom and dustpan instead. Yoongi disappears into his home studio, to take the shampoo he had been using and after-shower lotion for you to use. He twisted the knob, knowing you wouldn't lock them when you shower. Knock on the glass door of the shower and told you to use them. You nodded, passing him a look over your shoulder but he was out as quickly as he entered. That cold, cold steely husband.

You stepped out of the shower wrapped in towels with your hair dripping wet, hurrying to the hairdryer to dry your hair. Yoongi walks in with nothing but a towel around his waist. He passes you a chaste kiss on the shoulder first, then your cheeks before he continues to unravel his briefs and showered as well. The water trickles down his face, neck and shoulders, cascading down his speckless back, over the bum of his ass and wetting his happy trails at the same time. He aggressively rubs water over his face, the tips of his hair appear darker as it gets wet. You dressed up in your oversized hoodie, a pair of jeans and red converse, hair tied up in a bun, grabbing your purse for a quick run to the store. If your mother in law is coming, the least you could do is cook an all korean cuisine, prep nicely on the table so she knows that her son was taken care of nicely. Giving her a lasting good impression was your core priority as of now. And Yoongi would have been more than happy to do the grocery for you but this time, just this once, you want to show him that you are dependable too.

If there is anything you learned from korean cuisine is that food is prepared meticulously like you would, a form of art. Everything is placed neatly on a plate, and wrapped tightly. Taste and looks must be perfect. Everything had a sequence. Tradition and culture shapes the good people of Korea to what it is today. And for Daegu native, Yoongi's deep accent and habits become one of the most significant traits that flags a Daegu representative. You are obsessed with getting it right. Although you mostly don't understand the heavy accents he tends to let slip out once in a while, you were expecting to guess the words as it comes. His accents are one of the things that you loved about him. Daegu dialects are strong, and oozing masculinity. They are often direct and unapologetic so it might be heard as harsh. You couldn't tell apart if he is cursing or if he is just plainly just talking about his day when his friends stop by. He caught you a few times, staring blankly at him when he blurted out dialects out of frustrations, and he laughed them off when you accuse him of lying to you about what the words actually mean.

With his mom stopping by, the dialects are going to be thick and you would probably stare blankly most of the time. Communications are limited and Yoongi had to come back and forth to translate some of them.

Korean cooking is not your forte. Let's put that out there, in the open for everyone to see and understand. You are not familiar with it, and although you love some of it, some just don't fit your taste buds. But Yoongi is a full blown Korean. You make adjustments here and there, but it's not like he is always around for you to cook them often. That's why your korean cooking skills deteriorated. Even simple things like choosing which mushrooms to cook with takes 10 minutes longer than it probably should. You went with your heart and took the one you saw first.

Yoongi came out from the baths to see an empty room. Your perfume wafts over his nostril and it tattles about your whereabouts. Just as he was about to investigate, his phone shrieked a calling tone. It was Jungkook. Asking for a chord. He sounds desperate and bored to death. Being a good friend, Yoongi speds to his home studio after clumsily putting on some white tee on top of a grey shorts, halfway through and sending him several chords the little guy could work with, then pulling the rest of the shirt down as it loads. He swore he didn't take long but he found you already changing your clothes and starting to chop things on the chopping board, sloppily. He knows that it was not you to do things sloppily so he offered to help sharpen the knives.

"Soy garlic stew?"

You chewed your lips at him as he asked and nodded. Anxiety was written all over you. Your hands were already so shaky, and that's why you couldn't hold the knife properly, aside from it being blunt. You turned to the sink and began chopping the scallions with another knife Yoongi handed you.

“There are some potatoes I bought in the paper bags, I brought the mushroom I am familiar with, I am not sure if it's the one used in the stew. What time is it already? Is this enough time to even cook the stew? The chicken hasn’t thaw has it? I am not going to have enough time… She is going to know that the dumpling is store bought and I am putting my pride on the line…” you spoke nonstop, didn’t even hear Yoongi if he was saying anything, which you assumed he was quiet, so you became annoyed and, “Why aren’t answering any questions I have??”

Yoongi stood there, with a blank expression, “You wouldn’t even let me talk…”

You answered your own questions, and he was here listening to everything, opening his mouth and closing it before any word could come out because you bulldozed him with words, as he dug out the potatoes you were talking about, as well as the mushrooms.

“I’m sorry, I watched the youtube video on making the stew on the way to the mart and it seems pretty complicated, but doable… I think that the ginger and garlic goes in first,” you paused and sighed, “It’s been awhile since I cooked a proper meal for myself. I don’t know if I had it in me to even do this anymore…”

That’s right. While Yoongi was always away from the last two years, his work trips extended from 3 months to a whole year, and while studying for your master’s degree, you opt for simpler food, just enough for you to get by the day with a filled stomach. Most of your time is dedicated to your studies and laundry. Stopping by Daegu was hardly done, and if anything, you would just send some gifts her way. It is pretty awkward between you and his mother; language barriers, interests, and principles. You didn’t notice when Yoongi was standing behind you, his hand was on top of yours, soothing over your knuckles and he hijacked the scissors from your hands gently.

And he whispered softly atop of your head, “I got this.”

Just like that, he took over kitchen duties and let you handle the simpler stuff like, putting the pot on the stove, fill water in it, skin the potatoes, chopped them into large cubes, unstub the capsicum, peel the skin off of the chicken, peel the garlic and ginger. Yoongi’s instructions are clear and easy to follow. After all the things are chopped and prepared, he hands the ladle to you.

Your eyes widen. And you shook your head. Stepping back. Yoongi clicked his tongue and chuckled through his nose. Coax you. But no, you stepped farther back. He then took your wrist gently and placed the ladle handle in your palm.

“Trust me?” “I trust you, it’s me I don’t trust.”

“I’ll help you every step. Let’s go. Have confidence!” “You’re the multi billionaire, I’m just the struggling degree student with a part time job.”

“You’re Min Yoongi’s wife.” “I find that hard to believe sometimes…”

With another scolding tut of his tongue, you conceded. With a heavy heart.

The chopped chicken pieces are placed in a boiling water pot, and when its reddish flesh turns white and is cooked, it is drained and washed underneath cold running water to remove impurities. You watched quietly as Yoongi cleans them with his capable hands. His veins protrude, extending well over his forearms. The tip of his fingers were pinker than the rest of his hands, and he smoothes over those nooks and crannies the chicken pieces have. As ridiculous as it may sound, you were quite envious of the fact that those chickens have his full attention now. Next, the carrots.

The carotene source is peeled and chopped in large size. Yoongi helped guide your hands over the handle of the knife, because he is pretty particular on how big he wanted those carrots to be.

“Isn’t that too large?” You asked him in a small voice. They are half the size of your thumb. “No, it’s just nice…” he replied in a low voice, his lips just behind your ear, “It has to be in the same size as the potatoes, so it will cook at the same time.”

Your bottom grazed over his front and he learns to just keep you sandwiched in between the counter and him, so it won’t turn to something else. He is just as anxious as you are with his mom coming. Therefore, the percentage of him turning frisky is zero to none. The onions come next. They are chopped in half and then into fours. Yoongi paused and braced himself for tear gas attacks only there was none. He asks where you bought those onions, and you replied, it was grown in your colleagues garden. They were given for free. And he comments,

“They should sell these, we will be their first loyal customer! It doesn’t sting!”

You laughed as you prepared the fruits you bought. It was rock melon and some papayas. You avoided buying tangerine because you know she will bring some from her hometown, knowing how much Yoongi loves them. Daegu’s tangerines are very sweet and plump. There is nothing like it. Yoongi sliced green onions for the stew and extra hot chili peppers because his mom likes them spicy. Then he prepares the mixture for the broth.

“Now watch,” he instructed you, “Soy sauce, rice wine, red chilli pepper powders, minced garlic, two cups of sugar, red pepper paste, sesame oil, pepper. Mix well.”

Yoongi prepared a pot and placed the cleaned chicken pieces in them, added potatoes, carrots and water with the mixture he made just prior. Then, boil. After the chicken is cooked thoroughly, he adds onions. Then the scallions. Then salt to taste. You prepared the oven and Yoongi carried the pot to it to keep it warm until his mom arrived. Dumplings were pan fried. That one was simple. His mom doesn’t like her beverages too sweet, a simple plain water is enough.

When all the food is done, you turn to him at the same time he did. Sweats rolling down his sideburns and his thin white shirt clinging on his skin like he ran a mile. You approached him with a huge smile, swept his hair back to reveal his forehead and dabbed your inner wrist to wipe away his sweat all around his face. He sniggers through his nose. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, you can’t help but plant a kiss on them. Nuzzling your face on his neck, you draped your arm around his shoulder and mumbled, “Thank you…”

He leans his cheek on your head and kisses one side of your brain, before exclaiming that you both need another shower after cleaning up the kitchen and turning on the air humidifier to chase away the smell of cooking.

“How was the journey?” you chirped. “The weather is scorching hot, the sun is melting me away before I can meet my son,” Yoongi’s mom complained in a thick Daegu accent, and when she stepped in, she gave you a glance and straight away went looking for her precious son. As expected.

“He was just out of the shower, he will come soon, mother,” you said the last word awkwardly, it doesn’t really roll off your tongue as comfortably as it should. She replied to you with a dejected “Hmm.”

You blinked and cast your eyes downwards, then up again to change the topic, “...Let me take you some cold drink… it must have been a torture, to walk around in such hot weather,” you sped to the kitchen and grabbed her a cold water in a tall glass.

“Hello mom…” Yoongi revealed himself from the hallway, gave his mother a hug that you didn’t receive when she walked in. “It wasn’t torture when I’ve come to see my son!” She suddenly changed her words, now she is all bright and cheerful, and you disappeared from her sight completely unless Yoongi looks over to you and includes you in the conversation. That too, wasn’t permanent. Yoongi learned that his older brother’s wife is carrying a baby and Holly had been snuggling to her tummy at every chance she gets. The sight would have been adorable and they were able to take a picture of it so Yoongi’s mom excitedly showed them to Yoongi. They both are sitting on the sofa while you were in the kitchen scooping up cooked rice into bowls of three.

“This sofa is new isn’t it? I didn’t see it the last time I was here,” his mom asked. “Yes, yes… do you like it?” Yoongi said and said you chose them. Then her enthusiasm dissipates. “I like it better without one. Now it’s too westernized,” his mom’s lips turned lopsided, continuing, “Did you know that hanging your legs down will disrupt the blood flow up to your brain? We better sit down on the floor when we eat, too…”

Yoongi prepared a Japanese folded table and pushed aside the coffee table that was there. Everything you’ve prepared on the dining table was moved to the Japanese one. When everything is set, you and Yoongi wait for his mom to start eating before you both do. It’s tradition. Even between man and wife, the older one begins eating first. Yoongi sips the stew and then you begin scooping the stew into your bowl. You were the only one eating mostly with a spoon instead of chopstick since you aren’t too accustomed to it. Yoongi’s mother said in a joking tone that you should start using the training chopstick used by toddlers.

Why are you extra sensitive today? She was just joking, but smiling is so hard right now. Your cheeks feel heavy and your shoulders stiffened. Yoongi carried the rest of the conversation effortlessly. The deep Daegu accent is already shifting your attention towards the fried dumpling instead. It was just a little over 45 minutes since she arrived, why does it feel like days?

“Dumplings, mother?” You chirped, attempted to use the chopstick and successfully landed them in her bowl.

Then she puts them back where they were, and said, “I don’t eat store-bought dumpling, darling,” before resuming to tell Yoongi the story about her neighbour getting into a real estate feud. You hold your breath in your throat and try not to think about it too much. Although you’ve finished your bowl of rice, Yoongi still hasn’t. He was busy nodding away to what his mother was saying. She barely touched the stew. When she turned to her food, you tapped Yoongi’s knee underneath the table and he looked at you wide eyed, darting at the stew. And Yoongi’s lips turned to the shape of an “O”.

“How do you like the stew, mom?” He asked. “It’s okay…” “My wife made it…” Yoongi said with a smug smile.

You smiled, shyly.

“It tastes exactly how Yoongi would cook it. I thought you cooked it, I know how horrible her korean cooking is, Yoongi… You don’t have to lie to me,” his mom passed.

After bidding her farewell at the door, Yoongi accompanied her to his brother’s incoming vehicle that fetches her. His brother made a promise to stop by when the baby arrives and when the Covid cases reduce a bit. You watched from the window from your bedroom and when the car drove off with Yoongi waving goodbye to his mom, your heart thudded differently.

Your eyes stung, and tears impending to fall as it collected around the brims. As you heard the front door beeping open to Yoongi returning, your feet dashed to the bathroom door, pushing it open as your tears rolled down your face like a dam broke.

Sensitive? Too soft? Was I too emotional? Am I not trying hard enough to be enough?

Yoongi walks in, to an eerily silent house. Ridding his shirt by pulling it over his head as he walks down the dimly lit hallway. His heavy footsteps heard across the floorings and you covered your mouth with your hand to not make any sound. He noticed that the bathroom light was on unlike the rest of the room.

“You’re showering alone? Traitor…” he pouted and wriggled the door knob and noticed it was locked from the inside. “I have a stomach ache,” you hoped you sound convincing. Your voice didn’t sound as shaky and you hope he didn’t catch on. “Okay…” he said, after a long pause. You turned the shower on to reduce the sound of you crying, and went back to sitting on the floor by the door, dug the heels of your palm into your eyes socket, and hugged your knees, sniffling.

“Hey…” his voice muffled through the door. “Hmm?” you replied, through a broken smile.

“Are you okay?”

Another dam broke.

Shit, I’ve started crying again. Why can’t I stop crying?! He is going to find out now… Fuck.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through.

“Was it mom? She says something you don’t like? You know how mom is, right? She doesn’t mean any of it…” now it’s Yoongi’s turned to bulldoze you with questions he himself answered.

Unable to take it anymore, you had to speak out, even if it means behind closed doors.

“I know she doesn’t like me as a daughter-in-law…” you spoke in broken voices. “Nonsense…” Yoongi passed, nonchalantly.

“No, will you please just listen to me?!” you raised your voice a bit, “I am not like your brother’s wife who cooks great Korean food, who sends her nice homemade desserts to her likings, and now is bearing a grandchild for her. I can’t cook, and had to rely on you a lot. She came over and she didn’t give me a hug like she did you, and the whole she doesn’t even speak to me unless I speak to her first, and even then, she shuts me down so I couldn’t say another word. I can’t even use a damn chopstick or make homemade dumplings she’ll eat!”

It’s Yoongi’s turn to lean his back on the door and hug his knees, then hang his head low.

“Suddenly the sofa is too westernized. And the glass doors letting in too much sunlight when I renovated it the way she wanted. It seems like everything I do is wrong and I just have no place in the Min’s household no matter how hard I try,” you sniffed, and, “To make matters worse she brought up the girlfriends you had in high school and how they cook her favourite food! Girlfriends! Plural! Here I thought you only had one… Jokes on me, I guess… It’s fine, honestly.”

There's nothing more terrifying than the word ‘fine’ you threw when you’re sad and Yoongi knows it. It signifies so many things. It indicates that you’re done, and you’re ready to let go of it, by shoving it under the rug like many other things your mother in law did to you ever since you met her. Yoongi shot his head up when the door opened and his eyes followed you in silence, a little solemn. You dried your hair, sitting on the makeup chair table, running the cool air Dyson hairdryer over the lengths of your hair. Yoongi crawled on all four and knelt behind you to hug your waist, nuzzling his face on your lower back. Then the tears returned, and kept falling.

Your gaze is stuck on the reflection of you in the mirror. What have we become?

It was one of those moments where no words seemed to suffice. Regrets and guilt becomes almost the same thing. Pointing the blame is the last thing on your mind. Choosing sides is difficult when so much is at stake. You may have unclasped his arm from around your waist, heard his wordless gesture and refused to see his face, but so much of him is in you. The fact you held on for so long was because of that man you love and married. Is this going to happen everytime your mother in law stops by?

Even then, you didn't want him to go against his own mother, nor do you want him to side with her… It was such a confusing situation.

Yoongi needs to return to the studio. He packs a few toiletries and clothes for him to wear while he is there. You helped him pack leftover food so you are not burdened to finish everything alone. The conversation shifts to what matters now. You carry your duty as a wife, his partner. You make sure that he is able to provide for this family and even though your emotions are once again neglected for the time being, you were glad that it actually occupied your mind and heart.

At the door, his manager carried his things and instead of leaving along with his manager, Yoongi told him to go first. You already know what comes next. But you aren't sure if you had it in you. One look in your eyes and Yoongi knows that you will rather die than have that conversation all over again. He ran his finger through your hair, lowered his lips to your forehead and stayed like that for awhile, and you said,

“Take care of yourself,” you spoke to his chest, breathing in his musky cologne for the days ahead without him. He stepped back, thumbed your cheek and pinched your chin, tilting your head back. He glanced at your lips while biting his own then backed away, to leave. As the view of his back got smaller and smaller, he exclaimed, “I’m going.” Not once did he turn behind to have one last look. And it was something Yoongi would do. Doesn’t matter if it's at the airport, or at the backstage, he will never look at you after he leaves you, even when he knows you’re right there standing, and looking at him. He says that, if he saw you standing there waiting for him, he will not be able to fight the urge to run to you. So he never looks back. The one thing that he always does before a work trip, is to kiss your forehead. Dr. Laurel Steinberg says, a forehead kiss indicates strong emotional intimacy.

But Yoongi says that a forehead kiss to him signifies a bond that goes beyond lust and love, it was your soul. It is to say, “I might be too far away to hold you, but my soul is yours.” It sends butterflies and confettis your way when he does it. It always feels warm and you always feel protected with a stamp of Yoongi’s lips on your forehead. It feels like a talisman. That no matter what, Yoongi is here.

Recovery. The emotional turmoil, the rollercoaster. You fill your time organizing the photos Yoongi took. With your final exams finished a week ago, you’re given a month off before you begin your final year. Yoongi now lives in his studio office because the album recording session begins and he is in every process. He is in charge of doubling and finalizing the tracks, directing and whatnot. Yoongi sends you a 1 minute 23 seconds video. Scowling at it, your face softened at the sight of him, recording himself in the studio. Dark circles doubled in size and his cheeks sunken. Poor thing hadn't been eating well did he?

“Hey, sweetie…” his familiar guttural voice resonated with your heart strings, “Sorry I haven’t been able to properly give you a call. It’s too late when I’m free, and I’m asleep when you’re awake. So I figured I’ll just send you a damn video, to hell with it.” You chuckled softly as your visions turned blurry.

“I think I will be addressing the recent issue we tucked away for later day. It’s later. You have never been good at fighting for yourself. It was something I don’t really understand because I’ve seen you fight my fight for me,” he glanced to the side and smiled fondly. You were unclear what situation he was talking about but you kept listening.

“You told me that I shouldn’t side with you because that would mean I am against my mother. Here’s what I truly think…” he breathed in and sighed loudly, “I think I should side with you. I spoke to my mom a few days ago, asked her how she is, and I told her several things I don’t like, like bringing up my past ex girlfriend, or how you can’t use the chopstick yet, or how your korean cooking isn’t great yet… how upset it made you and me. She told me that she was just jealous. I left home when I was 16. Come back when I am 20, married at 25. I will always be her son, I let her know that. But I am now someone’s husband, and I happen to cherish this someone, her heart and her wellbeing is my responsibility. I am not stolen from my mom, I consciously chose this person to be with me, to be her husband and built a home with her. And if she can’t respect that, then she cannot return to our house…”

You had to set the phone down and wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“I’m done being a referee,” Yoongi continued after a long pause, “You’re gonna cry again, and I won’t be able to pass you tissue or give you a hug, I hope you understand what I’m trying to say. I am proud of you and all the little things you do. Daegu dialect is difficult to understand ha? That’s alright. You’re getting your degree, and you help pack my things even though you’re sad as hell the day I left. I couldn’t… I couldn’t ask for a better wife, and I hardly think I deserve you. Until we meet again, soon. Your husband, Min Yoongi.”

The video cuts to him winking.

Another text from him,

[Yoongi, 1.03AM] Impression is never permanent. I hope you give mother another try…

Wife is typing...

[Wife, 1.04AM] Erm. [Wife, 1.04AM] Sends a pic.

[Wife, 1.05AM] How’s this for a lasting impression?

932 notes · View notes

memetaped · 3 years

Text

star trek: deep space 9 taken from the tv show.

come on, let’s get you home.

looks like you need a new bandage.

it’s good to see you got your appetite back.

you’re lucky you only got singed.

i need to know that you’re here, safe. that way, a part of me will always be safe, too.

get your hands off of me, before i do something i’ll regret.

we’ll see each other again soon. that’s a promise.

whatever it is you’ve been through has taken its toll.

that boy’s life is in our hands, and i won’t let anybody give up on him.

there are too many ways to get into serious trouble here.

get some hot chocolate and tell me about it.

you can channel your feelings of aggression in other ways.

this is important. you and i. things change, but not this.

you’re a great boy, you know that?

you have to leave me here and go on by yourself.

but the thing about dreams is, if you talk about them, they kind of go away faster.

now that kid is here under my protection, and i swear, if you do anything to hurt them, i will make you regret it. is that clear?

everyone has to have someone to confide in, someone to hear their stories.

my heart is too big.

the boy’s in a lot of trouble.

everything’s gonna be all right, but you have to try and stay awake for me.

if you were hurt, i’d leave you behind.

hold on, i’m not finished with you.

my dear, you should not be here.

it’s just a nosebleed.

hey, who said anything about being scared?

everyone went out of their way to look after me.

it takes a lot of courage to admit you’re wrong.

you run now, i won’t be able to protect you.

give me that before you hurt yourself.

i don’t need counseling, or relaxation, or time to adjust. i just want to be left alone.

get out.

and i am gonna pray, because i don’t know what else to do.

care for a root beer?

i’ve always loved you. even when i hated you.

before you volunteer too quickly, understand what you’re getting into.

do not hug me.

mom?

i’m not afraid, papa.

you’ve been so kind to me.

i’ve said my piece. sorry for butting in.

you know, why don’t we just call it a day? you obviously have other things on your mind.

i feel sick when i eat. i have pains in my head, in my chest.

you keep moving around, you won’t need any nurse.

i’ve known nothing but violence since i was a child.

what the hell has gotten into your head?

so, now you’re hiding things from me?

i think i could handle some soup.

save your strength

a sharp knife is nothing without a sharp eye.

so, my young friend, what do you think we’re looking at?

confession is good for the soul.

i’m gonna stay here, take care of the wounded. that includes you.

that’s a very personal question.

is this some kind of joke?

look at me. i need to know you’re going to be all right.

hold on, i’m not finished with you.

continually distracted, depressed, and agitated.

you always tighten your brow just a tiny bit whenever you’re about to ask a question.

it’s so small even i can’t stand up in there. look, i’m developing a slouch.

the one good thing about going away is coming home.

you don’t want me hanging around here? fine. i’ll do my thinking someplace else.

i don’t know who’s going to hear this. i don’t even know if i’ll be alive by the time this log is recovered.

we have rights, including the right to be as stubborn or thickheaded as we want.

i know it’s too difficult to speak right now. just rest.

you might say it came to me in a vision.

what are you doing up? you’re supposed to be in bed.

i’ll miss you.

and you’ve got a lot of nerve complaining about being cold when you’re the one wearing the jacket.

the last thing i want is to become a burden to you.

rudeness will get you nowhere.

okay? i’ve forgotten “okay.”

keep your eyes and ears open, follow orders, and try not to get in the way.

it’s not a trick, it’s a choice.

that’s how i think of you. and maybe that’s why sometimes, it’s hard for me to relax around you.

it’s a treatment, not a cure. it’ll prevent hallucinations, take the edge off the depression, but that’s all it’ll do.

you know, that was a very ugly thing you just said.

right now, my head is swimming in bloodwine and i’m going to bed, and so should you.

i’m a little tired. didn’t get much sleep last night.

i appreciate your concern, but i’ll grieve in my own way, in my own time.

we’ve come to care about what happens to these people.

i know that you’ve been working with the maquis, and right now, i don’t care.

are you some kind of anarchist?

when you take someone’s life, you lose a part of your own as well.

home! i want to go home!

besides, i could never live with myself if something happened to you.

now we either freeze to death or starve to death. take your pick.

isn’t there someone you can talk to? someone you trust?

that’s right. it’s okay. everything’s going to be fine.

take my word for it, you’ll survive.

i don’t know about you, but it’s past my bedtime.

do you want to come color with me?

look, i’m not asking you to like me or to be my friend. i’m asking you to join me, to fight at my side.

sealing the entranceway was a risky thing to do. you nearly brought the whole ceiling down on yourself.

i can’t feel my legs.

“a needle in a haystack” wouldn’t do this job justice.

you ought to get some rest.

don’t deny the violence inside of you. only when you accept it can you move beyond it.

make sure to put your plate in the replicator, sweetie.

you know, it’s attitudes like that that keep you people from getting invited to all the really good parties.

i feel like someone just walked over my grave.

we need to get you to the infirmary.

enough. you’re pushing yourself too hard.

if that’s how you remember it, you must’ve hit your head harder than i thought you did.

you should take a break. you’ve been working nonstop for days.

well, you tried being alone and it hasn’t done any good. so maybe it’s time to stop brooding and start talking.

are you part of my family?

my leg is broken.

i’ve been looking all over for you.

you’re suffering from a severe form of amnesia.

speak up for yourself while you’re here, okay?

things that would send cold chills down your spine and wake you in the middle of the night.

i’m the one who should be struggling to stay conscious. i’m the one who’s in excruciating pain.

not just a bad dream – bad memories.

are you two fighting again?

i don’t want your sympathy and i don’t need your advice!

you stay a while longer if you want to, but you have to promise me, when the time comes and i tell you to go, you’ll do it.

look, i know it’s too late for an apology. but for what it’s worth, i’m sorry.

why don’t you go to your quarters and lie down for a while?

everyone keeps looking at me. they’re afraid of me.

i’d never felt more alone in all my life.

i’m half-frozen. i haven’t eaten for days. my muscles won’t work anymore!

what you experienced was an artificial reality, an interactive program that created memories of things that never actually happened.

what could be more important than dom-jot?

i’m not sleeping. i’m checking my eyelids for holes.

i’ve found that when it comes to doing what’s best for you, you humanoids have the distressing habit of doing the exact opposite.

you’re going to give yourself indigestion.

speaking of pain, this is probably going to hurt.

i never thought i would say this to you, but you are listening to your heart, not your head.

would you please go on vacation and get out of our hair?

you should take things easy for a while.

i wish there was something i could do. some way i could promise you that everything is going to be okay.

i’ve done some things i’m not proud of.

i want to stay with you.

my weakness is i’m too generous, too forgiving.

oh, this is one stubborn infection. how long have you had it?

just to “speak up for myself”, i’m feeling a little betrayed here.

the best way to survive a knife fight is to never get in one.

you can annoy me, bait me, question my very existence. but in the end, we both know i’ve won.

i haven’t seen one of these since i was a kid.

it’s a good weapon – solid, simple. you can drag it through the mud and it’ll still fire.

i’m sorry, i hope i haven’t offended anyone.

little children do that.

you know, eventually, you’re going to have to stop talking and deal with this.

if you come with me, you can be a soldier again.

i still wish you’d given me a little more warning.

you can’t expect me to cure it overnight.

i used to dream about you coming to save me. that’s what kept me alive.

you’ve never had those feelings. you don’t know what it means to really care about another person.

let me put it another way. i don’t want to play cards, and even if i did, i wouldn’t want to play with you.

what’s next? do you want to apologize to me? express your sympathy?

i think you went to your quarters last night and you tossed and turned in bed, because you knew some of the things you said to me concerned me.

you’ve got all the emotions of a stone. no offense.

because i have the bad habit of telling the truth even when people don’t want to hear it.

i’m always suspicious of people who are eager to help a police officer.

for as long as i can remember, i have always been an outsider.

you were wounded. try not to move around.

terrorists don’t get to be heroes.

i’ve never needed a friend more than i do right now.

i cried for you. i missed you so much.

we need to stop the bleeding. we better get you up to the ship.

i’m not afraid of you.

for the moment, why don’t you relax? try not to be so tense, take it easy.

we don’t belong in this time. we’re from the future.

you federation types are all alike. you talk about tolerance and understanding, but you only practice it towards people who remind you of yourselves.

now, i think we should concentrate on getting you comfortable with this weapon.

out there, there are no saints, just people – angry, scared, determined people who are going to do whatever it takes to survive, whether it meets with the federation’s approval or not.

yeah, i just banged my head on something.

it’s life. you can miss it if you don’t open your eyes.

i should have known you’d develop feelings for these people you’ve been living with for the past few years.

there’s nothing you can do. um, i just need some time.

i’ll teach you. it’s a very simple game.

you don’t deserve it. nobody does.

and you want to know why you don’t scare me? because i’m already more scared than i’ve ever been in my life.

oh, please. i’m suffering enough without having to listen to your smug federation sympathy.

i know what it’s like to worry about a child.

last night, it sounded like a takaran wildebeest was tromping around up there.

do you remember my face? even a little?

between you and me, those people have every right to defend themselves.

there’s a time for levity, my young friend, and a time for genuine concern.

why? why do you care so much?

i have to save you from yourself.

just because a group of people belong to the federation, that does not mean that they are saints.

life is yours for the taking. all you have to do is reach out and grab it.

no one on this station is better than anyone else. we’re all equal.

that’s why i came to you, because i knew you’d protect me. you will protect me, won’t you?

just because we don’t understand a life-form, doesn’t mean we can destroy it.

oh, we’re all very good at conjuring up enough fear to justify whatever we want to do.

it’s an expression of affection that you find difficult to accept.

look, i just don’t want anything to happen to you.

as your friend, i have to tell you i’m worried about you.

have i ever told you how much i hate that smug, superior attitude of yours?

and as for bedside manner, i’ve known nicer voles.

you’re the terrorist. you tell me.

i repaid kindness with blood. i was no better than an animal.

you don’t know what it means to care about someone, do you?

i’ll try to keep my problems more quiet next time.

are you sure you’re all right?

oh, i slept like an alvanian cave sloth.

just watch your back. you’re in danger.

the thing i don’t understand is why you pretended to be my friend.

i have to say goodbye to you.

#tv tag.#rp meme #rp sentence meme #askbox meme

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

Text

daddy issues - chapter xv

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

A/N for this chapter: this is 3.2k of unedited drama and I am so fucking proud of it. I wrote this entire thing today, and it’s easily one of the pieces I’m most proud of. So I haven’t been able to fit a proper conversation between the reader and Harlan - I couldn’t make the scene justified if his presence was there, since he does seem to be the one thing that keeps the family on the line - but that means I had some ideas of how I can make up for it in the future! Extra chapter? Perhaps. We are approaching the end though. I only have two more chapter planned for this fic and an epilogue. We’ll see how that goes!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Hey!” I got into the car excited to see him again, but I tried to reason with myself that it was all because of his visit to his grandfather’s publishing company, of course. I wanted to know how that went and I was curious as to what Harlan’s plans were, that was mostly it.

The fact that I had genuinely missed the man by my side after spending just four hours away from him had very little to do with it, or so I tried to tell myself. I didn’t know how to deal with depending so much on someone yet.

But I was trying to.

Ransom’s silence alerted me that something was different. I stopped trying to fix myself to look to the side and find him staring out the window, face expressionless and eyes void of any sentiment.

“Ransom, what’s wrong?” Reaching over, I squeezed his thigh to get his attention, and he jerked as if he was genuinely surprise by my presence in the small vehicle. “You look stressed,” I clarified, eyebrows furrowed in worry as I reached over to push away a strand of hair that had fallen out of place.

He just stared at me for a while and still I couldn’t read what he was thinking. Was he mad at me? Had I done something wrong? After what felt like eternity, he sighed, gripping the steering wheel as he looked on his lap and admitted, “I’m gonna have to go to this family dinner on Friday.”

Immediately, I breathed deeply in relief, suddenly realizing just how worried I actually was that his mood had something to do with me. But then I was reminded of the little that Ransom had told me about this family - even that little felt like too much.

I could only imagine the anxiety he was feeling, and my heart ached to soothe him as best as I could. “Do you want me to go with you?” I asked, running my digits over his nape calmly, keeping my voice as soft as possible to help him relax.

Still, his head snapped up so he could meet my eyes, his wide as two saucers as he struggled to process what I’d said. “… You’d do that?” He sounded so surprised, so genuinely shocked by my offer, that I couldn’t stop myself from giggling, taking both of his hands on mine and squeezing them gently.

“Of course I would, honey.” Ransom’s eyes were so soft as they stared into mine, even as my heart doubled its size in its effort to reach out for his, I found myself justifying, “You went with me to see my parents!”

The way his smile dropped at my explanation had me feeling cold and empty, desperate to see him look at me the same way he was doing only seconds ago.

“Besides,” I forced myself to admit it, trying not to sound as breathless as I felt while I opened my heart to him. “I-I don’t want you to go through that alone. I wanna be there for you, like you were for me.”

Immediately, I felt rewarded on my effort to open up by the smile he gave me. “Thank you, baby.” He squeezed my hand this time, and when he leaned over and connected our lips on a quick peck, my heart skipped a beat.

I was in love with this man.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

I sighed as we stood in front of my grandfather’s front door, trying to adjust my sweater that suddenly felt uncomfortable. Beside me, she seemed to be doing the exact same thing, fingers pulling on the end of the dress she was wearing, making me smile.

The dress highlighted her bump - it was now undeniable that she was pregnant and even if I’d never been particularly attracted to women in this stage of life, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her now.

It was like she shined from within. Her beauty amazed me, and so when she noticed me staring and stopped fiddling with her clothes, straightening herself up to ask, “Do I look okay?” I had to stop myself from laughing.

“Yes.” More than okay. “But are you sure you won’t be cold?” We’d gone through this argument before leaving the house, so I was prepared to see her rolling her eyes as she reached out to take my hand in hers.

“Unless your family has the habit of dining outdoors regardless of the weather, I think we’ll be alright.” I chuckled, rubbing my thumb on the back of her hand, but it sounded nervous even to my own ears. It didn’t surprise me that she noticed it. “Are you ready?” She questioned, voice in that soothing tone she used whenever she noticed my stress.

“Not at all,” I admitted, but in all honesty, the prospect of joining my family for dinner didn’t seem as bad as it usually did. Not with her by my side.

“I’m here for you.” Hearing her say those words meant more to me than I was able to properly express at that moment so I just stared at her, taking in the fact that this incredible person actually cared about me.

“Just… don’t leave me alone, okay?” Her immediate nod had me smiling. It prompted me to once again lean over and connect our lips, only this time, when I tried to pull away, she kept me close with her hand on the back of my neck.

Who knows where this kiss might have led us if the door hadn’t open right at that moment, revealing my lousy uncle who stared from me to her with wide eyes?

“… She’s pregnant? With your baby?” A groan was all I could muster as a response, tugging her into the house with me. “When were you going to tell your family?”

“For fuck’s sake,” I cursed, looking around the living room for the bar. “Where’s the goddamn alcohol?” There was no way I’d be able to survive this night without it, as much as I wanted to be supportive of Y/N.

“I think that’s a bottle of scotch,” I heard her whispering next to me, pointing towards a corner of the room, and I sighed in relief at her understanding.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

An hour into the evening and I had already understood why Ransom was the way that he was - and why he liked his grandfather so much, despite how he felt about the rest of the family.

Harlan was gentle where all of his children were… prickly. In fact, he was the only one who addressed me at all, but I found myself feeling grateful for it, since when the dinner actually started, I wanted the rest of the family to forget about me completely.

“I am so sorry,” Harlan apologized, rubbing his hands nervously as he stared at the rest of the family who was walking towards the dining room. “I sleep early, everyone knows that, but this is the only time they could all gather and since they didn’t know you were coming…”

I waved away his apologies, offering him a hug as I wished him good night. “Just as long as you’ve had your dinner, Harlan. Thanks for welcoming me into your home.”

He accepted my embrace easily, taking advantage of the proximity to whisper in my ear, “Just hang on to him, dear. I promise it’ll be worth it.” I smiled when we parted, nodding in confirmation to his words.

“It already is,” I assured him, but he only sighed.

“Make sure to remember that during dinner…” Now I understood why. It started with a simple question, one of the maids offered me some meat, and when I hesitated to answer…

“God, are you daft, girl? Have you never eaten lamb?” My eyes widened in surprise, but before Ransom could have the chance to throw himself at his mother, I just squeezed his thigh.

“I was going to ask her if there was any oregano in the sauce. It’s been making me feel sick.” I didn’t need to add why - the reminder of my situation, of what led me to be there with them in this dining room was very clear in me.

And still, that didn’t stop them.

“That’s a pretty necklace…” Ransom’s father commented before we could even grab a bite. I chuckled to myself, immediately catching onto what he wasn’t saying.

“Thanks, I got it at a little boutique back home. It was a gift for myself after I got my first paycheck.” I could feel Ransom’s gaze on me, the waves of pride rolling from him in waves. It made me smile, but it was just the calm before the storm.

“Ransom, have you contacted a lawyer?” This question came from his uncle’s wife, Donna - I think that’s what she was called. Not that she tried to introduce herself to me or anything, but Harlan made sure I knew everyone’s name as soon as I stepped inside the house.

“Why?” Ransom’s tone was vicious and his squinted eyes alerted everyone that he was prepared for a strike, but the fact that he still hadn’t anticipated what was coming almost made me laugh.

Even Donna herself hesitated, unbelieving that he was going to make her say it. “There’s no way you’re that stupid.” And just like that, the doors to hell were opened up.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but then again, was I really surprised?

“You should make sure to draw a prenup,” Donna insisted, while the rest of the family pretended not to hear, undoubtedly coming up with their own ways to insult Y/N. “Something that will assure only your kid has access to your money.”

I could hear Y/N quietly laughing to herself next to me, but while she was able to find the irony in the situation amusing, all I felt was blinding rage.

“God, do you even hear the shit you say? I never asked for your input, this, right here, is precisely why I didn’t tell any of you all about my baby.” I saw Y/N flinch from the corner of my eyes before I heard my mother’s fork drop against the precious porcelain dish she was pretending to eat from. I knew this was the sorest topic of discussion for her. I knew this was why she had been pretending Y/N wasn’t even there, hadn’t even been invited to dinner with me.

“Fair enough,” she spoke, lying back against her chair as she finally raised her eyes to meet mine. “I don’t know if we even should learn anything about this child, considering it most likely isn’t even yours.”

It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice over me. Y/N was oddly quiet now, seemingly as frozen as me - and when I realized that, my anger returned with twice its power.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I warned, just as my mother retorted, “Don’t you talk like that to me.” I didn’t even have the chance to talk back when she stroke again. “You fuck so many ransom desperate chicks, I’m surprised this is the first you knocked up.”

This was as insulting to her as it was to me, and it also struck a chord in me because of how I feared this was just reinforcing Y/N’s views of me. “Don’t say shit like that,” I threatened, to no avail. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Ransom…” Her sweet voice tried to intervene, but I was too far gone to hold myself back now. I couldn’t stand the thought that I was hurting her because I was the reason she was here in the first place.

“You know nothing about her, and yet you feel comfortable judging her,” I continued, ignoring her completely. “She’s a lawyer, actually. You would know it if you had even bothered to talk to her. If there was ever the need for a prenup, I’d have her draw it.”

Maybe they thought I’d stop at that - I thought so myself, until I realized there was still so much I wanted to get out, and I was going to do that now.

“And you know what? I trust her more than I trust you, and I came out of you. So maybe you should consider that before you attack the one person I try to introduce to my family.” I hated everything about this. I hated how they still managed to get to me, how the fact that my own mother, who I didn’t even respect, still managed to make me feel inadequate about the one thing in my life that made me excited.

I knew I’d always lose with them. They just had this way of inciting the beast in me - they brought out the worst in me, and I felt helpless to fight it.

“Okay, so she’s not some random skank,” my uncle oh-so-helplessly interrupted, immediately making me want to punch him in his stupid face. “But this just means she’s the one playing you.”

“Oh, shut up!” I threw my hands up, pushing my chair away from the table, fully intended to storm out of the room until Meg was the one who stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Did you even get a paternity test, Ransom?” She seemed almost uncomfortable to voice it, eyes darting from me to Y/N, but I could read her apologetic smile perfectly.

She just didn’t want someone else to get Harlan’s attention and interest because that would potentially mean less money to each and everyone of the people in this room, as he’d add one more person to his aid list.

My father took advantage of what Meg said, waving in her direction. “Don’t you know how important this family is? How quickly she could rise in any job because of a connection to us?”

My mother scoffed, finally ready to interfere again. “Knowing she’s actually smart leaves me even more surprised that you’ve relented and decided to become someone’s little plaything until this baby pops out. I’m assuming a few months with a screaming kid and you’re just gonna abandon her anyway. Which is fine by me, I won’t have to pretend to be a grandmother for long.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

All I could think was how grateful I was that I had accompanied him to this dinner tonight. As I watched his chest heaving with fury, I could not imagine how he would have felt having to deal with all of this on his own.

“Ransom,” I tried to catch his attention, pulling him back to his seat. “Ransom, it’s okay,” I tried to appease him, but he was too fucking gone to care.

“No, it’s not okay, he pushed my hand away, getting up from his chair to lean over the table, both hands on top of it as he stared at his mother. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He yelled, making me flinch, although Linda hardly seemed bothered by it.

Then, much to my surprise, Ransom straightened up, running a hand through his hair as an emotionless chuckle escaped him. “No, you know what? You’re right. You’re not gonna be a grandmother. I’m gonna be a father, Harlan’s gonna be a great-grandfather, but that’s it. I’m not gonna keep taking your shit anymore, Linda, you know why? Even if this child wasn’t mine, I’d still want her and this kid.”

My heartbeat pumped out of control as he continued, “She’s not just someone who’s carrying my child. I care about her. And if you can’t respect her, than I guess I was right in keeping this pregnancy from you.”

I held my breath as Ransom apparently caught his, my head swirling with the different emotions running through me - my infatuation for this man, who had so fiercely defended me from his entire family, the adrenaline from witnessing such a vicious argument.

I truly believed this would be the end of it. I didn’t know where they could go from here - that was, of course, until Linda decided to attack him.

“Oh, and you think you’re going to be so great with it?” My blood boiled when her words turned against her own son so easily. Attack me and my dignity? That was okay, these people didn’t know me.

But seeing her attack Ransom was just too much for me.

“Do you think she’ll want to keep you around once she realizes she’ll be raising two children with you to weigh her down?” Ransom visibly faltered, like she had slapped him, and that’s when I had enough. “You’ll never be able to give her the emotional support that she needs and you know that.”

I rose to my feet at that, holding onto my lower back as I softly slapped Ransom’s back in an attempt to calm him down. “I got this, babe.” He was so surprised - and still so hurt by his mother’s statements - that he didn’t even try to stop me. In fact, I think he didn’t even realize what was going on until I turned to Linda and started talking.

“Do you really think that poorly of your son that you can’t believe he has anything to offer in a relationship?” Now she was the one who looked up at me with an expression that looked like I had physically hurt her.

“Is it that unbelievable to you, that someone would be able to like him for him?” She didn’t seem to be able to find anything to answer to me, and when I turned to Richard, I was also met with silence.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

“Well, I do,” she announced, like it was the single most obvious thing, the simplest fact to deduce in the world, while I stood back watching her with my mouth hanging open. “I like him enough to be willing to open up to him even if one day he might leave me because to me, he is worth any possibility of future pain.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d never had anyone defend me like this, not even Harlan - not even my parents, when I was a kid and the bigger children decided to bully me.

No, back then all I got was a talk about how “real men don’t cry” and if my father ever caught me cowering from someone else again he’d give me a real reason to be afraid.

“And I do say possibility,” she continued, not having raised her voice for even a second and still to effortlessly able to catch the attention of everyone in the room, assure herself the ground to speak her mind without the fear of interruptions. “Because Ransom’s actions have never given me any reason to think that outcome is even remotely probable.”

“So maybe you think about your own opinions of your son’s character and see if they don’t reflect your own more than they reflect his actions.” She turned around after that, tiny hand encircling my wrist as she began to yank me in the direction of the front door.

“Let’s go.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale reader #my series #ransom drysdale reader insert #ransom drysdale reader inserts #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale series #ransom drysdale writings

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faggyangel · 3 years

Text

"Ian aches for the boy in the tiny gold shorts with blue lips and an empty stomach. He aches for the boy who woke up in cold alleys, shaking from the drugs he didn’t know he took exiting his system. He aches for the boy who was torn apart for the amusement of others. He aches for the kid who thought he deserved to ache.

Ian wishes he could go back, meet him, tell him that he’ll be okay. He wants to convince him that he’ll be able to look in a mirror again and smile not because he was told to, but because he feels like it."

"God, you’re pretty,” the words are accompanied by sharp stubble against his cheek, chafing Ian’s skin. He’ll wake up with burns in the morning along with bruises from where the man is holding his biceps.

“Thanks,” Ian slurs, his eyelids dipping down, he gives in and allows them to close.

“Yeah, you’re real pretty, be even prettier if you lost a few pounds but I won’t hold it against ya,” he whispers against his skin, his breath stinks of alcohol and something rotten. Ian’s not sure what it is but it’s unfurling from the man’s mouth and clogging up Ian’s nose, crawling through his throat, slow and sadistic, until it settles in his mouth and on his tongue. Foreign, sharp, dirty nails carve crescents into his thin sides. Ian’s breath catches at the intrusion.

Ian wakes up the next morning in an alley, his fingertips frozen and bruises along his biceps, just as he predicted. He picks himself up and walks back to work, his body starting to shake and sweat despite the thin layer of snow falling down onto his hair.

He shakes it off and looks down at his stomach, still feeling the man’s breath invading his ear. He supposes he would be prettier, that’s his job right? Looking pretty? Yeah, he should. His stomach aches but he ignores the tightening feeling.

“Yo! Gallagher! Want some food? Me and the boys are gonna go get some burgers?”

Ian looks towards his companions and wipes the side of his mouth. He considers it for a moment, almost giving in to his screaming stomach.

“No, thanks,” Ian bites his lip as he watches them walk away. He counts the seconds, trying to push away the traitorous memory of the taste of sweets. He ate last night, he’ll be fine until tomorrow. He’s done it before, he’ll do it again.

It’ll be fine, he thinks, right before he passes out.

There are blurry shapes and vague voices hovering right outside of unconsciousness.

He jerks up, his vision adjusting to the bright lights.

“Your shift started ten minutes ago, you should get out there,” someone says beside him.

Ian nods, trying to regain feeling in his limbs. He feels weak and tired, his legs straining to pull himself up. Even still, while his body begs for his attention, he ignores it.

As long as someone thinks he’s beautiful, it’ll be worth it.

Ian stares at the mirror that he propped up in their bedroom over three years ago.

He stares at his pudgy stomach, his less defined jawline, his thicker thighs.

He runs his hands gently over his stomach as it protrudes against his shirt, feeling the soft skin underneath rise and fall with every breath he takes.

The memory of strange nails and a twisting ache now a faint memory that appears every once in a while.

He feels a different ache now.

Now, as Ian stares at his body, as he listens to his husband snoring behind him, he feels an ache in his heart as opposed to his stomach.

He aches for the boy in the tiny gold shorts with the blue lips and empty stomach. He aches for the boy who woke up in cold alleys, shaking from the drugs he didn’t know he took exiting his system. He aches for the boy who was torn apart for the amusement of others.

He aches for the kid who thought he deserved to ache.

“Jesus, what time is it?” Mickey mumbles from the bed, twisting around in the sheets.

Ian watches him in the mirror, smiling at the way he rubs his eyes and yawns.

“It’s lunch time, doofus,” Ian turns and pokes Mickey in the leg.

“Whatever, what the fuck are you doing?” Mickey sits up and moves down to the edge of the bed where Ian is sitting. He wraps his arms around Ian’s torso, softly rubbing over his sides. He kisses his neck before resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Mhm,” Ian hums, tilting his head so he’s leaning against Mickey’s, “Getting up at a reasonable time, what about you?”

He feels Mickey’s laugh as it vibrates his skin, “Jackass,” he yawns, “You hungry?”

Again, Ian stares at the mirror; he smiles at his chubby stomach and big thighs.

His stomach rumbles. He listens.

“Yeah, I could really fucking go for some burgers,” He sighs, letting his shoulders fall and his body relax as he welcomes Mickey’s breath against his ear.

“Mhm, whatever you want, lover,” Mickey kisses his cheek and hops out of bed.

Ian stands up to follow him, taking one last look in the mirror.

Damn, he thinks, I’m beautiful.

#summary: ian used to starve himself; now he looks in the mirror and loves what he sees #i just want ian to love his body thats all #rewatched season 6 recently and i keep thinking about ians line to mandy like we knew he looked skinnier but him actually saying he would #starve himself is just different #like he puts so much weight into how much men want him and he's willing to starve himself to do that and to think he just allows himself to #be happy and sated and well fed and loved now is just such a beautiful thing i love love love it #shameless #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #gallavich fanfiction #also yes this is a part of the all you wanna do series #bleh goodnight/good morning #tw eating disorder #tw body dysmorphia

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nightowlwriting · 3 years

Text

summary: fjord takes care of the mighty nein. you take care of fjord. (part 4/13 of the kindness series, a thematically connected series of c2/exu imagines)

word count: 2.7k

warnings: mentions of self-hatred, bullying, lack of self-confidence

note: idk why this one took me so long and, honestly, it was almost super nsfw lmfao

masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Fjord is a man who appears to know exactly what he needs and when he needs it. You’re not so sure. You tend to hang back when the group talks to people, or finds jobs for coin, just to watch. That’s what you like to do - get information, tuck it away, use it later.

It just happens that sometimes you end up watching Fjord. There’s no reason, not really. He’s the leader by default, no matter how much Nott will say that it’s Caleb. He does most of the talk, smiling all coy and leaning against things to charm the party’s way through whatever Gods forsaken situation you end up in. It mostly works, with some exceptions. There are things you begin to notice in the nights after Fjord has failed to charm someone with a well-placed wink, or a sir or a ma’am. He makes the fire just a little bit larger, stacking logs and kindling and using his flint so that Caleb doesn’t have to use his magic. He cooks heartier food, sometimes even disappearing and coming back with a skewered animal from the forest to add to the pot of simmering soup. He takes the first watch and doesn’t wake anyone until halfway through the second watch so that everyone can sleep longer, even if it makes him crabby the morning after.

You come to a conclusion. Fjord takes care of people when he feels like he’s not enough. He overcompensates in his acts of kindness when something he does fails - but why? To make you all stay? To make sure you know his worth in the group? To make up for whatever he sees as a downfall? Honestly, you’re worried it’s a little bit of all three. You’re not really sure about how the mind works - that would be more for Molly, or Caleb honestly - but growing up in an orphanage with children who pick and prod at your every physical characteristic cannot be good for a person. Especially with Fjord insisting that he doesn’t have a last name, despite the times that he introduces himself and you see it die on his lips before he can say it. There’s something there, but you won’t pry. People deserve their secrets. They deserve to keep something for themselves.

If he wants to keep his last name, that’s fine with you. If he wants to keep the self-loathing inside of him until he explodes, well, that’s not fine with you. That’s why when you realize that he decompresses by making himself useful, as if the group might dismiss him just because a few people were immune to his charms, you decide to do something. No amount of reassurance from anyone will convince him otherwise and the rest of the group tends to shrug away from his slightly overbearing kindness when something goes south. Caleb, Beau, and Molly are just uncomfortable with it while Jester is usually too engrossed in journaling, Tusk Love, or talking to the Traveler. Nott is somewhere between Caleb and Yasha (uncomfortable and straight-up not around to be doted on.) And… Well, that leaves you.

It’s not that you mind Fjord’s constant doting after he perceives something to have gone wrong, but it’s hard to let him in. Your life before the Mighty Nein wasn’t exactly peaches and cream, either, but you know that he needs this. He needs to feel like he’s doing something for someone or he’ll break. You only notice that, though, after a particularly rough, rainy day of trying to get information out of people for a job. Fjord had forgotten something important which threw off the communication and sent everyone you were working with into an angry tizzy. By the time you make it back to the tavern, everyone is soaked to the bone and cranky, even you - and you tried your best to avoid getting out in the rain. What you really want to do is go back to your room and change out of your wet clothes and then go to fucking bed, but you hold back. The group disperses one by one until it’s just you and Fjord left at the bar, and before you can make your leave you see his hands shaking. His hands, which are large and calloused and strong, are shaking like a leaf in the wind. There’s no other outward sign that he’s feeling stressed or upset, and that surprises you. It also worries you. This is not how Fjord acts when something goes wrong. He doesn’t sit at the bar and brood over an ale - he mother-hens his friends until they’re sick to death of hearing his deep, drawling voice.

The combination of these things is probably what makes you pause halfway out of your seat, eyes narrow and trained on him. He makes eye contact for a brief second before looking back down to his drink. You know that approaching and asking him if he’s okay will get you nowhere but you can’t leave him alone at the bar, not when you know he’s stewing on every mistake, every misstep, whether they really happened or he’s just overanalyzing his movements. He’s your… He’s more than a friend to you, despite the fact that he doesn’t know that and you don’t show it outwardly. Fjord means too much to you to be able to let him sit and spiral into a funnel of self-doubt. You know that it will be weird to put your pride to the side and ask for help, but you also know that you don’t really need help.

But asking Fjord for help means that he’ll feel better and you think that’s a very good reason to shelf your pride for a night.

He barely looks up at you when you approach, still dripping all over the tavern’s floors and hesitant to speak. He doesn’t speak, either, just takes another long pull from his ale to bide his time until you leave. (Probably.) You take the leap first and say his name. “Fjord.” He doesn’t look at you. “I know we’ve all had a bad day,”

“You can say that again,” He snorts.

“We have,” You stress, one hand finding the hilt of the dagger on your waist for some sort of comfort. You’re wildly uncomfortable and can feel the urge to run, get away, flee building up in your gut. If you’re not careful, it’ll spill out your mouth and you’ll be forced out of the tavern for the night in humiliation and self-preservation. “It has been one hell of a day today. I do not want to be alone.” Your sentence cuts off briskly and Fjord looks up in surprise. Your face mirrors his - untamed surprise. You had really opened your mouth to ask if he wanted to find a table and listen to your vent but what came out was I do not want to be alone. You blink and think what the fuck? Before Fjord is shaking off his surprise and standing.

“I suppose I can give Molly the room for the night.” He extends an arm towards you but doesn’t look at you. He’s doing a much better job of hiding how strange you’re acting than you are but still, you’re not going to let this opportunity pass. You wrap your own arm around Fjord’s and he begins to lead you toward the stairs. “Anything specific bothering you?”

“Nothing really,” You hum as you respond, hoping that by allowing him past your walls that it will help him, “Today is just a bad day.” Fjord halfheartedly agrees and your nerves shoot through the roof when he leaves you at your door, explaining that he’s going to warn Molly that he won’t be in the room tonight. You nod at him and slip into your own room, leaving the door cracked so that he won’t feel awkward about entering. Your laundry is everywhere and you grit your teeth, doing your best to hold back a scream. God damnit, you’re about to have the man that you have a crush on in your room and today is the day you threw your laundry all over?

It doesn’t even matter that he’s traveled with you in carts where there is no possible way to not overlap on laundry slash unmentionables. You still dash about, shoving your laundry into a pile in the corner and covering it with your weapons and shield just before Fjord raps his knuckles against the door frame, calling your name. You shiver and invite him in, wringing your hands as you stand in front of the unlit fireplace. “Are you okay?” He’s so earnest and it makes you feel… A little bad. You don’t want to say no to having Fjord be with you overnight because his presence is so calming, but it’s also… He’s not in your room because…

Ugh. “Fjord,” You say before you can stop yourself, “Okay, so, you can’t be mad but I noticed when things go wrong you’re really, really hard on yourself and you shouldn’t be. And I also noticed that when you’re hard on yourself you dive into taking care of other people because, I don’t know, maybe it feels like you’re doing something good? I’m not sure, but I really meant to ask if you wanted to talk but then that came out instead but I can’t let you stay in here if you don’t know why I asked.” He stands there, taking in what you’ve said, and then shakes his head. Your room is dark - too dark for you to see whether or not the small smile on his face is actually there or if you’re imagining it. When he chuckles, you’re more apt to believe that Fjord is actually smiling even after the day he’s had. “Um,” You finally cut the silence, “Please say something.”

“You mean to tell me,” He drawls, stepping slowly closer and removing his chest plate. It’s like his mood has gone a full 180 from where it was when he left you outside of your room, “That you looked so awkward and like a li’l kicked puppy because you wanted to help me feel better?” He sets his chest plate on the table, coming into your sight as your vision begins to adjust. You don’t get a good look at what’s happening on his face because you look away very quickly, setting your jaw.

“Well, when you put it that way,” You grumble and cross your arms, “You just like to help people - it makes you feel better.”

Fjord comes to a stop in front of you and sighs, but doesn’t say anything. Your hands begin to shake and honestly, you regret your stupid fucking decision to try and help Fjord out. You wouldn’t be here, standing in front of him and purely humiliated, if you didn’t look at him and notice so much. He finally responds, one of his hands coming up to touch at your bicep and then trails up until he’s cupping your shoulder. “I do like to help people,” He’s speaking more from his chest than his mouth, and you can almost feel the rumble through the grip he has on your shoulder. It’s not tight but it’s there, heavy and comforting. “I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“I notice a lot,” You supply, tugging your chin away when Fjord tries to use the other hand to make you look at him. It’s only after he says your name in a soft voice that you look. You’re surprised to see that he looks soft… Soft and fond. “Please,” You whisper, uncrossing your arms to grab both of his wrists. You’re not even sure what you’re asking for but the way that you whispered please is the closest to begging that you’ve ever gotten.

“Please?” Fjord says, sounding incredibly confused but soft at the same time. You shake your head, trying again to look away from him. He ducks down, catching your eyes again, “It’s just me, remember? This is why you asked me here, isn’t it? To help you feel better?”

To your horror, you feel yourself mist up. “I invited you here so you could feel better, Fjord. I don’t want you to be so hard on yourself, and the only time I’ve seen you calm down after a bad day is when you’re taking care of one of us. I thought… Even if I don’t really need to be taken care of, that would help you. I just want… I want you to feel better.” He steps closer toward you, caging you into the rough stone of the fireplace but doesn’t speak. You’re almost worried that Fjord is going to cold clock you, but then he does something that you expected even less.

He surges forward and kisses you. Every part of him nearly engulfs you - the hand on your shoulder moves to the back of your neck, anchoring you to him, while he groans deep in the back of his throat. Your hands scramble for some purchase to express your surprise, landing on his hearty shoulders, clenching in the fabric of his shirt. You sigh into Fjord’s groan, and press as close as possible to his body heat. No matter how much you don’t want to admit it, you’ve been craving this: closeness with another person, pressing tight against their body… You’d be lying if you didn’t admit that when you thought of that, of intimacy, that you pictured Fjord. You just didn’t think he pictured you.

Fjord surges forward again, and you feel the soft scrape of tusks against you when he opens his mouth to breathe, keeping his nose pressed tightly to yours. “I didn’t think,” He says, accent thinner than you’ve heard previously, “I never dreamed that you would feel…”

“Oh, I feel,” You tell him, slowly moving your hands until you can intertwine your fingers behind his neck, “I feel so much, Fjord.”

“You never said…” He sneaks another kiss between his words, dropping his hands to squeeze at your waist, “You never even let on that you see me this way.”

“I do a lot of looking and not a lot of showing,” You remind him - it was something he had said to you when you first joined his group. I always catch you lookin’, but you never show. It’s terribly funny because he’d said it while the Mighty Nein were all naked, sudsy, and sharing a bathhouse at Molly’s insistence. The group had a field day with that and still does. The memory is apparently still fresh in Fjord’s head because a blush creeps high over his cheeks and he looks away, flustered. “You’re strong and pretty and beautiful and you take care of us so well. Even when you’ve had a bad day. I look up to you so much, but at the same time I want, perhaps selfishly, to take care of you in ways that you might not take care of the group.” He almost looks surprised at what you’ve said, but then it melts into a look of soft adoration. Fjord kisses you again and then drags his lips lightly over the arch of your cheek before he rests his head on your shoulder where he inhales deeply, his breath tickling your throat. You can feel his hands contracting against your waist, like he wants to touch and feel but is settling for keeping them where they are and feeling the soft give of your flesh. You know your heart is spinning at what feels like a million miles per hour, and you know that he can probably hear it, too. You can’t find anything in you that cares, though, because you’re so close to Fjord. He smells like saltwater, you realize. Not in a way that it seems like he’s been coughing it up again, or in the ocean, but just sort of… Naturally. Like he’s always smelled that way. Like you’ve always known he smelled that way. Like you were always meant to know and to find comfort in it. You pull yourself closer, relishing in the way that you hold each other, and Fjord sighs. You can feel the way that he relaxes underneath your hold and you relax, too.

This… This is the way that it’s supposed to be. This is how you can do for Fjord what he’s done for your team - except different. Except more.

#critical role imagine #c2 imagine #cr imagine #fjord stone imagine #fjord imagine #fjord stone x reader #fjord x reader #fjord stone / reader #fjord / reader #campaign 2 imagine #critfic

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loversandantiheroes · 3 years

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Can. Can we talk about how dexterous and clever Whiskey’s hands are. Can we talk about how strong and nimble and skilled they are. Can we.

(Hands anon) And honestly I’m a Frankie and Mando girl as well, you KNOW they hands are just as good 👌🙌

I want you to know I have tried to come back to this ask I don’t know HOW many times, but I always get incredibly distracted and just kind of stare into space with my eyes glazed over for like forty-five minutes. Can’t imagine why...

1.8k words of pure hand-related yearning featuring Din, Frankie, Whiskey, and a bonus Ezra bc I was compelled.

Din’s hands are exactly what you’d expect in some ways - broad and strong as vise-grips, but meticulously deft when it comes to things that require care, whether that’s stripping down his weapons to clean them or patching your wounds (a surprise in and of itself given the impatient, almost flippant way he tends to the holes in his own hide). What is surprising is just how soft his hands are under those ever-present gloves. If you ever bring it up he’ll only huff a laugh, insisting his hands are as much a part of his toolkit as his weapons and his armor, and he wouldn’t be much of a Mandalorian if he didn’t take care of his tools. Unpainted beskar needs to be cleaned and polished frequently, his guns need to be maintained, and the leather of his gloves need oiling to stay supple. And his hands, too, need maintaining. And well, hide is hide, and the oil he uses on his leathers goes a long way towards making sure his hands don’t crack or chap.

He’s a man of opposites, especially once you start to get past his defenses. He can be absolutely unyielding and also shockingly gentle. With the armor on he can be almost brazen about the way he touches you, particularly if what’s between you is purely physical. Just scratching an itch? Oh, he can do that, that’s easy. And those hands can lock you down better than any binders. But if it becomes more than that, if he starts pulling you close when he’s just down to his flight suit and there’s no cold press of metal between you, and finally works up the courage to pull those soft-worn gloves off? It’s hard to imagine this is the same man. He’s hesitant. Nearly timid, you think at first, until you realize his hands aren’t trembling just from nerves but from the effort of control. Touch is a luxury Din has never been afforded, something new to learn in the dark of his bunk with you pressed up against him with your back to his chest, overwhelmed by the simple contact of his fingers curling hesitantly around your own. Give him time to breathe, to process, to touch without fear that it will overload him or that he might by some pure accident of excitement touch too hard and hurt when he doesn’t mean to (it is, he still thinks on his more rueful days, what he is built for; not this tenderness). Your patience will absolutely be rewarded.

Frankie’s a bit of a different story, bless his heart. His nails are starting to look a little less ragged these days - the nicotine gum has gone a long way towards both helping him back off the cigarettes and keep him from chewing them ragged when his anxiety’s off the rails - but given when he’s grounded he tends to go for more hands-on jobs, his hands can take a horrible beating. If he’s not seeing anyone he doesn’t bother much trying to take care of them beyond pumice soap and the occasional application of vaseline or bag balm in the winter time when they get chapped. But if that should change, suddenly he’s blisteringly self-conscious about his hands. The spots where the skin is rough and peeling, the calluses that he’ll never be able to file down and the ones he is only just beginning to see fade (index finger, between the first and middle digits - his thumb still worries over it absently, as if trying to rub it out). He buys a nail brush, starts using balm every night, trying to work the coarseness out of his hands before he ever dares to touch you with them.

And god he wants to touch you. Touch is a grounding thing for him, a much-needed anchor to keep him in the here and now. If he’s near enough you’re almost certain to find his hands on you - snaking his fingers between yours, or resting his hand light and warm against your thigh when you come along for a drink with the boys, or pressing his palm flat and solid against your back to keep you steady when he walks you to the car after. And that’s maybe the thing that clings to your bones the strongest: how safe those hands make you feel. He’ll learn your body until he knows every dip and curve, knows the paths to skate his fingertips along, where to press in deep, where to only graze until he’s got every nerve singing. But it’s that sense of safety that overwhelms you, that feeling when his hands cup your face or settle gently on your hips or close warmly around your own that there isn’t a force in the world that could hurt you as long as he’s there.

Tell him so. Fold his hands up in your own, brush your lips over his knuckles, and tell him that you know you’re in good hands - in the best hands. It’ll nearly crack his heart in half to hear it. He knows what those hands have done, no matter how hard he’s tried to wash them clean of it. But if they can make you feel safe, then maybe they’re worth something after all.

Whiskey is too vain not to take care of his hands, let’s be honest. Though there is a bit of practicality to his vanity - there always is, somehow, like the grain of sand that spawns a pearl. He learned early enough that if he was fool enough not to take care of his hands it played hell with his ability to use them properly, and much like Din, he fully recognizes that his hands are as much a necessary tool as anything Statesman could provide him. Decades of experience with his lasso, whip, and guns have left the palms of his hands thickly callused (his right only slightly more so than his left), but careful attention has assured they’re never outright rough. The way he uses those hands, though, that’s a different story. They’re strong and shockingly clever, and just as greedy as the rest of him. Whiskey has a permanent case of Roman hands and Russian fingers, all too likely to have his hand dangerously high up your thigh in public (and far higher still if you’ll let him), but always just out of the view of the people around you. He’s a menace, through and through, but rest assured, he won’t be putting his hands on you unless he’s sure you want that (and if you do, he will absolutely make every second count - he is as greedy for your pleasure as he is his own).

If he’s managed to get himself in a state where there’s more than just his libido involved, well, it’d be disingenuous to suggest that tactile greed ever goes away, there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of that, but it does change. He still wants to touch you (there isn’t a second in the day this man does not want to be touching you, somehow in some way), but it’s different. It’s smaller touches among the big ones, almost innocuous. Fixing your necklace when it’s crooked. An idle stroke of his thumb along your wrist, or a brush of his fingers along your forehead to sweep the hair out of your eyes. Helping you in or out of your coat, or taking a knee to do up the laces of your winter boots, or nuzzling ever so briefly into the back of your neck while his clever fingers cinch up a knot into the new apron you bought while you were on a baking kick. The man’s got twenty years of latent domesticity stored up and he can’t quite help it if you bring it out in him.

When you meet Ezra, he’s down to just the one hand, though you don’t quite notice at first. You're making your introductions - new dig crew, small, but seemingly well-seasoned, even counting the young girl that keeps a nervous orbit around Ezra - not quite clocking the way his right arm moves just a little different under the thick fabric of his suit until you close your hand around his and feel the hardness of metal under his glove. If anyone is bold enough to ask how he lost the arm, he’ll just give a grin and insist it is not lost: he remembers exactly where he left it. His remaining hand is striking somehow when you first see it without the thick gloves on. Wide palm, thick fingers, a prominent thumb joint. A small black target tattooed there in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. But his right hand, his new hand, he never takes the glove off of that one. It’s accident the first time you see the thing in full, poking your head in his tent to let him know breakfast is running a little late on account of a brief problem with the water pump. You find him sitting on his bunk in a battered thermal shirt with one sleeve cut off, his suit shoved down to his waist as he wrestles the prosthetic into place as Cee adjusts the harness over his shoulders. It’s by no means top of the line, but it’s no cheap thing, that much you can tell. The fingers, you know by now are fully articulated, and you can see now the digits and palm are thickly padded with silicone grips. Ezra’s face hardens at the intrusion, Cee freezing behind him like a startled deer. But then he sees it’s only you and the tension drains, his face softening, and he assures you they’ll both be out in a tick, just as soon as he’s made himself presentable.

It’s weeks later that you realize he’s only ever touched you with his right hand once. Just the handshake that first day. It’s tough to notice, honestly. He’s not one to crowd into your space if you don’t want it, unless of course he’s trying to make a point. You remember the floater that had wandered into your camp trying to make trouble, and the way Ezra had put a seemingly amiable hand on the man’s shoulder as he talked, smiling big and broad, and it wasn’t until the man cried out, dropping to his knees and clutching uselessly at his shoulder that you realized the full strength he carries in that prosthetic. But every time Ezra is close enough to you to touch, it’s his left that finds you. He makes a point of it, even going so far as to stay to your right when you walk together, but you don’t fully notice until one day he turns to you with an awkward twist to take hold of your arm with his left rather than his right.

It’s later, much later, in the dim quiet of your own tent, when the small touches finally snowball into something larger and more urgent and finally you feel that hand on you, bare and broad and warm as he cups the back of your neck to draw you close, and he almost laughs into your mouth when you suddenly ask him why he does that.

“Dear heart, if I am to touch you, I mean to feel it.”

Perma-Tag: @missredherring @dovesnroses @astroboots @magpierhymes @alienprincesspoop @aasimarr @maythxthirstbxwithyou @recklesswit

Pedro Perma-Tag: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @corvueros @thirstworldproblemss @littleferal @krissology @frannyzooey @Forallthestarsinthesky @princess76179

#Anonymous #pedro pascal #din djarin #frankie morales #agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #ezra #ezra prospect #hands hands hands #shockingly tame all things considered #ezra's breaking pattern a bit but hell #I finished a thing #I'll take it #this is the part where I have a mild panic over whether or not I should be using taglists for headcanons #I think too much #idk lmk if you don't want to be tagged in these things #I'm gonna go drink coffee and wash dishes

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marjansmarwani · 3 years

Text

flicker, into a flame

13.1k || ao3

When their home is attacked and they get separated, TK is left to face the awful possibility that he might lose Carlos. When he finds out later that the attack on their home could be in retaliation for his dad's newest obsession with Austin's arsonist, he lashes out. Owen never wanted any of this to happen and if he could he would take it all back, but that's not possible. All any of them can do is hope for the best and that Carlos makes it through. If he doesn't nothing will ever be the same, for any of them. ----- A 2x12 spec fic

This got a lot longer than I meant it to be. But here it is - just in time to be proven wrong! This was started before the promo clip of Gabriel arresting Owen so that is not in here, but there are still many of my theories, and just as many from @silvarafael who helped a lot with the plot of this one. Yes it is angsty, but I promise there are soft parts, and a soft ending because they deserve it.

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

TK woke up to a soft kiss on his forehead. He blinked his eyes open to find his fully clothed boyfriend staring down at him with a gentle smirk. “What,” Carlos began with a raised eyebrow, “three weeks of living together and we’ve already hit the ‘in bed before 9’ part of our relationship?”

TK rolled so he was facing Carlos, giving him a warm smile that morphed into a yawn. “Sorry babe,” he said around the yawn, “it was a really long shift. I figured I’d just get a quick nap in before you got home but I must have fallen asleep for real. What time is it?”

“Just past 8,” Carlos replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed and studying him, “you look exhausted.”

“Non-stop calls,” TK provided by way of explanation. “I don’t think we were ever in the station longer than a half-hour all day.”

Carlos winced sympathetically, reaching out to run a hand through TK’s hair. “Everyone needed to be saved by you, huh? Can’t say I blame them.”

“Or something like that,” TK agreed lightly before starting to sit up and throw the blankets off of him. “But you’re home now, I’ll get up. We can do something.”

“We could,” Carlos agreed. “Or, we could stay right here. I have some ideas.”

TK paused in his movements to raise a suggestive eyebrow, “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” Carlos confirmed, leaning forward and capturing TK’s mouth in a hungry kiss. TK smiled into it, reaching up and placing his hands on either side of Carlos’s face as he returned it.

“Hi,” he said breathlessly when they broke apart for air, “how was work?”

“Work was fine,” Carlos responded lightly, “just your average day of speeding tickets and domestic disputes. But I don’t want to talk about that right now. In fact, I’d rather not do much talking at all.”

TK grinned mischievously, sliding his hands down from where they framed Carlos’s face across his neck and down to his chest, pulling lightly at the shirt covering it. “Then I regret to inform you that you are wearing too many clothes, Officer Reyes.”

“Is that so? Well, that can be remedied easily.”

He pulled his shirt over his head, leaning forward again, pulling TK into a kiss as he blindly fumbled with his belt. He grinned into the kiss as TK made a noise of triumph and he felt his belt loosen and he lowered himself down, bracing himself on either side of TK’s body as he deepened the kiss. TK’s arms wrapped around him as he shifted, raising himself up on the bed so that they were closer, closing the distance between them.

Their bodies were flush to each other now, their frantic breaths matching. Carlos moved his mouth from TK’s, trailing kisses down his neck instead. He was about to keep working his way down when he suddenly felt the warmth of TK’s hands leave his body. He barely had a moment to process before TK’s voice cut through the silence of their bedroom: “Wait, Carlos, Stop.”

Carlos froze instantly, pulling away and looking down at TK with concern, “Is everything okay? We don’t need to if…”

“No, it’s not that. It’s...do you smell something?”

Carlos frowned at him but shifted his attention to the world outside their bed. There was a smell, drifting up from below them. It smelled like…

“Is that smoke?” He asked, glancing towards the doorway in alarm.

“I think so,” TK agreed grimly and Carlos cursed, pulling himself off of TK and the bed before crossing to the doorway. TK followed him but was forced to stop when Carlos froze in the doorway. He watched as his boyfriend halted at the top of the stairs, reeling back at the sight of flames eating through the first floor and making their way up. He stepped further back as Carlos turned, stepping back into their bedroom and slamming the door shut behind him.

“There’s fire downstairs,” he informed TK unnecessarily, “we’re not getting out that way.”

TK cursed and glanced around the room before heading to the balcony. “Any chance there’s a fire escape somewhere you forgot to mention and I never noticed?” he called as he went.

Carlos, who had been in the act of following TK towards across the room looked up only to shake his head before he returned his attention to the bag he had dropped when he had entered the room, rummaging through it in search of his phone.

He made a noise of triumph as he found it, briefly holding it up for TK to see before dialing. His eyes tracked TK on the other side of the room as he waited for the call to connect. TK offered him a smile before he turned back to the task at hand and pulled open the doors to the balcony. The smoke was even more obvious out here, leaking out into the night air through the window he was fairly certain he had left open. He stepped to the railing and looked down, trying to gauge how far of a drop it was. All the time he had spent here he should already know, but he had never thought to check. It was hard to tell in the dark, even with the orange glow of the home burning below him, but it didn’t look too far. If they went over the railing and then lowered themselves down, they should be able to make it.

He turned to tell Carlos as much and was alarmed to see how much smoke was now filling their bedroom, despite the closed door. Carlos was still on the phone with dispatch but looked up when TK stepped back into the room.

“I think if we can lower ourselves over the railing and drop down, we should be fine,” he called out and Carlos nodded, speaking into the phone before he lowered it from his ear and started to walk across the room.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, I trust you,” Carlos called as walked. “Either way, pretty sure it beats staying in here.”

TK grinned at him as stepped further inside the room. He fully intended to make sure that Carlos got out first. He may be a paramedic now, but 7 years of firefighting left him feeling a lot more confident in his ability to survive in a flaming building than Carlos’s. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else unless he knew his boyfriend was safe.

At least, that was the plan.

Carlos was only about 6 feet away from him when it happened, so close to their exit; so close to safety. But the fire downstairs must be burning hotter than he had thought, or maybe he just wasn’t thinking clearly. Because when the floor buckled under Carlos, TK felt a shock unlike any other. There was a pause; a split second, where he felt a wave of fear overwhelm him. Where his eyes met Carlos’s to see the same mix of fear and surprise in his expression. It was only a moment, but it was enough.

In the next breath, TK lunged forward; reaching out to grab Carlos, to pull him back to safety. But that one moment had been his window, and he had missed it. He slid forward, stopping just short of the edge with a shout, able do nothing but watch in horror as Carlos fell with what had been their bedroom floor and out of TK’s sight into the flames below.

He froze at the end of the hole, staring down into the destruction beneath him. He couldn’t make out anything: it all blurred together in a blinding haze of flame and smoke. He called out but his voice, tinged in panic and desperation, was swallowed by the roar of the fire. TK coughed harshly, instinct causing him to pull the neck of his shirt up over his mouth as he forced himself to look past the panic that was threatening to swallow him. He needed to get to Carlos. He needed to make sure he was okay.

He picked himself up off the ground and carefully edged around the hole in the floor, heading back over to the door at the top of their stairs. He pulled it open and was almost toppled by the wave of heat that rushed through; staggering and reaching out for the doorframe to steady himself. He pulled his hands away a moment later, hissing in pain as the heat of the doorframe seared into his hand. A step through the doorway confirmed what he had feared: there would be no getting down that way. The stairs were fully engulfed. Even in his full turnout gear it would have been a challenge. In nothing but the t-shirt and sweats he had fallen asleep in earlier; it would be impossible.

He could feel desperation and fear creeping back into his mind. He needed to get to Carlos. He needed to make sure he was safe. He needed Carlos to be okay. Nothing else mattered.

He glanced back over his shoulder into their bedroom. There were no flames in there yet, just thick dark smoke. He turned that way, heading back into the room and to the edge of the hole in the floor, pausing for just a moment. He knew one way to get down to Carlos, even if 7 years of experience and instincts were yelling at him to stop.

But it was Carlos, and he was worth every risk.

So he clamored to the edge and lowered himself down, into the inferno below.

It took him a few moments to get his bearings, to adjust to the bright light cast by the flames surrounding him. He blinked against the light and the smoke, hiking his t-shirt - far too thin to make any real difference - further up his face, doing his best to keep it secured above his nose. He had no idea where Carlos had fallen, or what shape he was in. He just hoped that he wasn’t too far or too badly hurt.

He moved forward carefully, blinking the sweat running down his forehead from his eyes as he glanced around, looking for any sign of his boyfriend, any hint of where to head next. He thought he might be in the dining room, but it was almost impossible to tell. Everything looked wrong bathed in the sinister orange glow and for all his years of working in fire, TK was certain he had never hated it more than he did at this very moment.

More of the ceiling crumbled as he walked beneath it, flaming pieces of plaster and wood singing his arms as he threw them protectively over his head. He could feel his skin blistering from even the briefest contact with the flaming debris but he ignored it and pushed forward, hoping that where ever Carlos was he was nowhere near the flames. He had a fleeting thought of what prolonged exposure to these flames could do if the briefest contact could leave him burned, but he pushed it away. He didn’t need to dwell on it, there was no point in considering the worst.

TK reached the edge of the dining room and turned on the spot, scanning the surrounding area. Carlos was here somewhere, he just needed to find him. And fast – the flames were spreading. They didn’t have much more time, and Carlos had even less. He turned again, forcing himself to look past the flames. He could just make out a pile of rubble a few feet in front of him, mercifully untouched by flames and he rushed towards it with bated breath. He was forced to stop again when more of the ceiling rained down on him and he covered his head with his arms. He could feel new burns forming but he rushed forward the moment the shower stopped, bending down and moving the rubble.

He almost swayed in relief when he saw a familiar arm underneath the scrap of wood he lifted, but his relief was short-lived when he realized that Carlos wasn’t moving. In fact, he seemed entirely unaware of either TK’s presence or the chaos that surrounded them and that filled TK with dread. He moved the rest of the rubble, quickly but carefully, until he had a better view and bent even further down, leaning closer to listen for any sounds of breathing; for any sign that he was alive.

He found none and could feel his world begin to collapse right along with their home.

But somewhere and somehow years of training emerged from the depth of his mind and took over, blanketing the pain and the fear with muscle memory as he shifted onto his knees before Carlos’s still form, stacking his hands on top of each other and starting to pump. The motion was rote and repetitive and if he tried, he could almost lose himself in the act; the rhythm of the motion and the counting almost distracting him from the fact that it was Carlos’s heart not beating beneath his fingers.

But one look at Carlos’s slack face was all it took for reality to come crashing back in, each and every time.

He paused at the end of his 30 compressions, shifting so he was at Carlos’s head and placing his mouth over his just like he had not even an hour before but in such a different way it shook him to his core. He breathed in, three times, before he switched back to compressions, wincing as he felt another rib give under the force of his hands. He lost himself in rhythm, so focused that he didn’t hear the footsteps or the shouts; that he didn’t realize the figures in turnout gear were upon him until a gloved hand on his shoulder startled him back to reality.

The hand was trying to pull him away from Carlos but he resisted, pulling away and continuing to give compressions. He couldn’t stop; he needed to save him.

The hand pulled more forcefully and was joined by an arm wrapped around his waist wrenching him away from Carlos. He fought against the grip, blindly lashing out as he turned. He only paused in his movements as he recognized Paul under the mask.

“TK,” he was saying, shouting to be heard through the mask and over the din of the fire as new pieces of their ceiling crumbled to the ground as the flames grew ever higher. “You need to stop so we can get you out of here – both of you.”

“Carlos…” TK started, and Paul nodded.

“We’ve got him, I promise. We’re not leaving either of you behind, but you need to stop fighting me.”

Paul’s gaze was scared and desperate, and TK deflated with a nod. He allowed Paul to pull him further away as Marjan and Mateo grabbed Carlos, carefully lifting him and bringing him out. TK didn’t remove his eyes from him for a second, allowing Paul to do the work of navigating out of the burning structure that had been their home not even an hour ago. He watched as he was handed off to the B shift paramedic team even as he was pushed down onto the back of the ambulance by Paul. He saw Marjan and Mateo shoot him worried and fearful looks before they were off, returning to the truck and the hoses so they could attempt to stop the fire. He heard words exchanged to his right and the feeling of Paul's hand leaving him, but he only had focus for Carlos and the paramedic currently continuing compressions as another checked him over.

“Here, kid, you’re going to need this.”

The voice was gruff but gentle and TK spared a glance long enough to see Judd standing beside him now, reaching out to place an O2 mask over TK’s face. TK put up a hand and went to argue – he didn’t need help, he needed them to help Carlos – but his protests were stolen by a deep, rough cough that ripped from his chest.

“Like I said,” Judd griped, but the hands that placed the mask on his face were gentle. The fresh oxygen filled his lungs and TK could feel some of the tension in his chest tighten, but any relief was fleeting as he saw the paramedic captain preparing the laryngoscope. He tried to rise from his spot on the back of the ambulance, to move closer, to help; but firm hands on his shoulder held him in place.

“Let them work,” Judd told him calmly. “You know better than I do that they’re fully capable, and you’re in no shape to help anyone right now.”

TK tried to protest, going as far as reaching up to pull off the O2 mask, but his movements were halted by the sight of Captain Ramos getting into position and inserting the laryngoscope and beginning the process of intubating. TK had done it himself a hundred times, he knew the steps by heart; the feeling of resistance, the tricky process of placing it correctly. He knew why, he understood that it was the best approach for any patient with a compromised airway, especially from smoke inhalation. He knew all of these facts, had done the task with a professional detachment. Watching the tube being inserted into Carlos’s body – seeing the reality of an ambu bag being attached to pump the air he needed to survive into his body – was another matter entirely and if he hadn’t been pushed back down by Judd, he is sure he would have crumbled.

As it was, he was shaking.

This couldn’t be happening – it shouldn’t be happening. They should still be in their bed; Carlos should be standing. Their home should not be crumbling to embers before him while someone else did the breathing for Carlos. It was a scene he had seen more times than he could ever count. In the past 7 years, how many homes had he watched burn? How many victims had he transported, had he treated? He had thought it had all become routine, but it all looked so different from this side, and he hated it. It was wrong, every bit of it.

He turned his gaze from their home back to Carlos, trying to follow the flurry of activity from the paramedic team. Instructions were given and stats were relayed but it was all white noise and soon a blur as his eyes filled with tears. He went to raise a hand to wipe them away only to be stopped by hand on his arm.

“Your hands are burned, you’ll irritate them,” Judd murmured, and TK was dimly aware of the presence of pain now that it had been brought to his attention. The physical hurt was nothing compared to watching Carlos, to knowing that Carlos wasn’t breathing on his own. Even in his detached and confused state TK was following well enough to know that Carlos was not in good shape and the thought that he might lose him was worse than anything he had ever felt. The physical pain from the cuts and burns littering his body didn’t even hold a candle to that. He could lose him.

“Hey,” Judd said softly, “don’t go there. Don’t count him out yet. Have a little faith; he’s not ready to leave you yet either.”

TK wasn’t sure if he had said anything aloud or if Judd just knew, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was Carlos. He glanced back over at the paramedic team surrounding Carlos, trying not to focus on how badly the sight of them working to keep him alive affected him, on how it sucked all the air from his lungs and made his heart ache.

He watched until they started to get ready to move him, to load him into the ambulance. He shot up, determined to get out of the way, to not slow them down but the sudden change in elevation caused him to sway.

“Hey now,” Judd said, reaching out to grab him, “easy there. No sudden movements.”

TK didn’t respond, too focused on watching them move Carlos to focus on anything else. The moment he was in he moved towards the ambulance, only vaguely aware of Judd stopping him and pulling him into a tight hug. “He’s going to be okay, kid,” he assured him quietly before releasing him and helping him up into the ambulance. The last thing he saw before the doors closed was Judd’s worried face looking up at him, and the sight of their home burning brightly against the night sky.

--------

He had just finished counting the ceiling tiles, again.

Owen had been sitting in the interrogation room ever since APD officers had shown up at his door and brought him to the station without a word of explanation. They had read him his rights, loaded him into their cruiser, and escorted him to his windowless room. That had been two hours now, or so he thought. It was hard to judge time in a windowless room full of fluorescent light.

He was trying to be patient, trying to play it cool. He knew how it worked: they left suspects alone for a while, to let them get worked up. To make them more likely to crack. But Owen wasn’t a suspect; he had done nothing wrong. This was all a big misunderstanding and the sooner they came to talk to him, the sooner they would know that.

Or so he kept telling himself.

He was staring at the door again, willing it to open and for someone to step through when it finally did, taking him completely by surprise.

“Captain Strand,” the figure said as he stepped into the room, “I’m Detective Caldwell. Do you know why you are here?”

“Can’t say I do,” Owen replied evenly, studying the detective standing before him. The man nodded and set down the folder he had been holding, pulling it open as he took a seat in the chair across from Owen.

“You’re here,” he began, looking up from his folder to meet Owen’s eyes, “on suspicion of arson. There has been a rash of fires throughout the city in the past few weeks and somehow, you keep ending up tied to them.”

“I had nothing to do with those fires,” Owen said heatedly. “There’s some other psycho out there who has burned down four homes, you’re wasting your time with me.”

“Five.”

Owen froze in the middle of his defense, “What?”

“Five homes burned down. There was another one tonight, about 3 hours ago now.”

Owen stared at Detective Caldwell, “And you think I did it?”

“You have a connection to this particular location,” the detective explained. “Tell me, Captain, what does 2421 W 9th St mean to you?”

And just like that, Owen’s world ground to a halt.

“What was that address,” he asked slowly, desperately hoping he had misheard. It had to be his brain latching on to familiar syllables, that was the only explanation.

“2421 W 9th St,” Caldwell repeated, reaching into his folder and pulling out photos that he slid across the table to Owen. He picked them up with shaking hands, still praying that he had heard wrong but there was no mistaking the familiar scene in the photos. A doorway that he had carried boxes through not even a month ago, the remains of a kitchen he had insisted on helping with the dishes in after dinner just last week. His son’s car parked out front.

He could feel the detective’s eyes on him, no doubt studying and judging his reaction, but he couldn’t care less about that at the moment. “Were they home?” he asked, well aware of the desperation seeping his voice but unable to stop it. “Please tell me they were out, that they’re okay.”

“They were both home,” Caldwell informed him curtly. “And they were both rescued and transported to the hospital. I’m not at liberty to share any more information beyond that.”

Owen stared at him, trying to remember how to form words past the roaring fear in his head.

“Not at liberty…” he said distantly, staring at the other man. “That’s my son! How are you not at liberty to share that information?”

“I don’t have any information beyond that,” Caldwell explained, “and even if I did it is generally against protocol to provide such information to suspects.”

“Suspects?” Owen asked incredulously, fingers tightening on the horrifying photos still clutched in his hands. “You think I am a suspect? You think I could have done...this,” he broke off, gesturing to the destruction in the photos, “to my own son? To Carlos? Are you out of your mind?”

“I think that’s the question I am supposed to ask you, Captain.”

Owen studied him, taking in the hard set of the detective’s jaw. “You really think I did this,” he noted, the shock he was feeling seeping into his words.

The detective shrugged, “Why not? You’re a fire captain, you would have the knowledge and means to do so.”

Owen scoffed, “Yeah but you said it: I’m a firefighter. I have dedicated my life to saving people from fires, not to starting them.”

“But things haven’t been going all that great for you lately, have they? Maybe you decided to mix things up, try something else for a thrill.”

“Things have been fine.” Owen retorted calmly, holding his gaze. “And even if they weren’t I promise I’m more the ‘binge drink tequila’ type than the ‘arson’ type.”

“So you’re fine with your ex-wife deciding to move back to New York instead of continuing with your attempt to rekindle and start again?”

“Yes. Gwyn is a capable and smart woman, I wouldn’t dream of trying to tell her what to do or stand in her way once she’s made up her mind.”

“And your girlfriend before her?”

“Zoe was never my ‘girlfriend’,” Owen stated, leaning forward and tapping the table for emphasis. “We were just two adults who enjoyed each other’s company. Besides, she was offered a position at Berkley and since that was closer to her family and it was the start of the pandemic, she decided to take it. It made sense, and she’s happy there. Do you have a point anywhere in this?”

“What about your son, then?”

Owen stiffened as he glanced away from the detective, “What about him?”

“He’s leaving you too. First, he left your fire crew to become a paramedic, now he’s moved out, again. Moved in with his boyfriend, right?”

The detective leveled his gaze at Owen, who held it for a second before scoffing. “Please don’t tell me you think this is a homophobic thing. TK came out to me when he was 15. That was over a decade ago; pretty sure I would have acted on those feelings before now if they existed.”

“No, I don’t think it’s a homophobic thing. I think you’re scared of losing your son. It’s reasonable, and I do see where you’re coming from, honestly: how many times has he almost died in the past year alone? Three times? Wanting to keep him close, make sure he’s safe, it makes sense.”

Owen simply stared at the detective for a long moment. When he spoke, his tone was incredulous again, “You realize how insane you sound, right? I love my son and all I want is for him to be happy. He’s happy with Carlos. Besides, what parent in their right mind would not want their child dating Carlos Reyes? He’s kind of perfect. I know TK is safe with him and I know TK is loved with him.”

He paused here for breath, holding the detective’s gaze as he continued, voice more serious, “The only thing I am worried about right now is if they’re okay. At what point would putting my son in danger like that accomplish anything. Why would I risk that? He is the only thing that matters to me. I would never do that to him, or to Carlos.”

There was silence in the interrogation room in the wake of his words. The detective was studying him again, but Owen was out of patience.

“Every minute you spend with me is another minute that psycho has to do this again,” he spat. “I’m not the one you should be worried about, detective, I promise you. All you’re doing is giving that monster more of a chance to get away, or to hurt someone else.”

There was silence in the wake of his outburst. The detective studied him, but Owen held his gaze. He hadn’t done this; he wasn’t the person they were looking for.

A knock on the glass of the observation room interrupted their staring contest as the detective stepped out of the room to see what it was about. Owen leaned back in his seat and sighed, trying to keep his mind from running with all the awful possibilities. TK and Carlos could both be hurt or worse and he had no way of knowing. He had faith that they weren’t there alone; there was no chance the rest of the team wouldn’t be there for him. But it didn’t change the fact that Owen should be there and that he wasn’t because someone at Austin PD decided this would be the best time to interrogate him.

He was about to tell the detective as much when he reentered the room a few minutes later but was saved the trouble when the detective stood in the doorway, door open beside him.

“You’re free to go, Captain Strand,” he said. At Owen’s startled look he sighed, “You’re not in the clear yet but we don’t have enough to hold you on. Suffice to say you’ll need to stay in town.”

Owen stared at him for another moment before he was up, heading towards the door. He was just about the exit when the detective stepped sideways so he was blocking Owen’s exit.

“I know you didn’t ask for it but, my advice? Maybe take some time and focus on your son, and Officer Reyes. I’m sure he could use you right now and poking your nose back into this isn’t going to help anyone, let alone you. If you’re telling the truth and it’s not you, let the guy hang himself. We will catch the arsonist, whoever it is.”

The detective held his gaze and Owen swallowed before nodding, stepping out of the interrogation room and into the bright lights of the hallway. He paused for a moment, blinking to readjust his eyes when he heard a voice behind him, “Owen.”

He turned to see Gabriel Reyes leaning on the wall across from the interrogation room, a grim look on his face.

“Gabriel,” Owen said, crossing the hallway so he was beside him, “How’s TK? And Carlos? Were they hurt?”

Pain flashed across the other man’s face for a moment before he stood up straighter, “TK’s fine, a few burns and cuts and some minor smoke inhalation. Carlos...is hanging on.”

Owen winced at the implications, “Are the Rangers helping with the investigation now? Do you have any new leads?”

“My department is involved now, but I’m not. My only concern right now is my son, and yours.”

“How is he holding up?”

“As well as can be expected, I’d say. He’s scared, worried, and angry. Your crew has been there, right alongside us, but I’d say he could use his father.”

“Yeah well, the APD seemed to have other ideas for how I should be spending my time. I suppose you’re the one I have to thank for springing me? I think the word of a Texas Ranger is about the only thing that could have gotten them to let me go.”

“You’d be right, but I didn’t do it for you. I did it for TK.”

Owen glanced at the other man, startled by the harsh tone of his voice. There was steel in his voice and his eyes as he met Owen’s gaze, “You know what they’re saying, Owen? They’re saying this looks like retaliation. A personal attack meant to hurt you. To get you to stop. And that’s from the people who don’t think you started the fires yourself.”

Owen froze, hands fisting the material of his jacket in his hands. The other man was looking at him with disdain, but there was pain behind it.

“I didn’t…” he began, but Gabriel didn’t give him a chance to finish.

“Those are our children, Owen. Don’t we have enough to worry about with the jobs they chose? None of us need you bringing more trouble. None of us need more danger.”

“I didn’t ask for this to happen!” Owen reminded him heatedly, feeling his anger rise. “I never wanted this to happen! If I had known that this could be the result, I never would have gotten involved!”

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place!”

The outburst from the typically stoic Gabriel Reyes took Owen by surprise, as well as everyone else in the hallway. There were concerned looks shot their way and Gabriel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place,” he repeated, voice more even. “It’s not your job. If you had concerns you should have brought them to someone. Your OFI, me, even Carlos. Anyone who is actually qualified to deal with this. But you didn’t, and now look where it’s gotten us.”

“That’s not fair,” Owen ground out, voice tight and low. “I didn’t ask for this. You know I never would have put him at risk, either of them.”

“Maybe not,” Gabriel agreed, “but that doesn’t change the facts. The damage has already been done, Owen. My son...” he trailed off as his voice turned thick. He looked down and cleared his throat before trying again, “My son is in a coma with a machine breathing for him,” he told him, “and yours is scared and hurting. You may not have wanted this to happen, but that doesn’t change the fact that it has.”

Owen was quiet in the wake of his words because everything Gabriel had said was true. This was his fault, no matter how indirectly. He had brought this upon them and he would have to live with that and whatever the outcome might be.

He just hoped it was one he could stomach.

The two fathers stood quietly in the hallway for several more long moments before Gabriel shook his head. “Us arguing isn’t accomplishing anything,” he told Owen. “The only thing that matters right now is our children, and I am sure TK could use you right now. I’ll take you to the hospital, if you’re ready.”

There was so much more to say, Owen knew. He knew he should apologize, that he should assure the other man again and again that it wasn’t him until he was sure he believed it. That he should vow to do better, to never make the same mistakes again. But there was one thing on which he and Gabriel agreed: they weren’t the important ones right now. What he had to say didn’t matter.

So he nodded and quietly followed the other man out of the building and towards what did.

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

“You need to get some rest, TK.”

“I’m fine,” TK replied, and Andrea scoffed.

“You are not fine, and you should know better than to lie to me. You’re hurt too - in more ways than one.”

TK spared her a glance before returning his gaze to the still figure in the bed beside them, “It’s not like I have anywhere to go anyways,” he whispered. “Our home is gone.”

“You could come home with Gabriel and I,” Andrea offered, reaching out and placing a soft hand on his arm and squeezing lightly, careful to avoid the bandaged burns, “you’re always welcome.”

“I appreciate it,” he told her, throwing her a quick, small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I really do. But I can’t leave him.”

And that was the crux of it. Logically he knew that his presence didn’t change things one way or the other; staying didn’t give Carlos any more of a fighting chance. But leaving felt like gambling with something he wasn’t willing to risk. He had almost lost him; he had placed his hands on his chest and felt the stillness of the heart he loved most not beating and now he couldn’t get it out of his head. The memory of the sensation was so strong that even the rhythm of the heart monitor beside him wasn’t enough; he kept one hand wrapped loosely around Carlos’s wrist, his fingers pressed against his pulse point and allowing him to trace the rhythm of his heartbeat in his mind. It was a balm and the only thing that was keeping him from going absolutely insane at this moment. He couldn’t leave that; he wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure the only reason they let me leave my own bed is that they know I’m not going anywhere,” TK noted wryly. “I don’t think the doctor is convinced I’m not about to keel over. I told him I wasn’t in the thick smoke for as long but…”

He trailed off, any humor leaving his voice and his gaze turning back to Carlos. He reached up with the hand not clutching his wrist to stroke his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he said softly, not entirely sure who he was talking to. “I should have done more. I should have gotten to him faster. I should have never let us get separated in the first place. I should be the one in the coma; not him.”

“TK, no,” Andrea said, tears in her voice as he reached for him again. “This is not your fault, none of it. And you did everything you could to rescue him, to make sure he was as safe as he could be. I don’t have a single doubt about it.”

“Besides, I’m pretty sure Carlos would object to that,” a new voice said from the door. TK turned around to see his father standing in the doorway, his hands worrying the material of the hoodie clutched in his hands as he studied the scene in the room with sad eyes, offering TK a small, fake smile when their eyes met. “He’d say you being in one coma in the past year is more than enough, and I can’t say I’d disagree with him.”

TK didn’t respond. He just stared at his father. Beside him he heard rustling, but he paid it no mind until Andrea spoke.

“Gabriel and I are going to go home for a little while, try to get some sleep. We’ll be back first thing in the morning.” She hiked her purse onto her shoulder and bent down to press a kiss on Carlos’s head. She lingered for a moment, muttering something softly in Spanish that TK wouldn’t have understood even if he could have heard it before turning and placing second kiss on TK’s forehead.

“Try to get some rest, please,” she told him gently. “You still need to take care of yourself, and you know my Carlitos would be telling you the same thing.”

He swallowed and nodded. Andrea gave him another sad smile before turning and leaving the room, giving Owen a nod on her way out. Soon the found of her footsteps faded down the hall and it was only TK and his father in the room.

TK turned his full focus back to Carlos as he heard footsteps drawing closer and coming to a halt on the other side of the bed. He could feel his dad’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look up until Owen spoke.

“What did the doctor’s say?”

“That there was too much damage to his windpipe and lungs,” TK started, voice low and still hoarse. “On top of the broken ribs and severe bruising from falling and being trapped under bits of the ceiling. The only good news is that it means he was still breathing for most of the time he was down there. They think he must have just stopped right before I got to him. Either way, they’re going to keep him on the ventilator for at least a day, probably more. Until his airway is stable enough to support him breathing on his own.”

“What about you?”

“I’m fine,” TK said dismissively, unconsciously tightening his grip on Carlos’s wrist. “Some burns, nothing past second degree. Bit of smoke inhalation; nothing I can’t walk away from.”

“Your voice sounds like it was more than just a bit of smoke inhalation. It sounds like you should still be on oxygen.”

“My levels are fine.”

“TK…”

“The team was here,” TK said instead, interrupting Owen before he even had a chance to speak. “They came by after shift. I was still being treated but they hung around. Judd even managed to talk his way into being in the room with me, so I wasn’t alone. They would have stayed, would still be here, but I told them to go home. Nothing they can do. They didn’t want to though.

“They’re good like that,” Owen agreed, and TK finally looked up at his father.

“It was nice to have some family here,” he said, holding his dad’s gaze. He saw the older man flinch, but he pressed on. “Is it true, what they’re saying?”

“It was arson,” Owen confirmed grimly, but TK shook his head.

“No, I know that. I meant the other thing.”

He held his dad’s gaze and the way Owen looked down at his hands told him that he knew exactly what he was hinting at.

“Was this connected to what you’ve been up to?” TK pressed, not willing to let him weasel out of this conversation. He was filled with so many emotions, he had filtered through too many in the past few hours. He had been scared; he had been sad. He had cried and he had sat in silence; marinating in his dread and letting his anxiety run wild through his mind. Now it was time to poke at the anger that had been lurking in the wings that had only grown when he had heard the rumor: retaliation.

His dad was quiet for another moment before he looked up, his eyes first landing on Carlos’s slack face before he met TK’s hard gaze, “It may have been.”

TK nodded tightly, looking away from his dad and turning his gaze back to Carlos. He leaned closer, left hand still wrapped around his wrist to run his right through is hair, carding his fingers through the curls. He knew his dad was watching him, waiting for him to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He didn’t want to start a shouting match with his dad in Carlos’s hospital room and he was afraid that if he opened his mouth that is exactly what would happen.

“If I had known,” his dad said softly, but stopped. TK pulled his gaze away from Carlos to look at his dad, registering the guilt so evident on his face.

He wanted that to be enough, for that to quell the fury inside him, but his nerves were stressed past their breaking point. He didn’t have any composure left in him; especially not for his dad – the one person he should always be able to rely on to be there for him, to protect him.

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place,” he spat, taking a small amount of petty pleasure at the sight of his dad recoiling from his tone. “I told you not to get involved, that it was a bad idea. But you didn’t listen to me – just like always.”

He pulled his gaze away from his dad to study Carlos again, as if his attention might change anything about the awful reality surrounding him.

“I was worried you were going to get hurt,” he confided. “I was worried that even after you finally got the damn cancer surgery you had just managed to find another way I could lose you. I guess the joke was on me though; look where we are instead.”

He knew his words were bitter, that he was probably being unfair. He was pretty sure if Carlos were here, he would tell him to think about what he was saying; to give his dad the benefit of the doubt. But Carlos had always been better than him, and Carlos wasn’t here right now.

“They destroyed our home, dad. Which I hate and it makes me so angry, but I could live with that, you know? Houses can be replaced, but Carlos…” he trailed off, looking down at the hand wrapped around the wrist resting on the bed. His words had lost all their anger now and he could feel the tears he thought he had run out of earlier threatening to return.

“I could lose Carlos,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper now, “and I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with that.”

“Son,” his dad started, and TK looked up to see his more sadness in the older man’s eyes than he had ever seen before. It seemed to weigh on his entire body, his usually excellent posture drooping as he looked at TK and at Carlos. For the first time that TK could recall, his dad actually looked old. The anger had already left TK; extinguished in the act of expressing it. But looking at his dad now he didn’t think he could have found it in him to be angry in him regardless.

“I know you never would have put either of us at risk,” he assured his dad. “Never on purpose. I could never think that.”

Owen nodded and TK looked back down at Carlos’s still form. He heard the noise of his dad dragging the other chair closer and settling into it but said nothing. He meant what he said: he knew his dad would never have purposefully put them at risk. At worst he was guilty of getting caught up in the moment; at getting swept up into the action. TK knew that and he had meant what he had said. Maybe it wasn’t quite forgiveness, but it was a start.

For now, they could wait together in silence because despite everything TK didn’t want to be left alone right now. He might not be pleased with his dad at the moment but just knowing that he was here was a weight lifted off his shoulders because knowing someone else was there to help shoulder it made it all the more bearable.

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

Morning came, but change did not.

TK startled awake at the sound of footsteps in the room; sitting upright and coming face to face with a nurse, who offered him a smile. He looked from her back to the bed to see the same sight he had fallen asleep to: Carlos, completely still save for the mechanical rise and fall of his chest from the ventilator. He felt his heart sink all over again. Somehow, he had managed to convince himself that things would be better in the morning, despite the fact that he knew damn well it would be at least another 12 hours before they even considered taking him off the vent.

“Any change?” he asked the nurse, and though he knew the answer it still hurt when she shook her head.

“No, but he’s stable and that’s a good thing.”

She offered him a sympathetic smile and TK tried to return it before asking the next question, “Has there been any discussion about when they might try to take him off the vent?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but the doctor will be by to check on him in the next hour or so. You could probably get a better answer after that.”

He nodded and as she finished her checks on Carlos, her gaze turned back to him. “And what about you?” she prompted. “How are you doing? Any problems with shortness of breath, headaches, or coughing?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her, “I just need him to be okay.”

Her expression softened again and on her way out of the room she paused to pat his shoulder, “I think he will be. He has everything going for him right now.”

He took a deep breath and nodded, mumbling a thank you as she slipped out of the room, leaving him alone with Carlos once again.

“You hear that?” he asked him, reaching his hand back out and placing it on his wrist again, seeking the familiar rhythm of his pulse once more. “You have everything going for you. Which means it shouldn’t be much longer until I get to see those eyes of yours again.”

He tried to make his words confident, tried to infuse his voice with certainty. He wanted so desperately to believe it but he was so scared it wasn’t true. He leaned closer, bringing their joined hands up to his face and placing a kiss on Carlos’s. “You can’t leave me yet,” he reminded him, his voice dropping to barely a whisper, “we’re just getting started and we have a lifetime ahead of us. Don’t make me face it without you.”

He got no response and though he hadn’t expected one it still stung. Looking at Carlos like this stung. Looking at the face of the person he loved and seeing no recognition or acknowledgment stung in a way he couldn’t quite describe. Knowing that his body was here in the room but that everything that made him Carlos Reyes wasn’t ached with all the physical pain of a part of his own body missing and, in a way, it was. He and Carlos were one now; so intertwined their friends joked that sometimes it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. They had been for a while and not seeing his smile or hearing his laugh felt like a missing limb.

His dark thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps and he turned to see Carlos’s parents in the doorway. He offered them a smile as they entered leaning back from the bed.

Andrea came up beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder as she leaned over to look at her son more closely.

“Any change?” she asked softly and TK shook his head.

“No, but the nurse said that the doctor will be by in the next couple of hours to check on him and we should know more after that.”

She nodded and turned to him, casting a critical look over him. “Did you sleep at all, TK?”

He nodded, “I did, I swear.”

Gabriel had crossed to the other side of the bed while they were talking, studying his son’s sleeping form as his wife and TK spoke. Now he looked up at TK.

“Was your father here?”

TK nodded, clenching his jaw ever so slightly at the reminder. “He was. He came in right after you left and was here when I fell asleep, he must have left at some point before I woke up.”

Gabriel nodded and TK could tell he also had more to say on the subject but instead he sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face before sinking into the chair Owen had occupied the night before. They all existed in silence for a few more moments before TK stood up. The other two both looked at him and he offered them a small attempt at a smile, “You two should have some time alone with him and,” he continued, speaking slightly louder as they tried to protest, “I should stretch my legs, maybe get some fresh air. Sitting in that chair all night may not have been the best idea.”

Andrea was watching him with a concerned expression, so he continued, “I’m okay, I swear. And I won’t be gone long, I promise.”

She nodded and gave him a smile, reaching out and squeezing his hand, “As long as you know you don’t have to leave. You have just as much right to be here as we do and I know Carlitos would want you here.”

“I do know that,” he assured her, finding what might be the first genuine smile since the smoke had drifted into their bedroom the night before. He nodded to Gabriel before stepping from the room, giving the Reyes some time with their son without an audience.

He rubbed at his eyes as he walked down the hall. He had meant what he said though: he needed to stretch his legs. Whatever sleep he had gotten the night before had been inadequate which wasn’t surprising, given everything, but it left him feeling wrung out. He needed to be on top of things so he could be there for Carlos and the way he was feeling now he wasn’t sure that was possible. Maybe moving would help; maybe getting his blood flowing would help to shake the lethargy that was pressing on him.

He had just reached the waiting room and was planning on continuing to the front doors to get some air when he heard his name called from the direction of the waiting room. He turned to see Paul, Marjan and Mateo settled in chairs nearby and changed course.

“What are you guys doing here?” he asked in surprise as Marjan stood up and pulled him into a hug.

“Checking on you, of course,” Paul explained as if it were obvious. “And Carlos. How is he?”

“No change since you left last night,” TK informed them glumly. Paul gave him a sympathetic smile and Marjan squeezed his arm. “How long have you guys been out here?”

“Not long,” Marjan told him. “Maybe 20 minutes. Cap said you were alone, but then we saw Carlos’s parents come in around the same time we got here so we figured none of you needed any more bodies in his room.”

“And where is my dad?” TK asked, unable to stop the disdain that entered his tone.

“I think he went home to take care of Buttercup,” Mateo offered. “I don’t know though; he didn’t say much.”

TK nodded tightly and he could tell that the others had noticed his tension, but they didn’t push and for that he was grateful. He wasn’t ready to talk about that particular disaster just yet.

“Have you eaten?” Paul asked instead, tactfully changing the subject. “One of us can go grab some food or…”

TK smiled, but shook his head. “I appreciate it, but I don’t think I’m ready to eat just yet,” he told them. “Maybe later, but right now…”

He trailed off but he was sure they all understood. Right now his was full of anxiety and fear. Focusing on something as normal as food seemed impossible.

“I’ll hold you too that,” Paul assured him firmly. “I know you’re worried, but you still need to take care of yourself so you can take care of him, when the time comes.”

TK nodded, offering a smile even as he could feel tears filling his eyes. He didn’t think he could ever find the words he to properly express the gratitude he felt at this moment for them all. Their presence and their unwavering certainty that Carlos would be okay. So he settled for a smile and nod. He trusted them to figure out the rest.

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

It’s several more hours before another familiar face appears.

Both Nancy and Tommy had called, had offered to stop by but he assured them he was fine. They had a shift after all and given the late noticed they would be doing it shorthanded. They didn’t need anything else to distract them from that. Carlos’s parents had stepped out about 10 minutes prior in search of some fresh air and some food that Andrea informed him in no uncertain terms he would be eating when they returned.

Even the doctor had been by. He had assured them all that Carlos was progressing nicely and that he would strongly consider taking him off the vent in the next few hours, if everything stayed the same. Which was good news. It was all good news, but TK still couldn’t shake the fear that filled him every time he saw Carlos’s slack face.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat by the door and turned to see Judd studying him before turning his gaze briefly to Carlos. He entered the room and settled into the chair beside TK without a word, not speaking until he was sitting beside him.

“I don’t know how it’s possible,” he began, “but I think you look worse now than you did last night.”

TK rolled his eyes at the jab, but even he had to concede that there was probably some truth to that. “Not my fault that someone decide to test the limits of my nerves by spending the day in a coma,” he fired back, but there was no heat in his words.

Judd nodded solemnly. “I know exactly how you feel,” Judd admitted, and TK knew that he did. It hadn’t been so long ago their roles had been reversed and Judd had been the one in his position, waiting and hoping for the person he loved to open their eyes.

“Even then I wondered how you did it,” TK confided quietly. “I kept thinking I would never be able to, if it were Carlos in Grace’s position. I was right,” he proclaimed dryly, “because I am barely holding it together.”

“No one’s expecting you to,” Judd assured him. “You’re allowed to feel the way you feel and ain’t nobody gonna judge you for that. Least of all me. We’ve both been doing this for a while and we’ve both had our share of injuries. You know all about the physical pain, you learn how to handle that. But no one ever prepares you for when the shoe is on the other foot and you are the one doing the waiting because no one can.”

That sat in silence for a while before TK spoke again, his gaze trained on Carlos. “I just keep thinking about what would happen if he doesn’t wake up,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t be able to handle that.”

“You would,” Judd said softly, “because you’re stronger than you think, and you wouldn’t be alone. And because it’s what he would want. But it’s not going to come to that.”

“You can’t know that Judd.”

“No,” he agreed, “but I have faith. You should too.”

TK scoffed, “I’m hardly what you would consider religious. My mom may be Jewish, but we never really practiced, and religion was never really my dad’s thing. And I always found other ways of coping when things got tough,” he concluded bitterly. “So I don’t think ‘faith’ is my best option.”

“Doesn’t have to be religion,” Judd explained. “You don’t have to have faith in a higher power or anything, if that doesn’t work for you. The only person you need to have faith in is Carlos. Do you believe in him?”

“More than anybody,” TK agreed without a second thought.

“Then trust that he is going to do everything he can to make it through this because I personally believe he is every bit as stubborn as you, he’s just quieter about it. And I don’t think he’s ready to leave you yet either.”

TK pulled his gaze away from Carlos to study Judd. The other man looked so sure that TK couldn’t help but nod. He did believe in Carlos, after all.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Judd asked a few minutes later, after they had lapsed back into silence. At TK’s nod he continued, “What’s going on with you and your old man?”

TK stiffened, but didn’t speak as Judd continued, “Because I find it strange that he’s not here and when I saw him this morning, he looked even worse than he did when you were the one in the coma, and I didn’t think that was possible. Can’t help but shake the feeling that there is something more to this.”

Judd was watching him expectantly and TK sighed. “They’re saying that the attack on out house was retaliation,” he admitted, “against him. The arsonist trying to scare him off, to get him to stop investigating.”

“Shit,” Judd breathed, and TK nodded. “I take it you talked to him about and I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”

“I know he didn’t do it on purpose,” TK agreed, “but the fact remains that he had no business getting involved in the first place. That I asked him to stop more than once. But he just carried on like he always does and, well.”

TK trailed off but his meaning was clear, given their current state and location.

Judd was quiet for a while before he spoke again. “Lord knows your dad’s not perfect, and he can be a frustrating sonofabitch, but if there is one thing I know for sure it’s that he loves you more than anything.”

“I know that,” TK agreed, “and I’m not saying I’m never going to forgive him. I know it’s not his fault. But I’m just not ready to forgive him just yet. I will, though.”

Judd nodded and they lapsed into comfortable silence, the sound of the heart monitor and the ventilator the only sounds between them.

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

Eventually the doctor determined it was safe to take Carlos off the vent and to wean him off the sedation. If TK had been determined to not miss anything before, now he was absolutely glued to his seat. He refused to miss the moment Carlos opened his eyes, not after staring at the sight of them closed for so long.

The moment he did was not dramatic, it looked as if he is just waking up on any given morning but it was still enough to bring tears to TK’s eyes.

“Hi baby,” he said softly, thickly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. He paused for a moment to brush away one of his tears that landed on Carlos’s face as Carlos gave him a smile. It was soft and warm, and it lingered even as Carlos’s eyes closed again as he drifted back to sleep a mere minute later.

TK sank back into his seat, feeling the relief wash over him like a tidal wave. He had woken up; that was the first step. From here everything should follow in time, and that was all he needed.

He exchanged smiles with his parents as he pulled out his phone, typing an update into the group chat. He received a deluge of emojis and exclamation points in return and he smiled.

Everything would be okay now; he was sure of it.

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

The rest of the day is filled with the long and arduous process of Carlos rejoining the land of the living, but TK couldn’t care less. He would watch Carlos open his eyes every single second if he could. It still felt like a miracle each and every time.

Slowly he was able to stay awake for longer periods of time and each time he became a little more lucid. It was sometime in the middle of the night that his voice pulled TK from his own restless slumber and he opened his eyes to see Carlos studying him in concern, his fingers lightly tracing the bandages on his arm.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice still raspy from both the vent and the smoke.

“Just some burns, nothing major,” TK assured him evenly. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“I’ve asked you that before, haven’t I?”

Carlos was giving him a pointed look and TK laughed, the first genuine laugh he had given in days.

“Yeah,” TK agreed, “but it’s okay. I’m pretty sure you’ll start to remember soon, and I don’t mind answering whatever questions you have as many times as it takes.”

Carlos smiled at him – bright and warm in the way only Carlos could manage – and TK felt the last vestiges of dread fall away. Carlos was going to be okay, and so were they. He couldn’t ask for anything more.

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

The next morning when Gabriel and Andrea showed up Gabriel looked at TK.

“They found the arsonist.”

“What?” TK asked in surprise, sitting upright in his chair. “When? How? Who was it?”

Gabriel gave a small smile at his rapid-fire questions as Carlos chuckled beside him before his expression grew more serious.

“It was a woman named Vicki Nadler. She apparently had a list of vendettas against people she felt had wronged her, and a few months ago she was turned down for a position as a paramedic.”

TK made the connection with a sense of dawning horror, “The position I got.”

Gabriel nodded and TK shook his head, staring down at his lap and avoiding the gazes of the others in the room, “Then it’s my fault. She was after me. God, Carlos, I am so…”

“Hey, Carlos said firmly, “it is not your fault.”

“He’s right,” Gabriel agreed, “people like that, there is no predicting what could set them off or what they perceive as a wrong against them. There is no way you could have known, but it wouldn’t have been your fault anyways. All you did was be the better candidate for a job.”

TK knew he was right, but that didn’t stop the guilt gnawing at his gut. Maybe the fire hadn’t been his fault, but something else was. And it was something he needed to fix right away.

The opportunity presented itself sooner than he thought. The Reyes stayed for a while, conversation flowing comfortably between the four of them. It was about an hour later when Gabriel broke off mid-sentence and cleared his throat.

“We should be going,” he said, standing from his seat and leaning down to give Carlos a hug. “We’ll come by later to check on you, Carlitos.”

TK gave Carlos a bewildered look, startled by the abrupt exit until a different but familiar voice drifted in from the doorway, “Don’t leave on my account. I just wanted to check in, I don’t want to get in anyone’s hair.”

TK stiffened at the sound of his dad’s voice and Carlos gave him a curious, if concerned, look.

“No,” Carlos’s mother added, “we really should be going anyways. I plan to bring by some home cooked food tomorrow which means I need to be home to cook it. We’ll see you boys later, let us know if you need anything.”

Then, with a kiss from Andrea for both Carlos and TK, the Reyes were gone and it was only Owen Strand left standing awkwardly in the doorway.

He glanced at TK, who looked down before shifting his focus to Carlos, a wide smile spreading across his face.

“It’s good to see you awake, Carlos, how are you feeling?”

“It’s good to be awake,” Carlos agreed, reaching out for TK’s hand and squeezing it. “And much better, thank you.”

Owen nodded and glance again at TK, who still had yet to meet his dad’s eyes. He could feel Carlos’s hand tighten on his as his boyfriend spoke again, “My dad was just telling us that they caught the arsonist.”

“Yeah,” TK heard his dad agreed with a scoff, “that was a surprise. Definitely did not see that one coming.”

Carlos hummed appreciatively and TK took a breath and looked up, meeting his dad’s eyes for the first time. He was startled to see the same look in them as before; when TK had finally fallen into a fitful sleep all those nights ago, after he had blamed his dad for everything.

“Dad, I…” he started, but Owen shook his head.

“You don’t need to apologize son,” he said gently. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“Still,” TK insisted, “I implied. And not only was I wrong, but I never should have even hinted that it was your fault. I know you would have never put us in danger, and I knew that then too. I was just...” he trailed off, not sure there were words to describe everything he had been feeling that night. “I’m sorry,” he said instead, “really.”

His dad held his gaze for several moments before he smiled, and TK could almost see the weight sliding off his shoulders.

“I’m sorry too,” he admitted. “I still should have listened to you when you asked me to stop. I know you were worried, and I should have listened. I really should have never gotten involved in the first place.”

“Promise me you’ll never try to take on an arsonist on your own again and we’ll call it even,” TK offered and Owen laughed, crossing over to slid into the chair on the other side of the bed.

“Deal,” he promised. “My crime fighting days are over. I’ll leave that to the professionals,” he added with a nod at Carlos. Carlos looked baffled, looking between TK and Owen in confusion before shaking his head.

“I’d be lying if I said I had any idea what that was about,” he admitted, “but I’m glad you got it sorted out.”

“I’ll tell you later,” TK promised, squeezing the hand still holding his own, “we have time.”

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

A week later Carlos is finally cleared to leave the hospital.

“Are you sure your dad doesn’t mind?” Carlos asked for the fourth time in the past hour, “I’m sure we can find somewhere else to stay.”

“He wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t sure Carlos,” TK pointed out. “Besides, he kind of insisted. I don’t really think we had much of a choice, actually. It makes sense too: there is plenty of room and it’s close enough to the station that once I have to go back to work if you need something during the day either I or someone else on the crew can take care of it without a problem.”

“I’ll be fine, TK. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Humor me,” TK asked drily, and Carlos rolled his eyes. “Besides,” he added, closing the bag he had been packing and crossing the side of the bed where Carlos was sitting and stepping into his space, “I’m always going to worry about you, just like I know you always worry about me. So don’t be a hypocrite, Carlos Reyes. It’s unbecoming.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, “Unbecoming, huh?”

“Yes,” TK confirmed with a solemn nod, “extremely so.”

“Maybe I could change your mind,” Carlos suggested, placing his hands on his hips and pulling him closer.

“You can always try,” TK agreed. He leaned closer, happily giving into the kiss that Carlos initiated when a sudden voice from the doorway startled him, causing him to pull away abruptly.

“You sure your doctor cleared you to do that, Carlos?”

“Dad!” TK exclaimed, burying his head into Carlos’s shoulder for a moment before turning to face his dad with a scowl, “could you not?”

“What?” Owen asked innocently and TK groaned.

Carlos chuckled, though his red face betrayed his own embarrassment and TK took pity on him by changing the subject, “We’re all set to go, we just handled the last of the paperwork.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” he asked. “Unless you want to see if they’ll let you stay…”

“No,” Carlos cut in emphatically. “I’d rather leave now, before they change their minds.”

TK rolled his eyes fondly but offered Carlos an arm to lean on as he stood from the bed. He helped him into the wheelchair a nurse had dropped off as his dad grabbed their bag and they headed towards the door. His dad’s truck was waiting outside, and he helped Carlos into it before climbing in besides him. He studied his boyfriend, noting how much the quick activity had taken out of him.

Carlos noticed him looking and shook his head, “I’m fine TK,” he said before he could ask, “I’ve just been stuck in a bed for a week. My endurance will come back, I just need to build it back up.”

“Yeah well, as long as you do it slowly,” TK reminded him. “Pushing yourself could do more harm than good.”

“As I have been reminded multiple times by both the doctors, nurses, and my paramedic boyfriend. I know, Ty. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

TK shook his head fondly at him before turning his gaze out the window. He frowned as he processed their surroundings. This wasn’t the way to his dad’s house. He should know; he had done this trip more times than he ever cared to count.

“Where are we going?” he asked his dad, who just smiled at them in the rearview mirror.

“You’ll see.”

He exchanged a confused look with Carlos, who shrugged.

It wasn’t long before the roads grew more familiar, and TK realized where they were going.

“Dad…” he started but trailed off. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t been to their house since. He knew he probably should have gone to see what could be salvaged, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself too. He knew that he probably should, but now seemed like a poor choice in time.

“Turns out,” Owen explained as they took another turn, bringing them closer to where their home had been, “it wasn’t actually a total loss. Some structural damage, yes, but nothing that couldn’t be repaired. And we’ve had the best working on it all week. As of this morning they informed me they were just putting on the finishing touches.”

TK stared at his dad. “Are you saying,” he began, “that you hired people to rebuild our house?”

“Hired seems like a strong word,” Owen replied thoughtfully. “They mostly volunteered and they only thing I’ve been paying them in is takeout.”

TK was even more confused now and glanced at Carlos to see his own befuddlement mirrored on his face. Before they could ask any more questions, they made the last turn, bringing them to their street.

TK couldn’t do anything but stare because there was their house, looking none the worst for the wear. He looked over at Carlos to see the same shock in his expression. Their eyes met and TK could see that there were tears in Carlos’s eyes too to match the ones he could feel forming in his own. He reached out and grabbed Carlos’s hand, winding their fingers together as his dad came to a stop and started talking again.

“We did hire a contractor – a friend of Judd’s – to handle the major structural work and to make sure everything was up to code, but for the most part it’s just been the crew and some friends.” He turned in his seat so he could see them as he smiled, “Turns out there were a lot of people that wanted to help you both. There’s been people from other fire stations, some people from Carlos’s precinct; it’s been a pretty full house here. Which was good, because it meant that we were able to get it done in time.”

TK was at a loss for words. A glance at Carlos told him that he wasn’t any better off. Owen watched them both for a bit longer before he laughed, “Do you guys want to sit in my truck all day, or do you want to go home?”

Without a word TK slid out of the backseat, reaching in to help Carlos out as well. He wrapped an arm around Carlos’s waist as they moved up the front walk, letting him lean on him as he opened the door and they stepped inside.

There was a small crowd in their living room, but it was their living room. It looked much the same as it had. Sure, some of the decorations and knick-knacks they had lying around were gone and the furniture was definitely different, but it felt the same.

TK looked around, noticing the same elsewhere. It wasn’t the same, but it was standing and that was more than he could have ever asked for at this point. He looked over at the gathered crowd: his crew – both fire and medical, Officer Mitchell, Carlos’s parents. They were all standing and beaming at them and TK was too overwhelmed to put everything he was feeling into words.

Thankfully, they seemed to understand.

“It’s not like we were about to let you be homeless,” Marjan quipped as she stepped closer, “besides, we’re pretty handy.”

TK looked up at Carlos, who met his gaze. His eyes and expression were warm, and TK knew he was feeling the same thing he was: the love emanating from every square inch of their home from these people who cared so much; who had done so much to help them.

“Thank you,” he finally managed to get out. “I know it’s not nearly enough to cover everything you’ve all done but…thank you.”

There was chatter then as everyone started talking at once, assuring them that they were happy to do it, that no thanks were needed. There were hugs then and smiles and laughter from all around and through it all, TK never let go of Carlos once. ‘

Eventually Andrea made her way over to them and pulled them each into a warm, strong hug. TK savored it, beaming at her when she pulled back.

“Welcome back home,” she told them, Gabriel materializing at her side with a smile.

TK took another look around, at the gathered crowd already digging into the food that had been provided, through the combined efforts of Charles and Andrea, no doubt. He found his dad in the crowd and met his eyes, giving him another smile of thanks. He’d find time to talk to him soon; to make sure he knew exactly how much he appreciated everything he had done for them, but for now the smile he got in return told him it was enough.

Finally, he looked at Carlos, who like him had been surveying the room. He felt TK’s eyes on his and turned to meet his gaze, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. TK smiled and turned back to his boyfriend’s parents who were still standing in front of them and watching them with fond smiles on their faces. It was all he could ask for; in all honesty it was more than he had ever dreamed.

He returned the Reyes’s smiles and squeezed the hand now intertwined with his own.

“It’s good to be home.”

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #911ls speculation #my writing #userkimmy #userac #userjilly #usermaximus #tuserpaige #userbones #reyesstrand #reyeslonestartag #buckybarnesalways #immortalstrand #maizsnex #hierophvnts #laelipoo

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