#I JUST got it to kick on again. 24 hours WITHOUT heat at all. now it ran for a little bit before it just stopped so I mean

[imwritesometimes]

pls god let the new motor for my fckn heater come tomorrow I am so cold and so tired and I cannot exist like this another week 🥴🤞

[eris-snow]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐭

✨Quirk accident

Tags: bakugou x fem!reader, fluff, bakugou's birthday series 2023

Bakugou and you get hit with an attachment quirk.

“So you’re telling me…” Bakugou growls, hand clenching yours. “We’re stuck like this.”

You don’t like Quirk accidents. Sure, you haven’t been in one, but you’ve heard plenty of stories of the sheer mayhem it could cause if the Quirk accidents weren’t handled properly.

Your Thursday that day had been used as a hands-on internship at your respective agencies because of a villain from the Hero Gala attack running around chaotically while setting things on fire.

There are two things that happened today:

Number 1: Bakugou and you caught the villain.

Number 2: The villain got you with his Quirk.

After a long, drawn-out interrogation that only ended around noon, Bakugou and you learnt the following.

The asshole’s Quirk was called “Attachment”, and meant that Bakugou and you had to spend your next 24 hours in each other’s presence. Sharing skin contact, as the villain explained weakly, was also needed in order to prevent both of you from suffering from panic attacks.

Your face heats up in utter embarrassment.

How cliche.

Aizawa takes one look at the both of you and declares the both of you as excused from your respective internships, before ordering you to shift all your necessary items into the living room. That was going to be the makeshift arrangement for this one night until the Quirk wears off.

Your homeroom teacher dismisses you with a tired yawn, and that’s when you’re shipped off back to the dorms with no one but yourselves to keep you occupied.

“This is stupid,” Bakugou snarls. “No way I’m sitting around here all day. You up for some hand-to-hand combat?”

Your heart jumps at the idea of normalcy, making you nod your head vigorously. “Let’s.”

The both of you make do with this. You change inside the bathroom while Bakugou stands with his back facing the door, and the physical combat checks out the villain’s lame Quirk criterias.

“Your kick is too low!” Bakugou yells at you while blocking your hit with his arm. “I know you can do better than that, Sunshine! Don’t start going fucking easy on me now!”

“It’s on,” You deadpan, landing a counterattack on his shoulder. “Don’t start getting all cocky, got it Bakugou?”

“Like hell, I will!”

That activity occupies you for a good few hours before you get back to the dorms.

After you’ve showered and gotten fully clothed, Bakugou and you try to complete homework. It’s obnoxiously subconscious, because that’s exactly when the Quirk starts to act up again.

You and Bakugou have a mutual, silent agreement to minimise as much physical contact as possible, and this Quirk had decided to derail your plan just for the fun of it.

Bakugou doesn’t like the idea of touching you. With his Quirk and the numerous number of people talking shit about how dangerous his Quirk is, he’s reframed from touching others ever since the dawn of middle school. He doesn’t want to hurt you, whether intentionally or not.

But even with all of this baggage, the pull towards you is too strong for him to ignore. He thought that just being there with each other would be enough to satisfy the Quirk, but apparently, he thought wrong. You look fidgety too, with the way you struggle on a math equation you can typically solve in your sleep.

Bakugou almost gives out when you stand up to walk towards the kitchen for a quick glass of water. It’s fucking stupid, that all it takes is 5 seconds without you and his hand is quivering aggressively with his breaths getting more laboured with the next. “Idiot,” He grits out, trying to ignore the anxiety that pools in his chest.

It only gets worse.

Unable to bear it any longer, Bakugou stumbles to his feet, staggering to where you headed without him.

He glares at the sight he sees when he rounds the corner. You’re stabilising yourself against a table, two quivering hands supporting your entire body was you take long, deliberate breaths.

“Dumbass,” He rasps, causing your head to shoot up to face him. The pull towards you is better now that you’re in closer proximity, but it’s not enough.

Those words echo off the walls of his brain.

Not enough.

He’s walking over to you, but it doesn’t do much to calm the storm of fear-stricken thoughts in him.

Not enough.

He takes one look at your face and grimaces. You’re having a hard time as well.

NOT ENOUGH.

Bakugou caves. “Give me your fucking hand,” He grits out, shoving his hand towards you. You don’t even think twice.

Your fingers intertwine as both of you take sharp inhales of relief, the haunting fear dissipating immediately the moment you make contact. “Never do that again,” Bakugou says, yanking a glass off the counter with you in tow, filling the cup up with water with one hand. “What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” You reply, taking the glass from him, looking embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Bakugou clicks his tongue. You’re such a Dumbass sometimes. Red eyes flickering to your joint hands, and Bakugou swallows back his initial annoyance.

“Let’s just go back.” Bakugou settles on, dragging you to the living room where your study materials. He tries to ignore the feeling of your hand in his, tries to think of anything to keep his brain from spiralling into the direction he refuses to acknowledge.

Your hand is a perfect fit in his, like it was made to be there.

You hold hands like that the entire time you’re doing homework.

It's quiet and incredibly awkward at first, but soon you and Bakugou learn to ignore it, and soon conversations start up again with a lot more life than before.

You remember that day vividly. The hand holding, the constant contact, the innocence behind it because Bakugou never overstepped boundaries with you. He needed the contact just as much as you did, and instead of getting all handsy, he opted for the most innocent form of touch.

You remember falling asleep on the couch with his hand in yours long before your classmates arrive home. It was the evening, and you both are drained from every goddamn eventful thing that happened so far over the month of April. Cherry blossoms symbolise change, and oh, boy, did it symbolise how far gone you were when it came to your crush on the blond Boom Boom Man.

His birthday was coming up, and you still hadn’t planned out your gift for him. You glare at your phone as you and Bakugou sit there in a somewhat comfortable position, with his arm resting on the couch and your hand lying on his. You can feel your eyelids start to close, and with how exhausted you were, you manage to drift off with success.

Bakugou glances over at you and sighs, tugging your phone away from your face and placing his away too. Just watching you snore peacefully is enough to get him yawning too. He lays down on his arm, head resting on the couch near your face. Fuck if he cares if his neck hurts tomorrow morning.

All that he could focus on now was how comfortingly warm your hand was, and how he wished that he didn’t need a Quirk accident to grasp it for the first time. He’d need to man up someday to spit out his feelings to you.

for the first time. He’d need to man up someday to spit out his feelings to you.

That day just…wasn’t today.

--

When you wake up the next day, it’s to half the fucking class gaping at you in unhinged surprise.

Bakugou and you have a lot of explaining to do.

[lxvislxdy]

Lock and Key | Bakugou K.

Summary: It all started out as a harmless prank - Denki’s idea, to get the two of you to talk. It was no secret that you had feelings for Bakugou Katsuki, at least, not amongst your friends. Denki had meant well, sure, when he’d handcuffed the two of you together, but when the key goes missing... well, let’s just say, it’s gonna be a long 24 hours.

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x reader

Warning(s): Swearing, that should be it

Notes: Reminder that my requests are open! Let me know what you’d like to see on my page! Hope you enjoy this cute little fic for Bakugou :) I just wanted to write something soft and lighthearted, and cute, so this is that.

You were going to kill Denki. That is, if Bakugou didn’t get to him first.

“Calm down, Bakubro! Murdering one of our classmates would not be very manly of you!”

And if it wasn’t for Kirishima, holding Bakugou back with all of his strength and giving you a sympathetic look as you were dragged along, Denki would’ve been toast. Literally. 

“Look, man, I’m sorry!” Denki was saying, hiding behind Mina and Sero, “It’s just a prank, dude, a joke! Don’t kill me!” 

“I’m gonna end you, spark plug!” Bakugou growled, “Get over here and get this shit off of me!”

Sero, barely holding back his laughter, said, “Aw, come on, Bakugou, I wouldn’t call y/n ‘shit’!”

For a moment, Bakugou blinks like he’s stunned, but then his murderous glare returns ten fold. “That’s... That’s not even what I meant, dunce face! I meant the handcuffs! Get. Them. OFF!”

You know, from the look Mina is sending you, that you’re blushing. 

“Okay!” Kaminari scrambles out from behind the two, smiling sheepishly as he searches all his pockets, “No worries, man, let me just... let me... get the... key...”

Bakugou finally settles down, and you breathe a sigh of relief as he drops his hand, yours falling with it. You rub at your wrist lightly, eyebrows drawn together. You’d been handcuffed to Bakugou for almost ten minutes now, and your wrist was already sore from being yanked around so much. 

“What’s taking so long, dunce face?” Bakugou grumbles.

“Well, you see, uhm... okay, listen, don’t be... don’t be mad, bro, just...” Kaminari laughs, eyes wide in fear, voice dropping so low you could hardly hear him, “I can’t exactly find it.”

You yelp in surprise as Bakugou activates his quirk, feeling the heat against the back of your hand. 

“What did you say?!” 

Everyone winces as he yells, face almost as red as Kirishima’s hair. 

“Careful, dude, don’t burn her!” Kirishima says, hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. 

Bakugou shoves him off, but listens to him nonetheless, and the heat subsides. 

“It’s okay, Kiri, I’m fine.” You tell him quietly. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” Denki says, guiltily. 

“Yeah, you’re about to be real sorry.” Bakugou says, “If you don’t get these off in the next five seconds!”

“Look, let’s just calm down for a minute, okay?” You say, stepping between the two. You feel Bakugou’s arm tug back against yours, as you move farther away from him, and your blush deepens. “Sorry. Anyway... why don’t we just see if Momo can make an extra key? Right?"

“That’s a good idea!” Kirishima says, optimistically. “See? Everything’s fine.”

“Yeah, why didn’t I think of that?” Kaminari scratches his head.

“Because you’re an idiot.” Bakugou mutters darkly.

Mina purses her lips, shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Yeah, that would be great... Except Momo is visiting her parents, and won’t be back till later tonight.”

And just like that, Bakugou explodes again. “WHAT?!”

...

After a stressful call with Momo, involving Bakugou taking the phone from Mina not once, but twice, and telling her to ‘get her and her stupid ass ponytail back to UA NOW!’, it’s finally decided that you’ll just have to wait it out. Even Bakugou can’t say he’d rather go to Aizawa, because explaining this meant explaining the handprint shaped burns in Denki’s door.

Of course, Momo promises to help as soon as she’s back, but that’s still hours and hours away. 

Bakugou, who still practically had steam coming out of his ears, sat beside you on the couch silently. Across from you, the rest of the group watched in sympathy (and fear). No one dared to break the silence, in fear he’d blow up on them again. You couldn’t say you blamed them. 

“Come on.” Bakugou’s sudden command startles you.

“What? Where are we going?” You ask, following his lead and standing up (you were getting dragged along, either way). 

He rolls his eyes, sighing, “I don’t know, but I’m not just gonna sit around like an idiot all day.”

He doesn’t wait for your response, marching out of the room. You look over your shoulder on your way out, a silent cry for help, and Denki has the audacity to give you a thumbs up and wink. You glare at him, sending your friends into a laughing fit.

“What are they laughing at?” Bakugou mutters, brow raised.

You flush in embarrassment, shrugging. “Dunno.”

The two of you eventually end up in the kitchen. You knew Bakugou could cook, everyone did because he regularly kicked everyone out of the kitchen so he could, but you’d never actually seen him in action. He was much calmer now that the two of you were alone, but the scowl never left his face. 

After a few minutes of awkwardly trailing behind him as he gathered ingredients, you mustered up the courage to ask, “Can I help?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, and you begin to think he’ll just ignore you, before he’s handing you a spoon. “You stir while I chop vegetables. I don’t trust you with a knife.”

Ignoring the backhanded comment, you take the spoon from him, happy he’s letting you help. You stir with one hand, resting the other on the counter beside him, so he can use both hands to chop the vegetables. It’s not easy, trying to cook while handcuffed to the angry blonde, but the two of you eventually find a rhythm. 

“So what are you making?” You ask, turning to look at him. His focus is all on what he’s doing, and he looks so serious you try your best not to giggle. Does Bakugou ever just... relax? Still, the way his lower lip just barely juts out and his brow furrows, when he concentrates hard, is really cute.

“We’re making zosui.” 

You’re heart does a little flip as he says ‘we’. He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know that, but you still have to turn away in an attempt to hide your smile. As mad as you were at Denki, you had to admit that being able to actually spend time with Bakugou doing something so... normal, domestic? It was nice. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time daydreaming about a moment like this (except, in your daydreams, you weren’t handcuffed, and maybe there was kissing involved), but you’d never thought it would actually happen. The only time you got to spend time with him outside of class, normally, was if you asked for help with the homework or agreed to spar. But that was rare, these days. Bakugou normally sparred with Kirishima, anyway, and you always felt like a bother when you asked for help. 

Sneaking another look at Bakugou, you find he’s already looking at you. He takes the spoon from you, gently bumping his hip into yours to move you out of the way, and you watch as he adds the veggies to the soup. As he stirs them in, he asks you to hand him the spices he’d set out beforehand. 

“What, have you never seen someone cook before?” He asks.

You laugh sheepishly, “I ate a lot of microwave dinners growing up.”

The look he gives you is incredulous, borderline angry, and he scoffs. “You’re kidding. That shits terrible for you!” 

You laugh, wrinkling your nose. 

He meets your eyes for a moment, lips parted slightly, and you raise a brow at him. Before you can ask, his attentions is back on the soup, and he’s quiet again.

It doesn’t take long for the soup to be done, then, after he adds the rice. And you have to admit, even though you hadn’t helped much, you do feel a sense of accomplishment when you sit down to eat a meal that you made yourself. 

The two of you sit down beside each other, forced to scoot your chairs so close that your thighs are almost touching. Surprisingly, he doesn’t complain.

“Thank you,” You say quietly, before digging in. “Wow! This is delicious!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” He rolls his eyes, but you recognize the slightly smug look on his face. “You helped.”

You giggle, bumping shoulders with him. “Sure, but you’re the chef, here!”

He hid it behind another bite of food, but you could have sworn you saw him smile, too. 

The two of you finish your meal in silence, Bakugou waiting with surprising patience for you to finish eating, before putting the bowls in the sink. 

“Thanks.”

He gives you a look, “For what?”

For being so nice.

“For teaching me how to cook!” 

He shrugs, muttering out ‘whatever’ in reply. 

“So... what do you want to do know?” You ask, hoping his tolerance for your company would last. 

You end up back in his dorm, awkwardly huddled together at the head of his bed. He was reading, as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone. The silence wasn’t awkward, like you’d thought it would be. It was comfortable, almost calming. You found yourself getting tired, the more you sat there. 

Eventually growing bored of your phone, you turned to see what Bakugou was reading, and started reading the pages yourself. You didn’t think he’d noticed, until he slipped his finger behind the next page to turn it, and paused. 

“You done?” He said, quiet and soft, his cheeks tinted the slightest pink. 

Your eyes widened, blushing, “Uh, yeah. S-Sorry.”

He turned the page without another word, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You tried to ignore him, pretending to read, before he sighed. 

And then, Bakugou began to read to you. 

“W-What are you doing?”

He stopped, narrowing his eyes. “Reading, dumbass.” He snapped. “You read slower than me, it’s annoying.”

Despite the backhanded remark, you grinned. “Oh. Okay.” 

He started again, sounding significantly less irritated, and you tried to slow the beating of your heart. In all the times you’d imagined hanging out with Bakugou, you had never thought of something this sweet. You especially hadn’t anticipated his voice ever being this soft, and calming. 

As he read to you, you shifted closer, eventually resting your head on his shoulder. He faltered for a minute, hiding his fumble with a cough, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge it. It wasn’t until he reached the end of the next chapter that he realized you’d fallen asleep. 

And he definitely wasn’t blushing, no, not Bakugou.

Hours later, when Momo and all your friends piled into his room, he whispered harshly, “Wake her up, and I’ll kill you!”

Maybe Denki’s plan had worked out, after all. 

[dontfeeltoohot]

Would you write something with Eddie fainting?

So. This got away from me....oops. I probably didn't need to add as much background info as I did, but oh well. Have 2.6k of Eddie getting dehydrated/dealing with low blood sugar/getting a little too hot on stage. Enjoy!

XXX

Summer of '86, Corroded Coffin starts getting noticed. They're not well known by any means, but a handful of people start showing up the first few times they play at the Hideout, more than just their usual drunks, and then a handful turns into around fifty people, and Eddie's floored.

He's pretty sure it has something to do with his friends, because when they play, Steve and Nancy and Robin and Jonathan all seem to know most of the crowd. Even if it's not everyone's scene, they all seem to enjoy it, and it makes Eddie feel on top of the world. He's alive, he's graduated, and he has the best boyfriend on the planet. And now, his dreams are finally starting to take shape.

It's the beginning of August, it's hot, and they're finishing up a 5 day stint playing shows in cities near by. Last night it had been Fort Wayne, the biggest show they'd ever played, opening for two other bands in a tiny venue. There had been maybe 100 people, but considering the night prior had been maybe 50 people, it felt like they were playing in New York City.

Tonight, they're coming back to Hawkins to play at The Underground as their last little show until a week and a half from now. It's bigger than the hideout and somehow Jonathan had pulled some string with the owner, assuring him that Corroded Coffin would bring in more than just a few people. He's not sure it's completely true, but he'll take what he can get.

They're all exhausted and a little grumpy, it's the first time they've roomed together for four days and had non stop contact 24/7. They've all managed to keep civil, but Eddie swears if he hears Jeff talk about his damn girlfriend one more time and how she's going to Indiana University, he's going to take the mans hat and shove it down his throat.

The Underground has a stage outside during the summer months that means people can lay out on a lawn, have some beer and enjoy music without being stuck in a tiny square box packed together like sardines. They'd be lying if they said they weren't nervous. Metal music is supposed to be enjoyed in close quarters, and the idea of playing for a group spread out is more than a little nerve wracking.

All of Eddie's friends are coming tonight, as well as some of their families, at least that's the last he's heard from Steve when he'd talked to his boyfriend ten hours ago. As they unload equipment, the lead guitarist wipes at his face with his arm, cheeks red and sweaty, curls frizzy. He hates the heat and usually stays inside on afternoons like today. Fuck summer, the man thinks, as he lugs his amp up onto the wooden stage.

It doesn't help that he's not had any food today, and he can't remember if he'd really had much water either. He's nervous for the show, more than he had been for last nights, and his stomach twists uncomfortably when he thinks about all his friends and people he knows truly listening to his bands music. Sighing, Eddie plugs the amp in as Gareth works on his kick drum. The sound echoes in his head uncomfortably.

Two hours before the show, Steve brings food into the small green room that's located inside the building. Eddie's sitting in front of a fan, dark grey shirt soaked around the arm pits, neck and back. When his boyfriend walks in, the curly haired man jumps up, grinning widely. Dizziness that comes with the sudden position change gets brushed off in favor of hugging Steve tight. He looks amazing, wearing shorts and a band tee, looks so much more relaxed than he would have a year ago. Eddie presses a kiss to his lips.

"I've missed you."

"I've missed you too Princess," the older man kisses him again, then finally lets go. He takes a water bottle that's on the table and cracks it open, taking two sips before recapping it and throwing it on the chair he's been occupying. Steve sets the bags of food down. It's nothing special, just McDonalds, but everyone digs in, thanking Steve. Eddie however, stays next to his boyfriend, not hungry in the least bit.

"Hey, Eds, you okay? You look..." Steve trails off, gesturing into the air.

"What?" He's so hot he feels like he's burning from the inside out. He moves back in front of the fan, taking another tiny sip of water, his stomach feeling vaguely sloshy.

"...you look tired. I'm sure you're exhausted from this past week."

"Yeah, can't lie, m'ready to lay down in your bed and sleep for the next twenty four hours," he jokes.

Steve stays with them until they've got half an hour left before the clock hits seven. Eddie isn't feeling any better, at least not physically. He's calmer, more at ease thanks to his boyfriend, but god, he feels shaky and hot and tired. They're all going over their parts, talking through key changes, working out small kinks from the previous nights show.

Standing to go use the restroom, Eddie's world tilts. Instinctively, he reaches out and grips the first thing he can, Tim's shoulder. The bassist looks up in confusion, frowning. The guitarist swallows and blinks, equilibrium returning even though he feels worse than before.

"Dude, you good? You like...changed colors for a second."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. I gotta take a leak," he assures, forcing himself to continue on to the restroom down the hall. head is still swimming. As he washes his hands after peeing, they tremble slightly, and Eddie looks at himself in the mirror, telling himself to get a grip. His lips are pale, face still red from the heat. Yanking his hair tie from his wrist, he pulls his hair up and fixes it in a bun, wispy curls falling to frame his face. He's about to walk out when the world tilts again. Leaning against the metal wall of the closest toilet stall, Eddie rests his head against it, trying to cool his forehead down.

A minute passes before he's good enough to make his way back to the green room. He's not sick, it doesn't feel like that, but it also doesn't feel like anything he's really experienced before. Sliding back in through the door, Eddie grabs his guitar and strums it idly once he's sitting down.

"I went to check a second ago dude, and there's like...way more people than I expected. Even a few people from old classes."

Eddie frowns, not entirely sure he likes the idea of people from school coming to see them preform. Even if Gareth, Jeff and Tim weren't labeled as complete freaks, he was, and his mind goes to getting attacked after the show or getting booed off stage.

"Great," he deadpans, sitting in front of the fan again, eyes shutting. He misses the way the other three look at him and then at each other.

Ten minutes later, they're on stage, doing the final tune up. There is a surprising amount of people, and Eddie swallows thickly. He spies Robin, Nancy and Mrs. Wheeler all talking, and his chest aches slightly, not having realized when they'd said parents they'd meant more than just Joyce. He blinks and tries to not overthink everything as he looks at Tim, making sure their guitars are tuned perfectly.

The show starts. Eddie introduces them, giving off his usual dramatic persona, explaining they're happy to be out tonight, happy to get the opportunity, and then he tells them to be prepared for the second most metal concert ever, grinning when Dustin yells loudly. Steve snorts and Robin says something to the kid, but Eddie's already starting to play, the others following suit.

In the middle of their third song, it starts going down hill- not for everyone out on the lawn, no, they all seem to at least be semi-enjoying themselves. No, it's while Tim is playing his solo that Eddie's stomach suddenly gives an intense flip, as if he's on a rollercoaster heading down the track at 90 miles an hour. Yanking some cord for slack, he turns away from their audience and moves to the back of the stage. Gareth, though continuing to play, turns his head to see what's going on, just as Eddie gets sick in the grass behind them, leaning over the edge of the stage.

He feels shaky as it happens again before he's able to use the bottom of his shirt to wipe his mouth then go back to the front, managing to get there right in time to continue singing. With all that's going on, he's pretty sure no one really noticed, having half hid behind Gareth anyway.

By the end of their fourth song, Eddie's energy is rapidly decreasing, like the life is being sucked out of him. He's pale, drenched in sweat, and his head is swimming. Honestly, the guitarist is amazed he's still able to hit every note on his Warlock, still able to sing all the lyrics to the songs they've written. They're over halfway through with the next song when Eddie fumbles slightly, hitting an Am instead of a C. It's barely noticeable in the grand scheme of things, especially to anyone in the crowd, but Tim looks at him curiously and Eddie gives a smile back, pretending nothing's happened.

Between the seventh and eighth song, the last of their set, while Gareth is fixing his high hat and Jeff tweaks his bass, Eddie moves to the back of the stage again, hands shaking, guitar moved to around to his other side.

"Eddie, you okay?" Gareth asks, turning to shield him and try to stay quiet.

"Y-Yeah...s'fuckin' hot..." Eddie mumbles before retching into the grass again. When he turns back, the curly haired man is wiping his face with his bandana, then his mouth, spitting a few times and taking a bottle of water from next to the drum shield, rinsing his mouth out.

"Man, maybe we should cut it sh-"

"We got one more song Gareth, I'll be fine."

The lack of dramatic flare has Gareth's stomach sinking.

Eddie moves to stand back in front, mouth pressing against the microphone. "Alright guys, we got one last song for you tonight. It's not an original, but a cover for my friend Dustin, the little brat," he jokes, making a bunch of the party's parents laugh. Max snorts but Dustin beams back at him. Looking back at the band, he lets Gareth count them off, and then they're shredding to Master of Puppets.

It's hazy. He's pretty sure he hits the right notes but the world is blurring dangerously as his fingers move lightning fast through the chords. When they finish, everyone is clapping and yelling, and Eddie gives a shaky grin.

"Thanks s-so much for coming out tonight to check us out! Have a good night!"

Eddie turns and instantly sets his guitar on it's stand. Usually he'll stay, play a few softer riffs, then hop off stage to meet people. Hell, that had been his plan up until about two minutes ago. Now, as he's walking towards the stairs of the stage, all three band members are watching, obviously confused and worried.

"Eddie, hey, what's going on?"

"Yeah man, don't you wan-"

"I need t-to sit...I don't... Eddie shifts restlessly as his head swims again. It's so fucking hot he feels like he might actually be on fire. He's so hot, so restless, so exhausted, that he yanks his t-shirt off over his head, throwing it, feeling slightly out of control.

The other three are surrounding him now, all worried. Tim turns and his eyes scan the grass. He runs over to the edge of the front of the stage.

"Yo Harrington! I think we might need you up here, something wr-" A clatter behind him has some people turning to look, including himself.

Eddie's laying on the stage, unmoving. Gareth is grabbing the water bottle behind him and Tim's shaking the guitarists shoulder, voice panicking as he yells for him to wake up.

Steve, Robin, Joyce, Hopper, Mrs. Wheeler and Dustin all go running at the same time. Steve and Joyce get to him first, Joyce sprinting just as fast as the ex-swim captain, jumping onto the stage. Steve slides next to Gareth, checking his boyfriend over to make sure he didn't hurt himself in the process, while Joyce shifts Eddie's legs up, bending them. Twelve seconds later, Eddie makes a noise and his eyes flutter open.

Well fuck...what the hell. He's looking up at his friends faces, all of which look terrified.

"Jesus!"

"Oh fuck, thank god."

"Dude what in the hell just happened?!"

"Eddie, hey, it's alright...you passed out," Joyce's voice cuts through all the insanity. "Hey..it's okay. Do you know where you are?"

Her gentle demeanor and calming voice puts Eddie at ease, even though he's thoroughly confused. Hadn't he just been starting Master of Puppets? He looks around slightly, trying to sit up. Steve puts a hand on his shirtless torso, effectively keeping him down.

"Underground....s'hot."

Steve grabs the water bottle from Gareth's hand, uncaps it, then dumps the whole thing on Eddie before anyone can even realize what he's about to do. Eddie gasps and a few others follow. Dustin gapes at Steve, and Robin's eyes are wide.

"He's probably got heat exhaustion, he needs to be cooled down. I learned what to do for lifeguarding," Steve explains, already looking for another bottle of water, eyes darting around. Tim produces on and Steve dumps it on Eddie's chest and abdomen.

"When's the last time he ate? Or drank? Because he sure as hell didn't eat dinner before this," Steve looks at the other band members, who all look at him guiltily.

"He kept saying he wasn't hungry..."

"Fuck! So he's just been running on absolutely nothing all day?!"

"Steve," Robin cuts in. "Lets get him inside, okay? Get him inside, get him cooled off, that's what's going to help. I'll grab some food."

Steve nods and looks down at Eddie, who's blinking and staring at him.

Hopper and Jeff carry him into the Underground, everyone else following. Steve stays as close as possible. Moments later, Robin appears with some chips and a soda.

"They're going to find more stuff, but this is just to get something in him. He needs sugar," she explains frantically.

"Guys, m'okay..." Eddie mumbles, letting Steve open the bag of chips for him. "Really...just..got hot," he shrugs.

"Dude, you were puking while we were playing, you're not ok."

"You literally passed out."

"Honey, you need to take a few minutes to let your body calm down."

Dustin appears with a wet washcloth, and puts it on the back of Eddie's neck, making the twenty year old groan in satisfaction, the cold water euphoric.

Eventually, as Eddie starts getting his color back, a few of them start to give him space. The guys go to pack up their stuff, Ms. Wheeler goes to find Mike and Nancy. Soon, it's just Steve and Eddie, sitting at a table, Eddie sipping shakily on the coke that's been brought to him.

"M'sorry...I should have eaten.."

"Shut up. Just...right now, all I care about is that you're okay. That was scary as hell Eddie," Steve shakes his head. After looking around to make sure no workers are paying attention, he grabs the others free hand, squeezing it.

"Yeah well...scary for me too...can't even remember the last song at all," he admits, setting the coke down so he can rub at his face. "But..m'sorry, still. I love you."

"I love you too, you idiot."

[tonesplash]

its thanksgiving get nasty (18+)

pairing: edward cullen x reader

summary: you get bored at thanksgiving dinner. unfortunately for edward you wore sandals

warnings: smut,brief footjob, thanksgiving dinner, edward kind of chokes on corn, reader doesn’t like their family, mild injury, fingering, innappropriate use of vampire speed, technically exhibitionism and public sex?? bad dirty talk, and cousin-shaming, reader is afab and might be described as female im not sure

a/n: i wrote this in 24 hours so any sloppiness is not my fault

masterlist

(c/n)= cousins name

When you told him thanksgiving with your family would be boring, you’d meant it’d be for him, looking forward to his reaction to being on the receiving end of your bloodlines ridiculousness while you’d get dinner and a show. But, as it turns out, your family just so happens to get along with Edward much better than they do with you.

The seating situation is a little unconventional, since because your boyfriend-snatching cousin stole the open seat next to Edward before you even made it back from the bathroom, leaving your only viable option directly opposite of him. On the bright side, you had the option of kicking his leg when he’d said something to embarrass you.

 Bless his soul, he’d done his best to bring you into the conversation but apparently, anything you had to say about your relationship had been relayed verbatim to the family group chat you weren't even in by your mother. So, after the third time you’re talked over by the aforementioned horny cousin or some other nosy relative on you’re bored out of your mind.

Everyone had gotten over your piss poor table manners years ago, or were just completely ignoring you at this point because there were no protests when they’d brought the turkey out and you’d stayed slumped low in your seat like a child in church.

Twitter had stopped refreshing ten minutes ago, and when you finally resigned yourself to tuning back into the conversation, your mother was showing Edward your baby pictures again. Idly swinging one bare foot under the table, your bare toe grazes the drape of his dress slacks under the table when you get an idea.

 You’d lost a sandal earlier after Edward had pinned it under his shoe in a vain attempt to stop your pinching and dirtying of his slacks with your filthy soles. You scoot a little further forward in your seat to reach out and press your arch flat against his shin.

Edward doesn’t visibly react, just shifts his leg away, leaving yours to slip to the floor until you reach up again to plant your heel on the seat of the chair. The conversation lulls for a moment as everyone says grace, and he uses the opportunity to grab your ankle and send you a warning glare over the top of your phone.

You meet his gaze and boorishly eat a spoon of mashed potatoes, shrugging as if he couldn’t read in your mind exactly what you were about to do. 

Your cousin asks about his mom car again and when you roll your eyes Edward flicks the outside of your fibula, sure to bruise, and you crinkle your nose, pinching his marble thigh between your toes as best you can through the material.

“Well my father thought it was necessary for my siblings and I to-” 

While he talks, he's soothing the spot he flicked, playing in the stubble leftover from your shoddy shave job this morning, and the absent affection gives you the final motivation to further push your luck. You tease the seam of his left leg with the very tips of your toes, coaxing the unnatural heat of the venom to build in the crotch of his pants, the coolness of the rest of him making it seem even hotter in comparison.

He inhales on a forkful of corn, almost taking it down the wrong pipe, and you fight a smile around the bowl of the spoon as he flawlessly recovers and finishes the thought. You idly wonder if you could be that smooth someday. For now, you press further, pressing a toe against the seam over his cock, stroking up and down as slowly and consistently as you can while stretched under a table because who would’ve thought that footjobs are kind of an athletic feat. 

Edward taps insistently at your leg, harder than he normally would, and you have to hold back a laugh at the idea of him splitting the table because he can’t take a little footsie action. You press forward again, arch encompassing his hardness through the fabric, toes curling against his pubic bone when-

“Ho-oly shit!” Searing pain shoots up from your ankle, and you double over, using everything in you not to shout, Edwards dawning mortification going unnoticed as everyone at the table turns to you at your unexpected outburst.  

“(Y/n)?” Your mother doesn’t seem that happy to have dinner interrupted, and you clutch your stomach as a quick cover.

“Uh, my bad.” You snicker nervously at the sudden attention, bravado gone. Your face feels red-hot. “I actually need to use the bathroom, I think,” you lick your lips and slide out of your chair. “Lady problems.”

The table erupts in a cacophony of gags and groans as the notion of a menstrual cycle is brought up in casual conversation, and it gives you the perfect cover to retreat to the upstairs bathroom. It takes you a minute to make it up the stairs without causing a scene, and just as soon as you close and lock the door behind you and settle down to weep in peace, he’s there, jiggling the doorknob like it’s a drug bust.

“Let me in.”

You’re apparently taking too long because as soon as your injured foot touches the floor, he forces the lock and slips in, shutting the door a little too fast to pass as human. 

“Jesus! Edward, are you trying to lose our deposit?” You lean around him to check for a handprint but he doesn’t respond, wordlessly setting you up on the counter, kneeling to examine your injured ankle, cool fingers soothing to the sore skin. You sit in silence, idly swinging your other leg to distract yourself.

“How'd you make it out?” You can't imagine they’d let the guest of honor go so easily.

“You forgot your bag, I told them I’d just bringing it up to you.” He places your bag next to you as evidence. “Maybe you should start carrying menstrual products for when you actually need them.”

Of course, he breaks your foot and wants to lecture you on responsible uterus care. Edward sighs, taking your foot with the gentlest touch and whispering a kiss into the skin. “It’s only a sprain, but I’m still sorry.” 

“S’Okay.” Your face burns, not expecting his guilt. “Serves me right, huh?” You titter, poking his side with your uninjured foot. He swipes it up before you can start again, halfheartedly laughing with you. 

“Let me wrap it before you get any more ideas.” You hand him the compression wrap from the medicine cabinet, and he gets to work. The wince you give at the pressure is more reflex than anything, but the anxious expression on his face tells you he wasn't going to let this go easily. 

“Y’know…” You poke at him again. The playful contempt in his golden eyes gives you the go-ahead to make your case. “If you’re really feeling torn up about it, seeing you wow my family like that got me a little riled up.”

“Really.” Edward kisses the secured wrapping and releases you, standing to frame you against the counter.

“I’m serious, impressing them isn’t easy, (C/n) is probably shaving in the guest room to steal you from me right now, just thinking about it has got me a little hot under the collar.” You run your hands over his back and through his hair, nuzzling into the crook of his throat.

“You’re laying it on pretty thick, don’t you think?” His hands smooth over your exposed thighs sending a shiver up your spine. You think you've got him, but he's such a tease sometimes you can never really be sure.

“Depends. Is it working?” You still, bracing for some line about ‘responsibility’ and ‘your family waiting for you.’

But then his hands are under your skirt, hooking into the sides of your underwear and pulling them down your thighs, leaving them to free-fall to your feet. You clutch his auburn hair in your fingers at the shock of open-air against your cunt.

“Do you think I could let you go back to that table smelling like this?” His sweet breath washes against your ear as he huffs a soft laugh. “I’d rather not go downstairs and pretend to care about football when I know you’re here, hot and ready for me.”

You can’t resist him any longer, pulling him close and kissing him with the desperation of a woman who needs to be back downstairs before dessert. His thumb teases over your cunt at first, swirling over your swelling clit and teasing your hole before he finds a focus, using the thumb of his free hand to hold your hood back as his slicked fingers grind the bud into a frenzy while he sucks your tongue into his mouth.

It’s all you can do to hold your breath while he touches you, cool fingers building a knot in your belly, smooth and steady as they batter you up into a frenzy. He adjusts his hand, his ring finger pressing into you and bringing a low ache from rushed preparation, but you welcome it, thighs shaking with the effort to stay open for him as your mouth falls open in a shaky gasp. Edward breaks the kiss to let you breathe , seemingly unbothered until- 

“(C/n) is coming.” 

“Wha-” A particularly deep stroke has you biting your lip as you struggle to concentrate. “What the fuck does she want?”

“She’s going to ask you where I am.” His expression doesn’t match his words, still completely concentrated on ruining you despite the obvious issue.

“And what am I supposed to tell her?!” You hiss back right as she reaches the door. His mouth closes over your pulse point and you don't think you've clenched that hard before in your life.

“Hey (Y/n)? Have you seen Edward?” Her voice is enough of a mood killer that you have to shove your face into his throat to ground yourself in the moment. He adds a second finger, gaining speed, and you pray and hope to any god listening to this that she can't hear the squelches through the door.

“N-no.” You rack your mind for an excuse. His scent is making it harder to concentrate. “I think he went out for a smoke?” Nice one.

“Really? I didn't smell anything on him...” If all your blood flow hadn't been centralized below the waist at this point you'd’ve asked how the hell she knows what he smells like. He's fully abandoned your clit now, leaving it to pulse in the open air while three of his fingers push and pull at your pelvic floor.

“That's cause he unh-” You slap a hand over your mouth to stop the moan before it can be recognized for what it is.“-he vapes!” Edward pulls back from your throat to look at you incredulously, but it's a little hard to be ashamed when he's nearly wrist deep inside you.

“Oh… Well, let him know if you see him that they’re playing charades and I need a partner. You know how it is.”

You forget to reply, too enthralled watching him spit onto his unoccupied fingers and mash the coolness against your clit, causing you to nearly spasm off the counter, losing the sensation as he silently laughs at having to hold you steady. She seemed to have taken your silence as an admission, as you can hear the door at the stoop of the stairs swinging shut after her. Thank God.

“Rub your spot, Sweet, come on, we have to be quick.” He kisses your temple and laughs a bit maniacally at the little whimper that escapes when you bring a hand down to your clit. “Surprisingly, she’s having trouble picturing me in a vape shop.”

You whine around a bitten lip, too far gone to listen to his ribbing. You’re building up to overstimulation with the sloppy way you’re rubbing yourself, and he must feel it too, because in the next second, his fingers are vibrating.

“Come on, (Y/n), don't you want to finish up here and mop the floor with them?” You hadn’t even realized how hazy your vision had gotten until he grabs your chin and levels your lidded eyes with his and says your name again. You nod sluggishly for him, not hearing a word. He laughs again, smiles wide. His teeth are pretty. 

“If you cum right now;” The buzzing grows stronger, your free arm spasming under you as you support yourself. “I’ll rub you raw after on the ride home. You just need to come right now and win charades with me.” 

The buzzing inside grows too strong, and your vision goes white, pulsing in long pulls around his fingers as hot waves of sensation spread from your head to your toes.

Edward kisses you, soft and slow, swallowing any whimpers tempted to escape as you come down, abandoning the counter to clutch his sleeve as the twitching reduces to a tremor.

“Oh my god.“ You laugh, planting your face into his collar as you catch your breath. “I can't believe you used charades to make me come, I'm never gonna forgive you.” 

“I heard the top prize is a ten dollar gift card to…” He squints and checks again. “The Google Play Store.”

“Ew, what could you even do with tha-”

“(Y/N) come help with plates!” Your mother shouts up the stairwell, totally fucking up any release you just had.

“I guess I should run down to the corner store;” Edward smiles, helping you to stand on wobbly legs and smoothing your skirt down. “Don't want to blow your cover.” 

“(Y/N)! Plates!”

“Oh my god;” Your eyes may never return from the back of your skull. “Meet you downstairs?”

He kisses you sweetly one last time, pulling you close and wiping the sheen of sweat off of your face.

“Downstairs.”

With that, he heaves himself out of the narrow sill, and you busy yourself cleaning up as fast as you can.

You just catch him hopping off the roof, and coming around to the front yard. He'll hear you no matter the volume, but you still shout the warning;

“Stay away from my cousin!” 

[lxngbottom]

i NEED more dominant neville!! maybe something to do with thigh riding idk 🤷🏼‍♀️

Be A Good Girl. | N.L.

in which neville makes the reader ride this thigh.

warnings: nsfw, smut, thigh riding, some degradation, dom!nev (lmk if there are more!)

you guys....... i fucking LOVE dom!neville

(edit: omg im getting to all of your requests so late pls forgive me i’ve had a lot going on in my life lately but i’m on that grind rn)

—

it was completely innocent, you see. the timing was bad, you assumed.

you and neville rarely ever fought, as he was never the one for conflict. but, the day before, you had felt like a last priority to the boy. and, maybe he didn’t mean to make you feel like that, but, he did.

so, when you two had screamed at each other for 45 minutes straight in his dorm, and you stormed out, you had decided to give him the silent treatment. and to get your mind off of things, luna had invited you to go to hogsmeade with her and harry.

harry sat in the common room patiently, waiting for your arrival. neville was there as well, because of course he had found out that you had been invited, and he was really hoping that he could try to convince you to not go, and just have a day for you two to make up for his absence the day before.

you finally came walking down the staircase, struggling to fit something into your purse as you did so. because of this, you didn’t notice the gawking stares you were getting from the most of the boys in the common room. neville stared at you, took in your outfit. a tank top due to the warm weather, and a high waisted skirt that showed off the top of your thighs deliciously. you pulled it up a bit, making neville lick his lips in hunger from how fucking sexy you looked.

but, that’s when he realized that he wasn’t the only one staring. and, the realization hit him that you were... punishing him? you? punishing him? you knew damn well that wasn’t how things worked, and on any other day, it would earn a smack on your ass cheek.

“hey, harry! ready to go?” you greeted the boy, zipping up your purse with a toothy smile. he looked you up and down, amazed at the fact that neville longbottom of all people was dating someone that looked like you.

“y-yeah! totally! let’s head out.”

neville stormed over to you, wrapping his hand around your wrist before you could go anywhere.

“we need to talk.” he demanded sternly, his jaw clenched as he witnessed harry practically eye-fucking you.

you rolled your eyes, and snatched away from him. he went to grab you again, but you stopped him with a slap to the wrist. you let out a “hmph!” and walked away with harry, and neville watched as the skirt fit perfectly around your ass.

a punishment definitely had your name written all over it for later.

—

“night, harry!” you waved, smiling at the boy. he waved back, and went up the stairs to go back to his dorm.

you did the same, relieved to finally just be able to relax. maybe, read a book before you fell asleep, or catch up on some journaling. yeah, that sounded nice.

you had a wonderful day. filled with laughs and small conversations between yourself, luna, and harry. you seemed to have completely forgotten about your boyfriend, and the argument you guys had just 24 hours before.

you entered your dorm, your head down to make sure that you locked it back when you stepped in. after your heard the sound of your door locking, you took the small cardigan off that you had brought with you, as the nighttime had made the air much chiller. you hung your purse up near the door, as that was a small system that one of your dorm mates had came up with. you kicked your shoes off, body still not facing your bed.

you went to take your tank top off, until something interrupted you.

“hm.”

the small mutter made you jump, and you turned around quickly to see who the culprit was. of course, it was neville. he sat on your bed, book in hand, and a dark look in his eyes as he stared at you,

you huffed, “what the hell are you doing here? i was changing, you know!”

he chuckled, the small laugh spiteful and low, “don’t stop on my account. it’s not like i haven’t seen you naked before, darling.”

you rolled your eyes, and stomped over towards your bed, “leave!”

he looked up at you, fake curiosity in his eyes. he slammed the book shut, and tossed it on your bedside table.

“why should i?”

you scoffed at him, “because, this is my dorm! and, i honestly don’t want to speak to you! so piss off!”

he found you adorable. your little tough act that you were trying to keep up. he knew it was only a matter of time before you would be wrapped around his finger once again, begging for him to be inside of you.

“you’re not still angry at me are you?”

he knew the answer to that. he just liked to tease you,

“yes! i’m very angry at you, neville! i was having a great day and of course... you come along to make me feel bad when you were in the wrong!”

neville grabbed your thigh as you tried to walk away, his fingers tightening on the sensitive skin, “me in the wrong? i wasn’t the one prancing around in this little skirt all day like a fucking whore.”

the statement made your stomach flutter, and you couldn’t help the blush that raised to your cheeks.

“i know what you’re playing at, petal. and, i don’t appreciate it. do you know how many guys were staring at your ass? staring at what belongs to me?”

the question made your cross your arms, “playing at? i’m not playing at anything, neville. i just wanted to feel pretty today. sorry that you’re angry that other guys find me attractive...”

that fucking attitude. oh god, you were in for it.

neville pulled you down by your wrist, settling you right on top of his lap. you felt his hard cock sticking out from his pants, just waiting to be touched. you couldn’t help but to sigh from the way it felt on your clothed clit.

“watch your fucking mouth, petal. you know i don’t like when you talk back.”

the tone in his voice made your panties dampen, and you tried to look away, avoid his intense gaze, but he quickly turned your face back by grabbing your chin,

“i saw the way harry was looking at you. you wanted him to see your pretty little ass... didn’t you?” he reached his hand up slowly, and caressed your cheek menacingly. you gulped, his dark eyes having a greater affect on you than you’d like to admit.

without warning, the hand that was settled onto the small of your back moved down swiftly, going underneath your skirt, and it came down with a harsh slap to your ass cheek. you whimpered, the burning sensation automatically kicking in.

“how many more slaps do you think you deserve, huh? cause... i think you deserve at least ten more, doll.”

you quickly shook your head, your clothed clit falling victim to his crotch. you bucked your hips up slightly, pleading for more friction.

he looked down, noticing the arousal leaking from your panties, staining his pants. he tsked and shook his head as he studied your desperate attempt to pleasure yourself,

“pretty sluts like you that like to show off don’t deserve my cock... isn’t that right, petal?” he cooed teasing, placing a single kiss on your neck.

“i—i’m sorry... please—“

“no begging. you know what’s coming.”

you sighed, knowing that no amount of pleading would lead you to get your way. you had made him mad, and you knew that there was no getting away with that.

“here’s what’s going to happen, petal. you’re going to get yourself off on my thigh. got it? and maybe... if you’re good i’ll fuck you until you can’t take it anymore. does that sound good?”

you quickly nodded your head, the thought of riding neville’s thigh always being so fun, in the most sinful way possible.

“alright, now be a good girl and do as i say...”

neville began to position himself up against the headboard, as he was not too keen on letting you fall back onto the floor. you waited patiently as he adjusted, beginning to take your tank top off.

he watched as the straps fell, and he licked his lips when he saw your bra covered breasts. he felt his cock twitch from the mere sight of your nipples as you took your bra off, letting it fall to the floor with a small noise.

you reached for the hem of your skirt, but neville interrupted,

“no. the skirt and your panties stay on. it looks too fucking good on you.”

you wanted to protest, as if you were going to do this you wanted to be able to feel all of him. but, you really had no choice. so, you simply nodded and crawled over towards your lovely boyfriend.

he patted his thigh as a sign for you to get on, and you did so shakily, not knowing what to expect.

“move your hips, petal...” he ordered, grabbing them and starting for you, “just like that.”

instantly, that fire in your stomach a-blazed. neville watched as you bucked your hips, trying to desperately not to miss his flexed thigh on your heat. he placed small, teasing kissing along your neck, going down to your breasts, and nibbling on your nipples gently.

you gasped, all the sensations beginning to hit you at once,

“look at my pretty girl, making me so fucking hard. merlin... you’re such a slut...” he breathed out, the movements from your knee cap stimulating him. in times like this, neville almost let the dominant mask slip off, but, he knew he had to keep it on.

“nev—fuck—c-cum...” you stuttered out, that familiar knot in your got trying ever so desperately to come apart.

he chuckled lowly at your state, and the way your eyes were rolling to the back of your head. “please... n—need y-your cock...”

he automatically shook his head,

“i told you, petal... dirty little sluts like you don’t get my cock... you know that already.”

you whimpered, only wanting the sensation of him inside of you, fucking you into oblivion.

as time went by, the urge to release was taking over your whole being. your thighs and hips were aching at this point, and neville as well could feel himself about to cum.

neville placed a sloppy kiss on your lips, “can’t get off, petal?” he teased, a smarmy grin on his face, “i’ll take over for you... even though you don’t deserve it.”

that’s when he held your hips once more, and flexed his thigh to his best ability. he moved you, your whimpers and moans only increasing with every feeling of friction.

“k-kiss...” you muttered, speech shaky and uneven. but, neville knew what you wanted. so, he pulled you in for a heated kiss, his tongue entering your mouth before you could even welcome it.

his cock was aching at this point, and he could feel himself about to release all in his pants.

“cum, flower. i need to feel you cum all over me like a good girl, alright?”

the tone in his voice was all you needed to let out a loud scream, and fall apart right in his arms. your thighs trembled, and neville felt your cum gather all in a pool on his pants. he as well came, a loud groan escaping his lips as your face fell into his neck.

“mhm... you make me feel so good, petal...”

[fruitcoops]

okay so we all love dad dumo and he's an incredible parent but even dumo isn't perfect. Could we maybe have dumo snapping at logan (or sirius, if it strikes your fancy, but i love dumo+logan dynamics) and then apologizing for it like a parent actually f*cking should

Oof, yes. Combined with asks for Sirius and Logan bonding, as well as some pre-Cap and James. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for parental figure disappointment

The car rumbled. Dumo’s hands squeaked on the wheel as he flexed his fingers. Logan felt like he was going to throw up.

Can we turn around real quick? No, too vague. Can we go home so I can use the bathroom? No, he’ll say I can wait another ten minutes. I forgot my phone at home? No, he saw me put it in my pocket. Logan ran through every possible way of asking to go back to the Dumais house without giving away his dilemma; with each scenario, they grew further from where he needed to be.

“Hey, Dumo?” he began quietly, swallowing around his dry mouth. What was it his father always said? Honesty is the best policy. “We need to go back to your house for a moment.”

“We’re already running late,” Dumo said, not even sparing him a glance in the rearview mirror. The traffic around them was a mess. “If we go back, we’ll miss the first part of warmups.”

“I know, but it’s kind of important.”

“So is the game. If it’s your wallet, you don’t need it right—”

“I left my skates by the front door.”

Dead silence filled the car as Dumo slowed to a stop at the fourth red light. Logan’s heart sank and his stomach crawled into his throat. “What?”

“I left my skates by the front door,” he repeated, staring at his hands. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Tabernak, Logan!” Dumo snapped. He felt something inside him wither and die. “First the nap, then forgetting to wash your jersey, and now you left your fucking skates behind? What’s going on in your head? You are an adult now with responsibilities, and it’s your job to keep track of your shit.”

“I know,” Logan said quietly.

Dumo huffed. “Clearly you don’t! Do you just not care? Is that it?”

“I care.”

“This isn’t a college team, Logan.” Dumo’s accent grew harsh around his name. It had been a bad day for him—Adele came down with a nasty cold just after Celeste left to visit her parents for the weekend, and there was always an added pressure with home games. Logan knew that, and he knew he should have been paying better attention.

“I know.”

Dumo muttered a curse under his breath and pulled onto a side road, then swore again when his duffle bag slid in the passenger seat. Logan closed his eyes; there was no way they would make it all the way to the house and back to the rink in time for pre-game rituals. Damn it, Tremblay. What were you thinking?

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Dumo parked the car with a quiet “go”, and Logan hurried inside with a slight nod to the babysitter as he grabbed his skates before slinking back to the car with his head hung low.

“I’m really disappointed in you,” Dumo said when they reached the freeway again.

“I’m sorry.”

He received no response.

They won the game despite skipping all their superstitions, no thanks to Logan. He played like shit; Arthur barely gave him four shifts the whole night. Finn shot him a concerned look as he rinsed off and slipped back into his street clothes, but Logan didn’t have the energy to confront both his best friend and the upsetting feelings connected to the aforementioned best-friend-slash-secret-crush. If he tried, he’d certainly end up doing something stupid.

He packed his things, slung his bag over his shoulder, and followed Dumo out to the car like a stray dog with his tail between his legs. “I really am—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Dumo interrupted as they pulled out of the parking lot. Logan pressed his lips together. “Are you hungry?”

Starving. “Kinda.”

“I’ll heat up some leftover lasagna when we get back to the house. Will you pay the babysitter and make sure the kids are in bed?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

Logan ground his teeth around the steady ache building in his chest—he hated disappointing people in general, but it was a whole different story with Dumo. He was his second father, the person Logan admired most on the team. He gave him a home and a substitute family to ease the homesickness, and was always there to cheer him on. And Logan let him down.

They went through their nightly routine silently, which was a sharp contrast to their usual banter. Marc and Louis refused to go to bed at first, nearly bringing Logan to tears in his frustration, but he eventually got them settled down and tucked in. By some miracle, both the girls were already asleep.

“I’m going to call Celeste,” Dumo finally said as Logan unloaded the dishwasher. He nodded without a word, not trusting his voice.

As soon as the dishwasher was full and running, Logan took his phone out and dialed the only person he wanted to hear from. It rang twice before connecting. “Hello?”

“Hey.” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Hey, Cap, what’s up?”

“Not much.” Sirius sounded confused, and more than a little tired. “Ça va?”

Logan’s eyes burned. “Not bad. Do you have a minute?”

There was a rustling noise from the other end, followed by the clink of keys. “You’re at Dumo’s, right?”

“Oui.��

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Thanks,” he managed around his tight throat. “See you soon.”

Hushed voices came from the living room and Logan padded down the hall, knocking gently on the doorframe. Dumo looked up and furrowed his brow. “Un moment, mon amour. Are you alright?”

“Sirius is coming by in ten. We’re going to hang out for a bit, if that’s okay.”

“Tell him I say hello.” Without another word, Dumo uncovered the base of his phone and returned to his conversation. Logan nodded and headed back out into the hall, swallowing down the tears forming behind his eyes.

Ten minutes turned out to be seven minutes—Logan was simultaneously flattered and concerned—and a soft knock startled him out of his thoughts. Sirius already looked worried when the front door swung open. “What happened? Is everyone okay? Did something happen to Celeste?”

“She’s fine. Dumo says hi.” And he’s horribly disappointed in me. Logan took several deep breaths through his nose to control the tremor in his voice and Sirius gave him a worried once-over. “Can we drive around for a bit?”

“Of course.”

For all of his bluster and general brooding vibe, Sirius continued to be the king of empathy and (in Logan’s opinion) a secret mind-reader. The second his arm draped across Logan’s shoulders and held him close as they walked down the sidewalk, he felt some of the pressure in his chest release. “Sorry about the late call,” he sniffled. It was a cold night—the snot threatening to drip from his nose was frigid already. “I just—I needed to get out for a minute.”

“À tout moment.” Any time. Logan didn’t feel deserving of that kindness after the mess he had been on the ice. The heaters kicked on as soon as Sirius started the car and Logan closed his eyes, leaning back into the warm seat. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“It’s so stupid.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

Logan took a moment to breathe before shaking his head. “I forgot my skates. We were already running late, and I forgot my fucking skates at the house.”

Sirius hummed, but said nothing.

“It’s—Dumo has been having such a horrible day.” Tears clogged his throat again. “And I took a nap earlier because I stayed up late last night like an idiot, and Adele’s sick so he had all the kids and no help while he was trying to get ready, and then I overslept so it was already going to be rushed and forgot to clean my jersey and then—and then I forgot my skates. God, I’m so stupid.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.” Logan wanted to kick him for being so infuriatingly patient. Sirius glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “That’s not why you’re upset, though.”

“He’s—” Logan broke off and swiped the first tear away with his sweatshirt cuff. “He said he was disappointed in me.”

“Ah.”

“It’s such a stupid thing to be upset about.”

Sirius sighed through his nose and pulled into the parking lot of a 24-hour Taco Bell, then turned off the car and faced Logan with one eyebrow raised. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Belittling yourself.”

“Okay, Heather,” Logan snorted. Sirius reached over and flicked him on the forehead. “Hey!”

“You forgot your skates. Big deal. We’ve all been there.”

Logan shot him a glare. “You’ve never forgotten your skates.”

“Yes, I have. My very first game with the Lions, actually. Except I didn’t realize it until we were already at the rink.”

“Did Dumo drive you back?”

“The whole damn way. He was mad as hell, but he did it.” Sirius’ face softened, and he poked Logan gently on the thigh. “Stop kicking yourself for this one. It sounds like it was a bad day for you both.”

“I still feel like shit.”

Sirius shrugged. “I bet. Disappointing Dumo is the worst feeling ever.”

“He wouldn’t even let me apologize.”

“He will.”

They sat in silence for a full minute as Logan tried to find the right words. “How did you deal with it? Letting people down. It feels like I’m drowning, sometimes.”

“Really, really poorly,” Sirius half-laughed, crossing his ankle over his knee. “It wasn’t until I was named captain that I started accepting that people weren’t lying when they forgave me for fucking up.”

“Why?”

“Believe it or not, the people I was around as a kid didn’t make a habit of apologizing to me when they did something wrong.”

Logan looked up from the faded letters on his sweatshirt sleeve and sniffled. “Thanks for bringing me out here.”

“Pas de problem. I figured you could use some company outside the house.”

“You’re the best.”

“I try.”

“You succeed.” You’re like a brother to me, actually. “Is this what James did for you?”

“No,” Sirius laughed. Affection took over his face, bright even in the dim light from the streetlamps. “No, he snuck me onto the roof of the rink with massive amounts of junk food and stayed with me until the imposter syndrome faded. It was fantastic, but we nearly got hypothermia several times in the winter. This is much more comfortable.”

“Thanks for helping me keep all my fingers and toes,” Logan said wryly. He lapsed back into silence and folded his forearms on the dashboard, sighing at the pleasant stretch of his back. “I know I have to go back eventually, but I’m scared.”

“Honestly, Logan, I bet he’s already forgiven you. He knows it was an accident.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” The words came out as little more than a whisper. Sirius’ hand rested hesitantly between his shoulder blades until Logan leaned back into it, then began rubbing gentle circles.

“He does,” Sirius said softly. “And he loves you so much.”

Logan sniffed back more tears. “Really?”

“Ouais. You’ve been living with him for nine months now, and he’s so proud of how far you’ve come.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he told me. Last week, after your hat trick. People fuck up, Logan, but that doesn’t mean they’re unforgivable. You don’t need to flay yourself for one bad day.”

Logan shut his eyes with a slow exhale and buried his face in his forearms. “I think I’m ready to go back now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“D’accord. Buckle your seatbelt.”

He straightened up and stretched, wincing at the crack of his back. Sirius drove out of the parking lot and hummed under his breath to the radio, but Logan didn’t miss the careful glances out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he finally said. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” Sirius said casually, though he looked like he was holding something back. Logan didn’t press; Sirius would talk in his own time if he wanted to. He opened his mouth, paused, then sighed. “But I do worry about you.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Thank you, Captain Black, for the most media answer of all time. “You really don’t have to.”

Sirius parked the car and leaned his head back against the seat. “You’re my friend, and I care about you, so I worry.”

Logan blinked at him. “You care about me?”

“Obviously,” Sirius muttered. Even in the darkness of the street, his cheeks were pink. “Now go on, you've got someone waiting for you.”

“I care about you, too.”

“Out of my car, Tremblay.” Despite his words, a smile quirked at the corner of Sirius’ mouth. Logan socked him lightly on the arm and opened the door, shivering in the night air as it bit through his hoodie.

“Drive safe, Cap.”

“I will.”

The walk to the front door felt less like a trip to the gallows and more like coming home; Logan felt his muscles relax, and saw the curtains shift as someone moved away from the window. Dumo opened the door before he could even knock.

“I’m sorry,” they said in unison. Logan raised his eyebrows and Dumo opened the door the rest of the way, ushering him inside.

The moment the door closed behind him, Dumo wrapped him in a hug. “I’m so sorry for what I said earlier, Logan. You made a mistake, and I shouldn’t have come down hard on you.”

“I’m sorry I made us late,” Logan said into his soft shirt. “And for not helping earlier. It won’t happen again.”

“All is forgiven.” Dumo patted him on the back of the shoulder and held him at arm’s length with a sad smile. “I should have kept a better handle on my temper. You don’t deserve to be spoken to like that.”

Logan bit back the urge to say it’s okay or I deserved it and instead pulled him in for another hug. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I didn’t realize how much you’ve helped me until today.”

Dumo made a quiet sound and held him tighter. “It’s a gift to have you here.”

Logan squeezed his eyes shut as a wave of emotion rolled in his heart. “There is nowhere I would rather be,” he whispered. They stayed like that for a long moment, swaying slightly, before Dumo stepped back.

“Get some rest. We have early practice tomorrow.” He mussed Logan’s hair and gave him a nudge toward the stairs. “Bonne nuit, mon fils.”

Mon fils. Logan’s breath caught for a second and he smiled. “Bonne nuit.”

[pascalpanic]

Alpha Beta Charlie- A Frankie Morales Story

Summary: Frankie is a lonely man with a big heart. His life changes when a new girl comes into his life.

W/C: 4.1k

Warnings: This one is a little heavy. Lots of language, talk of poor mental health (Frankie has depression and anxiety), Frankie’s recovering from a coke addiction, alcohol is prevalent here, harm to animals, lots of talk of blood and injuries.

A/N: This story is different than I normally write. There’s no reader in the story, this is just a story about Frankie Morales and a moment in his life. Please note that this is darker as it centers around an injured animal. Be warned of that. P.S. some of my friends might see ur names in here :) thank u to all of my friends who helped me pick Charlie’s name, and to @ilikechocolatemilkh who helped me create this whole story!

Frankie Morales is a kindhearted man. Anyone who meets him knows it instantly. He’s got a wonderful laugh that’s warm and inviting, and it’s often on display to anyone who chats with him for more than a few seconds. He’s caring, it’s clear, with big brown eyes that radiate compassion. 

His friends would describe him more as an idiot. Frankie, who they call Catfish from their days in the military, insists that they’re the idiots. He’s the voice of reason in their group, making the rational decisions and de-escalating fights within their group. 

That’s not to say Frankie is entirely sunshine and rainbows. He’s now several months sober from a long and grueling addiction to cocaine. It ruined him: it took away his pilot’s license, his everything in life. Flying helicopters was Frankie’s passion, but he’s recovering. He’s on the right track.

He had a girlfriend, who became his fiancée, and left him not long after he returned home from a dangerous mission in South America. It didn’t matter anyway; her child, who Frankie had dedicated all of his heart to before the birth, was revealed to be another man’s. As much as she resented him for taking the mission, he resented her for cheating and lying and holding the information back.

So now Frankie lives on his own. He resides out in a more rural town, not far from where Benny has his weekly fights and Will (also known as Ironhead) works with young military recruits. It’s been a couple of months, and it’s hard to be alone. Santiago pops into town once or twice a month, and it’s always the highlight of Frankie’s very being. His best friend brings light and laughter into his life. When he leaves again, Frankie’s small home feels massive and quiet.

He plays lots of CDs. He has bluetooth speakers all around the home and blasts his favorite songs. He’s learned how to cook and clean and has even learned how to bake a decent, basic version of a nice loaf of bread. He works as a mechanic at a shop in his small town’s center, working the odd hours that no one else wants, the hours where others want to be home with their families.

He’d considered different options to make the house more home-like, more welcoming. He tried his hand at gardening, only to find that he had the opposite of a green thumb. He painted the walls a warmer color, then painted them again. He was currently considering changing the colors for the third time. He’d burn candles that he thought smelled nice. He’d hung up a few photos of him and his friends, or his family. Nothing really worked.

A typical night for Frankie held one of two patterns:

-Night A: Frankie gets home from the shop at about 7:30, hands covered in grease and smelling of burnt motor oil. He gets in the shower and cleans up, then either ends up at Benny’s arena to cheer him on, or at the bar with both Miller brothers.

-Night B: Frankie gets home at the same time. He showers to clean himself, simply because he hates leaving smudges over his home. He cooks a nice dinner or orders takeout. He eats it on the couch and watches a new Netflix series. He gets sad and feels alone and drinks a beer, then a few more, to drown the sensation. He goes to bed early and calls into the shop to see if any of the morning shift workers want to go home early, because he can come in an hour or two before his shift. He claims it’s for the overtime pay. It’s really to avoid the loneliness.

Frankie likes patterns. He likes routine. It’s soothing. Maybe it’s a remnant of his military days, where not a second would pass without having a title affixed to the very second he was living in. Predictability made the hurt easier.

Tonight was an A Night. Frankie and the Miller brothers sat at the bar of McCreary’s and talked about everything and nothing at once. Will talked about the new girl he was seeing. Benny made lewd comments. Frankie smacked his arm and ordered another round for the other two, then nursed one beer for the entire night.

Winters were the worst for Catfish. He lived in the South, where snow was uncommon, but the dreary February weather stole whatever energy he could muster up and sent it up to join the gray masses that hung in the sky, yet never shed their raindrops. It gets dark early, another thing Frankie hates. It reminds him of the look on Tom’s face when he died. Of the way his bachelor home never made sounds unless he created them. Of the way the craving for one more hit of that devious white powder felt, the way it scrambled his brain until he thought it was the only thing that could take it away. 

This A Night, which also happened to be an especially chilly Tuesday, Frankie drove home from the bar at 12:21. The backroads that lead from the suburbs out to the rolling hills are dark, with a rare streetlight or two illuminating a fork in the road that led to a house. The radio droned on, some old Waylon Jennings song that was threatening to send Frankie into a fit of rage and smash a fist into his dashboard. He turned off the radio instead.

Another car drove the opposite way, far in the distance. He could see the lights approaching, then dim slightly. Frankie turned off his brights, instead allowing the road to be illuminated just by his front headlights. He turns up the heat in his truck as a shiver runs down his spine.

Something is running across the road. Frankie can see it now. It’s far from him, but visible in the other car’s light. He slams on his brakes, his body jerking forward.

The other car doesn’t slow.

He slams his horn several times, for whatever is in the road and the other driver.

The thing doesn’t move.

The car doesn’t slow.

The car and the creature- oh fuck, it’s an animal- collide.

Everything that happens next is too quick. The car stops for a moment. Frankie whips the truck into park and turns on his hazards.

The other car stops for a moment. Frankie can just make out a silhouette inside. He gets out of his truck, eyes wide and frantic. He runs to the animal’s side.

The car drives off.

Dust swirls across the road as the car’s tail lights fade into the distance. Leaving just Frankie and his truck and the mangled mess of fur and blood.

“Fucker!” Frankie screams after the car. “You fuckin’ bastard! You didn’t even check, you motherfucker!”

He gets closer and realizes it’s a dog. Its fur is white and brown and so painstakingly red with its own blood, and it whimpers and cries and Frankie realizes the poor fucking thing is still alive. Whether it’s his caretaking or his military instincts that kick in, Frankie isn’t sure, but before he knows it he’s ripping off his jacket and picking up the poor poor baby, oh you little angel, he coos to it, wrapping it in the denim and setting it in his passenger seat.

It’s still whimpering and crying, and Frankie gets in the driver’s seat and grabs his phone. “Nearest 24-hour pet hospital,” he shouts into it, hands shaking. He doesn’t realize either reaction is happening. It gets the words wrong. “No, fuck,” he groans, shifting the truck into drive and whipping a U-turn. He types in the words as he starts to speed back in the direction of the town. He knows he shouldn’t text and drive and normally he doesn’t, but he’s a fucking former military helicopter pilot, he rationalizes with himself, he can handle this. He finds the directions and types them in and tears start dripping from his eyes.

“Hang in there, buddy, hey,” he says and rubs the poor dog’s big ears as they drive. “It’s gonna be 30 minutes. Think you can hang on for me?” he asks it, not expecting a response. He wants to check the dog’s sex but now is certainly not the time, not while he’s doing 85 in a 60 zone and the dog’s blood is seeping into his denim jacket and his passenger seat.

The tears are flowing freely from his eyes now, his heart breaking. He can feel the animal’s shallow breaths as he drives, and he sobs to himself. “Hang on, buddy. It’s gonna be okay, I gotcha. I’m Frankie,” he introduces himself to the dog, “and I’m gonna take real good care of you. You’re gonna be alright and we’re gonna get you fixed up and back to your owners.”

The drive takes 24 minutes when Frankie is flying down the backroads. Fuck if a cop sees him. Fuck blowing a tire. That can be cared for later, when there’s not a dying creature next to him. A steady murmur of ‘it’s okay’ spills from Frankie’s lips. He’s not sure if he’s saying it to the dog or himself. One hand firmly grips the steering wheel and the other never leaves the animal’s body. He comforts the poor creature, murmuring more reassurances the closer they get. 

“Please hang in there for me, cariño,” Frankie whimpers, chewing his bleeding lip. “I gotcha. It’s all gonna be alright, bud.”

When he sees the hospital, he drives a little faster. He pulls into the emergency room area and parks in front of the door, turning on his hazards and running inside. There are a few veterinary nurses inside and they greet him, but their looks turn to fear when they see the denim-wrapped animal. “Please, please, Idon’tknowthisisn’tmydogitwasahitandrunandIpickeditup-”

“It’s alright, sir, come with us. Please breathe and tell us again,” a kind woman tells him with a hand on his arm, rushing him and the dog back. Frankie calms down after a moment and explains what happened. “It’s not my dog, I don’t know whose dog this is, you gotta check it for a chip-” he rambles.

“It’s alright, sir,” the nurse tells him kindly and takes the dog from his arms. Frankie clutches after it and a new woman pushes his arms down. “We’re going to take it back and operate on it. Would you please wait here for us? We’ll come give you updates as we get them,” she tells him, gesturing to the waiting room. He nods. “And is this your dog’s first time here?” She asks.

The tears come back, choking his throat as water falls steadily from his eyes. “It’s not even my fuckin’ dog, man,” he whimpers, worrying his lip between his teeth again.

The woman is still kind. “I see. Please, sit, Mr….”

“Morales,” he manages out.

She nods. “Mr. Morales. I understand you’re worried. Please just wait in here for us and we’ll bring you information when we have it.” He nods softly, grabbing a tissue from the front desk. He wipes his eyes and nose. “My truck is parked right outside, it’s in the way, I’ll go park it somewhere else,” he tells her.

“That’s perfectly fine, sir. You can even leave and come back if you’d like.” He shakes his head. “I’ll be right back,” he tells her and walk-jogs outside, getting in his car and bringing it around to park.

-

Frankie enters the emergency room again and sits in a chair. He worries and worries for hours, texting his group chat with the Millers and Santiago. He gives them a play-by-play, but only Santiago responds. He sits awake for another hour, nervously wringing his ball cap.

The dog must be alive, or at least be able to save, he rationalizes with himself. After a while, the worry fades and he falls asleep. Two hours later, no other patients around to disrupt him, he’s woken by the nurse who took the dog back. “Mr. Morales?” She calls out gently.

He jumps awake. “Yeah, yeah, that’s me.” He sits up from his slumped state, readjusting the cap from where it had been resting over his eyes.

The nurse smiles softly at him and sits in a chair across the waiting room from him. “The dog is safe now. We had to amputate her front left leg, and she had a lot of stitches, but she’s stable and looks like she’ll do well.” He lets out a sigh and her smile becomes more genuine. “You told us she isn’t yours?”

She. The dog is a girl. Of course she is, Frankie smiles a little. The smile falls as he remembers the fact again. “No, no. It was a hit and run. I saw it happen, the other guy took off, it wasn’t me who hit her, I’m-”

“Mr. Morales.”

“Right. No, she’s not mine.”

The nurse nods and writes that down. “Well, we scanned her several times. She has no chip, no identifiers at all. Our options now are to send her to some rescue or kennel of some sort, or you can take her home with you.”

His heart breaks at the image of the sweet dog in the front seat of his car going somewhere without daily love and affection. “She’ll come with me,” he answers before he can rationally think about it.

“Wonderful,” she nods, marking that down as well. “She’s looped up now on some drugs. We’ll let her sleep them off for a bit and then she’s all yours. We do have some procedures we’ll need you to follow, for caring for the wound and such. But after that, it should be all good. You’re free to head out now. We can call you when she wakes up.”

Frankie nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be great.” He looks down at his watch and notices how early in the morning it is. “Thanks,” he tells her with a genuine smile, taking off his cap and running his hands through his hair before replacing it.

- From that moment on, Frankie was enamored with the dog. He called in from work when the shop opened bright and early at 6:00 A.M. 

“Hey Carol. It’s Morales.”

“You can stop asking if you can come in early, Frank. Just do it,” the woman chuckles on the other line. A loud slurp is audible- it’s the coffee she’s always drinking, the dark sludgy shit that she brews in the break room that Frankie can’t stand but she absolutely adores.

“No, uh. Actually, I was calling in to see if someone else could cover for me today.” He explains the whole story to her, wringing his cap between his hands. “So. I was kind of hoping I could take the day to look for the dog’s owners and care for her.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone. “Of course, Frankie,” the older woman says kindly. “You got a real big heart, kid. Real big. That’s awful kind.”

He smiles a little. “Just doing what I can. Thanks, Carol.”

“Keep me posted, Catfish.” The woman hangs up.

Frankie’s in more comfortable clothes now. He didn’t sleep at all once he got home, waiting for the hospital’s call. He distracts himself, cooking a breakfast he only picks at, watching his new series halfheartedly on the couch.

The animal hospital calls him again at 7:30. He gets off the couch immediately and into the truck. There’s a bit of blood on the passenger seat, from where the dog wasn’t immediately covered by his jacket. It’s not a worry, though, he thinks to himself. He’ll get some stain remover and maybe a new and nicer jacket. 

When he arrives, they usher him back to a check-up room. The dog is lying down but she wags her tail at Frankie, looking up at him with big brown eyes that could rival his own. “Hey, sweet thing,” he calls softly, and the dog stands and walks over to him. It’s pained, that much is clear, but she’s already adjusting to walking with one less limb. She rests her head on Frankie’s lap and he scratches her ears gently. 

Some paperwork is filled out and Frankie leads the dog out to his truck with the leash and collar the hospital provided. He lifts her into the passenger seat and she snuggles in. The scent is familiar to her. 

Frankie drives her to a pet store nearby, smiling over at her. She looks at ease with him, relaxed and trusting. Of course she is. This is the man who saved her. 

He helps her down once they arrive and leads her inside. Her walking is pained, he can tell. “Aw, honey,” he frowns. There are carts right inside; Frankie sees the immediate solution. He scoops her up and sets her in a cart. Her tongue hangs out happily as they go through the store. “We’re gonna get you all kinds of fun stuff, huh?” He asks, scratching her head. 

Frankie spares no expense for the dog. As they cross through the store, the cart fills: bags of food and treats, a new leash, and a pink collar decorated with donuts “because you’re such a sweetie, right cutie?”, doggie bags, and food and water dishes. Finally they reach the toy aisle. “Do you wanna pick your own toy?”

He picks her up and sets her down on the ground, unclipping her leash to allow her to explore the toy aisle. She meanders, sniffing toys here and there, even considering one big bone. A few moments later, she comes tottering back to the cart with a toy in her mouth. It’s a big plush hedgehog.  Frankie grins. “Aw, that’s a good one! Good choice, cutie.” He kisses her head as he puts her back in the cart. 

They check out and drive home, and Frankie allows her to wander inside. “Welcome home. At least for now. I suppose I should put an ad out for you online.” 

The dog doesn’t respond, just wanders around the house, sniffing the furniture warily and looking back at Frankie. Asking if he’s coming. He smiles and leads her to the couch, sitting down on it. “I know they say you shouldn’t let dogs on the furniture, but I think you and I can share.” She jumps up and Frankie praises her, giving her a smooch and earning a big lick in return. “Oh, pretty girl, I think you’ll like it here,” he coos to her. She snuggles into his side with a sigh and Frankie sighs too. 

Over the next few days, he posts ads for her, but no one responds. He reaches out to people from the area he was driving in, but no one responds. After Day 4 of searching, there’s no response and he allows himself to sigh in relief. “You’re mine now, baby girl,” he coos to the dog, who’s happily panting and grinning. 

During the first week, Frankie tries out different names for her. None of them seem to stick. He wonders if she ever even had a name before. Ada, Lucille, Thea, Sunny, Miki, Zulu, Fox, Pancake. None of them work right for her personality. 

It’s not until late one night when Frankie’s coke cravings decide upon a name for her. 

It’s 2:24 in the morning and Frankie is quaking like a leaf. The dog is cuddled up into his side on the bed. Wherever he goes around the house, she follows. He’s biting his lip so hard it’s drawing blood. Normally when he’s this anxious, when he yearns to call his dealer, he rides it out by balling his fists so tight his knuckles turn white. But his dog seems to notice. 

She rests her chin on his hip, wagging her tail against the mattress with a steady thump. She whines quietly. She knows. 

Frankie’s at least momentarily distracted. “Hey, beautiful, what’s wrong?” He asks her, scratching his head and rolling over to pet her. He’s still desperate but the focus shifts from the sensation of one last hit to the feeling of her soft fur beneath his fingers. She sighs happily and snuggles into Frankie’s side, and he starts to cry. 

No one has ever needed him. Not his plants: they’re succulents. He deals with them once every other week. Not his former fiancée. She didn’t need him, just liked him for his money and his dick late at night. Not his friends. They had other friends to go to. No, this dog needs him, and it makes his heart feel like it’s going to burst. 

Sitting up, Frankie turns on the television. He hits a random button to choose a channel, and Princess and the Frog comes on. He chuckles a little. “How about Tiana?” He asks his dog and scratches her ears. She doesn’t react. 

It’s near the beginning of the movie. The relaxing music soothes him as the movie starts. The dog lies with her head on his thigh, happily receiving scratchies from her new father. Her head perks up when she hears a shrill noise from the television: Tiana’s best friend in her puffy pink dress. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay baby. It’s just Charlotte.”

Charlotte. Her ears perk up and she looks at him. “Charlotte?” He asks again, and she looks at him in confusion. “Do you like that one? How about Lottie?” No response. “Or Charlie?”

The dog pounces on him with her one front paw and licks his face. Frankie laughs happily scratching her sides. “Is that your name, pretty girl? Is your name Charlie?”

The answer, it seems, is yes.

It’s funny, Frankie thinks. Charlie is the third letter of the military alphabet, after Alpha and Beta.

Before Delta.

She would be, he realizes. She’s more important to him than his Delta Squadron guys. More important to him than the terrible things he did in the military. She comes before Delta.

And that’s how Charlie got her name. 

-

The guys finally came over to Frankie’s house on Night 9 of owning Charlie. 

All of the men are dog lovers, and Charlie takes to Benny quickly. He gives her her favorite kind of scratches: one hand behind the ear, one hand on the tummy. “Yeah, that’s a good tripod,” he teases her as he snuggles her. 

“Hey man, cut it out,” Frankie frowns and smacks his arm. “She’s insecure about it! Be nice.”

Santiago laughs. “Hey, you know what, Fish? This isn’t what I meant when I said that you should get a girl, but I’ll take it. Especially when she’s such a sweetie- oh hi, beautiful,” he coos as Charlie hops his way and licks his face. 

Frankie shakes his head. “Isn’t she a cutie?” He laughs happily as he watches his dog. “I tried posting ads for her, but no one answered. She’s such a sweetheart, potty trained and everything. I can’t believe I got so lucky.”

Benny grins. “And all because we asked you to get a beer and you caved and said yes.”

“What the hell do you mean caved, Ben? I get beers with you two fuckers three times a week,” he laughs and shakes his head. 

He’s been home alone with her all week, but he hasn’t felt as anxious as he normally does. Her companionship is all he needs, the way she snuggles up tight against him, the way her meal schedule motivates him to eat more. He has a purpose now. 

After the initial excitement, Charlie finds her place sitting at her dad’s feet, panting happily and looking around the room. “She fits in well,” Will nods and leans over as he scratches her head. “She’s the newest member of our group, I suppose.”

“She’s much less work than Fish. Maybe we replace him with her,” Santiago teases and Frankie flips him off, chuckling softly. 

This was a pattern that came to be known as the newly named C Night in Frankie’s head. These are the nights where they order a pizza or takeout and hang out in Frankie’s living room with Charlie. She’s the entertainer of the group, giving the men each some individual snuggles and wandering around the room. She’s funny, flopping onto her back at a human’s feet so that she can get tummy rubs, spending an absurd amount of time sniffing one specific spot on one man’s jeans. They all adore her. 

Life improves for Frankie when he has Charlie. He works shorter hours, spends time brushing her fur. He sleeps at better hours and cares for himself better as a result of caring for her. 

He takes her on a jog every morning. At first, he was nervous to do it. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to pass those Special Ops fitness tests. The thing that encourages him most is that Charlie is just the same speed as him. She runs along happily on three legs at the perfect pace for Frankie to match. 

Frankie lovingly refers to her as his copilot. She loves riding in the passenger seat of his truck, letting the wind from the open windows run through her fur. She gets excited when she hears the word truck and demands that Frankie snuggle her when they’re on a long drive. She even fell asleep on his lap once, with her face resting in the curve of the steering wheel.

Charlie is Frankie’s baby, and Frankie is her favorite human. The two of them are each other’s soulmates, Frankie thinks. His baby girl, his fluffy baby, his cuddlebug. His girl. His one true love is his dog, his Charlie. 

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal

[losingitinjersey]

Oh hai there!  We’ve just been off in our own little summer world of wake, play, eat, sleep repeat!  Thank you to the kind anon for checking in on me today.  If you don’t mind, I’ll give an update here rather than answering the ask.

In the past 2.5 weeks since my last post, here are a few highlights worth mentioning:

Kevin officially started his intern year of residency!  Which means he’s been at the hospital more than at home and his first stretch of shifts were all night shifts so he’d leave at 8:30 p.m. and get home around 10 a.m. then sleep until 8 p.m. the next day and do it all again.  We only saw him for maybe two 15 minute blocks, once in the morning and once at night. This has been extra hard given that he was at home with us non-stop for months prior to this.  

I had the week of July 5th off work!  Have I mentioned lately how much I love my job?? SO MUCH. 

During the week off erp and I met up with @nannyturnedmama and her little one!  We went to the zoo in 95 degree humid heat!  Thankfully she was extremely conscientious of my very pregnant overheated self and we had such a great time!  

I’ve started making cold brew!  But that’s only because I accidentally ordered a bag of ground decaf coffee instead of whole bean and I wanted to put it to good use.  It’s strange to me that the cold brew process is all done outside of the fridge.  Room temperature water mixed with grinds left out on the counter for 24 hours? No cold necessary. Weird.  

Making the most of my inclination for laziness while still wanting to be a good wife and provide meals for my husband, I signed up for Factor75 meal delivery service!  We cancelled Hello Fresh a few months ago because that was way too effort intensive for my liking.  I chose Factor due to the fact they have a great variety of keto options and it’s all ready to go meals!  While I’m not currently keto, Kevin is, and I do plan on getting back to keto quickly after baby August is born.  We’re now on our second week of meals and, I’ve gotta say, we’re really happy with it!!  The meals taste great and they’re ready in four minutes (two minutes in the microwave and two minutes of rest).  My only complaint is I want more after I finish eating, but that’s always the case with me unless I eat to uncomfortable levels.  

During the end of my week off work, Kevin also had a few days off so we decided to drive to North Carolina to visit my aunt, uncle, cousins and their kids!  We try to see them at least once a year since moving out to VA but obviously that didn’t happen last year due to covid.  It was SO FUN introducing erp to them all!  And, amazingly, my shy babe did SO well!  She loved being with my cousin’s 12 and 14 year old daughters and I loved letting them follow her around keeping her safe!  I actually got to kick back and put my feet up during non-nap times!  So this is what it’s like living near family?!  Sign me up!  

It’s CRAZY to me that I’m 35 weeks pregnant with baby August (who I think I’m going to start shortening to just August, Aug or Auggie. Which, obviously, is just a tumblr nickname and won’t be her actual name. Erp and Aug? Are we fans?)  

Knowing that I gave birth to erp at 37w0d is making my brain insane knowing I could possibly have less than two weeks left of this pregnancy.  But, this time, I actually packed a hospital bag!  I even pulled out my breast pump and got that ready to go to the hospital, too.  I had quite the time remembering how it all works though, apparently I blocked out that part of my life.  In fact, I’ve blocked out most of how to care for a newborn so I’m really glad my mom (retired NICU nurse) will be here in two weeks to help me navigate the first few weeks with August.  

Given that I now live in a three-story townhouse, where I sleep on the third floor and the nursery is on the second floor, I’m thinking of putting the pack and play in my bedroom so I can easily care for and nurse August without having to climb down/up stairs while still recovering from delivery.  As such, that means I should get a comfortable chair for the room, right?  Right now there’s nowhere to sit other than the bed and it’s a tall bed without any back support so the idea of nursing in bed sounds challenging at best.  But I’d also hate to waste money and buy a chair for just a few weeks/months before transitioning August to her crib in erp’s room?  But it wouldn’t be a waste if it’s helpful.  Also, the chairs I’m looking at would be around $150 which seems like a worthwhile investment if it makes my life easier for any period of time.  

As much as I haven’t been great at keeping this space update of late, I PROMISE I’ll keep you posted as soon as I go into labor!  There’s no way I’d let you miss out on all that action as it’s happening :)  

[deadinside-butstill-horny]

The Night We Met

Part Two - Some Of You

Pairing: Javier Peña/ Female Murphy!Reader

Words: 5.3k - again; das pretty spooky.

Summary: Y/N’s and Javier’s actions on the couch are confronted. 

Content Warnings: No smut just yet... Slow burn? Uh 18+ still though cause Javier’s got a filthy mouth and Y/N can’t stop saying fuck.  Angst. Jealousy. Reference to declining mental health. 

A/N: Sorry this took me so long to get out. I’ve rewritten this three times because I just didn’t enjoy the direction it took. It was way too serious and stuffy, so I’ve gone a little playful with it and I’m kinda into it. Anyway, enjoy!

MASTERLIST

AO3

Part One 

You and Steve spent your first night in Colombia talking about everything and anything. Well, to be more accurate Steve did. For the most part your job was to listen and absorb. If Javier minded the Murphy reunion playing out in his living room he was kind enough not to say anything and stay safely behind his bedroom door. 

By 7am your mind was melted, you had already been going on 24 hours without sleep but taking on this amount of information, man, your brain hurt. They’d hung his cat, he’d beat the shit out of some coke head at the airport and to top it all off he’d saved the Colombian president from a terrorist attack. 

"This place is a real resort, huh?"  You mumbled, rubbing your eyes in disbelief.

"It's definitely something alright," Steve lit what you believed to be his seventh cigarette in four hours, it seemed the stress of Escobar had made his chain smoking worse. "You can't stay here, it's not… it's not a good place to be. It makes you different, harder. Paranoid."  Steve didn’t look good at all, his knuckles were bruised and oozing yellow and his eyes had dark rings of purple no doubt from the sleepless nights he’d had recently.

"I'm not leaving until you look like you're not gonna' blow over at the slightest goddamn breeze. I'm a big girl Stevie, I make my own choices." 

He didn't look impressed but he had no response, you knew that the conversation was far from over but with a shrug and a shake of his head he tabled it for a later date. The two of you sat in silence for a moment as you searched for what to say next.

"I need some sleep and a shower. I figured you wouldn't mind me camping on your couch." 

"Uh, my place…" Steve scratched his neck uncomfortable "is a bit of a wreck. I lost my shit after Con, and I haven't tidied in a while-" 

"A shower please and at least 12 hours of sleep then we'll sort it all out," you stood up and wrapped your arms around his shoulders you towered over him from where he sat.

Javier's bedroom door opened and Steve shot up out of your embrace. He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment at being caught feeling his feelings.

"Javi, I can't thank you enough man... Thanks for looking out for her." Steve clapped his partner on the shoulder.  "Sorry if we kept you up,”

"Nah, I passed out after you got here,” Javier supplied kindly and whilst you knew it probably wasn’t true, you thought it was nice that he tried. “I’m about to head out, got a lead on Escobar to look into, got some concrete info from my informant. But you’re welcome to crash here, shower and rest… last I saw it, looked like a bomb went off in his place.” He snarked with a smoke hanging out of his mouth and buttoning up his fresh orange shirt. 

“Thanks man,” Steve muttered for the third time this morning though this one was laced with sarcasm. “He’s right though, you should get some sleep here and give me some time to fix it up.”

“Don’t be silly. If Javier really doesn’t mind I’ll rest up here and help you clean it after. I’m here to help Steve, so let me.”  

“Makes no odds to me,” Javi drawled with a shrug whilst pulling on his boots. After a quick tour of the bedroom and shower, you thanked him before turning to your suitcase and pulling out a fresh pair of pyjamas and your toiletries.

The two men were talking about the ‘concrete info’ Javier had gotten from his informant the night before, when you stood up and spotted the towel Javi had placed upon the table. When you got close they both clammed up, making you narrow your eyes in suspicion, though Steve ignored it completely. 

“I’ll get some shut-eye too, come and knock when you’re up,” Your  brother announced whilst stretching with a groan as he turned towards the door.

“Make yourself at home,” Javier smirked. His tone was full on innuendo even if he didn’t say anything inherently sexual. You turned quickly and clutched your toiletries closer, flustered by his words.  You hadn’t known quite how he was going to interact with you this morning, part of you had been scared he’d ignore you completely so you were quite happy with the easy going kindness.

You closed the door and sighed, feminism was really taking a hit at your hands. Jesus Christ you were pulling the whole female race back a couple of centuries as you could barely look a man in the eyes with flushing a bright red and losing your ability to manufacture sentences. 

You turned on the faucet of the shower just as Javier showed you. Whilst it was heating you up you turned to look in the mirror, your hair was a shade darker than it should’ve been coated in a disgusting cocktail of what you could only imagine was grease and sweat. Pulling your hair back, you noticed you had a bruise forming between the curve of your jaw and behind your ear.  Was this guy secretly a 17 year old boy? leaving you with a goddamn hickey.

You peeled your fragrant clothes all while cursing Javier's name. You stepped into the shower and washed away the stress of the past night. All had ended well you supposed, better than well really. You’d made it here safe, found Steve and made out with a gorgeous man. The only downside was now you were here you saw how awful your brother looked. 

Sighing, you decided to compartmentalise these complex thoughts until you had at least 8 hours of sleep under your belt. So you washed both your hair and your body quickly, reaching beyond the shower curtain for your toothbrush. You spent longer than was really necessary brushing your somewhat fluffy teeth before dropping the instrument back on the counter. 

When you were finally done, you rinsed off and turned off the tap, exhaustion hitting hard now you were finally in the end zone. You looked around for your towel only to realise it was still on the dining table, you’d been distracted by the mens hushed whispers and Javiers teasing remarks.

“For fuck sakes,” you huffed under your breath out of the frustration of yet another task being between you and sleep. So after wringing out your hair you opened the bathroom door and peeped your head out.  

The coast was clear, or at least it appeared that way. 

As you rounded the corner, Javier was sitting with a coffee cup in his hand, and the towel resting in front of him with a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

“You forget something?”

You let out a dignity killing squeak and dove for the blanket that lay on the back of the sofa. You couldn’t believe the gall of this man.

“I could ask you the same thing! I thought you were going!” You proclaimed, gasping at the audacity of this man. 

“Wanted a cup of coffee, y’know, start my day off right,” his face held absolutely no remorse and there was something distinctly challenging that dwelled there. 

"You're a fucking perv, you do realise that spying on unsuspecting women as they get out of the shower isn't very cop-like." You growl at the man. 

"Whose spying? I'm just sitting here enjoying my morning coffee, whilst you waltz around my apartment naked." He smirked holding his hand up "If anything I'm the injured party, what with you throwing yourself at me."

Your instant reaction was outrage, a huff left your body before you could restrain your response, that shit eating grin of self satisfaction remained on his beautiful face. It was so much worse than the usual smirk that usually resided there, you wanted nothing more but to knock it off him. 

Schooling your face you rolled your eyes at his words and released your hold on the blanket. Two could play at this game.

"Whoops," 

You saw his eyes widen and flick down your body for just a second before the mahogany eyes narrowed and settled back on your own. 

If this was a game he wanted to play, you’d win it. 

It was your turn to smirk as you stepped over the blanket completely stark naked in the living room of a man whose last name you didn’t know and who just so happened to be your brother's partner.

You strolled forward noting how his eyes never left your own, the man had some real willpower.  You had meant what you said last night, this was definitely not a good idea. You were playing with fire and you could guarantee Steve would murder you both if he found out about this, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t play a little bit of cat and mouse.

So you ignored the man completely and grabbed the towel from the table in front of him. You turned away and began patting yourself dry before rubbing at your hair as you walked back to the bathroom. 

“Have a good day at work!” You call as you use your foot to kick the door closed behind you, though the door doesn’t finish its journey as a hand catches it and flings it back. The sheer force with which it slams into the wall makes your eyes widen and take a startled step backwards. 

Javier stands in the doorway, staring at you. Your facade of confidence is knocked as you stare at him, he walks forward slowly, all swagger as usual and takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

Much like last night, he places a teasing single, solitary kiss on your lips. Your eyes shut as you wait for the onslaught to begin. But it doesn’t. He pulls away before placing a finger on the bruise on your neck, which was now on full display as your hair was pulled back from your face, dripping water down your body.

“Sweet dreams, maravillosa.” He whispers a voice like honey, backing up. His eyes, deliberately slow, roamed your body before they rose to meet your own. There were no playful winks or smirks present any more, only a heat. A burning fire between the two of you. 

He was an arms length away from you but you felt a pressure on your chest, it was constricting your breathing. Making it hard to think, you didn't move or speak for fear it would break the spell. No words were passed between you as he took you in one last time and then turned on his heel and strolled out of the apartment. 

That fucking bastard. He'd won again. 

...

It was dark when you awoke to the front door slamming closed, it took you a moment to realise where you were. 

Your head felt like it was full of wool and your teeth felt heavy in your mouth, you rubbed at your eyes feeling like you'd slept for an age. 

You remembered the events of the previous night as you looked around taking in his room, minimal decorations, it looked like a prison cell rather than a bedroom. Javier was definitely not a nester. 

Oh God Javier. The man you'd had at least two sexual encounters with in the past 24 hours. You'd thrown yourself at your brother's partner like a sex starved maniac, but my God, he was making you feel more alive than you had in years. 

You sighed and lay back down, closing your eyes and rubbing your head. You grabbed the pillow and put it over your face. You weren't here for Javier, the lovely distraction he was proving to be, you were here for Steve. Steve was a goddamn mess, he was all over the place. Volatile, emotional and drunk, apparently, a large percentage of the time.

No, you decided, with a clear head for the first time in 48 hours. You could indulge in Javier when Steve had his head screwed back on and not a moment sooner. You would restrain yourself, you were not a blushing teen, contrary to your recent behaviour. You could do this.

You breathed out in a forlorn sigh, my God he'd destroy you. You knew all that swagger had to have experience to back it up. 

Restraint Y/N, restraint. 

You huffed in frustration and were struck by his scent, it had been around you all day, but he was condensed into the pillow covering your face. It smelt like smoke and his own brand of spice, something that brought his cocksure face into your minds eye. 

This was going to be difficult. 

Placing the pillow back down where you'd found it you rolled into a standing position, stretching out your arms above your head. You heard someone moving around in the lounge, a man and a woman talking. 

Narrowing your eyes to step silently over the suitcase you'd moved into the bedroom last night and pulled out a pair of jeans, an undershirt and nondescript plaid shirt. You pretty much threw them on along with clean underwear as quietly as you could, it was as you were sitting on the bed pulling your socks on you heard the scrape of the sofa and silence throughout the apartment. 

What in the hell?

It was then you decided to make as much noise as you possibly could… your rational brain told you he wouldn't… no- he couldn't be so god damn stupid not to check you weren't still in his bed before bringing a woman home after you'd been dry humping on that sofa not 12 hours ago. 

You pulled on your trainers, steeling yourself for what you were about to find. This was either going to be a huge misunderstanding and you’d misconstrued the sounds or he was banging some lady out- A moan cut through your thoughts. No. No fucking way! That absolute fucker, getting you all hot for him and then pulling this shit! 

You were struck by your position then, you were in his bedroom. Trapped. There was no clean exit. At this point the name of the game was damage control. You planned in your head, just get out of the apartment with as much dignity as you can muster. Resolved you all but launched your suitcase upwards crashing it into the wardrobe as it went and zipped it making sure to make it drag it out as much as possible to make the most noise you could. 

You took in a breath, dragging your suitcase behind you and opened the bedroom door slowly and pretty damn stealthily if you do say so yourself, the apartment was dark, the only light source was from the warm glow of the street lamps outside. 

So, you began your escape, taking a hesitant step forward. One foot after the other you got closer to the door, the wheels on your suitcase frustratingly loud, they had not got the memo that your mission had changed and your panicked brain now wanted to escape without confrontation.

As you rounded the corner, your stomach dropped. There, in the same position you had been not hours before was a woman, completely naked and riding the man that had invaded your dreams and had made you lose your head like no other.  

You stopped dead in your tracks for just a moment before your fight or flight instinct kicked in. Now you'd like to say you're a fighter, the kind of girl to stick up for herself but all you wanted was for the ground to open and swallow you up. So in a moment of unhinged panic you made a run for it. Ditched the suitcase in the hall and hauled ass. 

You weren't proud of it by any stretch of the imagination but you escaped pretty much unscathed apart for your dignity. That bitch was abandoned with the suitcase, decimated on the hallway floor. But hey, who really needed dignity?

You heard a surprised shout of something that sounded vaguely like ‘what the fuck?!’ from the lovers in Spanish as the door slammed behind you.  You were taking the steps three at a time in sheer fear Javier and his lover would follow you out of the apartment. You knocked on the door of Steve’s place, praying to all that was holy that he was awake. Your luck, it would seem had not run out. As Steve opened the door looking as fresh as a daisy, well. A daisy that had been carried around in a child's pocket, mushed and missing a few petals, but you appreciated the effort of him tidying himself up.

“You alright?” His eyebrows dropped as he took in your sweating forehead and gasping breath.

“Uh, yeah? I ran into Javier and his … girlfriend? I think he forgot I was there.” You weren’t proud that you snitched to your brother but that was the best way of getting your things back without seeing Javier, you needed a hot second for this awkwardness to scab over. 

“Fucksake Javi,” He pushed past you and nodded his head towards the apartment. “Make ya’self at home, yeah?” 

With a nod you stroll into the living room still struggling to breathe. You throw yourself onto the couch, that was thankfully nothing like the one downstairs. 

You were such a pussy.  

You couldn’t explain why but seeing that had been a punch to the gut, you’d known him for an evening, you had absolutely no claim on the man but a part of you still mourned what could have been. Javier was exactly like eating peanut butter from the jar, you know you shouldn’t do it and your family gets annoyed if they find out but my God if it isn’t more delicious that way. 

You would’ve let him take you apart piece by piece uncaring of if he put you back together after. He looked like the kind of man that knew exactly how to do it but it was a moot point now, it was over. 

Jesus. You had to draw the line somewhere for your self respect. So that's how you rationalised your anger, you were annoyed at him for messing up a good thing you had going, the sex would’ve been filthy it would’ve renewed your faith in the universe. It was one hundred percent annoyance at him, you were not jealous. 

Okay maybe 90% annoyance, 10% jealousy. It had been the woman from last night, all leggy and gorgeous. That bitch.

No, No, No. Y/N. 

Being angry at her was easy but she wasn’t the one humping you on a couch. Javier was the bitch here.  Your inner monologue was cut short by two male voices, coming up the stairs.

“Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.” You whisper and leap out of your seat, you run for the door on your left as it looks like the bathroom in Javier’s apartment. The two men are close now, maybe at the top of the stairs? You open the door to reveal a fucking closet.  You close your eyes and wince in desperation as you hear their voices outside the door. 

There’s not enough time to dwell on your declining mental stability as you throw yourself into the cupboard and close the door behind you. You back up and nearly knock something off of the shelf, you turn and catch it in time. You can’t see what the bottle holds as you’re stuck in pitch black but your nervous hands have an iron grip on the plastic. The front door is pushed open, only you can’t see anything except from the strip of light that goes around the perimeter of the door. 

“... I swear, you best hope…” Comes Steve’s laughing voice, he sounds strained. “Thanks for the help man, I’ve said that so many times recently it's gonna lose its meaning, but really. Me, you and Y/N -where ever the hell she's got to -we’ll get dinner as a real thanks for all your help.”

“Hey’ like I said. It’s no trouble, I’m just sorry I forgot she was there man!” He sounded meeker than you remembered. 

“She’s a big girl as she likes to keep reminding me. I’m sure she’s fine with it. Beer?” 

“Nah, I’m good, I got Valeria downstairs. Tell Y/N I said goodnight, ok?”

“Tell her yourself, Y/N!” You close your eyes and smack your head.

‘He was fucking leaving you idiot’ you seethe within your mind. 

You hear Steve walk past to the hallway that leads to either of the two doors you could’ve made a run for and actually had an explanation for being behind. But no, here you were hiding in a fucking closet with a quickly waning amount of time before you got caught. 

“Where the hell’s she gone?!” Steve all but shouted as he threw a door open. “She’s not here, I was only gone five minutes, they couldn’t have-” 

The spiral was coming. This was Colombia after all, his mind had gone to the worst possible scenario, so cringing all while you pushed open the door of your hiding spot to meet the cocked guns of the two DEA agents. One with frantic eyes, the others laden with concern.

Javier looked sinfully disheveled, he’d clearly dressed in a hurry. (Join the club asshole.) Steve looked disbelievingly at you, shaking his head and holstering his gun in the back of his jeans.

“... Uh, I was looking for, um…” You look down at the product in your hands “... Fabric Softener?” Your voice lifts at the end of the sentence, your lie sounds awful even to your ears, but it's your story and you plan on sticking to it.

Both of the men look at you expecting you to elaborate, but you stare right back, more so at Steve than Javier. His face currently causes a nagging sensation in your jaw, making your lips want to purse in disapproval. 

“Thanks for your help Javier.” You say cheerily, placing the bottle back on the shelf.

He stares at you, like you're a cornered animal and he doesn’t quite know if he should duck for cover. His eyes follow you hesitantly as he too holsters his weapon. “Sorry, if you saw-” 

“It’s fine. Don’t sweat it.” You smile at him, your voice is no longer false as you force a dishonest genuinity to it. “Small price to pay for a comfy bed. You shouldn’t keep her waiting though.” 

“Yeah..” His eyebrows meet in the dip in the centre, like he's trying to figure out a tricky maths equation and keeps getting the answer wrong. He nods one last time and gives your brother a clap on the shoulder before vacating the apartment.

“Well,” Your brother starts “That was fuckin’ awkward. Nice hiding spot, Moron.” You burst out laughing at his understatement of the year.

“I mean, I saw him banging that lady, I couldn’t make eye contact after that.” You play it off, but you feel like there’s something to your voice you can’t quite disguise, but if Steve notices he doesn’t stop smiling, so you’re happy. 

You take the beer out of his hand and point to the cards on the table “Ready for me to whip ya’ like a dog?”

The awkwardness is quickly forgotten. Well, Steve forgets it at least. You don’t. A couple of hours later as you're lying on Steve's couch, trying to force yourself to sleep so you’re not quite so jet lagged tomorrow, you find yourself thinking about it. Analysing Javier’s actions. 

After an hour of lying in the dark in contemplation, you can confirm you have no fucking clue why a person would do what he did.  The only air tight hypothesis you have as you finally drift off is that he just wanted all the pussy, got greedy and got caught. Your eyes close as you finally lose consciousness with your heart in your gut.

You wake at 5am. The sun is just rising as you roll over, straight onto the wooden floor.

“Fuuck.” You groan, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. 

You felt like absolute shit. If you’d thought 10 hours of sleep had knocked you into tuesday, a further forced three hour nap had done you no favours. Rubbing your eyes you shrugged out your shoulders trying your hardest to work out the kink you deserved for sleeping on a sofa. It was barely dusk but a soft golden light was warming up the room. 

You sat up and reached to your backpack, pulling out the book you’d purchased at the airport in a hurry; ‘Spanish for Kids.’ There had been a distinct lack of Spanish for beginners and whilst you had faith in yourself, intermediate espanol had scared you off.

So learning to speak like a toddler seemed the better of the two decisions. You didn’t want to be presumptuous about how long you were going to last in Colombia, but you had no plans on going home any time soon. Steve looked like shit, you’d quit your job at the grocery store and Connie was taking care of the rent on your apartment. You were as free as a bird, figuratively speaking, you had no doubt your brother would forbid you to leave the apartment, as if that was in his power. 

You sat patiently reading and repeating the words for about two hours, religiously scanning the thin book as if it was the word of God from cover to cover three times. You now had the ability to give people strange facts about yourself, yep, rather underwhelming for two hours work, nevertheless, it was progress.

First job is to find another translation book, Stevie would probably be able to get his hands on one. You looked to the clock on the wall, 7:32am. You could hear Steve snoring away in bed as you stood, pulling on your clothes from last night. You surveyed the fridge and found it lacking even the basics. 

With a daring plan, you grabbed Steves keys and wallet from his leather jacket on the hook near the front door. You scribbled a note on the pad near the phone and left it on the dining room table, just so he didn’t think the Sicarios had decided to hang his sister this time. 

You took the cash and dropped the rest of his wallet, folding the wad of money and putting it in your front pocket. Grabbing your shades from the table, you all but skipped out of the apartment taking the steps in quick little hops.  As you took the last step into the lobby, you ran into the exact last person you wanted to see slipping back into the building.  

“Y/N…”

“Hey Javier.” You replied with what you hoped was passable as a smile. There was silence and you could see the usually slick man, scrambling to come up with a topic. For the first time in your life, you let another human flounder and enjoyed it. You had nothing to say to him, zip, nada. Not your problem. 

“No Steve?”

“Nah, He’s sleepin’ thought I’d get some groceries.”

“Alone?”

“I made it here in one piece, didn’t I?”

The man's eyebrows furrowed. “Gimme’ a sec’. I’ll come along.”

“Seriously Javi, I appreciate you being such a good friend to Steve. But I’m fine. Honestly. Steve said last night that the shop’s two blocks to the left.”

“Nah, I need some eggs.” You were bemused by his response. But fine, if he wanted to continue this exercise in torture he could feel free to. You shrugged and gestured towards his apartment. He turned on his heel and raced back in, for what, you couldn’t guess. He returned not two minutes later, yellowed sunglasses sitting lazily on his nose and a hand in his back pocket. 

“After you,” He all but whispered in your ear as he came up behind you holding the building door open, giving a wonderful performance of a gentleman. You strolled out surprised the sun was this strong even first thing in the morning. You could feel it beginning to power up for the day as it bathed your skin in a soothing warmth. 

The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes as you took in Colombia. It wasn’t quite what you expected, maybe not as impoverished. You didn’t have much time to dwell on that analysis, before Javi pulled you from your surroundings.

“Look, about last night…” He trailed off as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“Don’t worry. Honestly.”

“I-”

“No. Honestly, we fooled around. It was a bad idea to start with, maybe it’s good, y’know, that things turned out this way.”

“I-”

“No.”

“But-”

“No. Look. My brother’s a shit show. Absolute train wreck happening in slow motion. I came here for him, I’ve got way too much on my plate right now to worry about where you're sticking your dick. So we’re gonna start over, no awkwardness, no nothing. Hi, I’m Y/N Murphy.” You offered him your hand in surrender, now he may have just witnessed a break in your mental health but he had a half smile on his face as if he had found your soul spilling endearing, instead of deranged. He wrapped his bronzed hand around your significantly smaller one.

“Javier. Javier Peña. Nice to meet you again, guapa.”

“Fucksake, Javi. You don’t make it easy.”  He let out another body shaking hearty chuckle at your words. 

“I’m Javier, remember? I’ve never felt your wet pussy through my jeans.” Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped. He’d taken your white flag and set it on fire and was currently using it to set your lower body alight.  “Start over? Like I can get you my outta my fuckin’ head. I didn’t come with you today because I’m Steve’s good friend. I came to get fuckin’ eggs I don’t fuckin’  need because I want to know how you taste.” He’d backed you up against the gate that surrounded what looked like a church, your hand grabbed at the black bar as he advanced on you, the two of you were close but not touching.

“You’ve tasted me.”

“Not those lips, amada.” You couldn’t help but gulp at his words. How were you here, you’d been so angry at him last night. Last night, when he’d woken you up fucking another woman. Ice water shot down your spine as you pushed at his chest.

“No.” You hissed, your hands pushing him again. “You’re giving me fuckin’ whip-lash! One minute you’re getitng me excited thinking I’ma’ bout’ to get the best fuck of my life, the next your screwin’ someone whilst I’m asleep in your fuckin’ bed! Are you insane? They need to either up or lower your dosage, because I don’t know what would make you think that this is okay!”

He huffed, backing off of you but not quite aquiasing to your shoves. “An informant, she was a fuckin’ informant.”

“Oh Javier! Why didn’t you say!” You gasp, before you roll your eyes. “This makes absolutely everything okay.” 

Sarcasm dripped from your voice as he seemed to reel from your words, the fucker actually thought he had gotten out of it.

“It’s my job. Finding Escobar, that’s it. That’s all that matters, that’s the end game.”

“Fine. Do your job, just leave me out of it.” He huffed at your words rubbing in between his eyes.

“I have never met anyone as goddamn infuriating as you, Murphy.”

“Fuckin’ likewise, Peña!” The two of you seemed to be in a stare off, neither of you willing to submit. You knew who was in the wrong and from the way he huffed before rubbing the back of his neck, he did too.

“Hello, nice to meet you, I’m Javier Peña. What’s your name?”

NEXT PART

@drinkingwhileblogging​ @va-guardianhathaway  @jedi-jesi

Tag List - Just ask if you’d like to be added to the night we met tag list.

[wizkiddx]

worst case scenario part 5

finally!! so sorry its been an age to anyone still here but lives been interesting atm so....  also this really feels a bit rambley and the ending is deff underdeveloped but I just kind of wanted this done tbh x 

[previous part] [part 1] 

warnings:  hospitals - ICU, ventilation that sort of stuff, just a lot of ANGST post a difficult birth - please don't read if this could be upsetting for you, and my inbox is always open if u wanna chat :) 

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

In a complete 360 degree flip from earlier that day, after leaving the hospital Tom had become obsessively attached to Aurora. They’d got back to his parents place in Tom’s car; Aurora in the carseat Y/n and Tom had ready in their car door for her arrival. Clearly his parents had already pre-warned his brothers, who had thankfully already gone over to Tom and Y/n’s - collecting the Moses basket amongst other items Harry had been listed off from his mother. 

Apart from explaining a little behind her name to his parents on the journey back, Tom had spoken very little, choosing to keep himself to himself - physically stationing himself beside the Moses basket the whole time. Of course, there had been a bit of light conversation and almost procedural passing round of Aurora between all her uncles and grandparents, which Tom had kept a wether eye on - but ultimately not engaged. 

He also knew that physically his body was failing him. Although eating a little of the lasagne Sam had made for everyone, he could only stomach a minuscule amount, which did little to boost his energy levels. It felt as though sleeping was the enemy, because he was neither ready to leap into the car if the phone went; or to hear the smallest sound from the wicker basket, suggesting something was wrong. So as much as he tried to fight it, before even nine o’clock he began to dose off on the familiar couch of his parents sitting room - occasionally jerking himself awake before loosing the fight once again.

Nikki had tried to gently push him to take a break in the spare bedroom, which had been Tom’s before he’d moved out, but was unsuccessful - every time he retaliated with a stern shake of his head, while checking his phone just in case he’d missed a notification. Eventually Nikki relented, later in the evening both her and Dom retiring to bed; once Sam had agreed to stick around downstairs till a bit later - as a chef he worked till late in the nights, so even on his days off like today, his sleep schedule was just a little fucked. 

Left alone with his new little niece and now pretty firmly asleep brother, Sam draped a blanket over the latter just in time for Aurora to start fussing in the need of a bottle. His mum had explained how to do everything, how to mix the formula and heat it up, so after scooping up the little wriggling girl in the hope his brother wouldn’t get disturbed, Sam dealt with her. To be honest no matter how clueless and useless he felt, Aurora was just so cute - if a little wrinkly and alien looking, but in a good way. This was the first baby any of them had had, so the first time Sam experienced this instant connection and love for the little being that was his niece or nephew. It was terrifying, lifting the bottle against her lips for the first time, but then it just sort of seemed to work. She was incredibly smart for less than 24 hours old, instantly latching on, like she had done for Haz at the hospital. 

That gave Sam a little confidence in his ability as an uncle, giving himself a satisfied nod while swaying from the kitchen to move back into the living room. It was just a preference to be within reach of Tom… just in case. His poor brother still hadn’t moved, slumped against the corner of the sofa, leaning toward the now empty Moses basket. Normally, Sam seeing his supposed heart throb of a brother looking as rough as he did now - double chin, mouth hanging slightly open, deep sunken eyes - he would’ve taken a photo to blackmail him with. Now though, it was just desperately sad, seeing his brother like this, hand still clutching his phone tightly above the blanket. 

Rather hoping the calm would last for a while, Sam successfully finished off feeding Aurora; winded and then put her down to sleep again just in time. Because, perhaps expectedly, Tom’s phone began to blare off the default iPhone ringtone making Tom jump and throw the device across the room as he awoke with a start. Sam ran to grab it off the floor, mainly with the hope of turning it off before Aurora was awoken too - knowing that it was best tonight to tackle one thing at a time. 

And so he immediately swiped to answer the call, not even registering who the call was from, much rather just wanting the noise to stop. 

“Hello?”

“Sam? It’s Harrison” Tom had jumped up from his seat hovering beside Sam with petrified look. It took barely seconds for Tom to snatch the phone back, launching questions down the receiver. 

“Slow down would you? Y/n is fine I was just phoning to check in.”

“Oh er yeh… um sorry I just… just thought…”

“It’s the other way mate. Nurse says she’s starting to get there cos first she moved her arm a bit when we pinched her shoulder and then I just called because she started to like gag and now the ventilator thing is gone.”

“W-what?”

“I think she’s breathing by herself? Like she’s got an oxygen mask instead of the tubes down her throat.” Clearly Harrison was not, by any means, a medical expert. 

“They said she would have the ventilator for a few days at least.”

“I guess Y/n got bored? To be fair she couldn’t ever sit still.”

“I’m coming to you.”

“Tom it’s nearly midnight, I was supposed to be kicked out at 10. Just come back in the morning, they won’t let you in I’m pretty certain.”

“What if she wakes up!”

“Then they’ll call you! She’s getting better Tom you should be try and relax for like a second.”

“FUCK OFF HAZ! If she wakes up all alone and terrified then-“

“I’m not going to having a screaming match on the phone with you. I think we both know you wanting to come is more for you than for Y/n, because Y/n would want you to be looking after Aurora.”

Again guilt tripping using the newborn. Harsh but effective. Stopping Tom’s anger dead in it’s tracks.

“Look I can put the nurse on for her to tell you they won’t let you in and they’ll call if anything happens - but you already know that.”

“Yeh sorry fine … I know don’t bother.”

“Okay… I’m was gonna head back to my place and I know you’ve probably got your mum begging to fuss over Aurora but if-“

“Can you come?”

“Didn’t need to ask mate.”

And that’s how the night went. Until Harrison arrived at the Holland family home, Tom had spent the time pacing back and forth, blatantly ignoring the pleas of Sam just to sit down. Once he arrived though, going through all the updates in a lot more detail Tom seemed, for the first time, optimistic. By no means could you call him relaxed or happy - but compared to the rollercoaster that had been the last 24 hours, Harrison thought that was more than enough. Aurora had started fussing again at 1 but by the time it had turned into a full blown scream at Tom, Sam already had the bottle ready. It took a little bit of encouragement and promise that Tom would be able to feed her but actually, she instantly latched on, settled in her Dad’s hold while guzzling down the contents of the bottle. 

After a bit of winding she ended up falling asleep on her dads chest, only when he felt himself start to flag did Tom place her back in the basket. Harrison and him ended up crashing on the sofas, Sam retiring to his own room. Phone still tightly clutched in Tom’s grip.

////////////////////

The first thing Y/n became properly aware of was this intense heaviness all over her body. It felt as though her limbs were all composed completely of lead, meaning as much as she was just craving rolling over, it was as though her own body was holding her down. A very alien feeling that unsettled her slightly, trying to shake of the misty feeling in her head to work it all out. It took a while to drag herself out of the depths of sleep, to the point where background noise slowly faded in - an alien beeping as well as distant shuffling making her heart thump with unease. Finally, perhaps most distressingly , her eyes felt glued shut. Not because they were heavy, in the way someone extremely sleep deprived cant keep their eyes open; rather stiff like they hadn’t been used in so long they’d rusted over or something. 

The feeling  was quite horrific and isolating- as though she were locked into her body without an escape in sight. Whilst trying to calm her racing thoughts, Y/n chose to focus completely on the one thing she could do. She could listen. She listened to the beeps, focusing on the type of sound, the way it chimed so regularly; and it’s form. It was familiar, for that she was sure but for now at least she couldn’t place it. 

It felt like an investigation, trying with all her might to try and workout what the fuck was going on. To put it mildly. 

The most useful clue though, a breakthrough if you will, is when a voice sounded - clear and familiar. 

“Excuse me nurse?” It was Nikki. For sure. It was a clue, but didnt seem to make a hell of a lot of sense. Y/n was so focused on why the hell Nikki was apparently watching her sleep unconscious, she completely missed the reference to the nurse. As in hospital. As in Y/n was in hospital. “… I’m just going to swap out for my sons friend.”

“Harrison?” That voice seemed new and unfamiliar.

“Yes, he won’t be a second I’m sure.”

What was Harrison doing here too? 

It was all very confusing and hurt Y/n’s brain to try and unpick. Gradually then, everything sort of melted away, diving back into the darkness.

The next time Y/n woke up things were different. This time she woke up like she would at any time of day. She woke up and her eyes followed suit. Not particularly easily, since as soon as they cracked open she was almost blinded by brilliant white lights, it taking a build up of willpower before she tried it again - bracing for the pain. 

By now she knew something was wrong. She remembered all these patchy and hazy periods. All full of confusion and disorientation but with different voices keeping her at least semi calm. Familiar voices, all too often laced with such emotion. Especially Tom’s. She couldn’t remember what he had said, nor had she probably been able to understand it at the time - what stuck was the tone. The sadness, the hopelessness , the emptiness. 

It was scary. But it made her want to help. Made her want to open her eyes. 

After wincing at the dazzling white surroundings, Y/n blinked her eyes quickly, in an attempt to get them to adjust quicker. She saw an unfamiliar ceiling, one that was tiled in a similar way to her old school canteen. There was a  weird pressure round her mouth, eyes quickly darting down to see edges of a clear mask pressed up against the bridge of her nose. That wasn’t it though, the further she looked the more her eyes panned down this pale blue blanket, following the outline of her legs to the bottom raised edge of the bed. The hospital bed. 

Her hospital bed. 

As much as she wanted to jump up in panic; physically right now that was an impossibility. So instead, Y/n focused on trying to gleam as much information from the situation. It took a hell of a lot of effort, her muscles literally stiff and ridgid with disuse but with a small groan her neck eventually agreed to follow orders. Just a small tilt to the left and suddenly Y/n felt so much more less panicked. Everything was that bit less scary because there was Tom. 

Admittedly he didn’t look amazing, or even not bad. Tom was sat with his back pressed against the side of chair, so his body faced her. Had he not looked so ruined, Y/n would’ve laughed at the side of his face squashed into the back of the seat. But he did look horrific, for lack of a better word. His brown eyes were locked shut, but also looked puffy and red, while dark at the same time - as though he’d been attempting to gouge his own eyes out prior. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, hence why he had appeared to have collapsed in the arm chair. At least though , he wasn’t in a hospital bed himself.

That was Y/n’s pleasure. 

Her next job was to get her neck muscles to pull her head to the other side. It was a slow wincing gesture, yet she was so aware of another presence that needed to be addressed too. But actually it was 3 people.

Right at the back, a nurse sat on a little spinny chair, scribbling something down in a file of papers but to be quite honest that wasn’t were Y/n’s focus zeroed in on. Instead on Harrison who was sat in chair mirroring Tom, except instead of being passed out asleep he was cradling a baby. Her baby. 

Y/n literally felt her heart in her throat at that point, eye widening almost comically. That was her baby - it must be? The monitors all started to loose their regularity as Y/n threw an uncoordinated limb to that side of the bed- already having realised her throat was way too scratchy to try to say anything comprehensible. 

Immediately that got the attention of both the nurse, who immediately leapt up and called for support, as well as Harrison - who looked like he was seeing a ghost. 

“Oh my-Y/n-?” Luckily he kept the baby safe in his arms rather than dropping her in shock, whilst Y/n kept her eyes locked onto the bundle in his arms. Nodding down, she tried to remove the mask (actually just very slightly knocking it to one side) and attempted to ask of the baby. Her throat, being inhumanly dry and scratchy, didn’t really work but Haz still got the message, scoffing in amazement. 

“Aurora… here’s your mummy.” Harrisons voice was quiet and wavering as he delicately held Aurora against Y/n’s collar bone, the babies little tuft of har tickingling her chin. Now Y/n was crying with happiness, looking up at Haz’s icy blue eyes and questioning her name. Harrison confirmed with another disbelieving whisper, whilst the arm that wasn’t still holding Aurora clasped Y/n’s hand with a death grip. “Tom’s choice.”

The mention of him had both of them shift their gaze across the room to Tom’s chair. Even with all the developments, Tom still seemed completely unaware, fast asleep with the side of his face squished against the back of the chair making his lips slightly askew. Y/n were acutely aware of the small congregation of doctors that had accumulated in the corner of the bay but they seemed to be respectfully waiting before they would prod and poke. Haz went to call Tom’s name, before he could though, Y/n squeezed his arm and minutely shook her head. That wasn’t what the blue eyes boy had been expecting, causing Haz to unfold and bring Aurora back up to his chest as he quirked his eyebrows at her.  

She didnt need to be filled in on the situation to know exactly what was happening. She had no idea why she was in the hospital bed; how long it had been since she’d given birth - but she knew all she needed to. From Harrisons unbelievably shocked face; and from the state of Tom - it hadn’t been good. Her fiancé looked almost ghostly, it seemed evident that he needed her. First then, she gestured to Haz for some water, which after a panicked look to the nurse; then from the nurse to various doctors; she was eventually given permission. 

After somewhat alleviating the sandpaper feeling in her throat, Y/n then croakily asked for a bit of privacy. Right now the doctors all were gawking, Harrison assumed it to be because they’d all led him and Tom to believe she wouldn’t wake up for a while- and even then she was supposed to barely be awake, not able to talk and drink or anything of the sort. With an ecstatic nod Harrison, shuffled out - while doing so prompting the medical people to draw the curtains completely shut round the bay.  

Already Y/n had tears welling up in her eyes, purely because she hated seeing him like this. He just looked so broken and shattered which honestly felt worlds worse than the labour she’d gone through. Her whole body still hurt, stiff and achy for reasons yet to be explained to Y/n. None of that mattered though, as she strained her arm out to the side in order to gently reach his knee that was folded up and sticking out awkwardly at an angle. After swallowing one again, Y/n squeezed round the joint and tried to shake it slightly. Instantly the man jumped up in his seat, heavy eyes blinking quickly and repeatedly as he tried to adjust to the room. 

Being so sleep deprived and stressed out, Tom’s brain was not working normally, instead with a delayed haze as he apparently skipped over Y/n in the bed, rather surveying the the closed curtains and Harrison’s now empty chair. As he was lifting himself to sit more normally up, uncurling from the armchair, was when he noticed the hand on his knee. Breath caught in his chest, Tom instinctively bit his lip as his eyes gradually traced up the hand, to the forearm, up to the shoulder. It felt like a fever dream, as though all it would take is for him to move and she’d slip away again. But there were her green eyes, gleaming in a way that literally lifted a weight from his shoulders. Her smile was tired and a little confused, but so her - after spending days of just seeing all her features lax, Tom swore that it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Only when Y/n finally croaked out a small ‘hi’ did Tom gain awareness of his body, or rather control of it, enough to leap up and leave over the bed - cradling her face in both his palms. Like a psycho he stared intently, swapping his focus from her left to her right eye like a madman. 

“Your-I-I” He was trying to speak, trying to communicate all the thoughts and regrets of things he wished he’d said to her all at once. Weakly she reached up to fully remove the oxygen mask, dragging It down to below her chin, before squeezing his wrists in comfort. Only then did Tom notice the small puddle that had collected on her cheek, which made him realise he was absolutely bawling. 

“You ‘kay?” Her voice was like sandpaper but everything about her was so completely Y/n and it was just giving Tom this unreal wave of euphoria. Physically incapable of replying, the brunette just scoffed, leaning over the bed even more so he could press his forehead on hers. He was laughing too, the fact she was asking him that seemed so preposterous, given all the tubes and wires attached to her at the moment. It took Y/n squeezing his wrist harder again to make him lean back a little, searching her eyes with his. She seemed so worried; seemed so full of concern - only then did Tom consider quite how much he’d ‘let himself go’ the past couple of days. 

It had been two days since Aurora was born, only 48 hours. But the transformation was mad, none more so than mentally. 48 hours had quite literally changed everything for Tom; changed life forever and himself too. It was showing in his unshaven face, with unwashed  greasy hair, everything just looking ‘tired’.

“‘m just really glad your awake.” It was so honest and sincere it did have Y/n wondering what had happened and for how long. What had she put her fiancé through?

“How long?”

“The worst two and a half days of my life… I got you now though, yeh?” Tom whispered wetly, while stroking the side of her cheek - wiping both his and her tears away.

“Always.”

The doctors and nurses then came in, podding and poking Y/n like no tomorrow while Harrison and Tom stood back a little - excitedly grinning at each other and the sleepy girl Haz was cradling, before Tom stole her off him. There was a momentary sick-to-his-stomach feeling after some of the professionals had cleared, seeing her eyes shut again felt like everything was crashing around him. Thankfully though, one of doctors noticed the look of despair on his face, explaining to the two men that she was just asleep normally. That although sh’ed spent along time unconscious, waking from a medical coma is in itself exhausting. 

After the initial excitement of Y/n waking the next couple of days were pretty samey. She’d been moved down to a normal ward, no longer needed all the incessant bleeping machines but still had to stay in hospital. Tom found it tricky too, he just always felt he needed to be by her side ‘just in case’. In fact, it had been a source of a bit of tension between him and his fiancé - she could see how exhausted he was from looking after Aurora, plus the stress of being in the hospital for hours a day with her. As Y/n got better and more switched on to the state of him, she realised it was inevitable he’d crash at some point.

But after a week and a half in hospital - comprising of a baby, emergency surgery, 3 days on intensive care, followed by 8 on the ward - Y/n was discharged. Nikki and Dom moved in to Y/n and Tom’s place, to provide care support both for Aurora; and Y/n for the rest of her recovery; and secretly Tom for everything he’d been through. 

She was still order on bed rest due to her surgical scars, so Tom and Nikki helped to set her up in the master bedroom as soon as they got in. Of course, everyone was aware of Toms odd mood that day. Until then the only thing he wanted was to get his fiancé back at home with him but now she was over the threshold his excitement and joy appeared to have been zapped out of him. In fact, he’d barely uttered more than a couple sentences. So once Y/n was properly comfortable and Dom had brought Aurora and the cot into the room, Tom’s parents quickly made themselves scarce. 

Tom hadn’t stopped, finding some reason to rummage around in the chest of drawers m while Y/n chewed at her bottom lip, watching him. 

“Tom?” All she got in response was a light hum. “Tom please will you come and sit down for a minute?”

“I just need to-“

“Tom!” Her exclamation finally properly got Tom to listen, jumping round to face her. “Please... please will you just stop for a second?” Y/n’s eyes felt as though they were boring holes in his skull. Really, Tom knew he’d be forced into this at some point because he couldn’t avoid Y/n. She had some power of mind reading over him. So with a defeated nod and sagging shoulders Tom rounded the bed, weaving between his side and Auroras cot - where she was sleeping soundly. 

A silence overcame the room as he heavily planted himself on his side of the bed, mirroring Y/n’s posture leant against the headboard. 

“I think we need to have an honest conversation T.”

“If you want.” Nothing about his reply was the picture of enthusiasm, causing Y/n to hesitate a little. 

“Look I am so beyond grateful for everything you’ve done while I was in hospital... and it doesn’t take a genius to tell you’ve worked yourself half to death-“

“I’m fine-“

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’re trying to protect me but please... will you just talk to me? Honestly?” 

His reply this time wasn’t completely unforeseeable but it still shocked Y/n quite how quickly it happened, especially almost unprovoked. Because that’s all it took for Tom to break, for the past 2 weeks to get their vengance, for all the repressed emotion to escape. 

He was crying- well more accurately sobbing- into his hands, his back quaking. Naturally Y/n reached out to pull him into her side, suppressing the groan of pain as she moved a little too much for her abdomen to handle. “I’m here T. I got you and I’m not going anywhere m‘kay?” 

And that’s how they stayed, for at least 10 minutes, with Tom crying into her shoulder as Y/n rubbed up and down his back. Eventually though, everything did calm down and Tom repositioned himself to lean his head on her shoulder just facing forward and focusing on playing with her fingers, lacing them fingers with his. 

In all the time since she’d woken up, Y/n was yet to broach the subject of their babies name yet. She sensed it was a sensitive topic to say the least, so had thought it best to wait till they were properly alone - not in a ward of 6 strangers where the only privacy came in flimsy blue curtains. 

“So…. Aurora huh? Thought it was too airy-fairy, head-in-the-clouds for you?”  Smiling lightly, both of them were transported back to the pregnancy when they spent hours and hours bickering over names. Aurora had always been Y/n’s favourite but to Tom thought it was more a name for a hippy kid who went around clad in tie dye and bandanas. 

“Still is a bit...but I needed a bit of a miracle and Iceland was in my head. Plus I sort of accidentally word vomited while shouting at Haz, for being nice to me.” Iceland as in when Tom had proposed under the aurora borealis in the freezing sky - when Y/n had agreed, promised even, to be with him forever.

“But you like it?”

“Of course... mother always knows best after all.”

“I think it suits her too. One of your best choices to date, listening to me.” Y/n mused, earning herself a very delicate but still playful elbow in the side before the room drifted back to a much more comfortable silence. 

“We’re gonna get through this you know? Me, you and her, we’re together in this... I’m sorry I wasn’t in the beginning and I’m sorry I hurt you but now? I promise you got me and I’m not going anywhere…” Y/n needed to say it and needed Tom to properly listen. “ ...literally, I still cant walk properly.” Tom chuckled wetly at that, which made Y/n feel a lot better too. 

To be completely honest, Tom was still hurt and he knew it’d take some mending to move past everything. By no means did he blame Y/n in anyway but just the fact he was left alone and abandoned - well, it was the worst time in his life. The way Y/n understood that and had apologised to him - if completely unnecessarily- meant everything. Meant she would help him to heal... whilst he helped her too. 

“Can we just go to sleep? I need to wake up beside you in our bed not at tiny hospital one.” It was only 3 in the afternoon but because of Y/n’s medicine she was constantly drowsy and Tom? Tom was still in this permanent state of exhaustion. So it wasn’t so much of a weird request as it was on the face of it. With a nod, Y/n shuffled down on the bed a bit more resting her head against the top of Tom’s. It was exactly what they both needed, just a bit of peace with each other. 

That lasted all of 5 minutes before Aurora woke and started to scream. 

Life had most definitely changed. Especially for Tom. Because even though he was he was mentally and physically exhausted,  he only appreciated his daughters screams whole heartedly... because Y/n was there groaning with a tired smile too. They were in this together. 

~~~~

 I really hope the ending didnt disappoint too much, im aware its rushed as hell, but thank you for getting this far! And I hope maybe this series has done a teeny tiny bit to normalise not everything in pregnancy and child birth being perfect - that there is morbidity and mortality associated. Obviously this is all fictional (esp the amazingly quick recovery and lack of neurological/other impairments) and not medically accurate in the slightest !!

my inbox is always open :) t x

Tagging : @whitewolf51 

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby. 

Day 4: Pink To Make The Boys Wink

Warnings: Bad Language words, SMUT (NSFW, 18+)

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this my second instalment for the Ransom advent collaboration between myself and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ and @jennmurawski13​. 

We hope you enjoy!

Series Masterlist. 

 The bedroom was full of sinful moans and groans, and the debauched sound of skin slapping on skin as Ransom’s hands curled around your hips, pulling you down onto him, thrusting upwards to meet you.

“That’s it, Princess.” he panted, your head falling back in a groan as a deliciously hard thrust hit you right on your spot. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good, fuck, don’t stop!” you begged and he suddenly sat up, drawing a gasp and a strangled cry from your mouth as his hands curled round your back, holding you to him as much as he could, his legs bent, feet planted firmly on the mattress. One hand slid up your spine and gripped the back of your neck, pulling you down for a filthy kiss as his hips continued pistoning up into you. You felt the heat beginning to rise in the low pit of your belly, the familiar sensation spreading between your legs and you moaned into his mouth.

“Ransom, I’m gonna…” your hands scrabbled at his back, nails digging into his smooth, taught skin as you groaned again, the coil in your abdomen reaching snapping point.

“Yeah, baby, come on my cock.” He growled, his teeth nipping at your ear. “Fuck you feel so good!”

With a final loud cry, you tipped your head back as you came, hard, Ransom’s hands gripping once more on your hips as he pulled you down harder, picking up the pace racing to his end. His hips jerked, his legs twitched and his head dropped forward to your shoulder, biting down gently as he let out a groan before he stilled completely, his chest heaving. Your hands danced up his back, sliding into his hair before he pulled away and placed a soft kiss to your mouth.

“Quick enough for you?” he smirked and you scoffed, slapping his shoulder slightly as he fell backwards, tugging you with him, pivoting so you were led on your side, his cock softening inside you.

“You’re such a dick.” You said as he kissed the top of your nose.

“You love my dick.” He shrugged and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, and my love of your dick is what got us into this.” You said, your hand taking his and pressing it to your bump. His eyes lit up, the way the always did when he felt your baby moving within your swollen belly. You knew it stoked his ego, knowing that he’d knocked you up, marked you from the inside as his, the evidence that you belong to him in every single damned way right there for everyone to see.

“Well I would say I’m sorry but that would be a total lie.” He shrugged, and with a shift of his hips he pulled out of you and rolled onto his back, his hands reaching up and locking behind his head. “What time are you meeting your mom?”

“An hour.” You glanced at your phone and turned back to face him, “I should shower and stick the laundry on before I go.”

“I’ll do it, the laundry that is.” He offered, “Although I could also shower if you wanted “he added, with a wiggle of his eyebrow.

“You think you can manage it this time, without shrinking anything?” You teased, your hand resting on your bump.

“Yup.” He popped the P “Especially now you stuck the instructions to the front of the machine.”

“Always better to play it safe. Besides, you shrink another of your sweaters I’m gonna have nothing to wear.”

“I shrank one. And maybe you could try wearing your own clothes.”

“The Spawn of Satan prefers yours.” You shrugged, rubbing your bump again before you heaved yourself out of bed and padded into the en-suite. You paused and turned to face him, your naked body on full show and his eyes darkened a little as you bit your lip “Thought you wanted to shower.”

In a flash he was out of bed and stalking towards you, causing you to giggle as he kicked the bathroom door shut behind him.

*****

Whites, brights, darks…

Ransom nodded to the three piles on the floor in the laundry room and shoved the whites into the machine first, dutifully following the instructions taped to the machine. Once it was on, he headed back into the kitchen deciding that he deserved a break. Fucking his wife all the way to heaven within ten minutes flat, not to mention the after party in the shower, plus then sorting washing, loading the machine and turning it on was tiring work after all.

He made himself a coffee before he headed back into the lounge and settled down with the laptop, checking the latest Newsletter from the Country Club before he ran down the training schedule for the Polo Team that month, checking when his time slots where, not that it really mattered. If he didn’t particularly like a slot he’d been given he’d just kick off until they swapped it for one he did like. Perks of being the star of the team, you got your own way…

He smirked a little as he could hear Y/N’s voice echoing in his head “Story of your life, you’re such a fuckin’ brat.”

Like he gave a shit.

His phone went off, signalling he had a text and he rolled his eyes as he saw it was from his mother, asking if she could expect him and Y/N for dinner that Sunday. Typing out a single word response- “no,”- he dropped the phone back onto the coffee table as he continued his reading, the TV fixed on some trashy talk show in the background.

He was surprised when the beeping of the machine telling him the cycle had finished hit his ears, and as he glanced at the clock he arched an eyebrow. He’d been that immersed in researching up on the youngest age kids seemed to be able to play polo, and where he could find a decent kids team, that he’d managed to actually while away almost two hours. He placed the laptop down on the couch and headed through to the laundry room, grabbing the basket from the side. Bending down, he pulled open the machined door and began to unload the items into the basket.

It wasn’t until he pulled out Y/N’s white Armani maternity dungarees that he realised something had gone horribly wrong.

“What the…” he straightened up, holding the expensive denim item up in front of him, squinting as he did so.

It looked pink!

Deciding it was the light in the room he walked into the kitchen and cursed loudly as they looked even pinker in the brighter room. He stalked back into the laundry room and began to remove the rest of the washing, and to his dismay it was all the same. His riding britches, 2 of her blouses, a few bras, panties, boxers, 2 of his dress shits, his thermal ribbed undershirt, several t-shirts, a polo shirt…

All. Fucking. Pink.

And more to the point, it had all definitely been white when he’d put it in.

Growling in frustration he tipped the washing out onto the floor and there it was, the culprit. One of Y/N’s thongs, a bright red one, poking out of the pocket of his white-now-pink corduroy trousers that he’d worn to the Fall Gala at the Country Club.

Fuck, he had totally forgotten they were in there after he’d kept them when he’d fucked Y/N in the cloak room. Unable to wait until he got her home as the sight of her in that little black dress, baby bump on show had driven him wild, he’d dragged her off for a dirty little rendezvous, and had ended up snapping the elastic around the waistband meaning they were totally useless. She’d been pissed when she realised and had to spend the rest of the night with nothing on…of course, at the time it had been a great source of amusement to him.

Now, well not so much.

He contemplated googling how to fix this, before he decided that he simply couldn’t be fucking bothered. It would likely involve some complicated soaking routine and frankly he had better things to be doing with his time.

Like researching…important…stuff. Man stuff. Man stuff for him and his baby boy.

Nonchalantly, he tossed the ruined items into the basket and set it on top of the machine with a shrug. He’d buy her some new stuff. And if she went ballistic at him over it all, then he’d just have to remind her that it was her fault her thong was in his pocket in the first place, the dirty little minx.

[wiypt-writes]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby.  Day 4: Pink To Make The Boys Wink

Warnings: Bad Language words, Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this all came about as myself, Sweater and Jenn saw a post about Ransom doing everyday things…and yeah, it kinda spiralled. The series will consists of one-shots and drabbles, all light hearted…and the occasional little bit of smut thrown in for your pleasure and we hope a nice countdown to Christmas after what has been an utter shit-show of a year.

We hope you enjoy!

Series Masterlist. 

The bedroom was full of sinful moans and groans, and the debauched sound of skin slapping on skin as Ransom’s hands curled around your hips, pulling you down onto him, thrusting upwards to meet you.

“That’s it, Princess.” he panted, your head falling back in a groan as a deliciously hard thrust hit you right on your spot. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“So good, fuck, don’t stop!” you begged and he suddenly sat up, drawing a gasp and a strangled cry from your mouth as his hands curled round your back, holding you to him as much as he could, his legs bent, feet planted firmly on the mattress. One hand slid up your spine and gripped the back of your neck, pulling you down for a filthy kiss as his hips continued pistoning up into you. You felt the heat beginning to rise in the low pit of your belly, the familiar sensation spreading between your legs and you moaned into his mouth.

“Ransom, I’m gonna…” your hands scrabbled at his back, nails digging into his smooth, taught skin as you groaned again, the coil in your belly reaching snapping point.

“Yeah, baby, come on my cock.” He growled, his teeth nipping at your ear. “Fuck you feel so good!”

With a final loud cry, you tipped your head back as you came, hard, Ransom’s hands gripping once more on your hips as he pulled you down harder, picking up the pace racing to his end. His hips jerked, his legs twitched and his head dropped forward to your shoulder, biting down gently as he let out a groan before he stilled completely, his chest heaving. Your hands danced up his back, sliding into his hair before he pulled away and placed a soft kiss to your mouth.

“Quick enough for you?” he smirked and you scoffed, slapping his shoulder slightly as he fell backwards, tugging you with him, pivoting so you were led on your side, his cock softening inside you.

“You’re such a dick.” You said as he kissed the top of your nose.

“You love my dick.” He shrugged and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, and my love of your dick is what got us into this.” You said, your hand taking his and pressing it to your bump. His eyes lit up, the way the always did when he felt your swollen belly. You knew it stoked his ego, knowing that he’d knocked you up, marked you from the inside as his, the evidence that you belong to he him in every single damned way right there for everyone to see.

“Well I would say I’m sorry but that would be a total lie.” He said, and with a shift of his hips he pulled out of you and rolled onto his back, his hands reaching up and locking behind his head. “What time are you meeting your mom?”

“An hour.” You said, “I should shower and stick the laundry on before I go.”

“I’ll do it, the laundry that is.” He offered, “Although I could also shower if you wanted “he added, with a wiggle of his eyebrow.

“You think you can manage it this time, without shrinking anything?” You asked, your hand resting on your bump.

“Yup.” He popped the P “Especially now you stuck the instructions to the front of the machine.”

“Always better to play it safe.” You smiled “Besides, you shrink another of your sweaters I’m gonna have nothing to wear.”

“I shrank one. And maybe you could try wearing your own clothes.”

“Baby prefers yours.” You shrugged, before you heaved yourself out of bed and padded into the en-suite. You paused and turned to face him, your naked body on full show and his eyes darkened a little as you bit your lip “Thought you wanted to shower.”

In a flash he was out of bed and stalking towards you, causing you to giggle as he kicked the bathroom door shut behind him.

***** Whites, brights, darks…

Ransom nodded to the three piles on the floor in the laundry room and shoved the whites into the machine first, dutifully following the instructions taped to the machine. Once it was on, he headed back into the kitchen deciding that he deserved a break. Fucking his wife all the way to heaven within ten minutes flat, not to mention the after party in the shower, plus then sorting washing, loading the machine and turning it on was tiring work after all.

He made himself a coffee before he headed back into the lounge and settled down with the laptop, checking the latest Newsletter from the Country Club before he ran down the training schedule for the Polo Team that month, checking when his time slots where, not that it really mattered. If he didn’t particularly like a slot he’d been given he’d just kick off until they swapped it for one he did like. Perks of being the star of the team, you got your own way…

He smirked a little as he could hear Y/N’s voice echoing in his head “Story of your life, you’re such a fuckin’ brat.”

Like he gave a shit.

His phone went off, signalling he had a text and he rolled his eyes as he saw it was from his mother, asking if she could expect him and Y/N for dinner that Sunday. Typing out a single word response- “no,”- he dropped the phone back onto the coffee table as he continued his reading, the TV fixed on some trashy talk show in the background.

He was surprised when the beeping of the machine telling him the cycle had finished hit his ears, and as he glanced at the clock he arched an eyebrow. He’d been that immersed in researching up on the youngest age kids seemed to be able to play polo, and where he could find a decent kids team, that he’d managed to actually while away almost two hours. He placed the laptop down on the couch and headed through to the laundry room, grabbing the basket from the side. Bending down, he pulled open the machined door and began to unload the items into the basket.

It wasn’t until he pulled out Y/N’s white Armani maternity dungarees that he realised something had gone horribly wrong.

“What the…” he straightened up, holding the expensive denim item up in front of him, squinting as he did so.

It looked pink!

Deciding it was the light in the room he walked into the kitchen and cursed loudly as they looked even pinker in the brighter room. He stalked back into the laundry room and began to remove the rest of the washing, and to his dismay it was all the same. His riding britches, 2 of her blouses, a few bras, panties, boxers, 2 of his dress shits, his thermal ribbed undershirt, several t-shirts, a polo shirt…

All. Fucking. Pink.

And more to the point, it had all definitely been white when he’d put it in.

Growling in frustration he tipped the washing out onto the floor and there it was, the culprit. One of Y/N’s thongs, a bright red one, poking out of the pocket of his white-now-pink corduroy trousers that he’d worn to the Fall Gala at the Country Club.

Fuck, he had totally forgotten they were in there after he’d kept them when he’d fucked Y/N in the cloak room. Unable to wait until he got her home as the sight of her in that little black dress, baby bump on show had driven him wild, he’d dragged her off for a dirty little rendezvous, and had ended up snapping the elastic around the waistband meaning they were totally useless. She’d been pissed when she realised and had to spend the rest of the night with nothing on…of course, at the time it had been a great source of amusement to him.

Now, well not so much.

He contemplated googling how to fix this, before he decided that he simply couldn’t be fucking bothered. It would likely involve some complicated soaking routine and frankly he had better things to be doing with his time.

Like researching…important…stuff. Man stuff. Man stuff for him and his baby boy.

Nonchalantly, he tossed the ruined items into the basket and set it on top of the machine with a shrug. He’d buy her some new stuff. And if she went ballistic at him over it all, then he’d just have to remind her that it was her fault her thong was in his pocket in the first place, the dirty little minx.

[mermaidssonshipss]

handcuffs

warning: smut, cursing, unprotected sex (DON’T RISK IT LADIES)

pairing(s): jj maybank x Reader

word count: 3,861 (she’s a long one strap in babies)

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you seethed, your eyes narrowing at John B as you watched him cower in the corner, a smirk playing along his lips.

“Dude this isn’t funny,” JJ’s voice piped up from next to you, his hands gesturing wildly at the handcuffs that currently had you attached to JJ.

“I think it’s pretty damn funny,” his smirk only widened and you went to lunge at him, tugging JJ along who quickly wrapped his free hand around your waist and yanked you back.

“Hurt him and he’ll never let us go.”

“Get off me,” you snapped, pushing his arm away from your waist as he rolled his eyes at your attitude.

“Look, I’m tired of you guys constantly fighting,” John B began, his smirk fading as he spoke, “Everyone is tired of you guys constantly fighting, so we all thought it would be a good idea to like... stick you guys together for 24 hours and hopefully end the fighting.”

“24 HOURS?” You yelled, your hand tugging at JJ’s and yanking him forward with you as you once again lunged at John B, but JJ’s large body stood his ground causing you to fall back into him, “John B, we can’t even be in the same room for an hour without wanting to kill each other, let alone 24 hours in handcuffs. How am I even supposed to pee?”

“You guys will figure it out,” he shrugged and you shook your head, turning to JJ who was oddly quiet. He was already looking at you, a smirk matching John B’s on his face.

“You’re insufferable,” you mumbled, knowing he was getting a kick out of your anger towards his best friend, considering that anger was usually directed at him.

“Any other girl would be begging to be in this position babe,” he snorted, causing John B to roll his eyes and shake his head.

“Anyways, I’m leaving for the day. You two can figure your shit out on your own without me here.”

“JOHN B! YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME HERE,” you called after him, watching as he walked out the front door with a wave. 

***

You had been sitting on the couch of the chateau for an hour, fighting over what to watch on TV. JJ didn’t really care what you watched, he just liked watching you get frustrated, realizing you couldn’t just walk away from him, and you would let out a loud huff before sinking back into the couch.

The Pogues had been reluctant to welcome you into their group when you first moved onto the island a year ago. You were technically considered a kook, but you had made it clear your first week on the island you didn’t give a shit about how much money someone had. Sarah loved you the second she met you; your family had been invited over to her house for a welcome dinner, and Rafe had made a comment about getting you in his bed under his breath so only you could hear it, and you had proceeded to grab your mothers glass of wine that was across from you, flinging the red liquid all over Rafe. Sarah immediately texted the other Pogues about what had happened, and they agreed to meet you the next day.

While the others warmed up to you and you melted into the group smoothly, for some reason, JJ was an absolute dick from day one. JJ didn’t like change, and he especially didn’t like bringing new people into the Pogues. With Sarah, he had at least known the girl since they were kids, making it slightly easier to accept her into the group. She also made John B happy, which was all JJ cared about.

JJ didn’t hate you, but he loved making you angry, so he acted like he did. Truth be told, JJ thought you were perfect in every way, you were too good for him, so he decided it was easier to make you hate him than silently pine after you.

You didn’t hate JJ, he just got on your god damn nerves so often. Sometimes the things he said and the way he acted towards you hurt your feelings, and for a while you had considered excusing your friendship from the Pogues, but when you brought it up to Sarah, she assured you the others loved you, and JJ was just... well.. JJ. You also couldn’t stand the kooks, and if you left the Pogues, you’d be left with no friends.

A puff of smoke whirled around the two of you, the scent of bubblegum invading your senses. You inhaled quietly, enjoying the smell mixed with JJ’s cologne, though you’d never admit it to him. It was quiet for a moment, but eventually the vape pen he had in his hand came into your line of sight. His eyes locked on yours, an eyebrow raising as you hesitated for a moment before wrapping your lips around the small black device and inhaling deeply, the smoke filling your lungs. You let your eyes close as you leaned your head against the couch, tossing the remote into JJ’s lap.

“Watch whatever,” you muttered, the heat from outside taking away your ability to continue arguing. 

JJ’s eyes were locked on the way your chest was rising and falling, sweat beads dripping down the exposed skin. You were wearing a sleeveless floral sundress, the top dipping into your cleavage, and JJ could tell you weren’t wearing a bra. The sundress you were wearing was JJ’s favorite on you, but of course he’d never admit that to you. 

Unfortunately for him, you could feel his gaze on you and you shot an eye open, scrunching your nose at the blue-eyed boy.

“Take a picture, Maybank,” you chuckled, watching his eyes widen as he realized he’d been caught, but it was quickly replaced with a smirk.

“Ya know what, I think I will,” his hand reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and opening the camera, tilting it towards your chest as he snapped a picture before you could react.

“Pervert,” you muttered, knocking your shoulder into his, but your cheeks heated up at the thought of JJ having a photo like that of you in his phone. JJ let out a loud laugh, shaking his head before turning his attention back to the remote.

Another hour had passed, and somewhere in there JJ had rolled a joint, you quickly plucking it from his fingers and taking a long drag. Now, you were both feeling the affects of the drugs in your system, your eyes hazy and your breathing deep. You were uncomfortable, the heat becoming unbearable, and you let out a quiet whine as the sweat dripped down your thighs. 

“It’s so hot,” you huffed, yanking your hands up to tie your hair back in a messy bun, JJ’s hand weighing your own down slightly as you finished. 

“Welcome to the Outer Banks,” JJ snapped, rolling his eyes at you as he unsuccessfully tried to wiggle his hand out of the handcuff.

In your current state of mind, the tone he had taken with you caused you to pout. You had managed to go the past few hours without saying much, and when you had spoken, it had been civil. You thought, maybe, he had finally decided to stop hating you. 

“If you don’t like the heat, why don’t you leave? Would make all our lives much better,” JJ didn’t know why he was being so mean, truly. When he was high, his mind usually wandered to places that involved you and him, with much less clothing, so he always forced himself to be mean to you to make the thoughts go away.

You were silent for a moment, his words ringing through your head. Maybe he was right, maybe things would be easier if you just left them alone.

“Fuck you, JJ,” your body raised from the couch, yanking him up with you as you pulled him into the kitchen, ignoring his protests and complaints about his wrist hurting. You could feel the tears forming in your eyes as you searched the kitchen, looking for the heavy duty knife you had seen once as you searched the kitchen for food.

“What are you doing?” 

“Getting the fuck away from you,” your voice shook slightly as you spoke, your fingers wrapping around the knife causing JJ’s eyes to widen.

“Wow wow, you’re not gonna like chop your hand off? Or mine?” You ignored his words, raising the knife and slamming it down on the chain that connected the handcuffs. In all honesty, you hadn’t expected it to work, but the cuffs were cheap and the knife sliced through the material easily, freeing you. 

Without sending a second glance to JJ, you stormed out of the kitchen, grabbing your bag from the floor and storming out the front door, just as the other Pogues had arrived to check on you two.

“Hey! How’d you get free?” John B yelled, watching as you stormed to your car, but Kie put a hand on his bicep, nodding towards the tears that were falling down your cheeks.

“Shit,” Sarah mumbled, her feet rushing towards you, but it was too late. You had slammed your car door shut and taken off, the sounds of your tires screeching as you drove away.

“What the fuck did you say?” Kie was livid as she stormed through the chateau, Sarah hot on her heels, finding JJ back on the couch. He looked up at the two girls, confusion written all over his face.

“Nothing new, who cares? She’s a big girl, she’ll be fine,” he rolled his eyes, but Pope threw his backpack at JJ, knocking him in the face.

“She was crying. You’ve never made her cry before,” Pope was just as angry as the others, and as JJ heard you had left crying, his stomach twisted in knots.

“I didn’t...” he tried to speak, but Sarah cut him off.

“God just a few months ago she came to me crying about how she was going to leave us, to make YOUR life easier, and I had to convince her to not push us away, JJ. I don’t know what the fuck your problem is with her, she didn’t do anything,” John B was silent as he watched his girlfriend yell at JJ, his eyes watching him closely. He knew why JJ was the way he was. He knew JJ better than anyone. 

“It’s because he’s in love with her,” his voice was calm as he spoke, and JJ sent him a death glare as he stood up from the couch.

“Shut up, John B,” he was seething now, angry at the brunette for knowing him so well.

“He’s scared of loving her, too,” John B didn’t listen, continuing as JJ was now stood chest to chest with him, “His mom left him, and he doesn’t think he deserves someone like Y/N, so he figured it’s easier to push her away.” JJ’s hands slammed into John B’s chest, pushing the boy back into the wall.

“You don’t know shit, John B,” JJ spat, his eyes reddening. The other Pogues were silent, watching the two, realization washing over them: everything John B had said made sense.

“You need to go tell her your sorry, JJ,” Kie’s voice was calm as she spoke, her hand resting on JJ’s shoulder, “I’m not saying confess your love or anything, but you need to apologize. She isn’t as strong as you think.”

***

Your parents weren’t home. A half-assed note had been left on the kitchen counter, informing you they would be gone for the week on a business trip. A dry laugh passed your lips as you wiped away the newly formed tears that dripped down your cheeks.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered to yourself before storming up the stairs and into your room.

Normally, the things JJ had said to you would be brushed off and forgotten by now, but you were so tired of the blonde haired boys hatred for you. You were used to your parents not giving a shit about you and wishing you were gone, but when you had met the Pogues you finally felt like you had a purpose. You were happy. And despite JJ being so mean, you found it fun, until today. Until he said he wanted you gone. You were in the shower now, scrubbing off the scent of JJ that rubbed off on you, rubbing your skin raw until it hurt to scrub any longer. The shower lasted 30 minutes before you had had enough of the warm water burning your skin and the scent of JJ was long gone. A towel was wrapped tightly around your small stature, your wet hair dangling down your back as you made your way into your bedroom. Immediately you could smell him, the scent of his bubblegum vape, weed, and his cologne slapping you in the face, and then you saw him. He was sat on your bed, his eyes watching you intently. 

“What the fuck!” You yelped, your fingers gripping the towel tightly as you stared at the boy that was sat on your bed, “How the fuck did you get in here?” Your voice was shaky as you spoke, your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“You left the door unlocked,” he responded simply.

“So you’re coming to my house to make me feel like shit now?” 

“No, that’s not why I’m here,” JJ sighed, his eyes falling to the floor in front of him. He ripped his hat off, running his fingers through his hair before resting his hand on the back of his neck, rubbing it deeply, “I came here to apologize.”

“I don’t need a bullshit apology because the others made you,” you snapped, stepping closer to him.

“I’m not here because they made me,” his voice raised as he stood from your bed, stepping closer to you now, “I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do, and if I didn��t want to apologize, I wouldn’t be here.” You were looking into his blue-eyes as he spoke, trying to read his emotions, but you couldn’t, “I don’t hate you, and I never did,” you rolled your eyes, your arms crossing over your chest causing JJ’s eyes to wander down before quickly snapping back up to your eyes, “I’m serious. I just...” he trailed off, letting out a long sigh as he threw his head back, “You make me feel... weird.”

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” you snorted, causing JJ to smile slightly as he looked back down at you.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way. I don’t know how I mean it, but I know when I see you... my heart starts to race, and I get... hot. Everywhere. And then you laugh or you scrunch your nose when you get irritated with me and I just want to pull you in and kiss you and never stop and honestly... I’m terrified. I don’t date. I don’t do relationships, but then you came along and suddenly I wanted all of that. With you. But you... you deserve so much better than me,” his words were coming out rushed, but you caught every one, your cheeks reddening at every admission. 

“Why would you think that? That I deserve better?” your voice was gentle as you stepped even closer to JJ, your hand reaching up and resting on his cheek, “Because I’m a kook? And you’re a Pogue? I thought I’ve made it clear I don’t care about that, about money.”

“It’s not that,” he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing slowly, “I don’t know how to love someone, Y/N. Not in the way you deserve to be loved.”

“JJ Maybank, you of all people know how to love more than anyone else in my life. You don’t see it, but I do. The way you love John B, Kiara, and Pope. Even Sarah. It’s in the subtle things you do, the way you’re willing to protect them, even if that means pulling a gun out on someone or taking the fall for something Pope did. The way you watch out for both Kie and Pope at every party, making sure they don’t drink too much, or too little. You show your love when you think I’m asleep, passed out because I’ve had too much to drink and you carry me into the guest bedroom, letting me sleep in your bed, and then in the morning you claim I stumbled there myself,” Your lips were hovering over his now, getting closer with every word you spoke, and JJ couldn’t focus. His head was spinning, his stomach was in knots, and quite frankly he couldn’t stop thinking about how he was confessing his love to you and you were standing in front of him in nothing but a towel.

Instead of responding, he pressed his lips to yours, his arms winding around your waist and pulling you into him. The kiss was heavy from the beginning, a year of unspoken and repressed emotions clawing their way out in the form of a kiss. You were spinning, your hands making their way into his hair and tugging on the blonde locks, a sigh leaving your lips as he let out a moan into your mouth at the gentle tug. 

His grip on you tightened, his fingers latching onto the soft fabric of your towel as he tugged on it, causing it to fall to the floor. He pulled his lips away from yours, stepping back and taking in your figure.

“Fuck,” he muttered at the sight in front of him, his pupils blown so wide his eyes were almost black. You didn’t respond, simply stepped into him again, your own fingers tugging his shirt off and throwing it on the floor beside you two before you pushed him back onto your bed, crawling into his lap.

Just hours ago, you had been crying and storming out of the chateau, swearing you would never talk to JJ again, and now you were naked, in his lap, about to let him fuck the shit out of you. You didn’t regret a thing.

“I need you, JJ,” you whispered, your hands going to work on the shorts he currently had on, tugging them down quickly.

“Are you sure you want this?” he rushed out, pushing your body back onto the bed so he was hovering over you now, his fingers trailing down your bare skin.

“JJ, I’ve wanted you since I first met you... oh...” you gasped as his fingers slipped between your folds, his thumb rubbing against your clit, his finger hovering above your hole before slowly pushing two in. Your back arched at the feeling of his fingers stretching you out, quiet moans slipping between your sinful lips.

“So wet for me, pretty girl,” he breathed against your neck, his lips sucking the skin until a mark was blossoming. You were a moaning mess beneath the boy, whines of need begging him for more echoing throughout the room.

“Wanna...” you tried to speak, your eyes rolling back as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting just the right spot, “Wanna cum around your cock,” you rushed out, JJ grinding against your thigh and letting out a groan at the words.

“Don’t have a condom,” he cursed at the realization, his fingers continuing to pump, and you quickly shook your head at the words.

“I’m on birth control, please,” your words were fast, but he had heard you loud and clear, his fingers stilling inside of you.

“I’ve never... I’ve never done it without a condom before,” he confessed, his blue-eyes meeting yours. You smiled at the admission. He was reckless, but it was nice to know he wasn’t that reckless.

“Neither have I,” you whispered, leaning your head up to capture his lips in a soft kiss, “But I’ve been told it’s an unforgettable feeling,” his fingers had abandoned your hole by now, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing as he hastily pushed his boxers down his legs and kicked them off the bed.

“Are you 100% sure about this?” His hand wrapped around his member, sliding the pre-cum soaked tip between your folds, a guttural moan ripping through his lips at the feeling. You nodded, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him closer to you.

JJ slowly slipped into you, his eyes shutting as he whimpered a string of curse words at the feeling of your wet cunt wrapping around him.

“Fuck you’re tight,” he moaned, his fingers digging into your hips, sure to leave marks tomorrow, “Always this wet and warm? God damn,” he chuckled softly, absolutely blissed out at the new sensation. He had had sex many times before, but absolutely nothing compared to the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his raw cock.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” your fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulders as he began to move his hips, his name leaving your lips sinfully as you felt every ridge and vein of his cock gliding against your walls.

You were both sweating, your names being chanted between one another like a forbidden song, the feeling of him pounding into your heat almost too overwhelming. Your legs had wrapped around his waist as you ground your hips up into his with every thrust, toes curling at the sensation. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, JJ’s lips assaulting the skin of your chest and breast, leaving marks on every inch he could possibly reach. His hand slipped between the two of you, rubbing at the sensitive bud he knew would send you over the edge. 

And it did.

You screamed his name as the pleasure took over, your walls clenching around him as he continued to piston himself into you, riding your high and chasing his. Moments later, he was releasing himself inside of you, his warm essence painting your walls and claiming you as his.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his body collapsing on top of yours gently as you echoed his words. JJ took a moment to collect himself before slowly sliding out of you, his eyes trailing down your figure and landing on the vice between your legs, watching as a mixture of your cum and his leaked out of the fucked out hole. He collected some of the leaking substance in two of his fingers, softly pushing it back inside of you as his jaw clenched at the sight, and you let out a quiet whimper at the feeling.

“We’ll clean up soon,” you muttered, watching him through hooded eyes as you fought off sleep, “Don’t think I can walk right now,” your cheeks were red as you spoke, and JJ took notice of the way both of your legs were slightly shaking. He smirked up at you.

“Maybe I should’ve confessed my love for you a long time ago.”

“Maybe,” you laughed, reaching forward and grabbing his arms, pulling him back down to you.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian - ch. 3

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Chapters: 3/3

Read chapters one and two on Tumblr.

Chapter three summary: Sam and Bucky take a breather from Sharon’s party in High Town.

Sam walks back into the room from before. The one that could be a high-end boutique, or the lobby of a shady but untouchable law firm, or the backdrop for a photoshoot featuring an Avenger who wanted their surroundings to exude enviable elegance and expensiveness without at all detracting from their presence. Not to name names, or speak disdainfully of the dead.

Shrugging off the brown leather jacket Sharon leant him, Sam tosses it at the couch. Yeah, technically it’s on a collision course with the back of Bucky’s head, but since Bucky dodges without turning to look, he figures he can claim poor aim. Which Sam would normally never do, especially to Bucky, but he has downed a few drinks tonight. Sharon wanted them to blend in at the party; Sam couldn’t see an easier way to blend than by doing his bit to deplete the contents of the event’s bar. He sure as hell wasn’t going to stand there pumping his arm to the beat like that motherfucker Zemo. Sam doesn’t know exactly what to blame for the Baron’s excruciating dance moves, he’s just glad he got away. Being near enough to Zemo for people to assume they were acquainted? Come on. That’s just insult on top of injury.

Bucky’s head swivels to follow him once Sam tracks into his line of sight.

“Where’s Zemo?” is the first thing he says.

Sam avoids his gaze until he’s good and comfortable on the couch at his side. It’s closer than he meant to be, since the damn thing has a curve to it, but the chairs don’t look comfortable. Unless, he supposes, you’re a percher, like Sharon. Sam doesn’t perch.

To cover for the fact that he picked his seat without thorough reconnaissance and is, with his inhibitions a little lower than usual, both far too nervous and not nearly nervous enough, Sam spreads his knees to take up even more of the couch, draping his arms along the back. Finally, he glances at Bucky.

“Sharon’s doing her shift as babysitter,” Sam says.

“Hasn’t she done enough?”

“You wanna go back down there and spell her, be my guest.”

“Nah,” Bucky says, “I think I’m good.”

Bucky’s jacket is gone too, Sam notes, moving his own from where it landed to the chair opposite. Briefly, he lets himself be curious. Why does Sharon have a wardrobe of men’s clothes in enough sizes and styles to reasonably clad himself, Bucky, and Zemo for the evening? Are these things expensive? Are they valuable, like the Monet he saw on the way in? Maybe the clothes on his back belonged to some celebrity and are set to be sold off to the highest bidder. If that weren’t a selling point before, it could be now—everything itemized and tagged as having been worn by Sam Wilson, the Falcon, the Man Who Wouldn’t Be Captain America.

In the short silence, Sam feels himself beginning to frown, but he’s just the right side of buzzed to prevent those thoughts from dragging him down. He’s a cheerful drunk. Always has been. A hugger, a giggler, a piggyback ride-giver in his younger years.

“Do you think she’s doing alright?” Bucky asks, forever ready to be morose. “Sharon?” Sam wants to stick his finger in the indentation between Bucky’s eyebrows and wiggle it until the seriousness drops from his face. He wants to smooth his thumb over Bucky’s chin, wipe out the memory of Zemo’s touch when he offered Bucky to Selby like a thing instead of a human being. “I know she took your deal, a favour for a favour, but I’ve been trying to work out what my debt to her is. My notebook—”

“There’s no math for it, Buck,” Sam says. Though his tone is lazy, his words are certain. “Who owes what to who. We just have to make it right.” Mildly annoyed that he’s been drawn back into a heavy conversation, he sighs and slings his foot up to rest his ankle on his opposite knee. The movement bumps Bucky’s thigh momentarily. “Think I might owe Sharon a little less now that she made me wear a turtleneck to that party.”

Bucky snorts a laugh. Sam turns his head and gives him the finger, though he’s also smiling.

“I’m laughing at what you said,” Bucky claims, “not the shirt. You coulda picked something else.”

“It’s black and doesn’t have a pattern. After that Smiling Tiger getup, I felt like being inconspicuous, ok?”

“Ok. You don’t need my approval.”

“You’re damn right I don’t,” Sam agrees, still grinning.

“Suits you,” Bucky half-mumbles.

Sam huffs from his nose, all his laughter in that puff of air as he faces forward again, then tips his head back to check out Sharon’s high ceiling. With nothing but night through the tall windows and the room under-illuminated by the two lamps either left on by their host or switched on by Bucky, the ceiling’s dark grey instead of white. Shadowy. Unlike the menacing shadows that seemed to stretch after them on the streets of Low Town, sending an unpleasant tickle up the back of Sam’s neck, these are soft. It’s a surprisingly peaceful end to the day, considering what the past 24 hours have encompassed. Suddenly, Sam feels as though he’s been awake a long, long time. Doesn’t mean he’s ready to sleep yet.

“So,” he says, “downstairs. Why’d you leave? Most date-like thing we’ve done yet and I tear my eyes away from the trainwreck of Zemo’s dancing to find you gone.”

“The noise, the crowd, Zemo,” Bucky emphasizes, “like you said.”

“You brought him.”

“I know, I just…” Bucky slumps forward and hangs his head, hands clasped between his knees. He turns pained eyes on Sam and Sam moves his hand from the back of the couch to Bucky’s shoulder. From there to his upper back. From a grounding pressure to a gentle rub. Just a couple times, but he doesn’t pull away, perennially touchy when less than sober. “I don’t want him to control me.”

“He doesn’t,” Sam says firmly. “You were yourself at Selby’s.”

“His version of me. I don’t like the reminder. I don’t want to find out if I’d do it again, in that crowd of people, attack someone just because he told me to.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. I’m trusting you not to.”

“Is that smart?” Bucky asks, expression raw. Sam can feel the heat of his back through his shirt.

“It’s not totally smart. Can’t be, with you involved.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and smiles and Sam wants to cheer.

“I don’t know about that date,” Bucky says lightly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he leans back into the couch once more. It was a t-shirt under that jacket of his and Sam’s gaze slides to his arms, trying to look without looking. Only because the Vibranium one isn’t on display a lot. That’s all.

“Oh, here we go.”

Sam’s amazed at how his complaint sounds in this room, in this light, on this couch. Like the ceiling, it’s soft.

“It was too loud.”

“The last thing you called a date was a fight on the top of a truck speeding down a highway. Wasn’t exactly quiet.”

“Well,” Bucky tries again, “there were too many people.”

“Again, extra people weren’t a problem last time. Half a dozen Flag-Smashers, as I recall.”

“That was fun and all—”

“Which part?” Sam asks, smiling. “The part where you got hurled into a windshield by the woman you’d assumed was a hostage? Yeah, that part was fun for me too.”

“Can it.”

Bucky accompanies the words with a look that Sam could pick out a mile away as fake-grumpy. It cracks him up and he lifts his hand from Bucky’s back to shove his arm as he laughs.

“You called tonight a date,” Bucky says suddenly.

“No, I said… I said…” Sam squints at nothing as he retrieves his words in his mind. “Date-like.”

“Zemo got in my head and I got in yours.”

Instead of saying this miserably, Bucky looks quietly smug at his joke. Sam needs to set him straight; of course he didn’t think tonight was a date. With a massive bounty on their heads at the other end of Madripoor? With Zemo the third wheel always only an arm’s length away? And the current circumstances are beside the point because, fundamentally, Sam doesn’t know whether or not Bucky’s been joking from the start. Intentionally wrong-footing him, messing with him, like they’ve been doing as long as they’ve known each other.

“You’ve definitely done something,” Sam volunteers.

It’s his fourth drink talking, or maybe the fucking pickled snake organ he forced himself to swallow earlier. His jaw clenches fleetingly at the memory. Sarah’s gonna laugh her ass off when he tells her. Should be enough to balance out whatever ire she’ll be sending his way for that dumb shit he said about laundering money. Although she’ll get that he only said it to avoid getting shot (he won’t tell her how narrow that success was), she still won’t be thrilled that he made himself out to be a criminal. It’s the furthest thing from the kind of people the Wilsons are. He could always point a finger at how Bucky behaved—dropping everyone who ran at him with icily efficient twists and kicks—but he knows how Sarah would look at him, what she’d be thinking. That he and Bucky aren’t held to the same standard, externally or internally. That he talks about Bucky too often, so often that if he let his sister in on this stupid running joke they have about their ops being dates, she’d take it all wrong, think this was something serious and inevitable.

Sam swallows and laces his fingers together in his lap so he won’t reach out for Bucky again.

“I know I should’ve let you in on the plan to spring Zemo from prison,” Bucky says. Oh, he thinks Sam’s words were a subtle criticism, not an admission. That’s… good.

“But?”

“No excuses,” Bucky promises, stretching his neck from side to side. “I shoulda told you. Once I explained it, you would’ve seen that I was right and agreed with me.”

Sam gives the side of Bucky’s head a hard stare until he catches the smirk hiking his lips up on one side.

“Wow,” Sam says dryly, “that was almost you taking responsibility.”

“I take responsibility all the time.”

“The notebook, right?”

“Yeah. Can’t believe Zemo put his fuckin’ hands on something so private, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I get that it’s private,” Sam assures him, “but you can tell me shit. If you want.”

Bucky’s folded arms loosen and he shoots Sam a sideways glance that scans all over his face, measuring, cataloguing, computing with that cyborg brain Sam teases him about. Sam blinks back. He means it, and he meant it before when he said he’s trusting Bucky.

“Feels a little one-sided,” Bucky says.

“That’s because you won’t come home with me to meet Sarah and the boys. You already got your invitation into my personal life, you just haven’t used it.”

“We’ve been a little busy, Sam.”

Sam sighs loudly and pushes his sleeves up his arms against the warmth of the room.

“You can make time. Once we’re not on Zemo’s schedule.”

“He was supposed to be on ours,” Bucky mutters. “I don’t know how that happened.”

“It happened because you’re an idiot who didn’t tell me the plan.”

“It’s my fault we keep getting shot at.”

Sam ignores that, the happy looseness surging up inside him battling the gravity of Bucky’s self-pity.

“It’s your fault if you didn’t like the date,” he counters. “You got Zemo out of Germany, Zemo brought us to Madripoor. Low Town, Selby, Sharon—all that happened as a consequence. You didn’t like tonight’s date? That’s on you.”

“Date-like,” Bucky corrects with a sly smile. “The noise and the fighting last time were fine—”

“Were they?!”

“—I just thought the next date should be different.”

Sam laughs softly because this isn’t the first time Bucky’s made this sound like more than a joke, but it is the first time he’s done this at night. And without Sam’s sister and nephews in the next room, or the potential for anybody to drive past them on a country road that runs alongside untidy fields, but when they’re truly alone.

“How so?” Sam asks, heart pumping like the bass in the basement, where the party’s carrying on without the two of them.

Bucky loosens his arms even more, until his forearms rest on his thighs, until—when he rocks to the side, repositioning to face Sam—he can rest one on the back of the couch where Sam’s used to be. His hand hangs down and his fingers skim Sam’s shoulder.

“More private,” Bucky confesses.

“I didn’t know that’s what you wanted,” Sam says with an easy laugh because Bucky’s face is still a little too stern, but that could be self-consciousness. “Tell me how to get more than four stars, man.”

“And you’ll do it?”

“Depends. Try me,” he blurts.

He watches Bucky’s face pinch in then relax, going especially slack at the mouth, which gets closer when Bucky angles into his space. Sam’s fingers release and his back straightens as he shifts to square his body to Bucky’s. They’ve done something like this before, locked into stubborn, confrontational posture when Bucky makes Sam’s life difficult by refusing to go along with what he says, but not this. Not this exactly.

Sam doesn’t stiffen or jerk away, so Bucky keeps coming.

“Are you…?” Bucky asks, eyelashes fluttering as his lids raise and lower, looking from Sam’s eyes to his lips. “Is this…?”

Always talking.

Tilting his head and closing his eyes, Sam stamps his mouth to Bucky’s. He goes to break away after a few stunned seconds, but then Bucky’s hand lands on the back of his neck—warm; not the metal one—to hold them together. Sam meets Bucky’s seeking tongue with his own and feels scruff against his face as their mouths test and react to each other. Reflexively, Sam grips the front of Bucky’s tight, black t-shirt. The kiss is quick and feverish and, when Bucky’s fingers untense on his neck, Sam rests his face against Bucky’s.

He wouldn’t say he’s scared to move, but he’s wary. He can’t tell if they’ve fucked up their whole dynamic or taken it, at last, to a level it was always going to reach. Raising a hand to pat the side of his head and check that his goggles are in place, Sam stops, remembering he won’t feel the strap because he’s not in the air. It’s been a while since he felt lightheaded on the ground.

He clears his throat and draws back. Bucky starts to remove his hand from Sam’s neck, but Sam reaches up to keep it there. He juts his chin out challengingly as he holds Bucky’s eyes, thinking, for a second, of their joint session with Dr. Raynor.

“What’s the verdict?” Sam demands.

Bucky stares back solemnly.

“Four and a half.”

“I’m leaving you here in Madripoor,” Sam declares, pointing a finger down at Bucky’s abruptly and broadly grinning face as he pushes up from the couch.

He strides over to Sharon’s crystal decanters, laughing to himself and looking for water. There isn’t any, but she does have an insulated canister of dissolving ice cubes. Sam scoops a few into a tumbler and turns back to look silently at Bucky. He cups the base of the glass in his hot palm. Slowly, the ice starts to melt.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Christmas Specials: Silver

CW: Chronic pain, references to attempted murder and past torture

The lights dance over Mina’s hair, edging black with red, yellow, green, and blue as she moves on little legs to touch the wrapped boxes piled underneath the tree. 

Danny sits on the couch with Toto curled into a ball next to him, watching Nate and four-year-old Mina get everything ready for Santa’s arrival. 

His back is a constant low throbbing ache, with occasional sharp spikes, but he’d been determined to make it downstairs to see this. He’d spent the whole day in bed, timing his pain meds just right to ensure they’d be at full strength after dinner. 

Abraham doesn’t get to take Christmas away from him any longer, even just in his body refusing to forget the blade that had been buried in his back.

Making it to the couch still counts.

Mina has an expression of pure and earnest seriousness on her round face as she carefully places a cookie on the special Santa plate that Danny had braved the crush and the stares at the store to buy. Next to the cookie - which Mina had informed them could be anything BUT oatmeal raisin - there were five small squares of cheese, a smattering of crackers, and a few slices of cured meat.

“Santa’s ch-ch-cheese plate is done,” Nate says, looking up, his eyes warm when they meet Danny’s. Danny gives him a smile in return, shifting with his discomfort but refusing to let it show on his face. 

He has so much experience, after all, in forcing himself to power through pain.

“Great. What comes next, Mina-bean?”

“Santa needs a drink!” Mina says cheerfully and claps her hands.

“Don’t we all,” Danny murmurs, and finds it in him to laugh when Nate shoots him a look. “Oh, what. She already learned to swear from me, might as well teach her this, too, right?” His back twinges, which is a fun way to describe the spike of sudden sharp agony that shoots up his back and he stiffens, closing his eyes. 

Toto seems to sense the way he tenses and the little dog raises his head, watching Danny with large soulful eyes. 

Ride it out, ride it out, ride it out, you can do this, just a second, just-

“D-Danny?” Nate is back to him without more than a breath of time passing, and Danny opens his eyes to look into the deep mossy green of Nate’s. “Are you okay? N-need to go back upstairs?”

“Oh… I th-think I’m sleeping down here t-t-tonight, thanks,” Danny hisses, but he lets Nate push Toto off the couch and slowly lay Danny down, and once his stomach is flat against the cushions, the pain starts to fade back into the low-level throb that he’s learned to push past, to live with. “M-might have to take… pull out the big guns later on, Nate.”

“That’s okay. You c-c-can have another dose in a few hours, we’ll switch paink-killers then.”

“Oh, no,” Mina says, looking at them with wide brown eyes utterly heartbroken. “Daddy, no.”

“What’s-... what’s wrong, Mina?” Danny’s voice is airier than he wants it to be, but his back is starting to settle again, muscles gradually relaxing as the nerve pain fades. He turns to look at her as Nate carefully drapes a blanket over him, then moves back to the kitchen. A cabinet door opens and closes. The microwave kicks on. Guilt is ever-present, that his pain will ruin the moment for his daughter, that he won’t be able to be enough when it counts.

Her eyes are wide as saucers. “Will you sleep through Santa presents?” 

Danny isn’t sure at first how to answer. It hurts, it always hurts, to know that his daughter is already used to what Abraham’s final gift has taken from him, that she has adapted so well to Danny’s limitations that they are the framework of her world. And yet he’s so proud of her, at the same time, for her compassion, for her small serious expression, for the fact that she worries he’ll take the meds and sleep through Christmas.

He won’t.

He won’t.

He swore to himself Abraham couldn’t steal any more Christmases, that he couldn’t twist them any longer into terror after he was dead. He promised himself, that first Christmas back home watching Nate decorate a fake tree they got at the store, that he would get to decide, from here on out, what Christmas looked like.

The lights dance over Mina’s eyes and hair and skin, and Danny smiles a little, thinking of a blurred sense of lights, of Nate’s hands over his body. The weight of eyes that he had thrown off, however briefly, to hold Nate as close as he could get without the other man sliding under his skin. 

Nate won’t talk about that night, but Danny thinks about it, sometimes, about how happy he’d been, for just a while, with someone he actually - already - wanted.

“I won’t, sweetie, I promise.” Danny forces his voice to be firm, and strong. Nate returns and lays the heating pad, freshly hot from the microwave, over the blanket. Heat spreads, and tensed muscles around damaged nerves relax even more. The hurt fades, never gone but barely noticeable, no longer enough to stop him.

He closes his eyes, relishing the simple joy of feeling only a minimum amount of pain. “I won’t sleep through Christmas,” He murmurs, “Because your Dad will wake me right up. Right, Dad?”

Toto hops back up and curls right back into his ball, settling into a hollow in the blanket between Danny’s knees.

Nate’s hand runs through his hair, briefly over one shoulder, and Danny opens his eyes again to watch Nate move back over and set the small red-and-clear-glass tumblr on the tray next to the cookie and cheese plate. Danny knows the drink because he was the one to insist on it when they did their first Christmas with baby Mina - rum, spicy ginger beer, squeeze of lime, a cherry to soak it all up, a slice of lime on the rim of the glass. 

Nate smiles back at him, and Danny is warmed as much by the love in that smile as he is by the heat spread through his back. “Absolutely. I’d n-never let Daddy miss Christmas.”

Not another one, anyway.

“I’ll sl-sleep down here, too,” Nate says, gently. 

Mina’s eyes light up. “Me, too! Christmas sleepover! We all sleep down here!” She looks so fucking delighted, and Danny can’t quite stop his smile. 

Somewhere, in the world, Abraham is a moldering pile of ashes. He took five years of Danny’s life, all told, and left him with pain he’ll carry for the rest of his life. He took five Christmases, five birthdays, he stole a year that Danny could have spent with Nate. 

Abraham stole so much.

But here, right here and now, Daniel Michaelson is determined that that monster will never take from him a single fucking second with his daughter.

“That sounds great,” He says, to Mina’s resounding cheer. Nate settles on the floor so he can lean back against the couch, and Danny chances sliding an arm around his chest, resting his chin on Nate’s shoulder. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, y-you,” Nate replies, his own eyes closing, slowly. He leans back until his hair brushes into Danny’s. Both of them are graying, now, just a little, although Danny’s had silver threading through his red hair like tinsel since he was 24. He turns just enough to press a kiss to the hint of gray at Nate’s temple, down to his eternal five o’clock shadow. 

Danny takes a deep breath - the smell of the pine tree and the fireplace, of the man he loves. Toto huffs a sigh and curls up again. “Merry Christmas, yeah?”

Nate chuckles, watching Mina lean forward to examine a large box wrapped in dinosaur-themed paper. “Yes. M-Merry Christmas, Danny. We m-m-made it.”

“We did.” Danny closes his eyes. “We made it.”

We’re here, and he’s not.

Merry Christmas.

---

@slytherynjolras, @whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @swordkallya, @astrobly, @slaintetowhump, @moose-teeth, @untilthepainstarts, @whumpiary,  @lave-whump @raigash @cupcakes-and-pain, @whump-tr0pes| @wildfaewhump