#cain writes

"Emergency Contact"

Braxton x Reader

A/N: first I'm pretty sure the gif is by cry-bastion on here (I found it on pinterest but I do still try to credit where I can). This fic is pretty pretty self indulgent. The accountant movies have been comfort films for me- so I'm finally writing about Braxton

Warnings: descriptions of injuries (vague), reader character was in an accident, Braxton being concerned, some fluff, hurt/comfort etc

You'd joked with Braxton about this moment constantly, teased him that he'd be a terrible emergency contact. You'd still made him your emergency contact, on the list of three numbers, above your mom, and your best friend.

You trusted him, of course, that came with the territory of loving him.

You just didn't think you'd need him to show up. That was your first mistake really. You'd put too much trust into not needing Braxton, that the universe had to come and collect.

You didn't quite remember the accident, you were checking your phone, briefly, as you crossed the street. It had been green for pedestrians, so you hadn't really thought much of it- so you hadn't seen the person running the red light, until they clipped you on their way through. You remembered the fear, the sudden pain in your leg, and hitting the ground, after that it was dark.

You were unconscious during the journey to the hospital, and your phone wasn't too banged up, so the EMTs in the ambulance were able to make the calls to your emergency contacts. The first being, of course, Braxton.

He answered on the first ring, he always did for you, “hey sweetheart-”

The EMT interrupted him quickly, letting him know you'd been in an accident, what hospital you were currently staying in, and that he'd have to come in if he wanted more information than that. Your doctor wouldn't be comfortable with anyone giving patient information out over the phone.

“I'll be there, in the morning at the absolute latest-” he swore, hanging up quickly. He had to find a car, to hell with the rest of the job.

You woke up before he got there, you didn't know to be grateful for that. You knew your parents weren't there either, again, very grateful. They were spending a few weeks camping, and there was no cell service. You were still a little out of it, head fuzzy, and eyes squinting. Your right side hurt from about the waist down. You weren't sure why Braxton wasn't there, but you were hopeful that whatever job he was probably on (he'd never give specifics before he left) that he'd stay gone until you were discharged from the hospital.

You weren't so lucky.

Your doctor came in, chart in hand, she was reading through it when she told you, “we managed to get ahold of your emergency contact, he said he should be here at some point this morning.”

Your heart dropped, “which emergency contact? My parents, right?” You almost considered crossing your fingers for any possible luck that might bring.

She looked up from your chart, “no, the first one on your list.. Braxton? He said he was on his way as soon as he was told what happened.”

Great. Wonderful. Lovely. Not that you didn't want to see Braxton, him being there would honestly be a balm for your terribly frayed nerves. The longer you were awake, the more you remembered about the accident, and as much as you tried to tell yourself you were fine- you really could have died the moment that far hit you. Somehow you didn't, somehow.

“Your injuries are mild thankfully, a minor concussion, and fracture to your pelvis. We want to keep you for a few days for observation, to make sure there's no internal bleeding that's being hidden by any bruising,” the doctor told you, making notes in your chart as she spoke.

You nodded, a little too shocked to properly respond. Your head did hurt, and your lower body ached, but you were fully unaware there'd been any actual damage.

While your doctor was updating you about your care plan for the next few days, Braxton was walking up desk. He looked a little worse for wear, dark eye bags, duffle still in hand. He hadn't even gone home before coming up to the hospital. When he came up to the counter, the medical receptionist looked up at him, “can I help you sir?”

He nodded, and told the man your name, and asked what room number you were in. It wasn't as easy to get through as he thought it would be. Before they let him go back to see you, he had to explain exactly who he was to you. Normally he'd respect that, liking the idea that there were extra precautions in place to keep you safe.

Now though? He was annoyed that he had to waste precious time explaining anything to the man at the desk. You needed him damn it.

When he was finally let through, he nearly ran through the halls to your room. Did he get turned around in his well-hidden panic and have to ask which direction he needed to go? Possibly, not that you'd ever hear that piece of information.

Your doctor had just left when Braxton came in, he looked tired, and worried. You could see it in his eyes. He didn't let you get a word out though, because he was dropping his duffle at the foot of your bed, and grabbing one of your hands in his. “I'm alright,” you assured him quietly.

He shook his head, “you've got no idea how worried I was.. when I got that call-” he trailed off-

“Really, I'm okay,” you squeezed his hand gently, “they didn't need to call you, I'm sorry you were so worried.”

He shook his head again, this time more emphatically, “no,” he said firmly, “I want to be the one who gets that call to be there for you. Even if it scares th’ shit out of me, sweetheart, I want to be there.” If you were to look closer at Braxton's face, you would have seen his eyes shining with unshed tears.

He continued after a moment of silence, using that short time to gather himself, “I'm all in, whenever you need me.”

You found yourself holding back tears at his simple, yet heartfelt words, “always Brax, I always need you,” you replied quietly, you still hadn't let go of his hands, and you smiled ever so slightly when you felt him squeeze yours.

It was in that moment that he decided he'd turn his focus towards more legal, and less dangerous business ventures. Not because you'd ever ask him to choose between you and his job, but because you said you needed him. It really was as simple as that.

“You have me,” he almost whispered, as he leaned down to press the gentlest kiss to your forehead. He let it linger for a moment, as he really thought about how lucky he was.

Its quiet, the Irish sea lapping lazily against the rocks of the shore. The sky is its signature grey, and there's a faint laste of salt in the wind that beats at her face and whips up her hair. Peaceful, despite all that's happened here. She's waiting for a call. It feels as if she's always waiting around for him to summon her somewhere. She didn't used to mind it, but she wishes sometimes she could be the one to call, to drag him somewhere.

She hated being... out of the loop. Skulduggery always seemed so up to date on this world within the mundane world, and Val was subject to whatever he deemed important. It hurt. Like she was lesser, an underling, to be called on at a moments notice. Dragged from her bed to his couch, missing time with her family and her home. Missing time like this, watching the calm sea. Val doesn't sleep much anymore.

Maybe she should get her own contacts somehow. Who can she trust? China? Not really. She's beautiful, and Valkryie gets butterflies thinking about her, but there's something that she doesn't let anyone see. Not a bad ally, but not exactly trustworthy.

Ghastly? He's kind, and certainly helpful and resourceful, and a bit too... responsible. No way in hell would he send her her own assignments. He shakes his head disapprovingly every time he has to check over her armoured clothes.

Fletcher would lose his head if it wasn't attached to his body. He's not exactly the guy who knows a guy. He's basically been some kind of rogue mortal all his life, and while he is massively useful if you want Japanese sushi, French pastries or a New York slice, he's not that well connected or updated.

Valkryie considers the option of going rogue like him sometimes. She could ditch her family with the reflection, go wreak havoc somewhere for a little bit. But what would she do? Lighting things on fire isnt exactly useful in a lot of situations, and she's not even particularly good at that yet.

She would never truly escape Skulduggery anyway. He would find her, mock her a little bit, and go right back on to irresponsibly guiding her through his world. He's famous, connected, trustworthy (to her anyway), hilarious (though she'd never admit it), and viscerally irritating. Maybe he was truly the best partner she could ask for.

There's something behind all that she just can't grasp. But he doesn't know all of her either. Maybe that comes with time.

The phone buzzes. She picks it up, only to see a tall, thin silhouette on the rocks before her.

"Ready to go?"

"No actually, I wanted to sit here for another hour."

-Much love, wood anon.

"Do You Like Me?"

Braxton x Reader

A/N: I've had a bit of a shit show today, and this is completely self indulgent

Warnings: fluff, love notes, there's like. No dialogue

You wouldn't say that you hated these meetings.

You really didn't hate them if you were totally honest, they were just dull. Quarterly you had to sit through the dull droning of your boss. You had thought that working for, what was essentially, a squad of hit men, you would leave any corporate bullshit behind.

You were very wrong.

You weren't even one of the mercenaries. You worked behind the scenes, manning a computer, communicating via phone calls with the operators, you got them in and out of their various contracts with as few injuries as possible.

You were very good at your job, and that was revealed in the various graphs and charts that were shown on the screen at different points during the presentation. Thankfully no one expected any comments from you, because the only time you'd managed to drag your attention to the screen was when you heard your name, otherwise your eyes had been, for the most part, on the clock.

When you weren't eyeing the clock, you were stealing glances at the only person that made these meetings even somewhat bearable, Braxton. He was sitting across from you, as he usually was, at the long conference table, which was a secret blessing. He was there, and the clock was behind him, so even if he caught you looking his way, you could just say you were looking at the clock.

It was a totally foolproof plan. You were obviously wrong, not that you noticed anyway.

Braxton liked to watch you too. At first, he did it out of curiosity, usually you sat across from him, facing the clock. He always noticed you sneaking glances at him, he was paid to notice little things about people, and you weren't exactly subtle about it.

He thought you were cute, not that he ever planned to admit it to you. Those thoughts were really just for him, just a crush to get him through the lonely nights after a long job.

You were often paired together, the best gun and the best eyes, it only made sense.

His crush got worse as he got to know you, all the long calls as he worked, making jokes, him holding back his laughter during moments when stealth was required. All this to say, he really shouldn't have been surprised at how easy it was to rip a page out of the notepad sitting in front of him, and scribble a quick note. It was really childish, but he hoped you'd appreciate it.

He slid it across the table without looking at you, but making sure the small piece of paper touched your hand.

You looked down, there was a note pressed against your hand, you looked across from you. Braxton seemed to be ignoring you on purpose. Odd.

Unfolding the paper, you read it quickly, and it said “do you like me? Check yes or no?” With space to mark your choice, and below that “if yes, will you go to dinner with me after this?” And another spot to mark your response.

You bit back a smile, shaking your head as you took a pen off the table, and marked the note, before sliding it back over to Braxton, making sure the paper touched his hand.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when you slid the paper back to him, and he couldn't hide how eager he was, unfolding the note and reading it right away.

Yes! You'd said yes!

The grin that broke across his face was nearly blinding, the one on yours matched, when he looked up to confirm that you truly meant it. Of course you did, you had never lied to him in all the time he'd known you.

The idea of your date, and Braxton’s hand right beside yours on the conference table

was what was going to get you through the rest of this meeting. It didn't make you any less impatient though, you really couldn't wait.

💞 All of You 💞

T4T Marcus Pike x Reader (both masc)

A/N: if anyone thought I was kidding about writing transmasc Marcus with a transmasc reader, you were absolutely wrong. Ofc I had to write it-

Warnings: mentions of worry, lots of kissing, sweetheart Marcus Pike, body worship, trans people in love (as they should be!!)

You hadn't told Marcus.

This thought didn't occur to you until you were sitting on his lap, his hands on your hips, and your lips pressed to his.

To be fair to you though, Marcus was a really good kisser. You hadn't thought of much since the ‘good night’ kiss you’d shared, that led you to breathlessly inviting him upstairs. This was an invitation he'd eagerly accepted, and neither of you had the presence of mind to get much further than your living room couch.

That was how you ended up in your current predicament. You couldn't say you were complaining though-

You needed to tell Marcus.

You were trying.

It definitely wasn't your fault for getting lost in the feeling of him underneath you, absolutely not.

“Marcus-” you started, only to be silenced by another needy press of his lips.

“Marc-” another kiss.

“Marcus please-” his hands slid up your shirt, now holding your waist instead.

You moved your hands down to his wrists, stopping any further movement, as you pulled back from his lips. He seemed to chase you as you moved away, “Marcus I'm being serious, I need to tell you something.”

That seemed to sober up the kiss drunk man beneath you. He looked up at you, brown eyes filled with concern, “are you okay, sweetheart? We can stop if you need to-”

Wonderful, sweet Marcus, always thinking about your well-being, but you shook your head, “no, no I don't want to stop, but there's something I need to tell you first. You just, you have to promise not to freak out okay?”

When he saw the anxiety clearly written on your face, Marcus nodded, “promise, you can tell me anything, I'm here for you.” In your heart you knew he meant that.

You nodded, a small smile crossing your face, taking a deep breath, you just blurted it out, “Marcus I, I'm. God this was easier in my head,” you laughed at yourself before trying again, “Marcus I'm transgender-”

You were going to start explaining what exactly that meant, just in case he didn't already know, but the smile on his face confused you, “what? Don't be weird about it- please don't be weird-”

He shook his head, “no, no sweetheart, breathe ok? Just take a breath, I'm just happy that you felt comfortable enough to tell me.”

You nodded, of course you felt comfortable with Marcus, and you told him as much. This led him to ask you if he could tell you something important too, to which you eagerly replied, “absolutely, you can tell me anything.” Because really after your confession, and his reaction- nothing he could say could possibly surprise you.

“This isn't the way I planned to tell you,” he started, looking almost bashful, “I'm trans too.”

You stood corrected. There was one thing that could surprise you, and that was it.

You definitely didn't mean to, but you burst out laughing. Marcus's brow creased in confusion, “sweetheart?”

You shook your head, “no, no, I'm not laughing at you- I just, that was probably the last thing I was expecting to hear, but I'm relieved.” He nodded, understanding exactly what you meant. Being with someone who intimately understood the things you were going through was infinitely easier.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “you're perfect, Marcus,” you murmured softly as you pulled back.

He pressed a quick kiss to your brow, “so are you, absolutely perfect for me,” he agreed.

When you invited Marcus up to your apartment, you didn't plan for your evening to be spent lovingly sharing kisses, and lazily trailing your hands over each other's bodies. You told him as much, and he laughed, “disappointed, honey?”

You shook your head, not lifting it from where it rested against the crook of his neck, “no, nothing about you is disappointing-” and you meant it wholeheartedly.

You both eventually moved into your bedroom, gently stripping each other of clothes, kissing whatever skin you both could reach as you went. Marcus laid down on your bed, holding his arms out for you to take your place back on his chest. You eagerly went, your head resting just so, enjoying the sound of his heartbeat, one hand on his chest, and the other wrapped around him.