#Riser dad moments

[fandomsandfairytales]

I feel like I need to give Riser Way a shoutout for Father's Day because he's been the main dad character I've been reading about for the last several months and he's awesome.

I've only got a few minutes left before it's no longer Father's Day in my timezone (update: I'm 7 minutes too late now, lol, but whatever), so here's a selection of highlights of Riser being a fantastic dad!

For this post it's only Riser and Nikki snippets from Óhchikaape—with the exception of the final snippet, which is from the latest chapter of Montana Stars because I couldn't not include it—but I'll probably do a more comprehensive follow-up post at some point with highlights of Riser being a dad with all his kids (including more Nikki).

“You’re trying to get rid of me. You can’t wait ‘til I’m gone, can you. All this trouble I’ve caused, I’m not stupid, and money I’ve cost you too. No one does what you do just to be nice , and if they do it doesn’t last long before they get tired of it. You’re ready to be done. Ship my ass home and be done with me. Get on with your life. No one has ever cared enough to come looking, not since Daddy died. No one has cared enough to make me stop .” She whirls and slams her hand into the wall, and the broken thing in it, chipping the paint and gouging the drywall. He catches her wrist and pushes it away. "If that was how things were I wouldn't'a just torn this town apart for four days and put myself in the position of owing half the people in it a favor to find ya."

^ Óhchikaape, chapter 15 "I Don't Want to be Alone Again"

"Is there anything else ya want? A doll maybe?" She gives him a black look. “One of you maybe, to stick pins in.” Muttering. “…doll…” His shoulders shake and he turns away hastily to hide his grin; rather pointlessly, since it's quite audible in his voice. "We could check out the kiddie makeup section." “I’m going to trounce you right here in the parking lot.” "Princess bedding? I was supposed to have gotten you princess bedding already but I've been distracted..." “You get me princess bedding and I’ll go sleep in the cab of the truck with your coat.  You can sleep on the princess bedding, you have the princess hair.  Like… whatshername. Pasnuzel.” "How about a nice pink bracelet?" he suggests, fighting desperately and futilely to keep a straight face. She skips around an oil slick and back in close to his side and says, “What’s with you and the pink? We can pick out some pink stuff for you, you know. I won’t judge.”

^ Óhchikaape, chapter 17 "Until You Know I Love You"

“Everyone picks on kids like that, it’s just what you do!” "No it's not. And you will be apologizing to each and every one of them when we get back, you understand me?" Her eyes go wide and horrified. “I can’t do that!” "Oh yeah?" He doesn't sound impressed. "And why's that?" “Because it’ll be embarrassing!” "As embarrassing as it was to them when you made fun?" She moans a little, shoulders sagging. “Rissserrrrr….” "Would it be?" he says harshly. "As upsetting to you as it was to them, to be taunted for something beyond their control? To be taunted for wanting to be able to see clearly?" “I never meant it like that…” "Then how'd you mean it." “It was just… I don’t know, Riser, I just… thought it would be… funny.” She trails off miserably. "Were they laughing?" “…some other kids would. I mean… did.” Her shoulders are hunched. “I’ll say sorry when we get back, okay? Let’s just… stop talking about it.” "Not until I'm satisfied that you understand not only that what you did was wrong but also why." “I don’t know, because it wasn’t… nice?” Unbidden her mind darts to her little brother and she imagines in a flash bigger kids surrounding him while he cowers on the floor, his arms over his head. She imagines Silver hunched against a locker with his hands shoved in his pockets, cruel words flung at him and no towering uncles to come to his defense. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t nice.” She looks up at him a little weakly. “Riser, no one is nice where I come from.” "I believe ya. But it's not fighting back to pass the cruelty on. I’ll help ya keep the bigger kids off ya back, but there'll be no more picking on the smaller ones, you understand me?" “Yes.” "An' you'll be apologizing to the ones you've wronged." She sticks her face in her arm with a long groan. "And you'll mean it." Finally she lifts her head, red-faced and eyes pleading. “Okay. I will. Can we be done?” He eyes her calculatingly a moment longer. "Alright. Let's go pick you out some frames."

^ Óhchikaape, chapter 25 "Eye Guy and Cabbages"

Riser stands abruptly and catches hold of Nikki's ankles, dangling her a few inches above the floor and just sweeping it with her hair. "Look! I have a new broom!" “I’m a SWIFFER,” Nikki squawks, bending like a snake to see him better. "Do you cede, kiddo?" he asks, grinning down at her. Birdie lifts one hand, groans, and lets it flop dramatically back down. "My deepest and sincerest apologies, my lady. I shall be no more aid, callously broken by my own brother and left to die." “Never,” Nikki vows, and pretends to chomp his jean-leg in her teeth and shake it like a terrier. Riser shrugs and hoists her up higher and nudges one sneaker off with his shoulder to nibble at her toes. "Ooh, yum, snack." Her snarls turn to shrieks of protest. “I’ve been wearing these socks for three days straight Riser ack! Eek! Stopit!” Helpless laughter, feeble thrashing. "Do you give?" he asks thickly around a mouthful of toes. “That is so disgusting help! Ken! Help!” A shuffling sound from the hallway and Ken emerges to glare at them all balefully through sleepily squinted eyes. "ALL OF YOU, stuff a sock in it, or I'm slinging your sorry carcasses outside and locking you out." "I've already shtuffed a shock in it," Riser points out, and earns himself the full weight of Ken's glare. “Ken! Help! He’s eating my—eep—FEET!” "Shut. Up. All of you," Ken snarls, and stomps back to his room, slamming his door.

^ Óhchikaape, chapter 25 "Eye Guy and Cabbages"

"Yup." He nudges his chin gently against the side of her head. "But I'm not gonna whup you until you can handle it." She makes a sound that’s half groan and half exasperation. “How will you know when that is? When I’m thirty, maybe? Thirty sounds good.” He smirks a little and hitches her up. "Hopefully it won't still be necessary when you're thirty. No, it will wait until you know I love you, and will know it even when your ass is smarting." She’s silent all the way to the front of the store. She’s silent as he scans things through the self-check without putting her down. She’s silent as he pays and trundles her and the buggy out into the fading light and she’s silent when he finally sets her down beside the Eagle and hands her her helmet. She holds it between her hands, staring down at it, at the sharp snap-cuffs of the soft leather jacket, at her own hands. She turns the right one to see the raised pink line across the palm. Finally she says in a whisper, “You do?” He crouches to look up and meet her eyes. "I do." Her first step toward him is a fling; she draws up, remembering the stab-wound, and hugs him very gently around the neck. He wraps his arms about her and pats her back. "Y' my kid, understand? And I love you." She’s feeling suddenly sniffly and doesn’t quite know why. She says against his shoulder, “I… don’t think I understand all of it. But I understand… milkshakes. And coats. And shoes. And steak. And…” She has to stop and take a breath. “I understand… someone looking. I understand that.” He rocks her just a little. "I'll always be here for ya. I'll always be here for you. Okay?" She laughs a little in tearful disbelief. “I still don’t think I understand why. I’m… scrawny and smart-mouthed and I run away instead of saying… thank you.” "Doesn't mean you deserve it any less," he says reflectively. "Means you need it more."

^ Óhchikaape, chapter 17 "Until You Know I Love You"

"I'm your stepdad, it's my job to notice. An' put a stop to it." “I don’t… I don’t think I like that word as much.” "Which word?" “The… sounds like Cinderella or something.” "Stepdad?" She grinds her face against his shoulder. “Mm-hmm.” "Alright. Your Riser then. It's my job to notice, an' put a stop to it." “I don’t… it’s just the… step part I don’t like.” She hides her face in his neck. Riser blinks and blinks again and then a grin stretches his face wide. "Really?" “Really what.” "You mean it?" She lifts her head and looks at him squintily. “Mean what, Riser.” He takes a breath. "Do you... want to call me Dad?" “I’m not… I don’t… I want to call you that when I… when people ask. Because you are. Riser. Aren’t you? Now?” "Yes, baby, I am," he says quietly, and pulls her close again in a tight fierce hug.

^ Montana Stars, chapter 5 "Fencing"

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH. Happy Father's Day, Riser Way. Not words I ever thought I'd write, but he deserves it XD

@thegreenleavesofspring tagging you to make sure you see this <3

[ssahotchnerr]

Aaron and reader on their daughter’s first day of preschool 🥺 aaron is super protective and is like “why can’t we homeschool her??”

baby steps

THAT'S ADORABLE cw; fem!reader, girl!dad aaron, brief mentions of food, reader and aaron are married

when it came to baby girl hotchner starting school - a feat that once felt like was forever away - you assumed aaron would be the pillar of strength, especially after going through the same with jack a few years ago. you would have bet money he would've been the one persuading you out of the house, tossing reassurances left and right, getting you to smile through the tears; the voice of reason.

but, you were wrong.

from the moment your daughter was laid in aaron's arms, she wholeheartedly and completely had him wrapped around her little finger. and so the morning of her first day, aaron, the ever prompt riser, seemed to get out of bed much slower than usual. he was going to the office a bit late so he could see her off to school, but even on his days off would he be up before his alarm.

shockingly, and perhaps for the very first time since you have known him, aaron had hit snooze. just once, though, for five minutes.

likewise he sluggishly had gotten ready for the day, and now he was merely a shadow - following you around until it was time to wake the kiddos up.

"sweetheart?"

"hm?" you hummed in question, sealing the ziploc containing jack's sandwich.

"look at this."

after securing the bag into jack's lunch box, you glanced in aaron's direction, only to find him holding up her tiny, purple backpack. on his face, the most broken hearted expression there ever was.

"can't we homeschool her?" aaron asked, his voice the equivalent to a whine.

"yeah." you snorted out a laugh, grabbing another baggie for baby girl's snack. "with all the free time we have."

he continued to silently poke around as you finished preparing jack's lunch. it was only a matter of time until he found something else to mournfully point out.

"honey." next in hand, her brand new pair of sneakers (a small pair of pink converse, courtesy of uncle spencer) which looked absolutely minuscule in those hands of his.

"they're just shoes. she has how many pairs?" you teased gently, fighting the urge to succumb to tears yourself, courtesy of your husband.

"they're school shoes."

"you better quit it, or you're going to make me cry." with your index finger, you indicated for aaron to come. once he was in reach, you pulled him to you, wrapping your arms around his middle.

aaron instinctively placed a kiss on the top of your head, mumbling into your hair afterwards. "our little girl is growing up, isn't she?"

"she'll only be gone for three hours. three times a week at that." you toyed with his tie soothingly, and he released a deep sigh. "she'll still be your little girl when she gets back, i promise."

the look on his face was still utterly unconvinced - head cocked a bit to the side, eyebrows pulled, his lips almost begging to retake shape of his previous pout.

"now c'mon, let's go get our bugs up for their first day." you gave aaron an enthusiastic smile, to which he couldn't help but smile back - your smile was his weakness - releasing your hold on him.

but at the loss of contact, and at the next action at hand, a small groan escaped him. as you trekked up the stairs, you peered behind, making sure he was following you.

he was, and mumbling under his breath.

"god how am i going to survive when she's off to kindergarten?"

[messylustt]

STRESS RELIEF ( nsfw ) — miguel o’hara + reader: mr. o’hara just wants to help his babysitter with her tension.

marks nsfw. babysitter!reader x dad!miguel au. fingering. erotic massage. intended slight age gap (you’re a collage student). praise (I have to). forbidden. use of ‘cariño’ (it’s clearly my fav pet name). slight overstimulation. also a fraction unedited. wc 1.5k.

you took a breath as you knocked on the large door. you had gotten this job through the long winded grapevine. a person heard from a person and so on…

so, you barely knew the family, just that they needed a babysitter. you were in collage so any extra money was eagerly appreciated.

you heard some scuffing of assumable feet before the door opened. and as you stood expecting an older man or woman, you were silently surprised to see him.

he opened the door with a fluid motion that showed his ease and strength, as he continued to tie his black tie with his other hand. he caught your gaze and you actually gulped. because for one second his eyes looked…red?

“mr. o’hara?” you carefully ask, as you try not to let your gaze drift down his well built, suited body.

“mhm, you must be the…babysitter. miss y/l/n?” he checked, to which you nod, brushing your hands down your plain shirt. you tried to dress at least a little nice, wanting to appear fit to look after this family’s kid. or…single father?

you weren’t sure, because when you glanced at his hand you saw no ring. but you didn’t inquire, finding it would be rather rude and unimportant. you smile. “sorry, i hope i’m on time.”

miguel just hums, and as you briefly glance behind him at his house’s interior, he gets the chance to let his gaze wander, still slightly fiddling with his tie. you looked put together, polite. “she’s just in the lounge.” miguel said, his gaze stopping at your chest, which slightly heaved a fraction too heavy.

he tilted his head, stepping aside to let you in. and as you carefully stepped through, miguel stayed in the doorway, your shoulder slightly brushing his chest. “you seem nervous.”

“what?” you quickly glance back at him, once completely inside. “i mean…sorry, mr. o’hara?” you tried to stay polite. because if he thought you were nervous for the wrong reasons he might not let you stay.

“you’re quite a polite thing, aren’t you? a uni student, correct?” miguel asks, shrugging his suit jacket on. you ignore the way his muscles practically scream to be let free from the constricting material, as you yet again smile.

“yes, sir.”

“it’s alright, cariño.” he very vaguely chuckles. “you don’t have to be that polite.” he’s now buttoning part of his suit.

you can feel your heart beat a fraction quicker at the pet name, as you press your lips together, trying your best to not look flustered in any way. miguel glances back up at you. “just make sure she’s in bed before eight. she’s an early riser.”

you nod. “of course. any food preferences?” you ask, as you again look around at the simple decor.

“anything in the fridge should be fine. and please, help yourself.” miguel says, as he slips his arms into his even bigger coat, almost ready to leave for the night.

then just as he turns, he pauses, seeming to realise something. “oh.” he grabs a left over note from his pocket, along with a pen. he edges closer to your. “turn around a moment.” he says, to which you slowly do. then he’s stepping much much closer, pressing the piece of paper to the top of your back, scribbling something with the pen.

you ignore the way his warm breath tickles your skin, as his hand moves to slightly hold the back of your neck, keeping you still. then when he pulls away, you see his entended hand with his written number.

“if anything happens, call me.” he says. and you’ve noticed something. maybe it’s because he doesn’t know you, but his face has stayed its monotoned expression for the entire conversation.

“of course.” you nod. he copies the nod, as his tongue comes out to lick part of his lips, his gaze slightly dropping before he’s opening the door with a bag slung over his shoulder.

;;

it was late when miguel opened the door to his house. and when he shrugged off his coat, walking into the lounge he spotted you, head knocked back over a seat. your shirt has slightly ridden up, and as he scouted the room he spotted things such as sketch pads and pencils, along with drawings of fairys and such.

when he carefully picked a page up, clearly drawn by his daughter he saw what looked to be you and her holding hands. she liked you.

miguel glanced back to your calm, sleeping form. it was 11 at night now, so gabriella must be asleep. he edged closer to you. his daughter took awhile to feel comfortable with new people, so the fact that she had drawn you certainly meant something.

miguel was now towering over you, as you breathed, eyes closed. he could see a few books and your computer beside you on the couch. you must have been studying. you must be exhausted. miguel found himself sitting on the couch, unbuttoning his jacket.

he should probably wake you up, but you just looked to peaceful. a little longer won’t hurt. miguel’s gaze began to get caught up in the sliver of skin that was on display, your shirt very ruffled. he reached out to gently pull it down, straightening out the creases.

you slightly moved at this, your legs stretching out, and landing right over his lap. he froze a moment, his hand still by your stomach, as your hair moved to stick to your lips. and miguel found himself pulling the strand away, brushing part of your lips.

his claws were out, since he was in some sense alone. he kept his true being a secret, but when he got home from work his fangs and claws always came out, his entire body relaxing. so, now his claw was brushing your smooth skin.

he probably shouldn’t be touching you, waking you up instead, telling you to go home. but you were just so…polite…sweet…and asleep on his couch. it would be rude to wake you up now, especially after his daughter had taken a liking to you. yeah…you could stay a little longer.

but then your body shifted again, or more accurately your leg did, your calf slightly brushing along his…somewhere that shouldn’t be reacting to the movement. he gulps, feeling his fangs now completely out. they always did appear when he wanted something, bad. but what he was beginning to think that he what he wanted, he quickly looked away from you.

you needed to move your leg. he looked back at your oblivious face. but you looked so…no. miguel swiftly moved your legs, placing them back on the couch. but just as he stood, cursing at himself, he felt a small hand grab around his dress shirt’s sleeve. he looked to you and your outstretched hand.

then your eyes began to open, blinking sleepily. you then spotted your grip and where—who—it was attached to. with widening eyes, you quickly let go, moving to sit up. “m-mr. o’hara, i’m— god, i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to fall asleep, I was just…”

"hey...” miguel found the seat beside you again, gently placing his hand on your shoulder. “calm down…you’re alright.”

you met his gaze, and blink a few too many times. was that…fangs you just saw? miguel seems to realise his mistake as he quickly looks away. his body tensed as he forced his body out of relaxation, his fangs disappearing along with his claws.

you were sleep deprived…yeah, that was it. you shake your head, standing. “sorry, sir. uh…gabriella is in bed. she’s been there since eight.”

miguel nods, standing now too. “good.” he glances at your strewn out study notes, to which you quickly rush over and pack them up, stuffing them, along with your computer in your bag. “i should go…um…thank you, sir…for the opportunity. your daughter’s lovely.”

miguel watches you slightly rush, acting as if you had been caught doing something wrong. you had done nothing wrong. in fact, you had done everything right.

miguel stops you, as you had just slipped your shoes back on. you shift your gaze to him, as you try to soothe out your messy hair. he tilts his head a fraction, an actually amused feeling blossoming inside him as he stared at your flustered state.

“i’m out next week. same day, same time...” he says, as he slipped the money into your jacket's pocket.

you stopped your rushed movements. was he?… “you want me to come back?” you’re slightly surprised.

“mhm.” miguel nods, handing you a left behind note that fell on the floor. “can you make it?”

you quickly nod. “yes. yeah, i can make it.” you felt relieved. it meant you did something right.

miguel nods. “good. i’ll see you next week.”

;;

throughout the week you had grown nervous again, sinking back and forth into just bailing. but now you are stood in front of his door, straightening out your skirt. the door was pulled open, and miguel was suprised to feel a little...light upon seeing you and your shy smile. "come in." He stepped aside as you ventured in, past him.

miguel's body tenses as you pass him, a lovely scent wafting off you. it was the same as last time, but for some reason he seemed to notice it more. it made his fangs and claws itch to come out. he coughs, watching as you gaze around. "same bedtime, same thing with the food. i noticed you didn't eat anything last time..." miguel hums, making you meet his gaze. "please do. you seemed exhausted."

"i’m sorry, i really didn't mean to fall asleep—"

"that's not what i'm saying." miguel cuts in, shaking his head. "you're studying, it's expected. if you need a break to rest, the couch is free to you."

you slightly smile at this. "that's very nice of you mr. o'hara, thank you."

then he's nodding and leaving out the door.

;;

even though he offered, you just couldn't bring yourself to eat or fall asleep. so, when miguel arrived back home seeing you head first into your studies, with a clearly full fridge his brows furrowed.

you didn't hear him at first, as he removed his coat and jacket, rolling his sleeves up. he walked closer, looking down at your partially hunched posture as you bit your lip, stressed. he tilted his head, actually feeling concerned. "you should take a break."

you swiftly turn, clumisly standing. "mr. o'hara. i...i didn't hear you, sorry."

"stop apologising..." miguel begins before pausing. "actually no, you should be apologising." he stepped closer, taking the note out of your hand. "you need to give yourself time to rest...relax."

"i’m alright." you smile at his kindness, but miguel just shakes his head, crossing his arms.

"i can't have my babysitter feeling exhausted."

you shake your head, thinking he means for the worst. "i promise, i’m fine." you didn’t want him to fire you. the money was good.

"sit down." miguel said, directing you back onto the couch, as he moves your study notes and computer, so that he can take a seat beside you. your brows slightly furrow. "turn the other way."

cautiously you do, your back now facing him as you sat, a tad curious. and then his hands are on your shoulders adding a tad of pressure. your eyes widen as you try not to slump into his strong, big hands. "what are you..."

"shh, it's okay. i just want you to be less tense." miguel calmly says, beginning to massage the tight knots in your muscles. “you’ve just done so well looking after my daughter…” you can feel your body relax more and more into his hands.

“shit…” you mutter, pressing your lips together to hold back unwanted noises.

“mm?” miguel shifted closer to your back, his breath by your ear, as his hands did wonders on your shoulders and the top of your back.

your head begins to loll backwards, but you quickly snap it back up. “no, no. that’s alright.” miguel grabbed your chin, tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder.

“are you sure…you really don’t have don’t this.” you say, but he continues, moving even closer so that you’re practically flush against his front as his hands continue it’s massage.

“yeah…it’s alright, cariño. i need you feeling good.” miguel says, as you can’t help but shut your eyes, fully laid against him. god, you felt good.

“mm.” miguel hums, almost to himself, as his hands move slightly to your neck and collarbone. it was hard to keep his claws in, but he manages, feeling an even bigger urge to continue getting rid of your tension.

“you seem to work so hard, miss y/l/n.” he says, your chest seeming to heave a fraction harder. you hope he doesn’t notice. he does, a slight smirk edging his lips, as his hands shift further down, getting the top of your chest.

as he massages a certain point on your chest, a small mix of a groan and a whimper falls from your lips. your cheeks flushed as you felt incredibly embarrassed. you were acting as if no one had touched you.

but miguel appreciated the sound. “i like hearing that.” he lowly whispers by your ear, making you shiver. “it shows I’m doing good.”

“this is v-very nice of you, sir.” you gulp out, trying not to let your thighs rub together.

“yeah? that’s good. as i said i need my babysitter feeling good.” miguel’s hands have edged closer and closer to tits. bot quite touching, but your hardened nipples under bra kinda wants him to.

“mr. o’hara…?” you slowly question, as his breathing turns a little shallower. his fingers slightly brushing along your clothed nipples. your body tensed. “hey, it’s alright. just making you feel good, mi cariño.”

now your breathing is mismatched, as he brushes over your nipples again. his mouth has slightly opened by your neck, his lips carefully dragging, as his massaging has begun to make work on your tits. “these feel a little sore.” he mutters against your skin, as he squeezes and plays with them.

“m-mr. o’hara—“

“shh, it’s okay. you’re okay. you feel good don’t you? that better?” miguel quietly coos, as he presses you harder against him, his arms entirely around your body now.

you can’t reply as your breathing stutters, his hands feeling so good. you slightly rub your thighs together as subtly as possible. miguel places a small kiss on your rapidly heating pulse. “you are very tense, y/n.” he comments, his hands now dragging down your stomach, which is contracting a fraction.

he gazed down at your pressed together thighs, as he keeps your head rested back against his shoulder. then his hands tighten around them, drawing your legs open, making your heart thump. and not the one in your chest…

miguel coos by your ear, acting as if this normal. as if this is fine. “are you sore down here, cariño? uh huh…i think you are…”

your head is spinning, as miguel draws your legs even farther apart, making your skirt push up to your hips, revealing your panties. you slightly shift, going to speak, but miguel just whispers, kissing your neck again. “shh, you’re okay, mi cariño…just wanna make you feel less tense…it’ll help you focus won’t it?”

then his fingers drag along your clothed pussy, making you jolt. “mm…yeah, look at you. you need to relax.” miguel had begun to rub your throbbing clit making choked whines leave your open lips.

miguel grins against your skin, rubbing a little harder. “aw…you are sore, y/n. you just wanted some help. i can help you, cariño.”

then you suddenly jolt, feeling something sharper scrap against your pussy, the feeling making your body buzz. miguel couldn’t hold back his claws and fangs for much longer, especially at the feel of you coming undone in his arms.

he doesn’t stop even as you mutter “what…” he just rubs harder, making your hips grind on their own. “that’s it, grind into my hand.” miguel breathes. “make yourself feel better.”

he then slips past your panties, spreading your wetness around. “oh, your body likes that? doesn’t she? carajo…your pussy is practically begging to be touched…”

his claws against your most sensitive spot makes whimpers and moans fall even easier. and as he slips two fingers inside you, a small yelp spills as he begins to finger fuck you. the sounds obscene, as he shush’s and coos in your ear. “doing so good…so good, my pretty little girl. my fingers making you feel good.”

his claws were hitting against your g-spot making you slightly squirm against him. “w-what are those?” you manage as his fingers quicken inside you, your walls clenching around him.

“they’re just claws, cariño.”

even though you could feel that they are so, your eyes still widen. “what?”

“but it’s okay, because they feel good don’t they? you’re squirming like that because they feel so good inside you. i certainly like the feel of them inside you…inside your pretty little hole.”

his fingers quicken, making your stomach contract. “mm, can you cum for me? it’ll help release all that tension. come on. cum.” his words become a little more like a demand as he thrusts up into you.

and when your orgasm crashes over you, your head now thankful for the support of miguel’s shoulder, you entire body is flushed, your hips pathetically riding the high out as miguel doesn’t pull out.

“m—“ you choke out because he isn’t slowing, continuing to fuck you with his long fingers. “mr—“

“sorry…i just…you do feel really good. i’m just imagining what it would feel like…having my cock inside you…just give me a moment.” he mutters. the overstimulation is making you squirm again as you breathe hard.

“your pretty hole taking all of me. fuck—i don’t think i could pull out. just like how my fingers don’t want to leave you.”

your stomach is tightening again. “no…i wanna feel this pussy for as long as I can, cariño…maybe all night…”

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[vesper-tinus]

begs you for more simon content, but maybe where he tortures his girlfriend with his awful dad jokes? xd idk if they qualify as dad jokes they are kinda dark 💀 the dog one haunts me

Hello! I'd be happy to!

Unfortunately, I am nowhere near as hilarious as Simon and Co., but I wrote my favourite pun, and hopefully that will be sufficient!

𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐮𝐧𝐬. Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female ! Reader

Summary: Waking up in the morning, you are faced with the consequences of having the King of Jokes in your home. Requested by anonymous—thank you very much for the interest! I hope it lives up to your expectations! Keywords: Established relationship—married, female ! reader, though only mentioned once in spouse-title (Mrs), a pun(?), romantic fluff. Wordcount: 1062

You wake up in your spacious bed. Alone, but with a light heart knowing that Simon is not far. Not only is he a light-sleeper, but also an early-riser, and part of you wonders if it's genuine, or something that has been learned. Drilled into him from years of military duty.

Though sometimes—most of the time—he remains next to you until you wake up. 

He would never confess to it, but he enjoys watching you. Peacefully sleeping. Safe. A content expression on your resting face. He takes in every detail of you. From the fluttering of your lashes to the faint wrinkles beneath your eyes. The lovebites he left on your skin; the sleep lines the linen also left, and he smiles to himself at how lovely you are. How human it all is. How domestic.

Those quiet moments to himself are what grounds him. Most mornings he struggles to keep his hands from caressing your face, lest he risks waking you.

But on this particular morning, he is not beside you. So you abandoned the cosiness and warmth of your bed, course set, leisure-wear on, as you leave to find your husband.

You tiredly stretch your arms as you venture towards the kitchen of your shared home, yawning as you go. The house is peacefully quiet, but a different kind of quiet. It's silent, yes, but the closer to the kitchen you get, you hear stifled sounds of what makes home a home. The idle stirring of a spoon, the crinkling of a newspaper. The sounds of life. The sounds of living. The sounds of Simon. 

Home is said to be where the heart is, and Simon is yours. Heart and home.

“Mornin’, love.” Simon’s voice is peaceful in the morning, but with a hoarseness to it that reminds you of how hard he worked you last night. Your legs certainly remember. “How’d you sleep?” he asks, looking towards you; hand outstretched for you to take. Inviting you into his space.  

“Good,” you respond, coming to stand beside him, hand in hand. You lean down to press a kiss to his temple, and you feel Simon gently rotate the wedding band around your finger; you suppress a slight shiver feeling the engravings upon it. “Yours?”

“Perfect,” he hums contently, turning his head to press a kiss to your throat. “Kept the kettle on for you,” he murmurs softly against your skin, and you have to suppress another shiver. 

“No breakfast?” you ask. 

“Thought we could eat together.”

“Clever boy.” And for that comment, you are rewarded with a squeeze of your rear, his palm hot against your skin. A pleasant laugh escapes you as you wiggle out of his grasp to assess the breakfast situation, leaving your husband to his paper.

You hadn’t expected him to be a newspaper sort of man, but you’ve enjoyed learning all those little things about him. There’s always that feeling of pride in your heart of knowing that he lets you see those parts of him. That he is comfortable enough to share himself with you.  

Simon absentmindedly stirs the spoon in his mug of tea as he listens to you working the kitchen. Slow and methodically, just like his mind. His lips slip into a secretive smile, partially hidden behind the newspaper. He steals glances at you between boring articles, his eyes often falling to your hands and how skillful you are with them. Both in and outside the bedroom. 

You consider turning on the radio for some static, but decide against it. There is something blissful about the shared silence. How comfortable you both feel saying nothing, yet exchanging glances that speaks volumes. 

The silence is only broken when Simon’s voice disturbs it.

“Some American celebrity died. An actress. Decently young, too.”

“Another one?” you call over your shoulder, shutting the fridge door with your hip, milk in hand. “I feel like everyone is dropping like flies these days… What's her name?”

Simon shrugs, feigning ignorance as he flips another delicate page of the newspaper. “Reese something-or-other,” he offers with another noncommittal shrug. 

“Witherspoon?!” She was so good in Legally Blonde!

“No, with a knife.”

…

….

…..

The silence that follows is deafening as you turn to look at your husband. 

Your husband who is looking much too smug for your liking. Smiling like a cat that had cream for supper. 

You stalk towards him, the carton of milk discarded on the kitchen counter. Breakfast officially on hold.

“Simon”—you grab his chin with little strength, tilting his head back as you lean forward—”that was awful.'' It’s difficult to resist the instinct to laugh as your husband hooks his arm around your waist, feeling no remorse for your predicament. Gentle fingers resting on the dip of your hip bone—comforting, securely. You practically melt against him, it’s difficult not to. Some of your previous disgruntlement and tiredness dissipating with each gentle rub of his fingers. 

Unfortunately, it’s all a clever ploy to lull you into a false sense of security, and once he knows he has you, he strikes. 

Taken by surprise, you’re easily pulled forward. The drowsiness of a lazy morning having left you light on your feet. Simon managed to manoeuvre you into his lap. Your back to his chest as his muscular arms circle around to cage you against him. Newspaper discarded on the table. 

“You’re a real piece of work, Riley,” you grumble with mock-annoyance, your eyes narrowing. The joke itself was fine, hilarious even, but the fact that you (literally) fell for it? There’s no coming back for that, and Simon is the kind of man who will hang it over your head.

“Me-Riley, or You-Riley, ‘cause if I’m not mistaken,” he says, “which I’m not. You took my surname, Mrs. Riley.”

“Fuck you,” you huff, cheeks warming at the flirtatious tone.

Simon has the gall to chuckle at you. You feel the vibrations coming from his chest against your back, and it makes your heart flutter beneath your ribcage. How easily you fall for his wiles, it’s almost unfair, but somehow, you cannot find it in yourself to be anything but grateful. 

So you chalk it up as a win for him, and let yourself lean against him. Laughing as you replay the pun in your mind, and Simon has never heard a more beautiful sound. 

[steddieasitgoes]

made in the a.m.

this was written purely to celebrate the wonderful @henderdads birthday! And okay, maybe also to push the Steddie as boy dads agenda! Hope you enjoy it Cass! wc: 2.2K+ | rated: T Read on ao3

Steve’s an early riser — always has been and probably always will be at the rate he’s going. It’s not that he likes getting up before the sun starts to rise, but he’s never been able to shake the habit engrained in him since he was a kid. He’s learned to embrace it over the years — allowing himself to savor the quiet moments where he can just be before ultimately dragging himself out of bed to go for a morning run. 

Eddie on the other hand is not an earlier riser — never has been and never will be if the last decade and a half together have taught Steve anything. In fact, if Steve doesn’t wake him up in the mornings after he’s finished his own morning routine, he knows Eddie would happily sleep until one or two in the afternoon. 

And yet, when Steve sleepily blinks himself awake at the ungodly, even for him, 4 am hour and rolls over on his side, he finds Eddie’s side of the bed is empty. Stretching his hand out, he runs his palm against the sheets expecting it to be radiating with Eddie’s warmth but they’re cool to the touch. Too cool for Steve’s liking. 

Not wanting to send the world spinning, Steve slowly pushes himself up into a seated position and gives his eyes a minute to adjust to the pitch-dark room. When he’s certain he’s not going to launch himself into another vertigo episode, he looks towards their ensuite bathroom. 

The bathroom is pitch black too which doesn’t really mean anything. Eddie has a bad habit of peeing in the dark in the middle of the night. A habit Steve hates with every fiber of his being because of the mess he often wakes up to. Eddie’s aim is shit when he’s tired and it’s even worse when he’s tired and can’t see. It doesn’t matter that the toilet hasn’t moved in the nearly two decades they’ve lived in the house, Eddie still manages to miss. 

Steve keeps his eyes glued on the open door, patiently waiting for his husband, in his eyes, not the law, to return to bed. A second turns into a minute which turns into two and Steve can feel the anxiety start to set deep in his bones as he realizes that Eddie’s not in the bathroom. 

The sudden spike in anxiety knocks Steve out of his sleepy, slightly delirious state and straight into full consciousness. He doesn’t jump out of bed and reach for the bat like he still keeps tucked safely under their bed — a product of years of therapy and some healthy compromising on his therapist’s part — and instead keys into his other senses, hoping they’ll help him find Eddie without sending himself into full-on panic mode. 

It takes a minute for his ears to adjust to their natural white noise, but then he hears it. A cacophony of distant noise. The clattering of pots and pans, the muffled laughter of their four-and-a-half-year-old son, Eddie’s own slightly too loud whispered voice. 

Steve glances at the clock again to make sure he read it right a few moments ago and yep, it’s now 4:13 in the morning. Far too early for anyone to be awake, even Steve, let alone be goofing around in the kitchen. He knows Jackson’s been having trouble sleeping lately — the dreaded night terrors have taken a toll on his little body, but Steve also knows that Eddie would have waken him if he managed to sleep through Jackson’s crying. So it’s not that. 

It could be that Jackson wandered into their bedroom looking for a snack and Eddie, never one to turn down a late-night snack or two, entertained the idea and carried him down the stairs and into the kitchen. But a late-night snack doesn’t involve pots and pans, at least not in Steve’s eyes which means he’s back and square one wondering what on Earth his boys are doing at such an early hour. 

Just as he’s about to get out of bed and investigate for himself, it clicks. He glances over at the fancy clock on his nightstand that confirms the date. February 26th. Eddie and Jackson aren’t in the kitchen at 4:25 in the morning for themselves, they’re in the kitchen for him. Because today’s Steve’s birthday. 

Steve doesn’t need more confirmation, but it comes anyway in the strong whiff of bacon that makes its way into his room. His stomach growls and his mouth practically salivate at the thought of fresh, crispy, hot bacon but he doesn’t pull himself out of bed. He’s supposed to be sleeping still — a fact he knows Eddie is banking on given the loud shush that leaves his lips when Jackson lets out a pretty hearty laugh for a four-and-a-half-year-old. 

It’s hard to fall back asleep when he knows that chaos is unfolding in his kitchen and the fact that his internal alarm clock will be waking him up in half an hour anyway, so he doesn’t drift back to sleep, but he does sink back into the mattress and let himself rest. 

He supposes he could turn on the television and fall victim to those silly infomercials that used to be his lullaby when he was a twentysomething-year-old still dealing with the aftermath of everything they’d gone through in Hawkins, but he doesn’t want to ruin Eddie and Jackson’s fun by letting them know he’s been awake this whole time, so he lays in bed trying his best not to wonder what is going on downstairs. 

It’s harder than it looks, though, especially when the bacon smell gets overpowered by the sharp aroma of something burning and Eddie lets out a slew of colorful curses that Jackson will no doubt be repeating at some point in the week, but Steve manages to stay put.

Just as the sun is starting to rise, sunlight forcing its way through the slots of their blinds painting their bedroom in the softest yellow light Steve’s maybe ever seen, he hears footsteps making their way up the stairs. 

He shuts his eyes quickly and sinks his head further into his soft pillow. When the door creaks open, he lets out a few, albeit slightly dramatic snore noises, to really seal the deal. Judging by Jackson’s soft giggles, it works. 

“Daddy!” Jackson whispers yells from the side of his bed. “S’your birthday! Wake up!” 

Keeping up the theatrics he’s learned from Eddie over the years, Steve makes a show of slowly opening his eyes. The soft smile that pulls the corners of his lips isn’t fake, though. No, that’s as genuine as it can be as he takes in the sight of Jackson. He’s in the same dinosaur pajamas he helped him into last night, hair still a mess of curls, and eyes slightly droopy as the early hour starts to set in but his smile is what really does it for Steve. That gap-tooth, gummy smile that has Steve reaching over and hosting Jackson up in a matter of seconds. 

“It is my birthday? I thought that was tomorrow,” Steve teases. 

“No,” Jackson giggles violently shaking his head. “S’today! S’why daddy and I made you breakfast. See!” 

Jackson throws his entire arm in the direction of Eddie and Steve follows it before biting the inside of his cheek to keep his lay at bay. If Jackson is a tired mess, Eddie is exhaustion personified. His own curls are just as unruly, never calming with age. His threadbare shirt has a grease stain smack dab in the middle and his pants are slung very low on his hips, threatening to fall any second now if he doesn’t pass Steve the tray and hike them back up where they belong. And the bags under his eyes have bags of their own, but none of that distracts Steve from Eddie’s own megawatt smile. 

“Not just any breakfast, Jackson,” Eddie says, taking a careful step forward so he doesn’t trip over his pants and send their hard work flying. “Breakfast in bed.” 

“Daddy says that’s the most special kind of breakfast,” Jackson nods. 

“It is,” Steve confirms before scooping Jackson into his arms again. He kisses the top of his head before gently setting him down beside him, clearing his lap for the tray that Eddie wastes no time setting in front of him. “Wow! This looks delicious!” 

Steve catches the way Eddie bites his lip to keep his own laughter at bay. There’s an impressive spread on the plates in front of him, but delicious might be pushing it. The toast is burnt to a crisp, it’s a miracle it hasn’t disintegrated yet. The bacon is unevenly cooked, crispy on one side and fatty, and soft on the other. The yokes in his sunny side eggs definitely cracked during the cooking process and the hashbrowns are definitely still thawing from their time in the freezer but Steve doesn’t care. Not in the slightest. 

To prove it, he picks up a piece of bacon and happily chomps away, complimenting both of them on their skills in the kitchen. Jackson cheers gleefully, stealing a piece for himself as Eddie joins them on the bed, sandwiching Jackson between them, before swiping an oddly sliced bit of a banana. 

“Daddy burnt the toast,” Jackson says, watching with furrowed eyes as Steve tries to drag butter over the chared bread. 

“Hey,” Eddie whines, playfully nudging Jackson. “You said you weren’t going to tell him!” 

“S’hard not to tell him,” Jackson giggles. “It’s pretty dark.” 

“That’s okay,” Steve says, smiling as he carefully lifts the bread to his lips. “I like my toast dark.” 

Jackson wrinkles his nose as Steve takes a big bite that he instantly regrets. Still, he manages to chew and swallow it, chasing the dry and very burnt piece of toast with a big gulp of orange juice. 

Eddie sticks his tongue out, before lunging toward him, “Tickle Monster!” Jackson squeals, trying his best to scoot away from Eddie but Steve blocks him. The cup of orange juice nearly topples over in the process, but Steve doesn’t mind a bit of a mess as long as Jackson’s having fun. And judging by his laughing as Eddie tickles him mercilessly, he’s having tons of fun. 

“No fair! It’s my birthday, I want to be the Tickle Monster,” Steve says, a playful pout pulling at his lips. 

“There can never be too many Tickle Monsters,” Eddie says, moving his hands so his tickling efforts are focused on one side of Jackson’s belly. 

Steve carefully sets the mostly empty tray on the floor beside the bed before lunging at Jackson, joining in on the fun. Jackson’s laughs are loud and infectious, causing both Steve and Eddie to break out into giggles of their own as they watch him squirm beneath them. They keep it up until Jackson tells them to stop, respecting his wishes even when they’re playing like this. 

Once he calms down and catches his breath, he snuggles up between them again. It’s only a matter of seconds before his eyes flutter shut and his breathing evens out.

“I can’t believe you woke up so early just to make me breakfast,” Steve says, glancing at the clock. It’s twenty minutes passed Steve’s usual wake-up time now. Usually, he’d be out of bed, dressed, and working on tying his laces for his daily run, but there’s no way he’s moving right now. Not with a full belly and the warmth of his boys next to him. 

“Neither can I,” Eddie yawns, before smiling softly at Steve. “But it was worth it.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, without any hesitation. “S’the least we could do. You’re always making our birthdays special figured it’s time we returned the favor.” 

“You always make my birthdays special,” Steve teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Might have to put a rain check on that gift this year,” Eddie teases. Steve playfully scoffs and reaches over a sleeping Jackson to nudge his shoulder. “Hey, it’s your fault I’m so tired! If you woke up at a normal hour, we wouldn’t have had to wake up so damn early to surprise you!” 

“You could have had breakfast waiting for me after I finished my run.” 

“Didn’t you hear Jackson? It’s the breakfast in bed part that makes it special.” 

“I’m just teasing,” Steve says, leaning over Jackson to steal a kiss from Eddie. It’s short and sweet, their questionable breakfast and morning breath lingering on their lips, but it’s the first kiss Steve’s ever gotten as a 36-year-old and that’s what really makes it special. 

“I know,” Eddie says, yawning again. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Steve says, letting his own body sink back into the warmth of the mattress. 

“You’re not getting up yet?” 

“I think I’ll stay here a little longer. Cuddle my boys,” Steve says, reaching his arm out across Jackson’s small body and towards Eddie’s awaiting hand. Their fingers curl around each other instantly. “Who knows, maybe at 36 I’ll finally learn to sleep in.” 

“Jesus H. Christ I hope so!” 

Steve can’t help but laugh and doesn’t even bother muffling it into the pillow because Jackson is just as deep of a sleeper as Eddie is. 

“Get some sleep, Eds.” 

“Happy birthday, Stevie,” Eddie whispers, practically slurring as sleep comes for him. 

True to his word, Steve stays in bed. He listens to Eddie and Jackson’s soft snores and watches their bodies rise and fall with each steady breath they take. He soaks it all in. The quiet stillness with his boys, the warmth radiating from them, and the love he feels so deep in his bones. It’s perfect. The best birthday morning he’s ever had. 

[glorious-spoon]

may i request “…casually” for the kiss prompts, if it inspires you? 🤗

- @buckactuallys

Hi, and thank you! Have some morning after sappiness, I hope you enjoy! ☺️

-

The bed is empty when Buck wakes up.

This isn't an unusual thing, actually; given the chance, he likes to sleep in. And a lot of hookups like to have some space the morning after: get showered, get dressed, start their days, make it clear that it's time for Buck to show himself the door without actually having to kick him out. He knows that whole song and dance by heart, and it doesn't bother him that much, usually.

It doesn't usually work like that when he sleeps over at Eddie's. Chris is an early riser, and while Eddie is hit or miss, he's not usually much good at staying quiet before he's got a cup or two of coffee in him. Buck has woken up more than a few times to the sound of Eddie stumbling into something in the kitchen and then cursing about it in a blurry, sleep-hoarse voice.

The thing is, usually when he sleeps over here, he sleeps on the couch.

Buck rolls over, squinting at the clock that Eddie keeps on his side of the bed. It's not actually that late; just past 8:30. The door is closed, and the room is full of hazy, diffuse morning sunlight. The walls are still painfully bare even a year after Buck helped Eddie patch and paint the smashed-up plaster, but there's a new rug on the floor, a handful of framed photos on the wall by the door. Mostly Chris, but there's one of Eddie and Buck there, from May's graduation party, draped in beads and hamming it up for the camera.

It makes Buck smile a little as he folds himself upright, but he's not sure where to go after that. He can hear noise coming from the kitchen: the clatter of dishes, soft conversation. Chris is home. And Buck is here, in Eddie's bed, clearly having spent the night there instead of on the couch. It's a little late now to try to sneak out, unless Eddie wants him to go out the window. And they really didn't talk about any of this last night. It seemed very distant then, with Eddie pressing him against the mattress, Eddie's mouth hot against his, the searing eagerness of his hands as he pulled Buck closer and touched him like he'd been thinking about it for a while, but now—

Now, Buck really wishes he'd thought to ask.

Footsteps in the hall. He freezes, and has a moment to be profoundly grateful that he pulled on a pair of sleep shorts last night, because there's a knock at the door, and then Chris ducks his head in without waiting for an answer. He does not seem surprised to see Buck there.

"Oh good, you're awake," he says. "Dad says breakfast is ready. He burned the first two pancakes, but the rest are fine."

"Oh," Buck manages, slightly airless. "I'll, um. I'll be there in a minute."

"Don't take too long, or you'll get stuck with the burned ones," Chris warns, and retreats back out of the room. Over the roaring in his ears, Buck can just hear his clear voice saying something to Eddie that includes his name.

He swings his legs off the bed, scrounges the t-shirt he abandoned on the floor last night, and gets up. His heart doesn't stop racing all the way down the hallway, but when he steps into the kitchen, Eddie glances up at him and smiles.

It's easy, that smile. There's none of the panicked regret Buck was fearing in it at all.

"Morning," he says. "You sleep okay?"

"Uh, yeah." Buck scrubs the back of his neck. Chris is in the dining room, setting the table for the three of them. On the counter next to the stove is a plate of pancakes covered by a dish towel to keep it warm; butter and syrup and orange juice for Chris are already out on the table. There's a full pot of coffee steaming fragrantly on the counter

There's Eddie, leaning over the stove to slide the skillet off the heat. He scrapes at the patch of spilled batter that scorched on the burner, then sets the spatula down and turns back toward Buck. He looks—he looks soft, a little bit sleepy still with his fluffy hair and his rumpled t-shirt. He looks like Eddie. The way he's looking at Buck isn't even new, now that he's paying attention to it.

"Can I, uh, can I help with anything?"

"Mostly all done," Eddie says, but he hands the plate of pancakes to Buck. "Here, take this to the table, I'll grab us coffee."

Then he cups Buck's cheek, leans up just a little, and kisses him briefly on the mouth, so sweetly casual that Buck kisses back without even thinking about it.

It feels different than kissing him last night, all that heat and urgency. It feels different than lazily making out in the sleepy afterglow. It feels—easy, comfortable, real.

"So we're really doing this, huh?" Buck asks, soft, when they finally break apart.

Eddie laughs under his breath and kisses him again. "Yeah. As long as you want to."

"I want to," Buck says, so fast that Eddie laughs again, louder, as he steps away.

"Still need to talk to Chris," he says, pulling out a pair of mugs.

"I think he, uh, I think he's probably figured it out," Buck says with a faint wince. He was in Eddie's bed this morning. Chris is definitely old enough now to read between the lines there. Though at least he didn't seem upset.

Eddie snickers. "Yeah. But I want to do this right. This is important." He glances at Buck again. "You're important."

"Oh," Buck says, helplessly warm.

"After breakfast," Eddie says firmly, passing Buck one of the coffee cups in his hand. Cream swirls through it, and the porcelain is warm. "Come on."

Buck takes a deep breath, nods, and follows him out into the sunlit dining room.

[ramblers-lets-get-ramblin]

You’re The Only Good Thing In My Life- dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You and Joel fight your feelings for each other, eventually giving in

Word Count: 2097

Rating: E

Warnings: religious imagery, age gap (Joel is 43, reader is 23), oral sex f receiving, fingering

Immersability: reader is able-bodied

Joel Miller is well and truly fucked. He’s falling in love. With his best friend’s daughter. If there was ever a woman in the world who was off limits, his buddy’s twenty-three year old daughter was her. But here she is, in his bed, screaming his name.

After weeks of flirting with your dad’s best friend he finally made his move. You knew he was interested. His little comments about how much you’d “grown up” while you were away at college weren’t as subtle as he thought they were. But every time you had a moment alone, he suddenly had somewhere else to be, very emergently. 

Everything changed when he invited your family on vacation with his. He had rented a beach house for two weeks in Port Isabel, a five minute car ride from South Padre Island. Joel, Sarah, Tommy, your parents, and you. Two weeks on the beach without a care in the world. Until your mom fell in the garden and broke her ankle. Crutches don’t do well on sand so she opted to stay behind and she needed help getting around the house so your dad stayed behind as well. You offered to stay home and help out but they insisted you stick with the plan. Joel agreed to the change of plans a little too quickly in your opinion. “There’s plenty of room for everyone.” He said. 

It was a 5 and a half hour car ride from Austin. You’re an early riser so you got to the front seat of Joel’s pickup before Tommy could. Him and Sarah slept the whole way anyways. And you got plenty of alone time with Joel. He told you about his work as a contractor and you told him about your years away at college. He peeked into the backseat before he asked “No boyfriends?” 

You side-eyed him from the passenger seat before you said “Nah, never found anyone that caught my interest. Too…immature.” And you could have sworn you saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

You spent most of your days relaxing by the shaded pool the house featured. Joel and Sarah spent theirs at the beach and Tommy spent his looking for any pretty young thing that would look his way. The four of you had dinner together every night and usually ended up around the backyard fire pit after Sarah went to sleep. Tonight, though, it was just you and Joel. Tommy had found a date and was entertaining her in the living room, no doubt telling stories from his days in the army, the girls always loved those. You and Joel spent most of the night talking about music. Surprisingly you had similar taste. 

You stand up and tell Joel you are going to go for a walk on the beach. He rises from his own and says “I’ll come with you, can’t let a pretty girl like you roam the beach at night alone.” He runs inside to let Tommy know and joins you at the gate of the yard. He offers you his arm and you take it. A shiver runs through your whole body. This is the moment. You can feel it. 

You both leave your shoes at the end of the wooden path leading from the backyard to the beach. The sand is soft and still warm from the Texas sun. You walk just far enough that the waves kiss your toes when they wash in. You walk in silence for a few minutes before you hear Joel clear his throat. He looks like he’s gearing up to say something but can’t quite find the words. “So, the boys at school were too immature huh?” He asks. “What kinda boy are you looking for?”

“Well, I’m not really looking for any boys at all, Joel.” You feign innocence.

“That’s probably best right now. Just focus on your life and your career.” He agrees. 

“Oh that’s not what I meant.” You reply quietly.

“Well, what did you mean then baby?” He’s stopped walking and is now in front of you, facing you. Your chest bumps into his but you don’t move back.

“I’m more interested in having a man.” 

Almost as soon as the words are out of your mouth Joel’s lips crash into yours. The kiss is hungry, feverish. All teeth and tongues. You’re so focused on his lips slotted between your own that you can’t even hear the sounds of the ocean anymore. Joel is all you can think, hear or feel. The heat from his mouth, the sound of his breath, the way his hand is firmly holding your jaw while the other cups your ass. 

You don’t know how long you stand there, kissing him. Long enough for a storm to roll in off the water. A crash of thunder so strong it vibrates your body crashes through, breaking the spell. You pull apart from each other just as fat raindrops begin to pound the sand. “We should get back.” Joel says. There’s a look in his eyes you can’t quite place. Could it be regret? He grabs your hand and you both start running as fast as you can.

You collapse onto the couch on the covered porch into a fit of giggles. You place your hand on his arm to steady yourself and you feel his whole body stiffen. “We shouldn’t do this.” He says quietly. His body betrays his words because he’s leaning in for another kiss when Tommy appears at the sliding glass door. “

Guess y’all got caught out in the rain.” He says with narrowed eyes. Tommy is far from stupid and he’s been caught in many a compromising position himself. “Well I’m heading off to bed. My…friend…is gonna be spending the night.” Joel opens his mouth to say something but Tommy cuts him off. “I know. She’ll be gone in the morning before Sarah gets up.” He turns to head to his room but mumbles under his breath, “Hope you can remember your own rule, brother.” 

By the look that crosses Joel’s face you can tell that he heard Tommy just as well as you did. You and Joel head inside to dry off. He wipes some of the water off your cheek and gives your forehead a chaste kiss. “Goodnight, baby.” He whispers as he opens the door to his bedroom. 

The rest of the vacation is mostly uneventful. Though, Joel has once again taken up the habit of never being alone with you. You all go out for dinner on the island the night before you leave. The restaurant was recommended by all the locals you asked and it has a little arcade area for kids. After begging her uncle for quarters he joins her, claiming that she should learn skee-ball from the best player there ever was. You and Joel share a laugh at that. 

The moment they are out of earshot Joel turns to you. “Do you wanna talk about what happened the other night?’

You shrug your shoulders and reply, “Nothing happened, if that’s the way you want it.” You are trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. Joel knows you well enough to hear it.

“It’s not about want, baby. It’s about doing what’s right." You tell him you understand and that there are no hard feelings.

Joel swears he tries to stay away from you when you all get back from the beach. He does his best to never be alone with you. He only lives two houses down so it isn't very easy. Especially since you insist on wearing those teeny tiny bikinis to lounge by the pool every damn day. They show more than any underwear would. You'd smile sweetly at him and ask after Sarah and how work was going. You even sent him home with some cookies for her. 

Your parents decide to take their own vacation once your mom is off the crutches and in a walking boot. They booked themselves a cruise and you wished them a fabulous time. They'd been gone five days when you finally got Joel alone again. A storm warning had been flashing on your weather app all day. Joel had come over that morning to borrow some tools of your dad's in the garage. His arm brushed your breasts as you let him in the door. When you closed it and turned around, Joel hadn't moved. His body was only an inch or two from yours. "You all set for the storm tonight." He asked brushing your hair behind your ear. 

"Weatherman says it'll probably pass us by like usual" You shrug. "Don't you worry about me, old man. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself." You smile cheekily at him. He puts a hand to his chest in mock pain.

"Old man, huh? Though you liked that?" He teases. He finally heads for the garage, leaving you standing there trying to catch your breath. 

On his way out the door he calls to you. "Sarah has a sleepover tonight, but I'll be around the house. Call if you need anything." As he walks back to his own house he thinks, Nice. Real subtle, Miller. 

The storm does not pass you by like the weatherman had predicted. It falls in sheets, accompanied by lightning that lights up the whole block and thunder that shakes the house. 

You try to keep your mind off of Joel by watching Netflix. Unfortunately you chose now to catch up on Narcos. One of the actors looks so much like Joel they could be brothers. 

When the lights flicker off, taking your entertainment with them, you decide to take Joel up on his offer. You don't call though. You just run like hell through the rain and up his porch steps. You pound on the door and it wrenches open. 

"Baby, what happened?" Joel asks while ushering you inside.

"Power's out." You pant. You're dripping all over the floor but he doesn't seem to mind.

"Yeah, it's out here too. Come on, let's get you dried off. You're all wet." 

"Yes, I am." You say, wickedly. The power being out, the tone of your voice, and your white t-shirt soaked through from the rain, does him in. He can't resist anymore. He grabs your face and kisses you. Hungrier, somehow, than it was the first time. 

He leads you up the stairs to his bedroom and strips your wet clothes off. He brings a towel and dries your hair and body. Fuck, he's never seen anyone as beautiful as you. He finishes running the towel over your body and stands. He could look at you like this forever. Naked, in his bedroom, willing to do whatever he asked of you. 

Joel Miller had never been a religious man. But for you, he is devout. For you, he is a zealot. Your body is the altar at which he worships. He licks his lips, falls to his knees and begins to pray. 

He can see now what religious devotion has to offer for those who believe. Truly believe. He's been worshiping you damn near every night for six months. You've decided to tell your parents and Sarah. Tommy already knows. Has known the whole time. 

He can't believe he gets to call you his. You've got him wrapped around your little finger. Although, at the moment, you're the one that's wrapped around his fingers. Splayed out on his bed as he fucks into you with three of his thick fingers. He wraps his lips around your clit and your walls flutter around him. "Joel…fuck…I'm gonna-" Your sentence is cut off by a load moan. 

"I know baby, I know. Cum all over me." 

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

What is L-O-V-E? (Part 3) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Bradshaw!Fem!OC (Lena) (Ex-Wife!OC)

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Divorce and Separation; Angst; References to Child Custody Agreements; Arguing; Almost Physical Fights; Brief Reference to Cancer (Carole); References to Goose and Carole's Deaths; Female Bradshaw OC (Lena) and Named Son OC (Nickie)

This work, all of my works, and my entire blog is 18+ Only!

Summary: Tension comes to a head between Hangman and Rooster. Maverick gets involved. Lena gets trapped in memories of the past.

Master List

Part 1 Part 2

Jake was naturally an early riser and being in the Navy since he was eighteen only increased that tendency. Waking up before his alarm, Jake cracked his eyes open and let out a sigh as he stretched his back.

Nickie was drooling onto Jake’s shirt, absolutely knocked out, and happily curled up into his dad’s side. Jake was about to reach up to try and clean up some of the drool when he realized that his arm was somewhat immobilized. Looking over towards Lena’s side of the bed, Jake found her arm wrapped around his own with her lips brushing against the skin of his shoulder.

Taking in the arrangement for a moment, Jake simply sunk into bed and enjoyed the arrangement. The last time that he woke up to any sleeping situation that was remotely like this one was before Lena divorced him. Probably by a couple weeks, if not months. And Jake could really get used to waking up like this in the morning. He really could.

But, unfortunately, he still had to go to work.

Jake started by carefully lifting his arm away from Lena, who let go relatively easy. She shifted a bit, but remained asleep. And now came the harder part of the job—getting Nickie off of him without waking him up. Carefully shifting Nickie over, Jake rolled his son onto his side. Nickie let out a noise, but quickly found the warmth from his mom and shifted over.

With his family settled, Jake slipped out of bed and stood up. Grabbing his phone, Jake prepared to head over to the guest bedroom to dress for work. Looking back at Nickie and Lena for a moment, Jake paused and returned to the bed. Careful of his weight, Jake leaned over a pressed a kiss to Nickie’s forehead. He gently brushed his fingers over Lena’s hand before heading out.

Jake changed into his uniform and was about to head out the door when he glanced back at Lena’s bedroom. Jake stared at Lena and Nickie as they cuddled in the warmth of deep sleep for a moment. He took a quick look at his watch before walking into Lena’s office to grab two pieces of paper from the printer.

~~~~~

Lena woke up to her alarm going off. Reaching blindly for it, Lena paused for a second when she felt her hand press down on some folded paper. She managed to turn off her alarm before it woke up Nickie and pulled the piece of paper closer to inspect it. Squinting her eyes, Lena realized that it was a paper airplane.

Where the hell did that come from?

Lena slowly unfolded the pages of paper to reveal a letter. And she immediately recognized that small and square-shaped writing style. Careful to not wake up Nickie, Lena sat up a little bit in her bed and started reading through the note. But, of course, Nickie just seemed to sense that something was going on and started to wake up beside her.

“Mommy?” Nickie called, rubbing his eyes in that distinctly toddler way. “What’s that?”

“It’s a letter. From your dad,” Lena replied, brushing Nickie’s hair with her hand and pressing a kiss to the top of his head in greeting. “He had to go because of work.”

“When’s he coming home?” Nickie asked, starting to sit up.

“He didn’t say. He might be late, though. Apparently, they’re doing a lot of training today,” Lena explained to Nickie, setting aside the letter. “He’ll probably be home after dinner.”

“Okay,” Nickie sighed, sleepily leaning on his mom.

“Go back to bed, sweetheart. You’ve got an hour before you have to be up,” Lena replied with a light chuckle, rubbing her son’s back.

~~~~~

Jake was growing increasingly annoyed with his fellow squad members and their inability to adapt to the mission. Was the whole thing absolutely batshit? Yes. Was Maverick’s plan also absolutely batshit? Yes. But a mission was a mission. And Jake had every intention of getting the job done and coming back home in one piece.

And Rooster was really starting to piss him off beyond their normal level of contention.

Jake and Bradley had never really gotten along. Not before Jake started dating Lena. Definitely not while he was dating her. And not even when Jake married her and they had Nickie together. There was a brief period of compromise when Lena was sent for extra testing to see if she had the same disease that took Carole. But when all the tests came back normal, it was right back to fighting over everything.

And today was going to be no different.

Jake’s jaw ticked every single time that Rooster acted all high and mighty. Like a protector for the rest of the Dagger Squad as if they all weren’t grown ass adults who would have never made it this far in their careers if they couldn’t hold their own.

The only person that Rooster cared about was himself. He claimed to fight for the greater good, but he always had selfish intentions behind it. Rooster inserted himself into Lena and Jake’s marriage to ‘protect’ his little sister, even though Lena told him that she had it handled multiple times. He inserted himself into Nickie’s life, trying to be the father that Nickie already had. As if Jake wouldn’t have taken a bullet for either Lena or Nickie without even a second thought.

And now, Rooster was using that same façade to try and hide his personal vendetta against Maverick from the rest of the squad. Rooster wasn’t pushing back against Maverick because he cared about his fellow aviators. Rooster pushed back against Maverick because he wanted to prove Maverick wrong. To prove to Maverick that he was good enough. And Jake was sick of it.

“Why’re you dead? You’re team leader up there. Why are you, why is your team, dead?” Maverick demanded from Rooster, causing a small smirk to tug at Jake’s lips.

“Sir, he’s the only one who made it to the target,” Phoenix stated to Rooster’s defense.

“A minute late. He gave enemy aircraft time to shoot him down. He is dead,” Maverick insisted firmly.

“You don’t know that,” Rooster argued back.

“You’re not flying fast enough,” Jake snapped with an edge of amusement at his former brother-in-law. “You don’t have a second to waste.”

“We made it to the target.”

“And superior enemy aircraft intercepted you on your way out,” Maverick interjected, causing Rooster to whip around to face him.

“Then it’s a dogfight.”

“Against fifth generation fighters,” Maverick pointed out harshly.

“Yeah, we’d still have a chance.”

“In an F-18!”

“It’s not the plane, sir. It’s the pilot,” Rooster replied, a bit smugly.

“Exactly!” Maverick shouted.

A moment of silence passed while Rooster tried to respond and not lose his shit while doing it.

“There’s more than one way to fly this mission,” Rooster finally choked out, his voice breaking slightly.

“You really don’t get it,” Hangman drawled, his Texas twang coming out more. Lena always used to say that she could tell when he was either really annoyed or really happy based on how thick his accent came out. And he certainly wasn’t happy right now. “On this mission, a man flies like Maverick here, or a man does not come back.”

Hangman turned to Phoenix across the way and a smirk wormed its way back onto his lips. He and Phoenix had always been rivals from the second that they met. And hell, Jake did owe her one for keeping Rooster in check during his wedding to Lena. But right now? She was just another part of Jake’s deep-seated frustration with Rooster.

“No offense intended,” he stated, causing Phoenix to tilt her chin up.

“Yet somehow, you always manage,” Bob spoke up to his pilot’s defense.

“Look, I don’t mean to criticize. You’re conservative, that’s all,” Hangman continued, turning to face the front of the hangar again.

“Lieutenant,” Maverick warned, staring Jake down.

“We’re going into combat, son. On a a level no living pilot’s ever seen.”

It was then that Jake set his sights on the other man that he blamed for getting inside Lena’s head about their marriage—Maverick. He wasn’t nearly as vocal as Rooster was about his disapproval of their relationship. It was in the subtle stares that said something along the lines of ‘why did Lena pick you?’ that grated on his nerves. And the subtle digs about his skills as a pilot, since Maverick had access to all of those records.

So, in Hangman’s book, Maverick wasn’t exactly a friend when it came to his relationship with Lena.

“. . . Not even him,” Hangman continued, staring straight into Maverick’s soul.

Maverick frowned and turned back to Jake, but Jake was already turning to Rooster. And perhaps Jake was dramatic and perhaps he held a grudge and perhaps he needed to look inside himself a little bit more, but in that moment, Hangman was living out about seven years of built-up frustration with both Rooster and Maverick.

“That’s no time to be thinking about the past,” Hangman drawled calmly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rooster demanded defensively, turning to glare at Hangman.

“Rooster,” Maverick warned, hoping to avoid a fight.

“I don’t think that you want to start a conversation with me about the past, Hangman,” Rooster spat, which made the smirk drop from Jake’s face.

Sensing the tension building, the Dagger Squad members who had no idea what was going on shared confused, but nervous looks. Coyote and Phoenix locked eyes, both on the edge of their seats because they both knew just what history Rooster was threatening to talk about. Hangman’s dig had been vague, but that feral glare on Rooster’s face was sign of only one particular history.

Lena. Lena and Nickie.

And as soon as they got brought up, it was going to go nuke in that hangar.

“Right, because you always know best, don’t you, Rooster?” Hangman growled, deep in his chest.

“I know better than you,” Rooster snapped back.

“You would have stayed the fuck out of it if you knew better,” Hangman retorted, glaring straight into Rooster’s soul. “Worry about your own problems, Bradshaw.”

“Lieutenants!” Maverick demanded, trying to get their attention.

“It’s not like you were going to take care of them anyways, Seresin.”

That just seemed to uncork the years of pent-up frustration. All of the complaints and comments that Jake just swallowed down to keep the peace came bursting out. But, hell, between the mission and the fact that a life with Lena and Nickie by his side was dangled right in front of him the night before, Hangman snapped. And Rooster was right there with him.

The other Dagger Squad members leapt to their feet the second that Hangman and Rooster got to their feet. People were shouting and there was a lot of attempts to get in between Rooster and Hangman. Even Maverick and Hondo got involved. Coyote, Payback, and Maverick dragged Jake away from swinging at Rooster, who was just as pissed.

“Stay the fuck away from my son!” Jake snapped at Rooster, still fighting against the holds on him.

“Like hell I will!” Bradley growled back, just as pissed.

“You don’t think that I realize what the fuck you’re trying to do!?” Jake yelled back, trying to push forward. “Trying to turn him against me!? Turning Lena against me wasn’t enough for you!?”

“You did that yourself!”

“Fuck you, Bradshaw!”

“You were never there for her!”

“Yes, I was! You just refused to see it!”

“I protected my family!”

“They’re my family!”

“ENOUGH!”

The entire hangar quite literally shook from Maverick’s bellow. Everyone kept a tight hold on Rooster and Hangman, but there was a subtle draw of attention to Maverick. The captain glanced between Rooster and Hangman with a steeled expression that negated any personal affection that he held for either of them.

This wasn’t about Rooster or Hangman now. It was about Nickie, who was a little boy with more father figures that would fight to the death for him than he knew what to do with. Now, if only those father figures realized that they should be on the same team—Nickie’s team—instead of fighting among themselves like animals.

“Everyone else out. Hangman and Rooster stay,” Maverick demanded, gesturing to the exit.

He wasn’t Uncle Maverick or Ex-Father-In-Law Maverick anymore. No, he was Maverick, the man who swore to Goose to beat up any boy who caused Lena pain. And, in this case, those two boys just happened to be her older brother and her ex-husband.

And Mav wasn’t going to go easy on them. Not this time.

~~~~~

Lena walked down the hallway, letting Hondo stay a step ahead of her. She glanced nervously at the pictures on the walls and gripped her purse strap just a bit tighter. Top Gun always made her nervous. Even when Bradley and Jake graduated—separate occasions—from Top Gun, she never felt truly at ease on this base. Not with its history with the Bradshaw family.

“How bad was it?” she asked Hondo quietly, causing the warrant officer to pause briefly.

“Let’s just say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Maverick yell like that before.”

“And hopefully you won’t have to . . . again,” Lena added with a whisper.

“They’re in there,” Hondo stated, gesturing to the classroom.

“Thank you, Hondo,” Lena replied softly, turning to the warrant officer. “And give your wife my best.”

With a nod, Hondo disappeared down the corridor. Taking a breath, Lena reached for the door knob and stepped into the room. The classroom was lit, but somewhat dimly, casting an odd glow around the room. As if she wasn’t already on edge.

Lena spotted Bradley first, sitting with a pout and his arms crossed over his chest. He was still dressed in his flight suit and Lena was relieved to see no bruises or cuts on his face. Jake was sitting on the other side of the room. He was angrily twirling a toothpick around his mouth and leaning far back in his seat with his legs spread and a dark expression on his face. He didn’t seem to be harmed either.

Maverick was leaning at the desk at the front of the classroom, looking as serious as Lena had seen him in a long time. That was an expression that he always reserved for whenever he was well and truly angry. And Maverick only got well and truly angry when someone was doing stupid shit and putting someone else at risk.

This was going to be a fun conversation.

“Where’s Nickie?” Jake asked, breaking the seemingly deadlocked silence.

“Babysitter,” Lena replied, turning to her ex-husband. Penny, to be more specific.

Glancing around the room, Lena set her purse on a desk and folded her arms across her chest. Staring down at her shoes for a moment, Lena finally picked her head up. She turned to Jake first, trying to assess his headspace. He stared at her evenly for a moment before dropping his head. She turned next to Bradley, who stared somewhat defiantly with his chin raised.

And then Lena put two and two together.

“How many times do we have to have this conversation?” Lena sighed, glancing in between Rooster and Hangman with a tired expression.

“One more time wouldn’t hurt,” Jake stated, causing Lena to round on him.

“Jake, just because we’re divorced and just because Nickie and I live a couple hours away from you, that doesn’t mean that I’m trying to keep you from Nickie. You’re his father. And whatever happens between us, you’re going to be in his life. I want you in his life. He wants you in his life. Stop trusting what everyone else says about my opinion about that.”

Jake lowered his head again, so Lena turned to face Bradley.

“Brad, stop fighting my battles for me. If I need your help, I will ask for it. I haven’t needed you to fight my battles for me in decades. Jake and I have our problems, but they’re our problems. Not yours. Just focus on being Nickie’s fun uncle. That’s all I need from you.”

“Are you sure?” Bradley asked, like he didn’t believe her.

“See?” Jake scoffed, gesturing over to Bradley.

“I can handle my brother, thank you,” Lena stressed to Jake before turning back to Bradley. “Yes, I’m sure.” Lena paused, glancing over at the photos of the past classes of Top Gun for a moment. “I know that Mom put you in charge of me, from an age that was far earlier than fair, but I don’t need you to be that for me anymore. I’m a big girl, Brad. I can take care of myself.”

Bradley still looked like he wanted to disagree, at least when it came to dealing with Hangman, but Maverick’s stern glare caused him to keep his mouth shut. With a simple nod, Bradley got to his feet. The Bradshaw siblings shared a brief hug before Bradley took his leave, probably more than eager to escape this awkward situation.

Turning to Maverick next, Lena offered him a small smile. Maverick’s annoyed and stern expression melted after a moment and he quickly relaxed. Standing up from the desk, Maverick walked over to where Lena was standing by herself.

“I think that I can take it from here,” Lena replied, glancing over at where Jake was still sitting in his seat. Turning back to Maverick, she offered him a wider smile. “Thanks for making sure that they didn’t kill each other.”

“Anytime,” Maverick stated, though he was talking more to Jake in that moment than Lena. “You know that I’m always here if you need something.”

“I know, Mav.”

Lena pulled Maverick into an appreciative hug before Maverick excused himself from the room. Lena watched Maverick walk off until the sound of his footsteps couldn’t be heard anymore. Then she slowly turned to Jake, who was already looking at her.

“Come on,” Lena spoke softly, grabbing her bag. “I think that we have some things to talk about.”

“Let’s pick up Nickie first,” Jake stated, causing Lena to pause.

“You really want Nickie to be around when we have a fight?” Lena asked quietly, causing Jake to shake his head.

“I don’t want to fight,” Jake corrected Lena, who paused for a moment. “I want to spend one of my last nights in Miramar with my son. With my family.” When Lena did not immediately reply, Jake added, “That’s all I want.”

Lena nodded slowly before turning to head out of the room with Jake right behind her. They walked slowly down the halls. Lena briefly paused at the small plaque by the front door, which was inscribed with the names of all of the service members who died on base, at Top Gun.

Jake stopped walking in time with Lena, knowing exactly what she was looking at. Whose name she was looking for. And it wasn’t hard to find. ‘Bradshaw’ was awfully close to the top of any list that was sorted alphabetically by surname.

Lena brushed her finger over her father’s name, the name that she gave her first born son and only child, to honor the man that she didn’t even truly remember. She had only been a few months old when Goose died, but yet, she still felt such a sense of loss every time that she saw his callsign.

Jake wordlessly reached out and grabbed Lena’s hand, bringing her back to the present. Turning to Jake, Lena blinked a few times before nodding slowly and heading for the exit. She didn’t move to remove her hand from Jake’s own until she had to reach for the door.

~~~~~

“Mommy! Daddy!” Nickie called, jumping up from his seat. He trotted over to Jake, who happily scooped him up and into his arms. “You’re here!”

“What? Did you think we were leaving you here forever?” Jake asked, setting Nickie on his hip. Ruffling Nickie’s hair, Jake turned to Penny, who smiled kindly at him. “Thanks for watching him.”

“Anything for Lena,” Penny replied, glancing over at the Bradshaw woman. “And Nickie.”

“We’ll get out of your hair. Tell Amelia that I say ‘hi’,” Lena responded, shooting Penny a thankful smile.

They stepped out of Penny’s office together and into the packed Hard Deck. Jake held Nickie protectively close with his arm wrapped around his son. Offering a hand to Lena, Jake pulled them through the crowd and towards the nearest exit.

About a half an hour later, the three of them were sitting on the sand on a blanket that Lena had tucked into her car’s trunk. The takeout that they ordered had been eaten and cleaned away, save for a few wrappers to throw out on their way back to the cars.

Lena was staring out at the waves as Jake talked about the last couple of days of training—the much safer and non-government secret version—with Nickie, who was up on his back. When Nickie let out a squeal, she quickly turned to inspect him for injury. But finding Nickie simply squealing because Jake was tickling him, she found herself unable to stop smiling.

“Not fair!” Nickie screeched, giggling and curling in on himself.

Jake rolled around so that he was on his back and Nickie was sitting up on his stomach. Lena couldn’t help but think about when Nickie was seemingly impossibly smaller, just barely able to pick his head up. And how Jake would come home after a long day at work and lay with Nickie on his stomach, entertaining his son and simply enjoying the moment. Of course, that was during some of the worst months of Jake and Lena’s relationship.

Turning back to the waves, Lena closed her eyes and focused on the distant sound of crashes, trying to not get too caught up in the darker memories. Jake and Nickie seemed to settle down after a few moments because Nickie called out to her.

“Mommy, are you sleeping?”

“No,” Lena replied, smiling over at her son. Glancing down at her watch, Lena sat up. “But we should probably be getting home soon.”

They gathered their belongings and headed back for the cars. Nickie requested to ride with Jake in his truck and Lena quickly urged them on before hopping into her own car. After a quick bath, Nickie was sent to bed and passed out when his head touched his pillow.

Closing the door behind him, Jake turned to see Lena staring up at him with her arms crossed over her chest and a serious expression on her face.

“We need to talk,” Lena spoke quietly, though firmly.

Jake nodded slowly, knowing that they did indeed have a lot to discuss, and followed her down the hall.

A.N. Sorry this one took a while to get out, but if anyone's still following it, thanks for reading!

Tag: @xoxabs88xox

[Just a friendly reminder to please have your age in your bio/pinned post if you want to be tagged in any of my works since my blog is 18+ Only. Thanks!]

[shit-people-probably-didnt-say]

Any soft Wesper kid HC or prompts? I’ve always imagined Wespers kid as struggling to read just like Wylan and not fully understanding it. They just know that “Da reads everything for Dad” and growing up in a much healthier environment than Wylan they dont grow up with the same low self esteem issues and instead the idea that love is someone willing to read to you. They hope that in the future they find someone like that for themselves. IDK I’m a sucker for breaking they cycle lol

Aw Id love to share some soft Wesper Kid HCs!

Apologies for the delay in answering Ive had this in my drafts so I can build on it

- Wesper kid is an early riser and often wakes before his Dads, so the only sensible thing to do is bring his favourite book or toy and climb into their bed with them. They often spend the entire morning on off days just lounging in bed

- Swimming lessons! Being so close to canals and the harbour (and that swimming once saved his Pa’s life) having the Wesper Kid know how to swim and be confident in water is extremely important to them

- Ive always imagined if the Wesper kid had a cognitive disability it would be colourblindness or ADHD. Where his Da is the hyperactive sort he is the inattentive type and can struggle to sit for lessons without his mind wondering. So to help him they adjust his school day. They give him more frequent breaks in class and bigger gaps in-between lessons with lots of outside play, and they find tutors who teach in a very practical way to keep him engaged

- Wesper kids favourite animals are rabbits, little bit of Aditi coming to him. Jesper also sings Zemeni lullabies and reads him all his favourite stories from his childhood. Wesper kid becomes their ‘little rabbit’ and Grandma Aditi is well known in their home

- Ive love the idea that theres no shame or secret regarding Wylan not reading. Kids accept the world as it’s presented to them so he wouldnt think anything unusual of it. When it comes time to do homework or bedtime stories theres no hush-hush that only Da can read to him. But Wylan of course memorises bedtime stories and is Wesper kids go to for math/science homework

- Wesper kid has his Da’s energy and his Pa’s musical interest…which results in him wanting to learn the drums. Jesper is overjoyed, Wylan is of course delighted and supportive but makes a mental note to get ear plugs as a kid learning percussion can be quite overstimulating for autistic people

- As much as Wylan is dead set on gentle parenting that doesn’t mean it’s easy. When you’re brought up with harsh treatment and are used to that being ‘normal’, it takes daily conscious effort to break that cycle. He never ever lays a harsh hand or word on their son, but he does have to take time outs occasionally to gather himself on rough days. Its retraining mental instinct but he would do it a million times over for his son to feel safe and loved

- Wesper kid is asthmatic/anaemic like his Pa. Id love a fic of the first time the kid becomes really unwell with the flu or lung fever and Wylan & Jesper are just losing their minds. Luckily Nana Marya is there to help calm new parent worries and pass along some tips on soothing a poorly child

I may continue to add to this, but this is what I have at the moment 💕

[halloweenhuh]

Halloween, Huh? Day 2 Reveals

Night Class - Rated E - 12,617 words Alex how found the simplest solution for all the facts he had been presented. There were plenty of them to make sense of. Alex was taking the path of least resistance, accepting that whatever remained after all was stripped away must be the truth. June could laugh at him for the rest of time if she wanted. He was right. He knew he was right. He had to be right because nothing else on earth or in the universe made sense.

Henry Fox — his smarmy, entitled, wealthy, bland, irritating neighbor — was a vampire.

Alex knew it. He could prove it.

.🎃🎃🎃.

Because I’m A Scoundrel - Rated E - 8,368 words Alex Claremont-Diaz has exactly thirty minutes to make himself look as slutty as possible for this Halloween Gala. At this very moment he looks a little bit like a sexed up pirate, but with the addition of his small black vest - rest in peace to the Patagonia packers and finance brethren- and a low slung belt with a “blaster,” a very sex-on-legs Han Solo is looking back at him.

Henry Fox, who is both a double scull rower with enough Olympic medals it would make anyone other than Alex sweat, and the definitive arch nemesis of Alex - is wearing a white sylvette Princess Leia costume, hugging his curves in all the right ways, the clingy fabric draping to the floor.

When you and your arch nemesis show up to the most important gala of the year in a couples costume you either play it up or shut it down. Alex has a decision to make, but the way that dress is hugging Henry’s ass isn’t making that decision any easier.

.🎃🎃🎃.

Trading Traditions - Rated T - 2,093 words Alex and Henry's first Bonfire Night together.

.🎃🎃🎃.

The great turkey calamity? - Rated T - 4,919 words And that’s how Alex finds himself, two minutes later, facing two turkeys and gaping at them like an idiot.

“So, Alexander,” Cornbread starts, “what seems to be the problem?”

“Aside from the fact that I’ve gone mad?”

“He means with Henry,” Stuffing says.

“There’s no problem with Henry,” Alex quickly clarifies. He’s not someone who does things half-assedly, so if he’s going to speak to a pair of turkeys about whatever they think Alex has a problem with, he’s going to commit to it. “We’re just–”

“Yes?”

“Friends?”

“If you’re friends,” Stuffing starts and Alex could swear his turkey voice is infused with sarcasm, “why were you pacing your room worried about whether you should call him or not?”

.🎃🎃🎃.

The Candy Tax - Rated T - 2,931 words Ten-year-old Alex has invited his new friend Henry, who just moved to Texas from England with his family so that his movie star dad can be based in the US to shoot more movies, over for a sleepover the night before Halloween.

.🎃🎃🎃.

if you're all alone, pick up the phone - Rated G - 485 words By the third time Alex calls, Henry is pretty sure the man is making things up.

.🎃🎃🎃.

Through the summer and the fall, we had each other, that was all

Rated G - 750 words The mountains are on fire. Red, orange, and yellow leaves cover thousands of acres of land, and the peeking of the sun over the distant horizon illuminates the hovering fog, creating the illusion of a persistent fire burning brightly without causing any damage. Instead, it paints a masterful landscape for an early morning riser to gaze at as he sips at a cup of Earl Grey and marvels at the fact that this beauty is a sight he has somehow been blessed to see.

.🎃🎃🎃.

A little note for all of our wonderful creators: if your work was revealed by the Palace today, please be sure to update your publication date to today’s date so it shows up fresh in the AO3 feed.

[cherrycola27]

Until I Found You

Table 13

That's what the card in your hand read as you scanned the gala floor for your seat for the evening. Normally, most people would consider thirteen to be an unlucky number, but for you, it was the opposite.

Thirteen had been your lucky number for as long as you could remember, and maybe it would bring you some luck tonight during yet another Navy function you had to sit through alone.

It was one of the downsides of being a woman in the Navy, especially a fighter pilot. Many men found you intimidating, and it made it hard to find a serious relationship.

You gazed out at all the beautifully dressed women who were draped on the arms of handsome men, and for a fleeting moment, wished you had that.

You must have been lost in thought and not paying attention because the next thing you know, you're colliding with a man in dress whites.

He reaches out to catch you and make sure you're stable on your feet.

"I'm so sorry ma'am, wasn't watching where I was going." He apologized. You look up and meet the most beautiful honey brown eyes you've ever seen.

"Don't be sorry, I was the one who wasn't paying attention." You reply quickly.

"Are you alright?" He asks. "Yes, I'm fine, just looking for my table for the evening." You tell him smoothing out the front of your dress and taking in his features.

He's tall, over six feet for sure, broad shoulders, curly , golden-brown hair. He has a mustache that should have gone out of fashion in the eighties, but somehow, he makes it work.

"What table are you at? Maybe I can help you find it. It's the least I can do after running into you. Unless you have a date you're waiting on—" He trails off, you can tell he is looking over you just like you were him.

Suddenly, you're thankful you chose to wear the emerald green dress that made your strawberry locks pop.

You were also thankful for the tasteful slit and low back that left just enough to the imagination.

"No date, I'm flying solo, which is how I normally fly anyway." You chuckle out a laugh. God, you must sound pathetic. He quirks his eyebrow at you.

"Pilot?" He questions. "Yes. Single seater, so I literally fly solo." You say trying to recover.

"So do I." He tells you. "Well something we have in common." You grin, starting to calm down and recover from your awkwardness.

"And your table number?" He asks, gesturing to the small slip of paper in your hand. "Oh, um thirteen." You reply cooly.

"Something else we have in common. I'm at thirteen as well. Care for an escort?" He extends his arm to you, and you take it without hesitation.

"What's your name ma'am?" He asks as you make your way to the table

"Lieutenant Y/N Miller, but you can call me Georgia. That's my call sign." You tell him.

"Well, nice to meet you, Lieutenant Miller. I'm Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw, but you can call me Rooster." He replies as you two make it to the table. He pulls your chair out for you as you sit.

"Such a gentleman, your mother must have raised you right." You stare.

"She tried to before she passed." He replies.

"Oh, I'm sorry." You grimace, not sure what to say.

"It's fine." He smiles back at you. "So why do they call you Georgia?" He asks taking the seat next to you.

"Because everyone says I'm like a peach, sweet on the outside, tough on the inside. But I didn't want to be called 'Peach' for my call sign. I'm pretty sure that's a stripper name." He snorts out a laugh.

"So why do they call you Rooster? Does it have a PG meaning behind it, or is it a little more X-rated?" You ask, leaning closer to him and placing your hand on his leg. He chokes on his water, shocked by your boldness.

"Well—um—" He laughs and takes another drink.

"It's a bit of a nod to my dad. He was a RIO. He died when I was about two in a training accident. His call sign was Goose, with two Os, that was the joke he'd make. So I wanted to have something similar. Rooster has two Os, also I've always been an early riser, so it made sense" He explains as a blush creeps across his face.

"I'm not buying it." You say taking a sip of your water.

He looks at you confused. "Maybe that's what you tell people, but I don't think it's as PG as you make it out to be. I'll have to ask your date." You reply, leaning back into your chair.

"I'm flying solo tonight too ma'am" He replies with a smile.

"Well, look at us, two peas in a pod, huh?" You grin.

As the evening goes on the two of you swap stories and witty remarks. He learns that you've just transferred to San Diego to teach at Top Gun. He is internally excited that you'll be working together.

Later, after speeches are made and dessert has been served, a band plays, and a dance floor opens up.

"Care to join me?" He asks, extending a hand.

"I'd be delighted." You reply.

He's light on his feet as he leads you through a few songs. Suddenly, a familiar melody creeps into your ears.

"Georgia, wrap me in your all, I want you in my arms—" Rooster begins singing the beginning of the song to you softly.

You smile and chuckle at his actions as he spins you.

"So, why are you single?" He asks almost out of the blue.

"I'm in the Navy, fly fast planes, never in one place too long. Intimidates most men." You explained. He nods.

"What about you?" You counter. "You're handsome, polite, well mannered, can dance... how come no girl's scooped you up yet?"

"I've found that a lot of the women I've tried to date don't want anything serious with me. They want a cool story to tell their friends. And I don't want that. I want a love like my parents had. I want to be in love with someone so much it hurts." He tells you.

"My mom, even after my dad died, never remarried. I asked her about it one time, and she told me it wouldn't be fair for her to try and love someone else because she could never be IN love with them. My dad was it for her. If I can find something like that, then maybe I won't be single." He finishes.

"That's beautiful." You say as the song finishes and you break apart. You notice the time on a clock on the wall. "Wow, it's getting late." You say.

"Yeah, it is, can I walk you to your car?" Rooster asks you.

"Actually, I'm staying here at the hotel. But you could walk me to my room. Not for that reason!" You tell him quickly as he smirks.

"But, I have enjoyed your company tonight, Mr. Bradshaw and I'd like a few more minutes of your time." You clarify.

"Of course." He states as you grab your things. He walks with you out of the ballroom and to the elevator. You punch in your floor number and wait in comfortable since until the bell chimes.

The two of you walk down the hall until you reach your door.

"Well, this is me." You say turning to face him.

"Georgia, I hope I'm not being too forward—" Rooster begins, "but I've had a great time with you this evening. Could I have your phone number so I could take you on a real date sometime?" He asks you almost shyly.

"Of course you can." You tell him. He quickly hands you his phone, and you type in your number. You send a quick text to yourself so you have his.

"And what do you mean by a 'real date', that's what I thought this was?!" You laugh and lightly push his chest.

"What makes you think this was a real date?" He asks laughing with you.

"Well, I mean, dinner, dancing, drinks, great conversation, and you walked me home. Here I was thinking I was going to get a goodnight kiss. Guess I was wrong about that." You laugh again.

"Well, when you put it that way, it does sound like a real date." Rooster smiles at you.

"So, is that goodnight kiss still on the table then?" You ask, looking up to meet his eyes.

Rooster doesn't answer, instead he places his hands on your waist and gently leans down to kiss you.

The kiss is sweet, slow, and romantic.

You both pull away breathless and smile at each other.

"Goodnight, Rooster." You tell him as you open your door.

"Goodnight, Georgia. I look forward to our second real date." He says before turning and walking down the hallway.

"Bradshaw, what's got you so giddy this morning?" Hangman asked Rooster as the two of them walked into the briefing room the next Monday morning. The Daggers would be getting their new class and co-teacher assignments for the next group of Top Gun recruits today. Rooster had been looking for you all morning on base.

"Nothing Hangman. Just had a good weekend is all." Rooster replied, quickly taking a seat.

"Had fun at that gala, huh?" Jake asked with a teasing smile on his face.

"You end up taking a pretty girl home?" Ha asked Rooster.

"No, but I did get a beautiful woman's phone number, and if I'm lucky, she'll be my co-teacher" Rooster informed him.

"Rooster, you sly dog." Jake smirked.

You quickly made your way down the hall to the briefing room you had been directed to. You were getting your first assignment as an official teacher here at Top Gun, and you were extremely excited. You were also hoping to see Rooster again today. The two of you had been texting all weekend, and you had plans to go out with him and some of his friends tonight at the Hard Deck. However he made it clear that this was not your official first, or second date, but a chance for you to meet and get to know everyone, and he also let you know that he had full intentions on taking you out, for real, he said.

You slipped into the room and scanned the group of pilots and WSOs. There were a few women, but not many. Soon, you spotted a set of familiar brown curls.

You walked over to where he sat and tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me? This seat taken?" You ask. He looks up to meet your gaze, and a smile instantly spreads across his face. "For you? Never." He replies before you sit down.

You can hear the hushed whispers of what you can assume in one of his friends teasing him.

The man at the front of the room, Captain Mitchell, or Maverick, as you would later learn, rattles off assignments for the group.

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw, you'll be working with Lieutenant Miller. She's new to us from the East Coast, and I trust that you will show her the proper way things are done around here." Maverick explains.

"Yes, sir... I'll do my best." Rooster assures him.

"I'm sure you will Rooster." His friend from earlier cackles out.

That night, you met the rest of the Dagger Squad, including the other pilot from earlier, Hangman. You got along well with everyone, which made Rooster happy. The thought that someone he was interested in getting along with his little found family made everything so much better.

That weekend, he took you out on a real date just as he had promised.

That real date turned into several more. Three months later, you were curled up with him in the couch in his apartment when you said it.

"I love you, Bradley." You stated, cupping his face in your hands.

You had used his first name, so he knew you really meant it.

"I love you to Y/N." He spoke back earnestly before kissing you and taking you to bed to show you that he did infact love you.

From then on, everything seemed to flow naturally between you and Rooster.

A week later, against the advisement of Hangman, Coyote, and Fanboy, you were moving in. But Rooster didn't listen to them, he didn't care what they had to say. He knew in his heart he had found the kind of love his mom talked about. He knew you were the one for him.

Three weeks after you moved in, your family came out to San Diego. Your father was a three star admiral, and your mother was a retired captain. They wanted to see how you were settling in at your new position.

Your parents and your brother immediately took to Rooster and loved him almost as much as you did. You didn't know it, but on the visit, Rooster had asked for your father's blessing, and he had gladly given it to him. He told Rooster he had never seen you so happy before.

From the day you met Rooster to the day he proposed to you, you had known each other seven months.

You had no clue it was coming. He had truly taken you by surprise.

You had spent the day shopping and getting mani pedis with Phoenix and Halo. The three of you had become close as the only women instructors.

When you arrived home that evening, Rooster was nowhere to be found. Instead, a bouquet of peach roses and a note greeted you.

You read the note that Rooster had left, which directed you to get ready for a special date and make sure you wear the new dress he had laid out for you.

You tumbled up the stairs giggling. Once in the bedroom, you noticed a beautiful emerald green dress, and some golden sandals were waiting for you.

After quickly refreshing your makeup and doing your hair, you changed into the outfit.

Moments later, your phone chimed with a text from Rooster, letting you know he was downstairs waiting for you.

He was leaning against the side of the Bronco, waiting for you when you came down the stairs.

"Georgia, you look—amazing" He greeted you before helping you in the car.

The ride to dinner was quiet, but a comfortable quiet.

The two of you ate at a new Italian restaurant on the water. After dessert, Bradley had insisted the two of you go for a walk to watch the sunset. You had happily agreed.

Now here you were walking hand in hand along the sand as the sun sank down and painted the sky a beautiful pink and orange.

"Georgia," Rooster began as the two of you stopped.

"Yes Rooster?" You replied facing him.

"I never thought I would meet anyone like you. Someone who was smart, funny, kind, beautiful. Someone who wanted me for me. Someone who didn't care that I wasn't perfect. Honestly, I never thought I would find someone who loves me the way you do." Bradley explained as he took your hands in his.

Tears sprang into your eyes as you realized what was happening. "Bradley I—" but he cut you off before you could finish.

"If you had told me seven months ago that a chance meeting at a Navy gala would have led me to meeting my soul mate, I would have told you that you were crazy, but now, I'm so thankful that it did." He smiled at you as some stray tears slipped down your face. Rooster knelt down in front of you.

"Georgia, that night I told you that I would never fall in love until I found someone to love like my parents loved each other. And when my mom told me about that kind of love all those years ago, I never understood what she meant by it. Until I found you. Then suddenly, everything she ever said made sense. So, Georgia, Y/N, will you marry me?"

You couldn't stop the tears from falling at his words.

"Yes!" You breathed out. "Yes, Bradley, I'll marry you!" You beamed. He rose up from the sand and kissed you before placing the ring on your hand.

You held it up and admired it. It was a simple round cut diamond set in a gold band. I was a classic, elegant piece. The most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

"It was my mother's." He tells you. "Bradley—" you gasp as he pulls your hand to him and kisses it.

"Before she died, she made me promise that I would keep it and give it to the next Mrs. Bradshaw. I always knew that I whoever I gave it to would have to be someone just as special as she was. She— they would have loved you, honey." He tells you.

His words have you crying even harder now as he pulls you in for another kiss.

You break apart and smile at him. The two of you walk back to his car as the sun dips below the horizon.

You travel back to the Hard Deck, where a celebration is waiting for the two of you. Everyone is so excited and happy for the two of you.

Maverick almost loses it when Rooster tells him that he gave you Carole's ring. "There's no one more deserving of it, Kid." He says before hugging you tightly.

As the night winds on, Rooster beckons you over to the piano. He takes a seat on the bench and pulls you into his lap.

His fingers dance across the keys before a familiar melody, one you know all too well, fills the room.

You sigh as fresh, happy tears slip out of the corner of your eyes. You lean back against Rooster as his voice fills the bar. Your smile stretches from ear to ear as you look at him while he sings, happier than you've ever been.

"Oh I used to say 'I would never fall in love again, until I found her'

I said, 'I would never fall, unless it's you I fall into'

I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her

I found you"

Eeek! I hope everyone enjoyed this! This is the first of my contributions to @roosterforme 's love is in the air challenge! I hope you all enjoyed this piece inspired by "Until I Found You"

Tag List: @dreamingathighaltitude @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @mak-32 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @rosiahills22 @thedroneranger @roosterforme

[up-to-some-good]

Happy Fathers' Day everyone! Written for @jilymicrofics prompt June 18th - enough

Lily had always been pleased with herself for marrying a man who could cook as well as she could, if not better. It meant that she had never had to worry about dinner if she hadn't sorted it out because James would do it without question.

On top of that, when Harry was born James had decided to quit the Aurors to be a stay at home dad, taking on all the household chores including cooking as part of his job. He loved waking up early in the morning to make her a pack lunch for work, adding charmed love notes which would turn into butterflies and flitter around her as soon as she'd finished reading them. Even more than that, he loved cooking with Harry, especially in the mornings when they were both sleep-ruffled and yawning, frying eggs and baking between sips of coffee. Because of their morning routine, they now had an eight year old who could cook a variety of breakfast foods and refused to eat anything as simple as cereal when he woke up.

All of this had cumulated in Lily's current situation: watching Harry mix up his eighth batch of pancake batter at six o'clock on a Sunday morning. It was Fathers' Day, and Harry had been scheming with Lily for weeks to make his father breakfast in bed. Knowing full well that he couldn't use the stove without supervision, he'd woken his mother up at 4.30am to get started. She was now on her third cup of coffee and every counter in their small kitchen was covered in stacks of pancakes. She watched Harry pull out a new plate on which to stack his latest batch and sighed.

"Harry, love, don't you think you've made enough pancakes?"

He looked up at her with wide eyes and pushed his glasses up with finger, smearing pancake batter onto the frames.

"Dad likes a big breakfast," he said. "I don't want to run out too soon."

She chuckled a little as she looked around at the countless pancakes filling their kitchen.

"I don't think that'll be a problem, Haz."

He bit his lip as he took a look around before turning back to the pan and pouring in another round of batter.

"Maybe just a few more," he muttered.

Lily groaned and lay down on the counter. There was no point in arguing with him, she knew from bitter experience. Harry would keep making pancakes until he had decided they had enough, no sooner.

She heard a deep breath of laughter from the doorway and then felt her husband's warmth behind her. He pulled her up gently and pressed a kiss to her forehead and she leaned against him.

"Morning, Evans," he whispered right by her ear.

"That's Potter to you," she muttered back. "Will you please tell your son that we have enough food to feed the whole of Hogwarts so we can be done with the cooking?"

Harry, who had been completely absorbed in flipping pancakes for the last few minutes, finally turned around when he heard his mother's voice.

"Dad!" He pointed the spatula accusingly at James. "You're supposed to be in bed!"

James moved over to ruffle Harry's hair and turn off the stove.

"Sorry, kiddo. Can't help that I'm an early riser," he responded. "But by the looks of it, I woke up just in time for a wonderful breakfast. Why don't you go set the table, and I'll chop up some strawberries to have with our pancakes?"

Harry nodded and headed towards the door, before pausing for a moment and turning back around. He ran directly into his dad, nearly knocking him over as he jumped into his arms for a hug, James just barely catching him.

"Happy Father's Day, Dad," the little boy mumbled.

James squeezed him a little tighter for a moment before he whispered his response.

"Love you, kiddo."

[tired-biscuit]

100% agree step brother kiba is so over protective even if he pretends he doesn’t care about you it’s a blatant lie because he’s the first one to have your back, always, when you’re in any sort of trouble

get into a fight with your dad and kiba’s the one who leaves food outside your door like “what you’re gonna starve yourself to death because your dad’s being an asshole? don’t be stupid”

you go to a party and some bad shit goes down, you know you can call him to come pick you up even if he bitches you out for it the whole way home

oh noooo having nightmares and he can hear you whimpering when he walks by your door in the middle of the night and he sighs and slips under the covers with you to calm you down. when you ask him to stay he complains but he does (he wasn’t planning on going anywhere anyway)

yes he’s annoying and rude but he loves you. even if he won’t admit to himself that he’s falling for his little step sister. it happens so naturally that he can’t picture his life without you in it anymore and he doesn’t really know how to balance his emotions so he takes it out on you and maybe he won’t apologize but he’ll get your favorite take out and shove it at you with a grunt

imagine those rare moments in the middle of the night when he’s sharing a bed with you and he’s actually nice and his voice is deep and sleepy when he talks, and he’s just sooo cozy and warm and gentle with you; squeezing you and cuddling with you in a platonic kind of way even if it’s not, at least not truly.

and because he’s an early riser, he’s always out of your room before you even get the chance to wake up. so by the time you brush your teeth and venture downstairs, he’s already back to being his usual mean self. when you try being nice to him like you were at one in the morning, he just gives you a dumb look and goes, “umm… okay?” as he’s eating his cereal even though his heart is skipping a beat and there’s warmth spreading inside his chest.

i think he doesn’t even realize that he’s falling for you until one of his friends mentions that you’re cute and he gets blinded with white-hot jealousy in a mere instant. and as soon as he figures out why that jealousy is there, that it’s not just him being a protective older brother, he finally understands that he’s fucked. completely, utterly fucked.

and he turns even meaner as a result.

[loudblonde]

Simon "Ghost" Riley X Male!Reader Mafia AU (Chapter Two) "Eye Contact"

(Y/N) and Ghost talk about the past, present, and potential futures. (Y/N) annoy Ghost out of boredom and maybe a tiny bit of revenge. Meanwhile, both continue on with their awkward dance around each other as they try to navigate their current situation.

+18 Themes, Minors do not interact you will be blocked. Please reblog it means a lot.

Warnings: Panic attack, graphic mentions of violence, mentions/references to child abuse, mention and depiction of a sexual theme (not written out), talk about murder and cleaning up blood, talk about torture and graphic description of torture. Canon typical violence.

Word count: 5657

The sun rose early, sending light through the trees. Dew had settled on grass blades outside the house. A cold chilly air surrounded the place.

(Y/N) sighed as he woke up, always an early riser no matter when he went to bed. He made quick work of stripping off night clothes and getting dressed in something light but still warm. Black casual office wear slacks and a white loose t-shirt hiding his figure within the folds. Overall comfortable.

With socked feet, he carefully walked into the kitchen to see breakfast already made and a note to not wander off, signed by a skull. (Y/N) chuckled at that as he brewed a cup of tea for himself before eating the eggs and toast quickly. “Surprisingly good.” He muttered as he cleaned the kitchen, making it seem as though no one had ever used it.

Once ensuring the cleanliness of the space, (Y/N) grabbed a notebook and settled outside on the patio that overlooked the lakeside.

“Wish you could be here mum.” He said as he began writing in his notebook, everything was heavily encrypted, his mother made sure he knew how to encrypt notes well enough that no one would ever be able to crack it. His personal code was constantly shifting and changing, making sure to always memorise it before straying further, the beginning of this notebook's writing was nothing like the current.

A car pulled up, not that (Y/N) was overly paying attention to it, having filed that car's noise away as safe.

(Y/N) rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly, the memory of that lesson still lingered in his joints. “What are you writing?” A deep raspy voice behind him said. (Y/N) leaned his head back and looked up at the skulled man, his babysitter.

“You are silent. Thank you for the food, it was good.” (Y/N) said.

Ghost’s eyes widened ever so slightly before they returned to normal. “Not a problem, can’t have you dying on my watch.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “No? You ‘fraid dad would skin ya’ for that?” He said.

Ghost chuckled shortly. “I think I would let him, can’t hurt my boss’s kid. So what are you writing? It doesn’t look like any language I know.”

“I described the area, the trees, the smell. Everything. To remember.” He said and handed him the journal. “It’s coded because it’s just for me, so no one can retrace my steps if they get their hands on it.”

Ghost flipped through the pages, (Y/N) leaned back and closed his eyes, feeling the first of many warm rays hit his skin. He doesn’t care if he looks ridiculous. He just wanted to enjoy the bit of sun before undoubtedly being forced inside.

“You drew Gaz sleeping?” Ghost asked. His voice was monotone, not betraying anything.

(Y/N) smiled without opening his eyes. “Yes. He took me here from across the country, slept in the same motel room, sometimes nights are… rough, if you get what I mean. Insomnia is hard to deal with but I manage.”

“Insomnia?” Ghost mused. “Using good code makes my job easier.” Ghost said and placed the book on the table.

(Y/N) opened both eyes and looked up at Ghost, catching his eyes staring into his. (E/C) met those pale blue eyes and for just a moment, neither spoke or took a breath, it was as though the action itself would break the moment.

(Y/N) cleared his throat and sat up, quickly and with practised ease he turned around in his seat before standing up, facing Ghost. “Don’t worry Ghost, I don’t plan on making your life difficult, at least not until I get familiar with the city and the areas we work in, I am not a spoiled brat who isn’t aware I have things to learn and know before gaining freedom, you can rest assured that I will do anything in my might to become a better and stronger leader than my father who is a very good leader.”

Ghost gave a court nod. “I see nothing wrong with you yet, the boss trusts you and that is good enough for me.”

“Good, then we are on the same page, we will spend these 30 days getting to know each other somehow.” (Y/N) said. “We will need it for further business.”

Ghost thought about that before he nodded. “Yes, I bought enough food for two weeks.” Ghost said as he walked into the house, picking up the food along the way.

(Y/N) grabbed his book and followed him in, helping him get everything set away before pausing. “… Ghost, with all due respect… those eggs, were they chicken?”

“… the ones from this morning?” Ghost asked as he placed cans of soup up in the cupboards.

“Yes.” (Y/N) slowly turned to look at Ghost.

Ghost looked at him. “Erm… no. There wasn't anything in the fridge so I made do with what I could find. The veggies were frozen down sometime… I don't know when.”

(Y/N) ran a hand down his face. “Okay, I regret I asked.”

Ghost shrugged and finished putting things away. “I didn’t think you would be squeamish.”

(Y/N) shook his head as he looked away. “I am not but the idea of eating other bird eggs is just weird even if it tasted godly.”

(Y/N) didn’t notice Ghost’s pause at that. “Well we got other eggs now, so you don’t have to worry about that.” Ghost sounded amused.

(Y/N) grunted and looked at him. “Sit as my model for a few hours and I won't ever complain about it again.” It was an empty threat.

Ghost thought about it, he didn’t particularly care and they had nothing else to do while here, so he shrugged. “Mask stays on.”

(Y/N) smiled at that. “I like your mask, I don’t mind it staying on. Sit in the sun, I will grab my supplies.” (Y/N) said as he walked off.

Ghost sat down on a comfortable chair only to see (Y/N) carry a thin rigid bag of supplies with him. He sat it down and opened it to what could be mistaken for torture devices if one glanced over it.

Various knives decorated the tool kit and several sharp pencils were carefully tugged into a closed sleeve, it was clean and cared for, even if it did have some paint splotches.

(Y/N) grabbed a pencil and the paper block before leaning back and began sketching, the whole time Ghost didn’t take his eyes off (Y/N), he just watched in dispassionate fascination. The way he focused entirely on what was ahead of him, fully focused on his whole body on display. Now had Ghost been more in touch with his emotions he may have blushed at the idea of a man such as (Y/N) constantly looking at him, taking in his body and dissecting it as he drew each part of him, but Ghost was not in touch with his emotions, especially any emotions connected to a man he could never ever get into bed. Ghost wasn’t unrealistic. Despite the drawing of Gaz tied up in bed, cock strained and lea- Ghost shook his head, getting rid of the thoughts, they wouldn’t help him in any way.

Ghost sat for an hour before his phone rang, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and took the call. “Soap, better be important.”

“A son!” Soap yelled from the phone line, almost making Ghost vince.

“Yes, I am aware.” Ghost said as monotone as possible.

“He had a whole son who was trained by the fucking Viper and he didn’t tell anyone.” Soap continued ranting. Ghost vaguely remembered the name but didn’t connect it to anything or anyone. “Not only that but he is in the country right now and apparently Gaz of all people knows him well enough to have his phone number.” Ghost let him rant.

“Hm, well I mean he is sitting across from me right now so I don’t see what the big deal is, we do have some issues with the Russians so it makes sense to delay everything for a month.” Ghost said, catching (Y/N)’s attention.

“Damn you for being clever, so is this a good lad or should we be worried?” Soap asked.

“Don’t worry, he is safe.” Ghost said, choosing not to comment on the fact he hadn’t entirely answered the others' question.

“Okay good, you would expect that from his upbringing.” Soap said. Ghost knew the man well so he knew he was scratching his neck.

“Don’t scratch your sore, Johnny.” Ghost said only to be met with a chuckle coming from the other end.

“You know me too well old friend, I need to go deal with someone,” And with that Soap hung up and Ghost slid the phone into the pocket again.

“How did Soap get his name?” (Y/N) asked as he kept drawing.

Ghost smiled under the mask. “Back when Price first found me and him, Price was established but had been betrayed, took us in to train us. We were young, about 15.” Ghost said. “Started way higher than anyone else but we were promising, Johnny or rather Soap is highly competitive so once we were asked to clean up a scene and Johnny got it done so fast and efficient, that he was nicknamed Soap. Price spent two weeks chuckling.”

(Y/N) smiled at that. “That is an actually funny story for a name.”

Ghost hummed. “Do you have an earned name?”

(Y/N) paused and looked at Ghost. “Chip.” He said before going back to his drawing of the man.

“Chip? What kinda name is that?” Ghost asked, a little taken back.

(Y/N) shrugged. “I love anatomy and I am very good at estimating blood loss, so in order to get information I would slowly chip away at someone's flesh, removing bit by bit avoiding major arteries and any place I know they will bleed out from too quickly and let me tell you when people see their arm slowly become only bone and a few major veins, they tend to become quite the chatterboxes. Them or someone they care about, don’t care, both get killed afterwards.”

Ghost whistled impressed. “That sounds brutal but fun to learn, did you ever fuck up?”

“Oh yeah, multiple times but I learned from it, knew what not to do, what information to ask beforehand.” He said as he placed the pencil down. He stood up and walked over to Ghost before showing the man the drawing.

Ghost took the sketch block and glanced over the drawing quickly before his eyes widened. In front of him sat not Ghost the Bodyguard, who had faced trial after trial, been shot at, stabbed and even burnt alive, no there was someone from a faraway land, a man so ethereal and yet dark that Ghost could only recognise his skull mask that had been made into another mask as a skull heated up and warped by the hellfire that surrounded him, from the broken and warped skull mask 2 beautiful and twisted horns grew, twisted in a way that made it look like they were being forced away from growing together, his clothes was dark and torn though looked vaguely like an angels clothes, it was further proven by the burnt wings behind him or rather the bony stumps that were left with charred feathers and flesh still holding onto the wings, perhaps hoping and begging for a chance to get away from everything, to fly again.

“A fallen angel.” Ghost said.

“Yes, but one who has accepted his fate.” (Y/N) said. With one sentence and one drawing Ghost has never felt more raw and exposed, not even the time an enemy attempted to brainwash him and they cut him open, the scars were still raised and hurt more than he could ever describe.

His hands shook slightly as he gave the drawing back. “You have talent.” Ghost said, his voice even raspier and shaky.

(Y/N) shrugged as he sat his drawing block down, closing it in the process. “Not really, but I do find it peaceful to draw.”

Ghost stood. “You should keep drawing, I will check the perimeter.” Ghost said as he left (Y/N) behind. He didn’t even take his boots on as he stumbled out the door, his mind racing and driving a million miles an hour. For someone so guarded and so closed off, for someone so incapable of feeling his own emotions, yet this young man was able to see everything within a day of knowing each other. (Y/N) may as well have ripped his mask off and seen the Glasgow smile cut into his cheeks or even worse, actually have been there when his own father, Mister Riley, did it to him.

Ghost stumbled into a tree a long way away from the lake house, he could still smell the lake so he wasn’t worried about being too far away. His hands shook as he struggled to keep upright, memories and emotions he had pushed down and repressed were resurfacing and coming to light in ways he never thought possible, all because of a dumb… no, a very pretty drawing.

In that moment of fear, confusion and overall terror from being known so much, Ghost fell to his knees and looked up into the sky, his eyes burned from unshed tears that wanted to spill even with Simon holding them back, nay forcing them back. He couldn’t be weak, Simon had to be Ghost, not the weak pathetic Simon who no one cared about, not even Price. He grabbed at his mask, tearing it off as he struggled to breathe, panic flowing through him as though he was buried again.

Simon tried getting his breath under control, he shouldn’t be weak, Ghost wasn’t weak. Even if his boss told his son about the mask and about why, why Ghost was here and Simon wasn’t, he shouldn’t have reacted this pathetically to the drawing.

Ghost took a deep breath, letting everything fall away and be pushed deep down. Letting all emotions fade away into the nothingness he was so used to.

From the ground, Ghost stood up and placed the mask back on. He took a deep breath and headed back inside only to see a cup of tea standing on the table by the door. He carefully read the note over:

Ghost

I am sorry if I offended you with the drawing, I was told you liked tea over coffee so here is a cuppa earl grey, 2 sugars and a splash of milk.

(Y/N)

Ghost faintly smiled for a second before taking the cup to his bedroom to drink. He carefully slipped the mask over his face and tasted it. “Not bad for a foreigner.” He muttered.

Later that day (Y/N) walked into the kitchen to see Ghost sitting peacefully by a laptop writing something. “What are you writing?”

“Emails and paperwork, unfortunately, I still have work like that.” He said. “Roach is holding down the fortress though, I trained him well.”

(Y/N) hummed at that as he sat opposite Ghost. “Sounds tedious. Roach is a cool name, undoubtedly there is a story. What should I expect?”

Ghost looked at him. “He survived an explosion, I pulled him out of it myself, he doesn’t speak but does use BSL.” Ghost said. “Talented scout and overall good at what he does, I took him under my wing, he is probably the closest thing to a younger brother that I have.”

“Anyone else I should know about?” (Y/N) asked.

Ghost leaned back. “We work with the Chief of Police, Sheppards. We agree to get rid of a few people opposing him here and there, line his pocket with a little ‘something something’ and he looks away when we conduct our business most of the time anyway.” He said.

“Very smart but he is untrustworthy, as everyone is in this world.” He said.

“You already know Kate and her wife?” Ghost asked.

“Hmm, yeah, they are good people, Kate helped me fake my papers and get into the country for the first time.” He said. “Permanent residence.”

Simon chuckled. “She is absolutely brilliant.”

“That she is, she is a treasure to us all, I can only be grateful she wouldn’t turn against us.” (Y/N) said. “We would be fucked if she did.”

Ghost simply nodded at that. “I fully agree.” He said.

They fell into silence again, both staring at each other, both maintaining eye contact without blinking. (Y/N) was not an open book, no matter how much Ghost wanted it, he couldn’t get a read on the younger man. Ghost pushed down any feelings from earlier as (Y/N) gave him a smile, a genuine smile. “Tell me about yourself.” His voice held a surprising softness Ghost hadn’t heard in years, maybe never had.

“You already know my story. Didn’t your dad tell you about me?” Ghost said, a little annoyed by it.

“Truthfully he only told me you have a past and wear that mask to not facw it, he also told me you were as emotionally constipated as any war vet he had ever met who refused to get help.” (Y/N) said.

Ghost looked away, breaking eye contact. “He might be right about that emotion talk.”

(Y/N) never looked away or moved to talk to him. “Emotions are not an enemy until we don’t face them. That may just be something that sounds weak but my grandfather who is still in the business of taking out people, said that in order to overcome any weakness we must look within for answers. Only when your mind is most clear and your body stops trembling, you take the shot.”

“Your grandad is a sniper.” Ghost said, looking back, all emotions devoid from his eyes, leaving behind a cold and empty storm-filled ocean.

“Aye he was, best person at it that I know, taught me enough that I wouldn’t have to worry about anything.” (Y/N) said.

Ghost looked back to his computer. “Did he serve or did he simply work?”

“He worked, then served before coming back to work.” (Y/N) said. “Make a killer stew, no pun intended.”

If Ghost let out a little huff of amusement that was between him and whatever cruel god existed.

“And what about you, do you have a partner or someone you may settle down with? Any pretty bird or bloke?” Ghost asked.

“Nah, I don’t think much is gonna happen, half my body is littered with scars and the other half looks rough as hell. Not much of a looker underneath these clothes.” (Y/N) said. “Besides, once had someone say that she would feel bad for any woman who had to date me, the fucking part would be good but putting up with my emotional distance and issues were too much for anyone to ever do.” He said.

Ghost glanced up from his screen. “That’s rough, so you just sleep around then?” He looked back down.

“I need a connection, however small, Gaz was…” He smiled a bit, not that Ghost caught it, “Well Gaz was Gaz, a sweet man who was there at the right time but there was no connection besides desire and lust from us both.” (Y/N) said. “Though there was this one man I knew, they called him King or rather König.” He said with a smirk. “Best lay I ever had, man was begging and whimpering the entire time, asking me to go faster and harder. We met in Austria, don’t know the specifics of what he does, but man I miss him.” He said.

Ghost felt his mouth go dry without knowing why. “Sounds wonderful.” He replied dryly.

“You were the one to ask, knowing you know about Gaz and I, I figured me being into just about anyone wouldn’t be a problem.” (Y/N) leaned on the table and looked at Ghost. “Is it a problem?”

Ghost looked up at him, eyes dark with something (Y/N) couldn’t describe but it was bothering him.

“No. I don’t care if you sleep with women, men, women and men or no one. Just need to know for security reasons, can’t have your throat slit by two enemies who want you dead.” Ghost responded.

(Y/N) looked into his eyes a moment before leaning back. “That is fair.” He said as he held his arms up. “What about you? Are you with a woman?”

“I don’t have the time.” Ghost said.

(Y/N) paused and looked at Ghost work for several moments as he tried to understand it.

“So you haven’t slept with anyone in ages or you have never slept with anyone?” He asked.

Ghost grunted. “It’s been a while, security must be tight.”

(Y/N) waved his arms. “Wait, wait, wait… that is just… sorry man, if you couldn’t do something you wanted to do simply because of this job-” (Y/N) started only to get interrupted, “- Your dad gives me vacation, I don’t… like you said there should be a connection, not just some random hook up…” He said. “Those don’t lead to anything good.”

His tone was enough for (Y/N) to not push it further. “Alright.” He said and that softness returned for a moment. “How do you want to pass the time these long 30 days?”

“30 days isn’t so long.” Ghost replied.

“It’s late summer and it will be autumn by the time we return.” He said. “The TV doesn’t work and half the books I have already read. So, how are we passing the time?”

Ghost sighed. “You could go for a swim, the lake is clean and should be warm enough.” He said.

(Y/N) thought about it. “That is one way, yes, how else?” He asked.

“Why are you so abatement that I entertain you?.” Ghost asked, annoyance clear in his tone.

“Because you are the only person in a 30-mile radius and I am a social person despite my upbringing, I like people and I know damn well I need to sit on my ass anyway. Plus, you are amongst the most important people to know and know well.” (Y/N) said, despite how annoying it was, he did have a point, Ghost silently concluded.

“Fine, but I am bringing out the alcohol for that, I can’t be sober and chat about whatever you want and neither will you.” Ghost said.

(Y/N) smiled widely. “Deal.” He said as he stood up, clearing his throat.

Tag List:

@rasberry-jupiter

Please reblog if you liked it, I really appreciate it if you do.

[thegreenleavesofspring]

I promise we're working on the next chapter, but in the meantime, have one of the scenes from earlier in the book that lives rent-free in my head:

.

[Maudie] stands and carries her mug to the sink and rinses it out and stands it upside down on the dishtowel. She turns and leans her back against the counter and says, “Lots of different kinds of medicine, pretty man.”

[Riser] settles on the end of the couch, twisted to watch her. "I'm afraid I don't know them, ma'am. I stick to what I can see."

She hums. “I’m just an old woman. But I think you know some of them. I think you’ve seen some of them.”

He shifts and stirs and says, "Something you said earlier. Sounded like a quote from the Bible."

Her eyes are agleam in the dim light sifting down from the dingy bulb above the kitchen sink. “What did I say, pretty man.”

"To hate your brother is the same as wanting to murder him. Mom used to say that one to us all the time."

She regards him for a moment. “The pretty man’s mother knows the Book. What about the pretty man?”

"No," he says flatly. "The God Mom believes in never had any use for us, and His devotees didn't either. Why would I have any use for Him?"

“How do you know which God He is, if you’ve never known the Book?”

"Mom used to read it to us. Read it out loud. All about how He loves and protects His people." Riser sneers. "But He sure didn't love or protect us. No matter how much we asked. We always had to do that for ourselves." He stirs angrily. "One o' my earliest memories is watchin' my mother sob her heart out on the steerin' wheel and the unborn twins the Sunday after Dad was arrested, when we were told we weren't welcome there anymore. We had friends there an' they looked at us like the scum on their shoes. An' we all spent time prayin' and asking for help but Maxie still had to go work at eight an' we still got beat up at school and we still all got shot and stabbed and cut on the streets. That Book says not to steal, but we'd have all starved to death, and never had anything to wear besides, if we hadn't. So no. I don't care to know any more of it. It might work for rich people in their shiny white churches but it sure didn't work for us."

“Let me ask you something, pretty man.”

"Yes ma'am?"

“You find my granddaughter. No father. No uncles. No brother to take her back from the witch-man. You carry her home and feed her, make her wash off the filth, make her sleep in a bed. You kill her enemies and free her mother. You touch her with love in the palm of your hand.”

Her eyes are like black little coals. “Is all of that better than what the wicked men would have done to her?”

He stares at her narrowly, puzzled. "Yes."

“Why do you know.”

"Because only a coward and a bully picks on someone smaller and weaker. No man worth the name attacks women an' children and innocents."

“How do you know what a coward is? How do you know it is better to be brave? How do you know your mother sobbing on the steering wheel is not better than her laughing in the sun? How do you know it is better to be full than to be hungry? You say only cowards and bullies. You say it is better to be loved and protected than to be hated and abandoned. But a man who rapes says it is better to be sated. A man who buys and sells in children says it is a good trade. Who decides, pretty man? Who has laid these things in stone for you to know, that you might love the coyote-child instead of devour her? There are men who would have devoured her down to the bones.”

He leans back on the arm of the couch, pondering her words, arms folded lightly across himself and fingers drumming on his bicep. "Mom. And Max," he answers finally. "We love them, so it's their codes we keep, their wishes we honor." He grins, sudden and sharp and wolfish. "And not all of them, at that."

“By love you keep the code, pretty man, you are right. Did they write the codes? Your mother and your brother?”

"Mom didn't. She took hers from the Bible," he says unconcernedly. "I don't know where Maxie sourced his. Not from the Bible, that's for certain; he's got no more use for it than I do."

“Seven brothers. Are any of them child-devourers instead of child-keepers, pretty man?"

"No," he says flatly, "Maxie would kill us – not an exaggeration – and none of us want to make Mom cry."

“If one of you were. If one of you raped and killed the ones in the lodge instead of the ones who came for them. Would it be the fault of the code of your mother and brother? Or would it be because of their own wicked heart.”

"It would be their own choice, of course," Riser says flatly. "But if Max were sittin' right there watching his code be broken and didn't stir himself to stop it and help the victim, then that would put him in the wrong, too."

She smiles at this. She draws a polished little hardwood pipe out of her red coat pocket and begins to pack it from a pouch on her quilled and beaded belt. She says, “For the coyote-girl, has He not stirred Himself to help?” She indicates the whole of him with a lift of her pipe, her smile widening into that gap-toothed, gold-crowned grin. She chuckles very softly and turns and shuffles to the front door and steps into her moccasins and slips out the door for a smoke. Riser's soft, highly amused laughter follows her out.

"Me as an angel. That's a new one," he murmurs to himself, settling down to sleep.

[reyesstrand]

short n sweet wip wednesday from early on in the honeymoon-ish fic

"You're bouncing," Owen whispers to him, jostling his shoulder lightly. His dad's smiling, though, and definitely holding back tears as he helps straighten out TK's jacket as they wait for their cue.

"I just can't wait to see him," TK says, glancing out at the crowd. Even though he loves everyone here, they're practically faceless blobs as his vision blurs out anyone that isn't the love of his life.

They'd already had some time together, the two of them alone in one of the countless bedrooms near the back of Carlos' aunt's ranch. Through the open window, they could hear horses whinny and faint chatter from the early-risers that came to help set up, as TK showed Carlos a well-loved photo of himself and his mom. It’s one that had been carefully pressed into one of the photo albums they'd only just started going through properly in the lead up to the wedding. It was taken just before their family started splintering after the towers came down, and TK's grinning wide at the camera, while Gwyn just smiles happily down at him.

It made him feel hollowed out, for just a minute, looking at his own blinding, childlike happiness preserved in time forever. The TK in the photo—the TK that was still somewhere deep inside himself, occasionally re-appearing in moments of pure joy, breaking through the rough walls he'd thrown up as a teenager—had no idea what was about to come. The loneliness, the grief, the heartache. The unending emptiness he’d fill with self-hatred and harm. He'd spared a glance sideways, then, and realized he could finally accept adding something else to that list: love. TK had swallowed around a lump in his throat, gently swiping his thumb over the grainy, early-2000’s rendering of mother's face, coming to terms with the fact that while their day was here, she wasn't—not anymore. Carlos had just wordlessly pulled him closer and kissed his temple, snapping his focus back to the present.