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girlgenius1111 · 7 months ago

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nerves

sol's masterlist ☀️ 2nd grade shouldn't be as scary as it felt, but sol was quite used to things feeling scarier than they seemed to feel to other people. even if her parents weren't worried for her growing anxiety, though, ingrid was. [sol is 8 in this, and ingrid is 16] warnings: descriptions of anxiety + symptoms of anxiety.

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Your chest felt tight, tears falling quickly down your face as you sobbed into your pillow. Fear was gripping you, making it so that you couldn’t breathe right. It wasn’t a new feeling, it was one you’d experienced before, though you couldn’t quite put a name to it. You felt sick, sicker when you remembered what the following day was. You’d only been able to get a few hours of sleep before the feeling woke you up, and soon after, you were trembling in your bed, clutching tightly to Snø.

The feeling was becoming overwhelming, and you were suddenly worried you were going to throw up or stop breathing or something. It was this terrifying thought that had you pushing the covers back, and creeping out of your room. You went down the hall, passed your parents room as quietly as you could, before you pushed Ingrid’s door open.

“Ing?” You whispered, the low volume of your voice not disguising how shaky it was. The light clicked on, and your sister sat up in her bed, hair all messy. She blinked at you groggily, and you took a tentative step closer. “Ca-can I sleep in here?”

Your sister seemed to wake more, concern replacing the sleepy expression on her face. “Of course you can.”

She’d barely gotten the words out before you were scrambling forward onto her bed with her. Ingrid’s arms were already open, and you curled into her, allowing her long arms to wrap around you. This was where you undoubtedly felt safest, and it wasn’t surprising when the bad feeling dulled, just a bit.

“Solstråle, you’re shaking.” Ingrid murmured, frowning at the quiet whimper you gave in response. “What’s wrong, huh?” She wondered, tucking your head under her chin and rubbing your back.

You were sniffled, hiding your face in her neck and gripping her shirt in your fist as you snuggled even closer. “‘M Scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

Only here, in the dark and curled up against your favorite person, could you admit what was really terrifying you. “Don’t wanna go to school.”

“School is scaring you?” Ingrid wondered, not knowing you to have struggled with this in the past.

You nodded, the steady thumping of your sister’s heartbeat in your ear grounding you.

“Why?”

A shrug, this time, with you only speaking when Ingrid tried to extract your face from its hiding spot. “Don’t know. Just scared.”

You really didn’t know. No matter how much you tried to figure out why you were so terrified, nothing came to mind. There was no explanation. All you knew was that this feeling was sticking around, and you’d do just about anything to get rid of it.

“Is someone at school bothering you?” Ingrid asked, her voice dropping to anger at the mere thought.

“No.” You weren’t lying. Sure, the kids at school could be mean sometimes, but your biggest bully lived at home with you. You dealt with her every day, and the mean kids couldn’t hold a torch to your mother when she decided she’d had enough of you. The social aspect was a stressor, for sure, but it wasn’t the cause of the pit in your stomach. “It’s… it’s new. It’s different.”

“It’s not new, not really!” Ingrid tried to rationalize. “It’s the same school, you’ve been there before. You know how everything works. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“It’s still new. A new year and a new teacher and a new class and new people and… I don’t wanna go. I want to stay here. Please.” You looked up at your sister, eyes wide and watery, and her heart truly broke. She hated that you were so upset, and she hated that she didn’t have the power to tell you that you didn’t have to go.

“School is important, Solstråle. You’ll be okay once you get there, I promise. It’s just the anticipation that’s causing you trouble.” Her voice was encouraging and kind, but you were merely puzzled, the word being unfamiliar to you.

“What is anticipation?”

“It’s like the waiting before something happens. It’s always worse than whatever actually happens.”

“What if it’s not better once I get there?” Ingrid was the person you trusted more than anyone in the world, but even she couldn’t put your nervousness to rest with just a few words. It was too intense for that to work.

“You go to the nurse, and you tell them you don’t feel well, and they’ll call Mamma. She’ll come get you, and we can try again tomorrow.” Ingrid explained rationally, believing herself that you’d be completely fine once you got to school.

“Mamma won’t come get me.” You murmured. At this point, Ingrid was used to the tension between you and your mother, and she knew that, likely, you were right. “She has a meeting with your manager. Pappa’s taking me in the morning because she’ll be gone all day, and then he’s going to work.”

Your sister remembered now. She was supposed to pick you up after school, because no one else would be home. When her mother had told her, she’d been a bit sad; it was your first day of school, and neither of your parents seemed to care very much.

“Then I’ll come get you.” Ingrid promised, making a mental note to cancel the plans she had with various friends, and the lunch date she was supposed to go on. If no one else would be there for you tomorrow, then she would make sure she was.

“Really?” You asked quietly, glancing up at her hopefully, and then looking away quickly, as if your hope would jinx it.

“Promise. You promise me to try your best to go and stay, and if you don’t feel better by lunch, I’ll come get you.”

Until lunch was a long time. A whole morning with the icky feeling in your stomach didn’t excite you, but Ingrid was already going out of her way to help, so the least you could do was accept her deal. “Okay. Promise.”

“Good. Now it’s bedtime, okay?”

“Kay.” You mumbled, closing your eyes tight to appease your sister, though your tight grip on her shirt didn’t relent. Ingrid turned the lamp back off and settled back under the covers, this time with you held close to her. She hoped that would be the end of it. When she woke the next morning, though, and you were already awake, staring at the ceiling with tears falling from your eyes, she knew it wouldn’t be.

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Your hands were shaking as you brought the little spoon to your lips, and your tummy twisted at the thought of putting food into your mouth. You’d managed a couple mouthfuls of cereal, but suddenly, it felt like another would make you sick that instant. Putting the spoon down, you reached for your glass of water, only your hand was still shaking, and the glass slipped from it, shattering back down onto the table. You jumped, startled. The water quickly ran off the table and down onto your father’s lap, as he swore. You shut your eyes tightly, awaiting the inevitable yelling that was sure to follow.

“Shit!” Your dad shouted, pushing his chair backwards and rising from his seat. His pants were soaked with water, and you knew he was wearing a new suit for an important meeting he had today.

“Sorry!” You cried, grabbing a napkin and weakly trying to mop up some of the water. “Sorry, Pappa.”

“Look what you’ve done!” He shouted, looking down to glare at you, only softening slightly when he saw your tears.

“It wasn’t on purpose.” You mumbled, shrinking into yourself in your seat. If you’d felt sick before, you felt like you might just curl up into a ball and die now.

“It doesn’t matter. You need to be more careful. Now I have to change, and you’re going to make both of us late.” Your father scolded, apparently oblivious intense distress.

“What’s all the yelling for?” Ingrid wondered, walking past her father as he stormed upstairs to change. You were crying silently, cleaning up the water as best you could. You didn’t respond to Ingrid’s question, though your dad did stop and turn to address your sister.

“Your sister is being clumsy, again. Can you take her to school, Ing? I have a meeting and I’ll be late if I take her.”

“Yeah, I can.” Ingrid agreed easily, still looking between you both with uncertainty.

“But… you’re supposed to walk me to my class and help me find my cubby. It’s my first day. Mamma said, you’re supposed to come with me.” You whimpered, your lower lip wobbling.

“I don’t have time for this.” Your father sighed, turning around and walking out of the room without another word.

“Pappa,” you called after him, really starting to panic now at the thought of having to manage everything all by yourself. Your Mamma had promised that Pappa would come with and help you get to class. It was the only thing that had stopped the absolute tantrum you’d thrown the day before when she told you she had to go to a meeting instead of taking you. You started to cry, for real now, bringing your hands to your face and instinctually trying to swallow your tears, to no avail.

Within a few seconds, though, there were hands on yours, pulling them away from your face, and you opened your eyes to see Ingrid kneeled in front of you. Unlike your father, Ingrid was deeply concerned with the way you were acting. It seemed to her to be more than just the regular first day butterflies; you were properly panicking now.

“Don’t want to go, Ingrid, I can’t do it by myself,” you sobbed, leaning forward until your sister wrapped her arms around you and pulled you into a nice, tight hug.

“Shh, shh.” She soothed, running her fingers through your hair, noting that your father hadn’t even bothered to put it up into a ponytail like he was supposed to. “You won’t be alone, I’ll take you in. We’ll find your cubby, and meet your teacher, and everything will be fine, Solstråle.”

Leaning back, you looked at your sister skeptically. “Really?”

“Of course!” Ingrid said with a smile. She wiped a few tears from your cheeks, and straightened your shirt. Checking the clock, on the counter, she made an executive decision. “Let’s get your face rinsed off, and your hair braided, and then I’ll take you.”

With your hand in hers, Ingrid brought you to the bathroom, and for the first time that morning, you thought that things might be okay.

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You walked into the school like you were heading for your own funeral, trudging along and dragging your feet next to your sister. Ingrid stuck by your side, though, as she’d promised to do, but the time for her to leave came all too soon. Seeing the tears welling in your eyes as the teacher called for everyone to say goodbye to their parents, she took your hand and led you over to the corner of the classroom. She knelt down in front of you, trying to seem relaxed and calm, hoping you could pick up on it.

“I’m gonna go now, Solstråle, but remember our deal?”

“I remember.” You mumbled, scrubbing your fist over your eye, desperate not to cry in front of your classmates.

“Okay. Just try for me, yeah? Until lunch, and if you’re still feeling nervous, go to the nurse and have them call me.” You nodded dutifully, leaning forward for a hug. Ingrid gave you one, squeezing tight. “Just try your best for me. I know you can do it, yeah?”

“Okay.” You didn’t think you could do it. In fact, you were almost sure you couldn’t, but disappointing your sister wasn’t an option, and surely she’d be disappointed if you didn’t hold up your end of the deal.

“I love you. I’ll see you soon.” Ingrid said, kissing your forehead and giving your hand one last squeeze.

“Love you too.” You watched your sister leave, feeling the lump in your throat grow as she headed out the door. You sat back down at your desk, fiddling with your pencil case instead of talking like your classmates were doing.

Pausing in the door to look back at you, Ingrid had to force herself to continue to walk out of the room. You looked so small, sitting at your desk all by yourself. Too shy to talk to your classmates, having found yourself in a class with none of your friends this year. There was nothing Ingrid hated more than seeing you crying, and she’d have been lying if she said a few tears didn’t slip down her face on her walk back home.

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As it was, Ingrid hoped deeply that she wouldn’t get a call from the school. When she did, though, it wasn’t a call that she was expecting, aside from the fact that it was still hours until lunch time.

The nurse called your Mamma first. She didn’t answer, and then the nurse called your Pappa. He answered, quickly instructing the woman to call your Mamma again, and then Ingrid if she didn’t answer. He couldn’t come get you, he explained. He didn’t even ask to talk to you on the phone. Not even when he heard what happened.

It was your worst nightmare come true. The horrible feeling had just grown and grown and grown. You just wanted to go home. That was all you kept thinking, repeating it over and over to yourself.

Your teacher was going around the room, having each student introduce themselves and say a fun fact. You knew what to say. Your name, and then your fun fact, which was that your favorite color was green. Only, when the teacher called on you, and you opened your mouth, it wasn’t words that came out.

Instead, you leaned over and threw up all over the ground. The class gasped around you, and a few of the boys began to laugh. You were mortified, sure you’d never been this embarrassed in your entire life. The teacher was trying to quiet the class back down, while walking over to you. Getting sick hadn’t made you feel better, either. You felt just as icky, and even more embarrassed. The assistant teacher led you out of the classroom, your gaze fixed intently on your feet as you were sure everyone was staring at you.

You’d resigned yourself to silence once you arrived at the nurse’s office, only answering her questions with nods or shakes of your head. If you didn’t talk, you wouldn’t embarrass yourself further. All you could think about, as the nurse called your Mamma and talked to your Pappa, was that you hadn’t done as Ingrid asked, and waited until lunch to go to the nurse. You hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed; you’d tried your best, it just hadn’t been good enough.

Finally, your Mamma answered, telling the nurse that she couldn’t come get you either, but that your sister could. You breathed a sigh of relief at that, because you knew Ingrid would be the nicest of anyone, even if she was mad that you hadn't made it till lunch.

Your sister practically ran the few blocks to the school as soon as she hung up with her mother, feeling absolutely horrible for you. She only felt worse when she made it to the school and walked into the front office, seeing you through the doorway, curled up in a chair in the nurse’s office. She couldn’t tell if you were ill or not, but you had a sickbag next to you, and you still looked very pale. Quickly, Ingrid signed you out, before she made her way over to where you were waiting for her.

And though you were too old for it, the second you saw Ingrid you were launching yourself into her arms, wrapping all of your limbs tight around her body.

“Oh, liten.” Ingrid sighed. She’d expected you to be upset when your Mamma had called to tell her what had happened, but her expectations didn’t prepare her for how completely broken you seemed. You sobbed quietly into her neck, holding on so tightly she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to get you to let her go.

“I think we might have a case of nerves on our hands. She doesn’t have a fever, or any other symptoms, and her teacher said she seemed very teary all morning until she was sick.”

At the reminder of what happened, you cried harder. Ingrid shushed you gently, her hand soothingly circling your back. The nurse continued, a sympathetic expression on her face. “I tried to explain to your mother, but as soon as I said I thought it was nerves, she didn’t seem to be very worried.”

“And we should be worried?” Ingrid wondered, sounding much older and much more concerned than a 16 year old should sound. Exactly how worried the nurse had expected your mom to sound, though she’d been disappointed.

The nurse nodded. “This is more nervous than an 8 year old should be for school. I think having your sister evaluated might be a good idea. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but anxiety can be hard for a child to deal with if they don’t have the tools to do so.”

Ingrid agreed, internally, but knew it would be a challenge to get your Mamma on board with it. When it came to you, Mamma always seemed to be doubtful of the truth of any issue you might have. If it had been Ingrid, the older girl knew she’d have had the first available appointment with the best psychologist in town. But because it was you, and Mamma seemed to have so much less patience with you, Ingrid knew it would be a challenge to convince her there was a real issue here.

“Ing?” You whispered, still attached firmly to your sister. She hummed in response, leaving a kiss on your temple. “I wanna go home.”

“Let’s go home, Solstråle.” Ingrid agreed, moving as if to release you and stand up. You were having none of that, though, and Ingrid smiled despite herself, lifting your small body easily into her arms. You couldn’t bring yourself to care if your classmates saw you, if your teachers saw you, being carried by your sister out of the school building.

Although school was only a few minutes walk away from home, you could feel the icky feeling coming back as you got closer and closer. Your Mamma was going to be so mad at you for not making it through the whole day, you just knew it. She was going to be mad, and yell, and Pappa was still going to be mad about when you spilled on him, and he was going to yell too, and home didn’t feel like the place you wanted to go anymore, though you’d been wishing for it all morning.

You knew it was going to happen again, this time trying to give your sister some warning.

“Ingrid,” you whined, trying to breathe deeply in through your nose and out through your mouth, coming to a complete stop on the sidewalk only a block away from home. “Feel sick.”

Your sister looked down at you in alarm, your face alarmingly pale as your lips pressed together tightly.

As quickly as she could, Ingrid grabbed your shoulders and turned you towards the grass.

You retched onto the ground, though there wasn’t much to come up other than bile that burned at your throat. You were crying again as Ingrid rubbed your back, handing you your water bottle when you were done. “Sorry.” You managed in between small sips, feeling guilty for probably embarrassing your sister by throwing up on the street.

“Don’t say sorry.” Ingrd frowned. “Maybe you are sick, huh?” She brought her hand up to your forehead, not finding it any warmer than normal. You shrugged, not sure how to convey your fears. Ingrid seemed to pick up on your unease, though. “Are you still nervous?”

You gave a small nod, slumping into your sister when she stood and pulled you in for a hug.

“Why? We’re going home.”

“Mamma and Pappa are going to be mad. About school and about spilling the water and for interrupting their meetings when the nurse called, and making you come get me and-”

“Slow down, slow down.” Ingrid told you calmly, crouching down once again on the sidewalk, uncaring that several people had had to cross the street to avoid your traffic jam. “No one’s mad, Solstråle, you didn’t do anything wrong. Mamma’s coming home from the meeting early to check on you, she just wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“She’s not mad?”

“No.” Ingrid promised. “We’re gonna go home, get comfy on the couch, watch a movie, and wait for Mamma. And then we’ll figure out how to make you feel better, okay?”

You liked that. The ‘we’ Ingrid used. Sometimes it felt like you could do anything if she was with you. Privately, you hoped that you’d never have to do much without her. Ingrid was your very best friend, and best friends were supposed to stay together.

She was with you when you walked home, did exactly as she promised and got all bundled up with you on the sofa and put on your favorite movie. She was with you when your Mamma came home, who fussed over you right away, only scolding you lightly for working yourself up so much that you were sick.

It felt nice to be cared for by your Mamma, even if she seemed a little exasperated with you. Really, when was she not? After that comment, though, Ingrid decided to wait to talk to your parents until you were in bed. She was more sure than ever that getting you the help you needed would take a lot of convincing, and she didn't want you to have to hear her argue with your parents on your behalf.

The raised voices coming from downstairs woke you, however, only a short time after you’d been put to bed. Intrigued, you’d followed the voices, freezing when you overheard your name.

Sat on the top step of the stairs, you listened as Ingrid talked to your parents. Your head was swirling with contradicting and confusing emotions. On one hand, it felt good to hear Ingrid stand up for you. On the other, though, it felt like a punch to the gut everytime one of your parents said something that completely dismissed the issues you were having.

“She is just nervous, Ingrid, don’t stress about it. All kids get like this, she’ll be alright.” Your mother sighed, annoyed with having to repeat herself; Ingrid just wouldn’t let up.

“No Mamma. It is not normal! You didn’t see her last night when she came to me having a panic attack, and you didn’t see her today when I went to get her from school. She needs help, this isn’t fair on her. She shouldn’t have to struggle with this.”

“Ingrid, there is nothing wrong with your sister. She just likes the attention.” Your father cut in, repeating something he’d heard his wife say over and over whenever you got into arguments with her, and ran off to him in tears.

At the same time that tears began to well in your eyes, Ingrid snapped, her voice raising. “Quit saying that! It’s not true. She’s shy, she doesn’t like attention, and she certainly didn’t want the attention of her classmates while she was getting sick in front of them. Mamma, please. She needs help.”

You could imagine your parents exchanging looks with each other, a silent conversation being had.

“Alright. We’ll take her to see someone, if only so you stop stressing yourself out about this. I don’t want you to worry about your sister, Ingrid. She’s fine, we’ve got her. You need to focus on football.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. She’d never put football over you, never. It was her passion, her favorite thing, and while it messed with her social life and made things complicated, she would never let it tear her from you. Not when you needed her.

“I will stop worrying when a doctor tells you that there is no problem.”

“We’ll take her, Ingrid, I promise. Everything will be fine, your sister will be fine. If she needs help, we’ll get it for her.”

You wondered if they were doing it for you, or if they were doing it for Ingrid. Like everything, like always, it was probably just for Ingrid. You were used to that; being less important than your sister. And as much as you wanted to be angry with your sister, you just couldn’t. Not when she was the only one who did things for you.

Once, Ingrid had promised that she’d always be on your side. So, while you weren’t sure your parents would ever be on your side, or if they ever had been, you knew you could count on Ingrid. No matter where she went, no matter what you did, Ingrid would always have your back. She’d promised, after all.

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it's been a while! hope everyone hasn't minded the long wait, and enjoyed this sol installment 🫶🏻 she really is my favorite to write for.

[tell me if you see typos okay byeeee]

#🍓☀️#ingrid engen x platonic reader #ingrid engen x reader #engen!reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics

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munson-blurbs · 3 months ago

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Summary: It's Hendrix's first Thanksgiving, and though he's not even one month old, he still manages to be part of a sweet surprise.

TW: Reader is breastfeeding, mention of Grandma, reference to the events of chapter 8

WC: 1.2k

Divider credit to @saradika

November 1999

You had given Eddie one job: buy the items on the shopping list—and only the items on the shopping list. There’s the usual weekly groceries, but now there’s the addition of ingredients for Thanksgiving dinner.

And, of course, a plethora of diapers and wipes for your nearly three-week-old son.

Sweet baby Hendrix is the reason why you’re excused from navigating the overcrowded Walmart aisles, and why Eddie and Harris have gone in your place. You gaze down at your infant son, wincing as he latches onto your breast.

“There you go, little man,” you murmur, smoothing down a wisp of his hair. “We’ve got this.”

The apartment is unnaturally quiet; the only sound coming from the living room radiator kicking on to ward off the early winter chill. It’s the calm before the holiday whirlwind, a slice of silence carved out just for you.

You savor it, inhaling deeply. Hendrix remains undisturbed by your chest rising and falling, happy to be filling his belly before his next nap. He spends his days eating, sleeping, or crying. As Harris says, he doesn’t do any tricks yet.

Hendrix finishes nursing as the front door clicks open. Adjusting your shirt, you offer Eddie and Harris a tired smile.

“Glad to see you two survived.”

“Sure did.” Eddie places the bags on the countertop. “And we stayed within budget.”

Your heart surges when he begins unpacking and pulls out a plastic bag filled with Granny Smith apples. Even though Eddie and Wayne will be doing most of the cooking this year—which means a lot of pre-made and boxed dishes—you had insisted on making Grandma’s applesauce.

“These the right ones?” Eddie asks, wiping a fake bead of sweat from his brow when you answer in the affirmative. “Thank God. I know how much the applesauce means to you.”

You offer a grateful smile as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. It reminds you of the very first Thanksgiving you’d spent with him happened before you two were a couple—before he’d even taken you on a date.

And, no, the drunken hook-up after his show at The Hideout didn’t count.

Thanksgiving 1996 was spent eating Oreos and snuggling up on the couch, watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving with Eddie and Harris. Grandma was still alive, and you even caught a glimpse of her pre-illness self when Eddie played the Sinatra record. It seems like a million years ago, but it’s only been three.

“Mommy, guess what?” Seven-year-old Harris calls out from where he’s peering into Hendrix’s bassinet. He doesn’t give you time to guess before he blurts out, “we got a surprise!”

You raise your brows. “A surprise? What is it?”

“Can’t tell ya.” He throws you a wink—where did he even learn that?—and makes a beeline for his room.

Turning to your husband, you put your hands on your hips. “That surprise better not be more candy,” you warn. “He still has so much left from Halloween.”

Eddie shakes his head and grins. “Not candy.”

“Then what?”

“Can’t tell ya.” Eddie mimics the same wink as his oldest son, solving the mystery of its origin, tucking one particular bag underneath his arm.

If you weren’t still freshly postpartum, you may have chased after him and insisted that he spill the secret. For now, you settle for flipping him off, and he blows you a cheeky kiss in return.

Thanksgiving begins like any other normal day. Well, normal for the Munson household.

Hendrix wakes up around the clock, but you get up for the day when his shrill wail jolts you from your sleep at six A.M. Your breasts are heavy with milk; a good thing, considering he sounds hungry.

Harris, clad in his blue flannel pajamas, shuffles into your bedroom an hour later. He’s still wiping sleep from his eyes even as he talks.

“Can we watch the parade?”

You hold your forefinger to your lips, praying that Harris’s entrance doesn’t wake the baby sleeping in Eddie’s arms.

“It’s not on for another hour, Har Bear,” you whisper, patting the comforter. “But you can hang out with us until then.”

Harris nods, scrambling up onto the bed and plopping down between you and his dad. He glances up at Eddie with a pout.

“Can I hold Hendrix? Pleeeeeease?”

Never one to shy away from theatrics, his brown eyes are wide as he pleads.

“Actually,” Eddie says, his gaze flicking over to Harris, “I think we should get the surprise ready?”

Harris wrinkles his nose for a split second before he remembers. “Oh, yeah!” He tugs on Eddie’s undershirt sleeve. “We gotta do the surprise.”

You reach out for the baby, but Eddie shakes his head. “Not so fast, Sweetheart. All of the Munson boys are in on this.”

You’re not quite sure what your three-week-old could possibly contribute, but damn if you’re not intrigued. So you sit back, propped up against the pillows, and wait for them to return.

Five minutes is long enough for you to doze off again, your body desperate for any scrap of sleep it can get.

“Dad, she’s sleeping!” It comes from a voice right next to your ear.

“Gently wake her up.” This voice is a bit farther away. Something shakes you. “I said gently, Har!”

You blink, massaging the back of your stiff neck from the awkward position you assumed during your impromptu nap.

“I’m up.” You manage a small, tired smile. Harris stands right next to your bedside, but Eddie and Hendrix are nowhere to be found. “Is my surprise ready?”

Harris nods, glancing back at the empty doorway. “So…we just unwrapped the turkey, and it looks a little weird.”

He’s supposed to deliver it like it’s bad news, but his mischievous smile betrays him.

Still, you play along. “It looks weird? What do you mean?”

That’s apparently Eddie’s cue. He creeps into the room, cradling Hendrix in his arms. Except the baby is no longer wearing his sage green pajamas. Now, he dons a brown onesie, a cartoon turkey face emblazoned on the belly. But the pièce de résistance is a tiny hat, a light brown pom pom puffing out from the top.

“That’s the cutest turkey I’ve ever seen!” Tears spring to your eyes, another sign that you’re still in the throes of postpartum hormones. You wipe them away before they can cause concern for the emotionally intuitive Harris.

You reach out to take the teeny turkey from your husband. “I could just eat you right up,” you coo, pressing a kiss to Hendrix’s chubby cheek and breathing in his baby powder scent.

“I found it,” Harris announces with a triumphant grin, “and Dad paid for it.”

“I know my place,” Eddie chuckles. “My wallet and I were ready.”

There’s a beat of silence as you take it all in. Your husband, proudly beaming as you snuggle Hendrix to your chest. Your oldest son, tickling Hendrix’s onesie-clad feet and making himself laugh. And your newborn-turned-turkey, scrunching up and then unfurling his little fist as he relaxes contentedly.

Harris looks up at you expectantly. “Is the parade on now?”

You and Eddie laugh, and Eddie ruffles Harris’s hair.

There’s certainly plenty to be thankful for this year.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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saveyourblood · 2 months ago

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Pretty Boy - Ch 8 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7

Chapter Summary: A Tsunami hits LA, leaving more than a few tragedies in its wake.

A/N: You know what would be cool? If you left a comment :) Word Count: 3.2k Warnings: mentions of trauma/injury

“How’s Buck doing?”

You look up from your afternoon cup of tea. Normally, you’d drink coffee, but you’re trying to reduce your caffeine consumption. There’s a lull, so you’re sitting in the loft, trying to catch up on charting. One simple question from Eddie, though, and charting be damned.

“He’s… Buck,” you say. It’s not much of an explanation, but you hope it makes sense anyway. “He was really excited to come back, and this definitely threw a wrench in things.”

Eddie shrugs in contemplation. “Maybe he’s not as ready as he thought he was.”

“No, he’s plenty ready,” you disagree with a chuckle. “I just think maybe his body isn’t. Like, maybe this is a sign for him to take things slower. I don’t know.”

Eddie hums in acknowledgment. “Everything okay between you two?”

“Yeah,” you say almost immediately. “I mean, sometimes it sucks being the optimistic one all the time. But other than that, we’re okay.”

“‘The optimistic one’?”

“Buck gets down on himself sometimes,” you explain. “Like, sometimes I think he doesn’t get out of bed until I get home from work. I keep reminding him that everything happens for a reason, but… honestly, even I’m starting to have trouble believing that.”

“Sounds like things maybe… aren’t okay,” Eddie observes.

You can’t help but laugh. So much of your internal dialogue is you convincing yourself that everything is fine. When you say it aloud, it definitely doesn’t sound fine.

“I don’t know what else to do,” you say quietly, propping your elbow on the table. You rest your cheek on your palm.

“Trust me, I know the feeling,” Eddie agrees with a bittersweet smile.

Jesus Christ, you’re a terrible friend. Eddie lost his wife a few weeks ago, and here you are, bitching about boyfriend problems.

“How are you and Christopher doing?” You ask softly.

“How you’d expect,” Eddie answers with another sad grin. “It’s hard getting him interested in anything. He just goes to school and sits in his room until he sleeps.”

Your heart aches at the thought. You know what it’s like to grow up without a mother, but you never had to deal with the pain of losing one, not to the same extent as Christopher. You lost her, but you didn’t love her before you lost her.

“You should bring Christopher over some time,” you suggest. “I mean, Buck has nothing better to do all day; he’ll tell you that himself.”

Eddie nods, slowly at first, then quicker. “Good idea.”

Bobby crosses the loft. While you don’t want to end your conversation with Eddie, you also don’t want to waste the opportunity in front of you.

You close your laptop. “Hey, Cap? Can I talk to you?”

The last time you were in Cap’s office, you were being reprimanded for pushing Buck against an ambulance. Now, you’re bargaining on his behalf. It's funny how things change.

“What can I do for you?” Bobby asks after you take a seat across from him.

You take in a deep breath. “I’m here to talk about Buck.”

“About how you’re dating him?”

You blink. “Cool, so now everyone knows.”

“Eh, I’m not sure Chimney does.”

“Oh please, I’m sure him and Hen talk about it all the time,” you laugh. “How’d you figure it out?”

Bobby shifts in his seat. “I saw you kiss him in the hospital.”

Your face flushes. “You’ve known since the start, then. That’s… fun.”

“Honestly, I thought it was going on longer than that,” Bobby explains. “Since the two of you started getting along, you’ve had a connection. I knew it was only a matter of time before you both figured it out.”

“So… what happens now?” You ask. “Does one of us have to transfer?”

Bobby shakes his head. “Nothing like that. When Buck returns to work, you’ll each have a disclosure form to fill out. It gets sent to HR. Not much to it.”

“Is he ever coming back?”

“What?”

You clear your throat. “That’s what I actually came here to talk about. Are you ever gonna let him come back?”

“Of course. As soon as he’s medically clear, he can return to light duty.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?”

You rub your hands together. “Buck has two settings: 0 and 100. In the last few months, all he’s talked about is getting back to 100. If he can’t be himself here, he doesn’t have a place here.”

Bobby looks at you. “Aren’t you afraid for him? Afraid that him always being at 100 will just get him hurt again? Afraid that he’ll never learn?”

“Of course I am,” you laugh softly. “But those are the things that make him Buck. And, god help me, I love him, even if those things scare the hell out of me.”

“He needs someone like you in his life,” Bobby says softly. “I’m glad he has you.”

“I’m glad I have him,” you agree. You pause. “Listen, Bobby: that man will sign whatever liability waiver this department throws at him. If you’re not ready, I understand that. But if that’s the case, you need to do him a favor and cut him loose. Because he’s ready, with or without the 118. So you should either let him come back at 100 or let him find somewhere that will."

“Seriously, man? A fucking tsunami ?”

“And only one wave wiped out miles of the city,” Eddie adds. “We’ll probably be looking at four or five more before it starts to recede.”

“It’s a good thing you left Christopher with Buck today,” you continue.

A natural disaster means you get to work rescue and paramedicine. You spend hours on a rescue raft, tagging DOAs and helping victims where you can. Eventually, you make it to the Santa Monica Pier. You’ve only been to it a few times since moving, but it’s nothing like you remember it. The Ferris wheel, which is normally on a platform sitting above the shoreline, is partially submerged underwater. Actually, the entire bottom half is submerged, and passengers are still in each gondola.

You quickly evacuate the people standing on the spokes, as they’re the most accessible and have only minor injuries.

“Grab a harness, rope, pulleys, and figure eight plates,” Bobby instructs.

“Times that by two,” you say as you click your helmet on.

Both the men stare at you.

“What? That woman at the top said her husband can’t move. You’re gonna need me.”

“It’s not safe,” Eddie protests.

You scoff. “Oh, it’s safe enough for you, but not for me?”

“It’s… I’m not…” Eddie fumbles.

“Alright, make it two of everything,” Bobby corrects.

Climbing the side of the Ferris wheel is surprisingly easy; it’s like a harder version of rock wall climbing but easier than actual rock climbing. You occasionally have trouble finding your footing but quickly correct it without a hitch. You and Eddie make it to either side of the gondola in no time.

“Oh, thank God you're here!” The woman exclaims.

You sling your bag into the gondola. “What happened here, ma’am?”

“Name’s Stacy. My husband, Max, hit his neck when the wave came, and now he can't feel his fingers.”

“My arms went numb. A couple of minutes later, my legs gave out. Am I paralyzed?” The man asks.

“It’s too soon to tell,” you say, climbing over the side. “You said you lost sensation in your arms first and then your legs?”

“Well, that might be a sign of swelling, which means you bruised your neck instead of breaking it,” Eddie explains.

You look over the side. “Hey, Cap, we can get one down to you, but the other one's a possible spinal. We're gonna need a Hail Mary.”

“I’ll order one up for you,” he calls back.

You hear a helicopter moving in as you and Eddie place a C-collar on Max. You quickly strap him into the rescue basket that the helicopter lowers down. Within minutes, Eddie gives the pilot a thumbs-up, and Max is airlifted into the sky. After taking care of Max, you place Stacy into a harness and help lower her to a rescue raft.

The Ferris wheel shifts. You grab the closest bar and hold on for dear life.

“Incoming debris!” Bobby shouts from below.

Eddie reaches out for you. You reach back. One of the spokes disconnects from the Hub, and it cuts the rope keeping you upright. Another sudden shift, and it’s too much — you’re knocked off the side. You hear Eddie screaming your name on your way down.

The first thing you feel is hot, searing pain in your side, like someone is jabbing a hot iron rod into it. The pain makes you gasp instinctually, but instead of air filling your lungs, it’s water. The feeling makes your head feel light and the rest of your body heavy. You feel a sudden shift in the water, like a heavy object dropped right next to you.

Then, you feel nothing.

You wake up sputtering. The water that took residence in your lungs is evicting itself, whether you want it to or not. You turn your head to the side, your coughs quickly turning into gags.

“Oh, thank god!” A familiar voice exclaims.

There’s some happy laughter in your ears, past the ringing sound. As you continue to heave, a gentle hand settles on your cheek. When you finally cough up or vomit all the water, the hand on your cheek straightens your neck. You feel a sudden warmth on your forehead: a pair of lips.

“What happened?” You ask. It’s barely audible, yet it feels like you’re shouting.

“When you hit the water, you aspirated. You went into respiratory arrest, then cardiac arrest. You were down for 7 minutes.”

The familiar voice… it’s Eddie. You blink your eyes open slowly. He’s hovering over you. There are tear tracks on his face.

“Good work,” you praise, somehow mustering the strength to pat his arm.

He laughs again, and some fresh tears spill onto his face. You smile faintly, a gust of cold air making the expression fade. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that your top half is bare. Thankfully, they left your bra on.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Can I borrow your shirt?”

“This is stupid.”

“It’s not stupid — you need a hospital.”

“Yeah, a real hospital, not some makeshift disaster hospital,” you argue.

Eddie hasn’t let you walk since the beach; he barely let you stand up for transport. Now, you’re being pushed in a gurney. It’s humiliating,

“They need to make sure you’re okay,” Eddie says.

“I’m okay — ABCs are intact! My airway is patent, I’m breathing on my own, and my circulation is fine. I need a course of prophylactic antibiotics to prevent bacterial pneumonia, but other than that, I’m solid.”

You’re backed up into an open spot under a tent. A doctor begins listening to you while a nurse sticks telemetry patches to your chest.

“I’m gonna go help with triage; you better still be here when I get back,” Eddie orders, pointing a finger at you.

You collapse into the gurney with an annoyed groan. The groan turns into one of pain when the doctor starts prodding at your ribs.

“Definitely broken,” he observes. “Pneumothorax unlikely. We’ll get you something for the pain.”

You shake your head. “Just stop touching it and I’ll be fine.”

“You need something, or your breathing will become ineffective.”

“Something oral, then,” you bargain. “I don’t want to be doped up on Fentanyl.”

“Get her two 5 and 325 of Vicodin,” The doctor orders.

The nurse nods and goes to get the pills while the doctor attends to other patients.

You survey the crowd. There are a lot of ‘walkie-talkie’ patients, which is a good sign. Everyone is dirty and at least a little bit beat up, but from what you can see, nothing too serious is going on. You look to your right, and your eyes fall on the black tent. At least 15 covered bodies are lying on a tarp.

Your vision dances back over the crowd. A man in a white shirt with glasses strapped around his neck is stumbling around. His face has some scratches, and one of his arms is bloody. Weird, he kind of looks like Buck. You squint your eyes, and they widen.

It is Buck.

“Buck!” You shout, already scrambling out of the gurney. You pull off the telemetry leads, leaving only the stickers on your chest. You see a table with folded scrubs and grab a top. You slip it on, jogging slightly to catch up.

“Buck!” you shout again.

This time, he sees you. His eyes widen as he rushes towards you, scooping you into a hug.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” you rasp out.

He holds you tighter. The pressure makes your broken ribs dig in further, making you gasp with pain. Buck quickly pulls away.

“What happened? Are you okay?” He asks, setting a hand on your face.

You set your hand over his. “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

Your hand trails down his arm, making contact with a wet piece of fabric. You frown, pulling it away. Even in the dark, your fingers are shining bright red with blood.

“Baby, you’re hurt,” you say, taking his arm into both of your hands.

“It’s nothing,” Buck brushes it off.

“You’re on blood thinners,” you remind. “If a cut is even a little deep, it bleeds for a long time. You might need stitches.”

“I can’t worry about that now. I need to find him first.”

“Find who?”

You look him up and down, eventually settling on the glasses around his neck. They’re Christopher’s glasses.

“Hey, what did I say?!” Eddie shouts from a few feet away.

All the color drains from Buck’s face.

“I told you to stay—” Eddie starts lecturing, making his way through the crowd. He cuts himself off when he sees that Buck is with you. “Buck? What are you doing here?”

“Eddie…” Buck lets out slowly.

“Are you okay? Wait, where's Christopher?” He asks. The expression on his face flattens. “Why do you have his glasses?”

“We, um... me and Christopher, we were...at the beach, and… um...and listen to me, okay? I swear to you... okay, I tried… And I just...”

A few involuntary tears run down your face. Your heart is breaking listening to Buck’s shaky voice and watching the realization on Eddie’s face.

“Christopher?” Eddie asks, his expression changing.

He rushes forward. You and Eddie watch as a random woman sets Christopher down, just for Eddie to hug him tightly.

“You’re Buck?” the woman asks.

“What? No, I’m his father, Eddie.”

“He was looking for Buck.”

You put a hand on your boyfriend’s arm, watching him take in a few quick breaths.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

“Yeah… I’m great,” Buck says.

His body disagrees. His legs give way, and he starts to fall forward. Using all of your body weight, you push him back onto a makeshift gurney a few feet away.

“I got you,” you promise, keeping your arms around him.

He grips the arm you have around his chest, leaning into it for support.

You kiss the top of his head. “I got you.”

“So what really happened to you?”

You smile sadly, taking a sip of your water.

You and Buck have been up all night, sitting at his kitchen table. He went through everything that happened to him and Chris during the tsunami. At some point, it became morning. Normally, you’d be drinking coffee by now, but you thought it best not to put extra stress on your heart until you see a cardiologist.

“Eddie and I were on top of the Ferris wheel — ironically, the one at Santa Monica Pier. We were helping clear victims from it, and then the tide shifted. He reached out for me, I reached out for him, but a piece of the Ferris wheel broke and cut my rope. I fell into the water on my side, which is how I broke a few ribs. I aspirated, went into respiratory arrest, and… my heart stopped. They coded me for 7 minutes.”

Buck shakes his head as he runs a hand down his face.

“All I remember is hitting the water, then waking up on the shore,” you continue. “In between that, there’s… nothing.”

Buck takes a sip of his beer. “That’s probably for the better.”

You laugh. You can’t help it — it’s always been one of your coping mechanisms. “Yeah, probably.”

“Well, I’m glad it was Eddie there,” Buck says. “I mean, Hen and Chim would’ve fought like hell, but he’d move the earth for you. Just like I would.”

That funny feeling settles back into your stomach. Eddie cares about you in the same way Buck does; at least, that’s how Buck sees it. Some day, that’s bound to cause trouble. But for now, you’re grateful for Buck’s gratitude.

There’s a knock on the door. Buck frowns but gets up to answer it.

It’s Eddie and Christopher. Christopher is the first to enter, hugging Buck.

“There's a morning snack and midday snack, two coloring books and a bunch of Legos,” Eddie says as he walks in. He sets Chris’s backpack on the table, then looks at you. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you return with a smile.

“Between us, he's never built anything that kinda looks like anything. He just likes sticking things together,” Eddie continues in a low voice.

Christopher is blissfully unaware, making his way to Buck’s couch.

“There's 20 bucks for pizza, and if I were you, I'd eat a couple extra slices. You look like you're wasting away to nothing.”

“Eddie,” Buck says, voice flat.

“ I will say, honestly, you being laid up is working out for me.”

“You want me to watch Christopher?” Buck says, approaching Eddie. “After everything that happened?”

“A natural disaster happened, Buck.”

“I lost him, Eddie.”

“No, you saved him,” Eddie argues, pointing at his son. “That's how he remembers it. And now, it's his turn to do the same for you.”

You feel like you’re intruding on the conversation, but you don’t dare look away.

“I was supposed to look out for him.”

“And what, you think you failed? I failed that kid more times than I care to count, and I'm his father. But I love him enough to never stop trying, and I know you do too.” Eddie sets a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Buck...there's nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you.”

Eddie looks at you, then back at Buck. “Except for her, maybe. It’s the whole paramedic thing.”

“Which, speaking of…” Buck brushes Eddie’s hand off his shoulder, but it’s to pull him into a hug. “Thanks for saving her.”

They clap each other’s backs a few times, pulling away after a few seconds. Buck keeps his hands on Eddie’s arms while Eddie keeps his hands on Buck’s waist.

“She saved us first,” Eddie remarks.

He makes his way back to the door. He opens it and is about to walk out. Before he does, though, he turns around and points at you.

“You’re officially not allowed to work rescue anymore,” he declares.

Buck nods. “Agreed.”

Ch 9

#911 abc #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #911 show #911 on abc #911 reader insert #evan buckley/reader #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz #evan buckley x eddie diaz x reader #Buddie x reader #buddie x reader #i can write #pretty boy fic

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lilbardrhi · 1 month ago

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"Broken", Not Stupid - 9: Shoulders Aren't Earrings

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unsual omega!CO (13)

CW: Omegaverse; cult-like situation; dehumanization; selling children to cults

Author's Note: Check out 13's new ask blog! @ask13-cod and I do apologize if this part is rough, I promise I'm trying c':

Something soft and warm nuzzles against my cheek. It tickles so I srunch my nose and open my eyes.

Bright blue feline eyes stare back at me and I blink slowly.

Where am I? Salvation doesn't allow pets...

The cat, black fur shiny and smooth, nudges its nose against my cheek. It meows loudly and paws lightly at my shoulder.

"Selene, hush. She's trying to rest," a vaguely familiar voice calls quietly from beyond the cat.

Selene.

Simon and Selene.

Once I recognize Selene and Simon's voice I sit up and look around. The smell of bacon drifts towards me and my eyes drop back to Selene.

"Good morning," I greet her gently and scratch sleepily under her chin.

Simon appears in my doorway and sighs softly when he sees me sitting up.

"Did she wake you up? I'm sorry. She's been pawing at and meowing at you for the past twenty minutes. I tried to lock her out of the room but she nearly bit me over it," he huffs and sends Selene a half-hearted glare.

"It's alright, I don't mind," I assure him groggily. "What time is it? Did I sleep too late?"

"What do you mean 'too late'? It's barely 8 in the morning."

His eyes suggest he's confused but I begin dragging myself out of the bed-

No. No this is my nest.

The events of yesterday and last night finally return to my exhausted mind and my eyes widen.

"I don't... have to be up at a certain time every day anymore," I whisper as a smile pulls across my face.

"Well, not really, no. Are you alright, 13?" Simon shifts in my doorway, like he's uncomfortable.

I stand and stretch my arms over my head, still smiling.

"I can't remember the last time I slept like that," I say after a yawn and lower my hands to pet Selene. "I feel great! Are you cooking? I thought I smelled bacon."

Simon nods slowly and steps toward the direction of the kitchen.

"Yeah. Figured I'd make breakfast. Try to make you feel more comfortable," he mumbles as I step past him.

He's studying me closely as I make my way into the kitchen and snag a piece of bacon off the counter.

"Holy shit," I groan through the mouthful of bacon. "I haven't had decent bacon in actual years! Great idea, honestly."

Simon's head tilts slightly to the side, still observing me closely as he steps back up to the stove.

"You're not allergic to cheese are you? I didn't see any mention of in your information, but figured I may as well ask," he asks as he holds up a larhe block of cheese.

"Thankfully no," I assure him with a smile. After a moment of thinking, and watching him beging grating the cheese, I ask, "What all did they tell you about me? Did they just give you a massive info packet and tell you to sign on the dotted line?"

His hand slips, nearly dragging his knuckles across the cheese grater. Then he sighs and sets the block down.

"Do you want to discuss this now? Or do you want to wait until you've at least had some food?"

I frown, thinking again. Food before getting into anything to do with Salvation would probably be the best. Especially after my reaction to trying to order food last night.

"Good point," I say finally. "Tell me about you instead."

Right after I make my request, Simon's phone begins buzzing on the counter in front of me. The caller ID says "Dumbass".

"Well, that's not very nice," I tell him as he picks up the phone.

"It's affectionate. Also accurate. Alright if I answer?" Simon asks as he holds up his phone, waiting for my response.

Snagging another piece of bacon from the counter I nod.

"Don't mind me. Can even go in the other room if you need."

"No. Stay there," he says before answering, "Johnny."

I can just barely hear a deep but energetic voice on the other line.

"Yes, she's awake." He pauses. "I haven't had a chance to say anything to her yet, Johnny," he sighs. "No, she's not been up very long. I'll talk to her about it and text you her response."

With that he ends the call and starts cracking eggs into a frying pan.

"I assume 'she' is me," I start slowly then take a bite of the strip of bacon between my fingers, "so who is 'Johnny'?"

"My best mate and co-worker," Simons says without turning to me. "I planned on taking you to the shops today, get you clothes that actually fit you, and... he's wanting to go with us."

"Are you comfortable with that? Aren't you alphas supposed to be like... super territorial or something? And we're not, y'know, mated."

My line of questions and statements sound awkward. I'm not against meeting the guy, especially if he's so close to Simon. It's only natural that I'd come across the guy eventually. I just don't know that Simon, my apparent alpha, is comfortable with that.

Omegas are supposed to take that into consideration, right?

"You can say no," he says flatly, back still to me.

"I'm not against it," I frown. "I'm just... trying to be considerate of how you feel about the situation."

Simon's entire body goes still for a moment before he glances over his shoulder at me. Then he goes back to cooking.

"Stop eating bacon or you won't eat the eggs," he mumbles. "I trust Johnny with my life and more. If you want to meet him, that's fine. He's just overexcited, as per usual, and has no patience. Since you and I met not long ago, I wanted you to have say in this," he explains stiffly.

I want you to feel comfortable in the situation we put ourselves in.

Pretty sure that's what he meant, and I do appreciate it. I appreciate it a lot, actually.

"Yeah, I'm good with it," I tell him and resist the urge to pick up more bacon.

"After we eat, I'll get you fresh clothes. They'll still be mine-"

"Simon, your shoulders aren't earrings. Relax the and get them, away from your ears."

"What?" he asks, finally turning to me. But his shoulders are still pushed up and tense.

I give him a half-hearted scolding look and step closer to him. Then I reach up and rest my hands on his shoulders, pushing them down gently.

"Better?"

His eyes are wide and he seems frozen in place for a moment. But he nods.

"Yeah," he mumbles then turns back to the eggs.

He insists on making us each a plate then guides us into the sunroom to eat at the table in there.

What a strange man I've found myself tied to.

Masterlist | CoD Masterlist | Part One

Tag List: @lucienofthelakes @lostintransist @demothers-empty-blog @scaredyspooks @tessakate @one-really-annoying-tree-rat @nerdyphantomtheorist @gazsluckyhat @peanutismynickname

#rhi writes #bns

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o-kingston · 1 month ago

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Gone With the Sunrise

Richard Grayson x Reader

Words: 1329

Warning: Angst (I guess), cursing

Note: This is my first ever fan-fic so I’m sorry if it’s bad. I read a fic where the reader confronted Dick about all the time he spent with Barbra and it gave me inspo to write this, but unfortunately I can’t find the fic anymore. I hope you enjoy it!

Synopsis: Life with your boyfriend, Dick, was a dream, right up until it wasn’t. You knew he was out there, keeping Gotham safe with his family, but a nagging feeling in the back of your mind couldn’t help but feel like he’d rather be out there with her rather than spending time with you.

The night was cold, or rather, it was lonely. Dick was off saving the city, once again leaving you alone with your racing thoughts. You knew he was busy, and what he did was important, but at this point, it just seemed like he would rather spend his nights with her than with you.

God, Barbra was a force to be reckoned with. She's strong, smart, pretty, and sometimes, everything you felt you couldn’t measure up to. She got to spend her days and nights with him, and what could you do if she decided she wanted him again? How could you step in and stop her if she saw your boyfriend way more often than you did?

You spend your night wallowing on your couch, waiting for Dick to burst through the window and come to reassure you, but as the hours ticked by and the sun began to rise, the hope fluttering in your stomach hardened into dread.

You grab your phone with the time glaring back at you. You call dick and wait. When he doesn’t pick up you call again, and wait, and wait, and wait. After the third time the phone went to voicemail you finally shoot off a text to him.

You: hey dickie, i miss you.

You: call me when you get the chance.

You don’t bother waiting for his response, leaving the couch and getting ready for work. You don’t know whether to feel upset or disappointed; or both. You never see him anymore, never really talk, or anything. Time just keeps slipping past him, and by the time he’s done patrolling or hunting bad guys as Nightwin, he goes out to be Officer Grayson then repeats until there’s no time left in the day for you.

~~~~~~~~~~ Time skip to the end of the day ~~~~~~~~~~

Work had dragged on. Within the 8 hours you spent busying yourself behind your desk you had sent Dick three more texts.

You: i miss you. i feel like i haven’t seen you in forever. we should try to do a dinner sometime this week.

You: maybe if you’re free today we can get some food before you head over to bruce’s.

You: i love you.

Every single message has gone unanswered. You were losing hope and you were frustrated with yourself for letting it get like this. You get home and busy yourself with your night-time routine. You figure that Dick won’t respond to you in time to grab a bite so you start making dinner. You get through your entire dinner, shower, and night time routine with still no response back to any of your texts.

Your tense getting into bed, checking your phone every minute hoping Dick will finally text you back; disappointed each time your screen pops up blank. You decide to just go to bed and try again tomorrow, not really wanting to face your emotions tonight if Dick doesn’t show up. You slowly lull yourself to sleep while spiralling through everything that could’ve gone wrong in your relationship.

~~~~~~~~~~ Time skip to 3 am ~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up to loud knocking on your window. You sit up, looking around your room for the source of the sound before seeing Dick in his Nightwing suit on your windowsill. You freeze, not expecting to see him at all tonight, especially since he never responded to your texts.

“ Y/N? You gonna open the window or are you gonna keep staring at me like a weirdo?” He asks. “I mean, I don’t mind but its a bit chilly out here.”

You immediately spring out of bed, going to unlock the window.

“Dick? What are you doing here?” You ask.

“I just wanted to see my beautiful girlfriend. Is that so hard to believe?”

You don’t know what came over you but you just snap, finally having enough of his hot and cold treatment.

“Yes, that is hard to believe. You don’t make time for me, you don’t text me or respond to my texts or calls. For fucks sakes the last time I saw you was over a week ago! What are you doing that is so much more important than even letting me know that you're still alive and that I am in fact your girlfriend still?”

“Where's this all coming from Y/N? Of course you're still my girlfriend! Why would you think that?” He asks, clearly caught off guard.

You take a second to regain your sense before continuing, “Dick, where have you been this past week.” His face immediately falls before blanking.

“Why does that matter? I’m here now aren’t I?”

“Dick, it’s 3 AM. I’m not some booty call you come to when you're horny and nothing else. It matters to me where you are when you can’t seem to make time for me when the sun's out.”

“I’ve been busy working a case with Barbra. We’re onto something here and time just keeps slipping to the back of my mind. You know how I get when I’m in the zone.”

Your frustration was starting to boil over. You couldn’t understand why he didn’t understand why this was such a big deal.

“Why didn’t you respond to my texts? Or pick up the phone to tell me you wouldn’t be coming by at all this week?” Tears were starting to crowd your eyes, making the image of Dick in front of you blurry.

Dick grabs you, pulling you to his chest while trying to stop your tears from falling. “I forgot my phone at Barb’s place and I keep forgetting to grab it. I swear if I knew you texted I would have responded.”

Your heart stops beating and your body turns cold. “Barbra’s place? Why were you there? You said you were just working a case with her?” Your thoughts were starting to spiral again, tears of frustration and sadness falling down your face faster, and faster.

“No, no. Fuck. Y/N, baby look at me. We were just there for work. I didn’t do anything, I swear. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“No, Dick. Why did you stay in the cave or something? Do you know how that makes me feel? You're ditching me to spend your nights at your ex’s place? God, how am I supposed to trust you, trust that you're not doing anything with her?”

“Because I’m with you Y/N!” Dick yells, “I’m with you, I have you. I don’t need or want Barbra, I only want you.”

“Then why don’t you spend time with me? Why don’t you call me or text me? Why don’t you think about how your actions affect me?” At this point you were sobbing. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. All of the hurt, anger, frustration, everything was flowing out of you after being pent up for so long.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I swear I'll do better. I’ll get my phone from Barb’s and I’ll tell Bruce I need the weekend off. We can do something, just us. I swear. I only need you. I miss you too, more than anything in the world. Please just stop crying. Please.” He begged.

You couldn’t stop crying. You mind was running at a thousand miles an hour, and it all kept circling to one thought. He never said he loved me. He kept saying he needed me, and that he missed me, but never once did he say he loved me.

“Dick,” You started. “Please leave. Please leave. Please leave.”

You kept repeating yourself, talking over him until he visibly deflated. He finally stopped trying to talk to you and walked back to your window. He took one last look at you before climbing out and swinging away. He looked beautiful as he left, with the sun rising behind him, making it seem like he glowed. You followed him with your teary eyes until you couldn’t anymore. And just like that he was gone with the sunrise.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson angst #batfam #batboys

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homestylehughes · 11 months ago

Text

i wanna taste

pairings: jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: after one sight of y/n, jack has to get a taste.

warnings: smut 18+. oral- fem receiving, dirty talk, cussing, use of pet names. fluff, soft jack.

wc: 1.8k

au: hi loves! im on a writing streak (thank you spring break). im back with some jack smut woooohooooo, i realllllyyyy enjoyed writing this, i hope you guys enjoy. like and reblog if you enjoy<3.

happy reading <3

Rain softly hits the window, the soft light from the lamp in the corner of the living room illuminates the room with a soft glow.

I've been awake for a few hours, my body waking me up at 5 am, turning over to see that Jack was sound asleep beside me, I decided to get out of bed and start my day.

Settling on the couch with a cup of coffee in my hands along with my book, this is where I've been for the last 3 hours. The book captivated me so much I didn't even check the time until I had finished it.

The clock read 8:15, I was genuinely surprised Jack wasn't awake yet. His crazy hockey schedule kept him awake and up at odd hours, his body probably needed all of the sleep it could get.

Getting up to get another cup of coffee, and the second book of the series I’m reading, I settle back into the couch and enter an alternate universe.

I'm so into my book, that I don't even realize Jack creeping up behind me, wrapping his arms around my neck, nessling his face in my neck, feeling his warm breath fan my neck.

“Good morning pretty girl” I hear him say, as his face is still muffled in my neck.

“Good morning” I say back as I crane my neck up to meet his face, getting a good look at his face for the first time today.

Taking in his sleepy doe like state, hair a mess, eyes full of sleep, leaving evidence that he just woke up. Sweatpants riding scarily low on his hips, his chest bare, allowing me to rake my eyes over it.

“Done checking me out pretty girl” he smiles down on me, catching me in the act. “Maybe, i'm not sure yet” i muttered back, my face heating with a slight embarrassment. “How'd you sleep?” I ask him, still looking up at him. “Good, really good. Would have been better if I woke up with you beside me” he says, looking down at me.

“Sorry baby, I randomly woke up at like 5am. I didn't want to wake you up "I say feeling bad, for leaving him in the bed alone.

“It's okay, you can make up for it now” he says as he begins to lean down, his lips meeting mine in a soft kiss. The angle makes it a little hard for me to fully kiss him, but I deal with it and push my body up further to meet his kiss.

Our lips moved in sync for a few more seconds before Jack pulls away, resting his arms on the arm rest behind me, giving me a few seconds to catch my breath.

“That's a better good morning greeting” Jack says as he's smiling, making his way to the other end of the couch, picking up the blanket that covers my feet and slides under it as he sits down.

The simple movement probably means nothing to him, but it does to me, seeing him so at peace, and calm makes my heart warm. I'm quickly pulled out of my daydream when I hear Jack's voice.

“Has it been raining all morning?” he asks as he's looking out the window, the rain still hitting the window.

“Yeah it's been raining since i've been out here” i say “it's very peaceful” he replies back softly. Turning his body back to face mine, “what time is it?” he asks, snuggling himself deeper into the blanket like a child, “9:30” i reply back.

“Dang i slept in” Jack says with an airy laugh. I laugh softly in response, as I go to pick up my coffee mug to take a drink, to only find that its empty.

“I'm going to go get more coffee, do you want a cup?” I asked him, raising my back from the couch to get up.

“Yes please that sounds amazing, thank you pretty girl” he says, moving himself back to a sitting position on the couch.

“Okay baby, I'll be back” I say as I fling the blanket off my body, not seeing Jack's widened eyes as I turn my back to him as I make my way to the kitchen.

Making both of our cups of coffee I make my way back to the living room, I feel Jack's eyes on me instantly.

“Here you go baby” I say, holding the hot cup out to him, “can you place it on the table for me?” he rasps out, as I go to place the mug on the table in front of us, I hear Jack speak again “set yours down too”. I look up at him confusingly as I set both cups down on the table.

“Are you okay Jack?” I ask him, my eyes locked on his face. “Yeah i'm fine, can you come here please”

I make my way closer to him, standing in front of the couch where he lays, Jack deciding that isn't close enough for him. He puts his hands on my hips pulling me into his lap. His hands moving to rest on my bare thigh.

“What are you wearing?” he asks me, looking down at my body, i see nothing wrong with what i'm wearing. “Clothes?” i reply back timidly, still confused on why he's acting like this.

“Your not wearing pants” he says, tracing his hands under my shirt, circling his hands on my practically bare hips, causing my breath to hitch slightly.

“You're walking around the house in a tiny thong, and a shirt that doesn't even cover your ass completely, and you expect me not to do anything” bringing his face to mine, close enough that I can feel his breath fanning on my face. I swallow before saying “what are you going to do about it?”

Before I know it, Jack smashes his lips to mine. The kiss is hot and wet, his tongue quickly entering my mouth fighting and winning for dominance. My hands in his hair pulling him closer to me, wishing that there wasn’t a blanket separating us.

I began to rock my hips into his to gain some type of friction, I can feel the dampness between my thighs beginning to grow.

I pull my lips from his and begin to trail them down his neck, kissing and sucking little love bites in my wake, softly biting his ear as I make my way down. I hear Jack's breathing beginning to pick up, moaning lowly in my ear.

Just as I'm about to trail my way back to his lips, he pushes me off of him. My back is now hitting the couch. I look up at him breathless, waiting for his next move.

“I have to taste you pretty girl, I've been dying to do it all morning” Jack says, eyes locked with mine as he pushes the blanket of his body. Making his way between my legs spreading them apart as he rests in between them now.

Tracing his hands up my bare thighs, his hands sliding under the waistband of my underwear, pulling them down slowly, while keeping his eye contact with me. Once my underwear are completely off me, he throws them somewhere behind him.

Jack begins to kiss up my thighs, alternating between each of my legs. My chest is rising quickly now, I need him to do something soon, the tension is starting to kill me.

“Pretty pussy is so wet for me” he sighs as he slides his middle finger between my folds before pulling it back out, his finger glistening in front of him before sliding it into his mouth.

Moaning at the taste, his eyes are on mine. This action alone causes me to moan down at him, shifting my hips closer to his face.

“Tastes so sweet, pretty girl” he says as he guides his face back down to my pussy. “ I think I wanna have a taste now, is that alright with you, pretty girl?” his eyes searching mine for an answer. “Yes jack, please” I breathlessly say to him.

Not even a second later, jack is diving into my pussy, his tongue finding my clit instantly. My hands fly into his hair grabbing something to hold on to while jack fucks me with his tongue.

My moans are beginning to fill up the room, along with the sounds of jack slurping up my pussy, like a man who hasn't had a drink of water in days.

Taking me by surprise Jack pushes 2 fingers into me, continuing to lap up my clit with his tongue. “Jack fuck” I moan out, pulling his hair even tighter between my fingers, the action causing jack to groan into me, sending chills up my body.

I began to push my hips to meet his tongue and fingers, beginning to feel the coil in my stomach heating up.

Jack senses that i'm almost there, he thrusts his fingers into me, but curves them just enough so that he hits my g-spot.

Causing my eyes to roll in the back of my head my body arching off the couch, my hips pushing themselves further into his grasp.

“Right there fuck jack, please dont stop” I groan out. I reach under my shirt grabbing my right nipple between my hands squeezing it in between my fingers, as my other hand starts needing my left boob.

“Fuck pretty girl, you look so hot from up there” my breath labors at the sound of jacks rough voice “does it feel good pretty girl?” “fuck, you feel so tight against my fingers, taking me so fucking good like a good girl” he says as he brings his thumb to my clit, rubbing and pinching it hard and fast.

Incoherent things are falling from my lips at this point, the only thing I'm focused on is jack and the dam in my body that's about to break.

Before I know it I'm cumming, hard and fast. My orgasm gives me no warning as it begins to wash over my body, hitting me like a tidal wave.

My moans and “don’t stops” fill the living room, my grip on Jack's hair never loosening. Finally coming down from my high, I try to catch my breath, I open my eyes that make their way down to Jack who's looking at me with wide eyes, and a parted swollen mouth catching his breath.

Making his way up to me, so that he's now directly on top of me, pushing himself up by his arms. “That was the hottest thing ive ever fucking seen.'' Jack says before capturing his lips with mine.

Pulling back to look into his eyes, before something catches my attention. The cups of coffee on the table. “I think our coffee is cold,” I say, trying to hold back my laugh.

“I dont give a fuck about that coffee anymore” jack says as he laughs back at me, bringing his lips back to mine mumbling “how about we finish this in the bedroom?” before picking me up and dragging me to our bedroom. The coffee being long forgotten about.

#nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl fic #new jersey devils #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n

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durrtydawg · 1 month ago

Text

The Sadir Inheritance

{Sam Drake x F!Reader} Chapter 9 | 'Scotty's Archival Finds'

i would like him to put his [redacted] in my [redacted]

masterlist ✨

Other chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Things had to ramp up sooner or later.

Word count: 5.3k-ish x

Sam wakes with a start, unsure at first what’s roused him until the faint sound of someone jumping into the pool outside filters through the window. His body feels stiff, his head heavy, and for a moment, he wonders why he didn’t wake up in his own bed. Then he glances down.

She’s still asleep, curled into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Her hand - scrunched, and clinging to the edge of his vest - holds him in place as much as her weight does. He tries not to move too much, to keep the moment intact, but his chest tightens, his breathing shallow.

He looks at her for a moment. There’s a faint crease across her cheek, probably from her bracelet, and a strand of hair sticks awkwardly to her lip - but somehow that makes it worse. The imperfection.

This feels weird, doesn’t it? Inappropriate? He shifts slightly, testing how much freedom he has without waking her. Not much. But he doesn’t mind, really. That’s the problem.

His eyes drift down to her hand, resting against his chest. There’s a faint smudge of green ink near her knuckles, and it takes him a second to place it: the chewed-up pen she insists on using, despite all evidence that it’s a disaster waiting to happen. A soft huff escapes him, barely audible.

Without thinking, his fingers twitch, almost moving toward the mark, as if to brush it away or trace it. He stops himself just in time. What the hell is he doing?

A series of horrendously loud knocks distracts Sam instantly. He jolts upright, violently shunting her off of him, the ledger sliding off his lap and hitting the floor with a muted thud. His brain scrambles to catch up, heart already pounding like a starter pistol’s gone off.

“What happened?” she blurts, sitting up next to him. Her hair’s a mess, sticking out at odd angles, and the crease on her cheek is more pronounced now that the light hits it. There’s something faintly dazed in her expression, and for some reason, it guts him in a way he can’t explain. It’s stupidly endearing.

He twists, grabbing his phone off the nightstand, screen lighting up as if on cue. “Ah, shit.”

“Scott?” she whispers, scrambling for her own phone that’s gotten lost somewhere in the sheets.

Sure enough, there it is - missed calls. Plural. He glances sideways at her screen. Same thing. “Guy’s persistent,” he mutters, rubbing his neck. God, they were out for almost three hours.

The knock comes again, harder this time. The kind that practically demands the door be ripped off its hinges. They both look at the door, then at each other.

“Hang on,” she calls groggily after a tut, already pushing herself upright.

Sam scrubs a hand over his face, groaning as the last remnants of sleep vanish. His eyes drop to the ledger, now sprawled open on the floor, pages creased. Three hours. He checks the time on his phone. They’d burned three hours chasing connections that still didn’t quite fit, only to end up here. He should be grateful. This is probably the longest consecutive string of hours he’s spent knocked out in… decades, perhaps.

She stumbles toward the door, running a hand through her hair, tugging at the hem of her shorts. Sam doesn’t mean to look, but his eyes catch anyway - her messy hair, the sleep-soft slump of her shoulders, the way the late afternoon light frames her.

She glances back at him, one eyebrow raised, and her lips curve into something faintly teasing. “You gonna get up too, or are you planning to sit there all day?”

Sam snorts, leaning back into the headboard. “Nah, you’ve got it covered, sweetheart. You’re very intimidating for someone half-asleep.”

The laugh she lets out is soft and fleeting, but it punches straight through him. He clenches his jaw, forcing himself to look away, to shove the feeling back down where it belongs.

Jesus.

He takes a swig from his water bottle, hoping the cold will wake him up properly, or at least distract him. It doesn’t work. Not entirely. There’s something about seeing her like this - unguarded, maybe - that lodges itself somewhere rather uncomfortably.

She opens the door. The moment’s gone, perhaps not a second too soon.

Scott. Rejoice! Sam watches him barrel in like he owns the place, flushed and wild-eyed, sweat slicking his brow.

“Finally,” he snaps, brushing past her without so much as a hello, leaving her frowning and slightly startled. “Christ almighty, you have no idea the hoops I just jumped through to get back here, then Sam wouldn’t answer his-” He freezes, his eyes flicking between them as he clocks she’s not alone.

She glances back at him as he gets off of the bed, her expression tight - a little coy, perhaps - before pushing the door shut. Right. Focus.

Sam’s leaning casually against the bathroom door now, arms crossed, looking just disheveled enough to give the younger man ideas. He can see the flicker of something in Scott’s expression - perhaps accusatory - but it’s gone almost as quickly as it comes.

Sam raises a brow, lips twitching. “Somethin’ happen?”

“Yeah, something happened,” Scott bites, pacing the room like a caged animal. “I was followed.”

The words drop like a brick. Sam straightens, all the humour draining from his face. He flicks a glance at her. Eyes wide, the sleepiness gone in an instant.

“Followed? Like… chased?” she echoes, stepping toward Scott. “By who?”

“I don’t know!” Scott rakes a hand through his hair, his movements jerky - the most unhinged Sam’s ever seen him. “It wasn’t some… high speed chase or anything, but he was definitely following me. Tall guy. Caucasian, I think. Dark clothes. Baseball cap. Real generic, Joe Goldberg type shit - but he was on me from the archive all the way to the rental. I had to ditch the car and take a cab just to make sure I lost him.”

Sam exhales through his nose, jaw tightening despite his desire to question who on earth Joe Goldberg is. “That’s the second one.”

Scott stops mid-pace, blinking. “Second?”

Sam nods slowly, his brows drawn stiffly together. “That guy I was speakin’ to this morning? Same deal - blending in, but not really. Too interested in what we were doing. Loitering around too many times for it to be a coincidence, you know? Balcony out there, then back in Petra, and at the cafe earlier.”

“Same guy?” she asks, glancing between them.

“Doubt it,” Sam mutters, scratching his chin. “Why tail Scott but leave me alone?”

She folds her arms, frowning. “So what? We’ve got two people watching us all of a sudden?”

Scott shrugs, helpless and visibly rattled. "Maybe? Or… maybe this has nothing to do with us. Could just be bad luck, right? Wrong place, wrong time." His eyes snap to Sam, brows pinched, practically begging for reassurance.

Sam blinks, straightening his posture on instinct. He feels the corners of his mouth twitch - amused despite himself. Scott looking to him for answers? Now that’s rich.

His jaw tightens as he leans casually against the desk, tapping a finger against the edge. Stay cool. Don’t gloat. But God, is this… a little satisfying. The guy who always has the answers, cracking just a little. Sam has to bite his lip just to hide the faint smirk pulling at them.

He glances sideways, just enough to catch her in his peripheral. Is she noticing this? Impressed, maybe?

But then the smugness dulls, replaced by a quiet unease coiling low in his gut. Panic, faint but - yep - most certainly present. Wrong place, wrong time? Yeah, right. This feels like a storm brewing.

“Makes no sense,” he mutters. “Nobody knows about the inheritance, not really. And even if they did, it’s hardly like we’ve been broadcasting our every move. So how the hell do they know to follow us?”

Scott’s pacing again, practically wearing a trench into the carpet. “Maybe they’re just covering their bases. Long game. We don’t even know what we’re looking for, so how can they?”

Sam grits his teeth, his thoughts racing. He doesn’t like this - not the timing, not the fact that they’ve potentially been spotted, and definitely not the creeping paranoia tightening in his chest. If they were dealing with professionals, it’d only be a matter of time before someone made a move.

“Doesn’t track,” he mutters, barely realising he’s spoken aloud.

“What doesn’t?” she presses, her voice sharper now.

“All of it,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “Whoever these people are, they’re not amateurs. And yet, here we are. No threats. No demands. Just... watchers. What are they waiting for?”

The room falls quiet. Sam doesn’t have the answers and the air feels thick.

Scott sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Well… whatever’s going on, at least we’ve got nothing worth stealing yet.” His tone’s laced with frustration, but there’s a sideways glance - like he’s still trying to convince himself they’re still fine.

Sam stiffens, the words hitting him wrong. Nothing worth stealing. Whoops. His sight flicks over to where she’s sat herself on the edge of the bed, catching her eyes. It’s brief. Just enough time for a little flash of recognition passing between them. They’re very much on the same page. Whatever he’s feeling - guilt, maybe - it must’ve flashed across his face, because Scott’s suddenly on it like a hawk.

“Wait a second,” Scott says slowly, his head tilting, eyes narrowing like he’s just spotted a tell in a poker game. Fitting. “What was that? You two just did a thing. Don’t tell me you’re holding out on me.”

He leans forward slightly, pacing like he’s warming up for an argument. Sam straightens but doesn’t respond right away, letting them mull in the silence. She shifts uneasily, and there’s this flicker of hesitation before she moves, almost like she’s asking him permission. It’s subtle - a glance, nothing more - but he clocks it anyway.

Gets another weird kick out of it, too.

She bends to grab the ledger off the floor, the movement snapping him out of his head. Straightens up and holds it out toward Scott, her grip tight.

“Found this,” she says, voice reluctant.

Scott takes the book without a word, his expression unreadable as he flips through the pages, flopping himself onto the chair by the vanity. Sam watches his eyes dart across the handwriting - scrawled notes, messy numbers, dates - and catches her biting her thumb again.

Scott’s hand drags across his forehead as the cogs turn.

“It’s a gambling log,” she says, voice softer this time, like the words might be weaselled out by the wrong ears if spoken too loudly. Scott exhales sharply, closing the ledger and leaning back in the chair.

"Where’d you get it?" Scott’s eyes shift up to Sam, eyes narrowed.

He shakes his head, jerking a thumb toward her. "I didn’t. It was her."

Scott’s eyebrows lift. "Oh. Where’d you find it? Market?"

Her shoulders stiffen, and she crosses her arms, already bracing for what’s coming. "I… found it in Umm ar-Rasas the other night."

Scott freezes mid-breath, incredulous. "Hang on - two days ago? And neither of you thought to tell me?!"

Sam shrugs. "Hey, she only just showed me, too."

Scott exhales sharply, his tone dropping. "Shit. Why’d you hide it?"

She huffs, rubbing at her face, the weariness of the past few days etched into her movements. "I was going to show you - both of you - as soon as I found something concrete."

Sam clocks the quick flick of Scott’s eyes toward him, and he shrugs again, palms up. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Scott leans forward slightly, his voice laced with a mix of exasperation and something just shy of condescension. "What, is an old book you found in the middle of nowhere, still intact, not concrete enough for you, darl’?"

Her arms tighten across her chest. "Oh, for-“ She rolls her eyes, a sarcastic laugh practically dripping out of her mouth. "Another instalment of What Would Saint Scott Do? Lucky us."

Sam presses his lips together, hiding a smirk. It’s kind of funny, seeing her give as good as she gets, but he knows where this is heading.

Scott’s jaw tightens, his face darkening. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

She doesn’t even flinch. "You’ve got opinions about everything, don’t you? Like you’ve never kept anything back for a second."

And there it is. Sam straightens up slightly, bracing for impact. He’d seen enough spats in his life to know when one was about to hit full throttle.

Scott’s voice sharpens, cutting through the room like a blade. "Don’t be ridiculous. If it were me, I’d’ve been eager to share. This isn’t just your damn treasure hunt, you know."

She raises her eyebrows, letting out a sharp laugh. "Oh, is that right? Well, since we’re in a sharing mood-“ Her eyes lock onto him, the shift in tone catching Sam off guard. "Why don’t you tell me why you had my wrist gripped so tight after I passed out the other day, huh?"

Scott blinks, caught mid-step. This buys Sam’s attention almost instantly. "What the hell are you on about?" he asks, glancing between her and Sam.

She leans forward slightly, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You heard me. When I woke up, your hand was clamped around me like a vice. Bruise has only just gone. Care to explain that?"

He swallows, his jaw working like he’s chewing through words he can’t quite spit out.

Sam watches with intrigue as Scott exhales sharply, throwing his hands up. "Seriously? You smack your head on the ground, conk yourself out, and bleed all over the place, and now you’re pissed I was checking your bloody pulse? Next time, I’ll just leave you there, shall I?"

Sam sighs, stepping forward before this thing spirals any further. "All right, enough. Both of you. I’m too tired for this shit."

The room falls quiet, Scott backing off first, though his expression stays hard. "I’m sorry. I’m on edge. Getting followed through alleyways doesn’t exactly leave you in a good mood."

She exhales through her nose, still tense, but her voice softens slightly. "Fine." Then, as if on autopilot, she adds, "Sorry for snapping."

Sam watches her for a second longer, his gut twisting uncomfortably. The way she’d brought up Scott holding her wrist - she’d been sitting on that one for a while. And Scott… well, he wasn’t sure if that defensiveness was guilt or chase-fuelled exasperation. Either way, it’s kinda nice to see him rattled for a change.

"Right," Sam says finally, a clap cutting the awkward air in two. "Now that we’re all friends again, Scott - why don’t we get you up to speed, huh?”

“I’m all ears.” He says with a tight smile, like he’s trying to pretend the last minute didn’t happen.

She nods at Sam, walking over to Scott, reopening the book, chewing at her lip. She clears her throat.

“Emaan was hosting games in the crypt. Right where Sam found those cards.”

“Mhm,” he hums, thumbing the fragile pages.

Sam crosses his arms, his voice cutting in. “And the stakes weren’t just cash.”

Scott’s head snaps up, his grip tightening on the book. “What kind of stakes?”

“Things of value,” she replies, her arms crossing over her chest again as she leans back against the wall. “Huge sums of money, land… Some of it I can’t even make out. Toward the end, it gets messy. A page or two ripped out, even.”

Scott’s face hardens, his thumb brushing over the spine like he’s trying to squeeze answers out of the damn thing. “You think this is what they’re after? Those guys? This... book?”

Sam shrugs one shoulder, but there’s a knot in his gut that won’t loosen. “It’s a start,” he says, his tone flat. “If they know about it, they’re already ahead of us. But it’s not exactly a big bag full’a gold, is it?”

His words settle over the room all foggy. Sam glances at her again - arms hugging herself now, gaze fixed on Scott. She’s tense. He can feel it, even across the room.

“So,” he says, voice low, measured. “Not worth stealing, huh?”

Sam doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. The tension in his shoulders speaks loud enough. Instead, he watches Scott stare at the book like it might open a black hole right there in the room.

“Looks like we’ve got more to worry about than we thought.” Scott mutters.

Sam flicks back to her, and for a split second, their unease mirrors each other’s. The same question’s tugging at all three of them: What the hell kind of game are they playing? And more importantly - who else is holding the damn cards?

They’ve been sitting stagnant for too long - they need something good, and soon.

“Does any of this match up with what you found?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest, squeezing a little anxiously at his bicep.

Scott slumps back in his chair, looking like everything that’s transpired today has finally pinned him down. “I think so.” He rubs his temples, a heavy sigh dragging out of him. "Hey, look, why don’t we step out? Go over all this somewhere a little more relaxed. I could use a stiff drink and a proper meal.” He looks between the two of them with a hopeful smile.

Sam raises an eyebrow but keeps his tone casual. “You think that, given the fact you’ve just been chased down several miles, playing detective in public is a good idea?”

Scott shrugs, “You said your guy was loitering around here, too right?”

Sam sighs. Then nods. Fair play.

“Right, and she’s got cabin fever, so-”

“She is fine,” Sam has to bite back a smirk as she cuts Scott off, leaving him putting up his palms in mock defence. “But if a stiff drink is involved, count me in.”

Scott’s already pushing out of his chair. The boy’s restless. “There’s a decent spot just a block over. Quiet. Give me ten to shower, then I’ll meet you out front.”

After a quick nod, he up and leaves.

Sam stays leant against the wall, fingers tapping against his forearm as his eyes flick over to the ledger Scott's dumped on the dressing table. Then to her. And her damn thumbnail back between her teeth yet again.

The room feels like it’s been doused in a cocktail of sweaty, stale tension. He frowns.

“You all right?”

She startles, blinking up at him like he’s yanked her out of a deep spiral. “How could I not be?” Her smile flickers to life, quick and bright, and his stomach twists because it’s very much false. “Got my knight in shining Hawaiian shirt here, haven’t I?”

It’s almost convincing - the quip, the smile - but something about her feels… dulled, still. Her usual fire is there, just buried under too much. She’s good at hiding it, sure. Just not from him.

He doesn’t push. There’s been enough drama for one afternoon.

Sam huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he adjusts his collar. “Yeah, screams 'chivalrous', doesn't it?” He smirks, trying to sell the joke, but inside, her words cloy enough to make eye contact a slight challenge.

Instead, he stands, stretching out his back and forcing a grin onto his face. But his mind’s already racing. If Scott’s holding something back - and Sam’s gut says he is - then maybe a drink or two will crack him open.

If there really are people hot on their trail, they don’t have the luxury of patience, and he hopes that whatever information Scott was able to dig up is enough of a catalyst for this old book to mean something.

“Gonna head back next door,” he says after a beat. “Wake myself up.”

She nods, dragging herself off the edge of the bed. “Yeah. I’ve got ‘sleep mouth’.”

Sam’s lips twitch - of course she’d call it that. He watches as she rubs her eyes and heads to the bathroom, muttering about toothpaste. His eyes hold for a second too long, clocking the tenseness of her shoulders.

He can't let her worry any more than she has to.

Before he leaves, he pauses in the doorway. “Hey,” he says, waiting until she glances up. His eyes narrow as if to hold her attention tight. “We’re good.”

His tone is steady, grounded, and for a moment, he sees the shadow of a real smile flicker back to life. She nods. That’ll have to do for now.

The restaurant is dimly lit. Rustic. Traditional, with the type of charm that, if it were back in London, would’ve made it an influencer hotspot - a sharp contrast to the sterile monotony of your hotel room.

You slide into a rounded booth, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the space, making you feel oddly at ease. Sam scoots in beside you, his knee brushing yours as he adjusts the collar again. It’s an absentminded gesture, but regardless, it sends a warm prickle up your spine. You remind yourself that you must get your shit together.

Scott takes the opposite side, already scanning the drink menu as if it’s a new lead. His fingers drum lightly against the table’s edge, restless, like his mind’s running three steps ahead.

He leans back, gesturing toward the waiter. He asks for something in Arabic - smooth and confident as usual - then turns to you with a faint smile. “Are you good with whiskey?”

You nod, managing a small smile back. It feels stiff, the earlier spat between the two of you still clinging.

Sam chuckles, breaking the awkwardness. “Didn’t peg you for a whiskey guy.”

Scott smirks, leaning back against the booth. “Necessary when you’ve had a day like today. Think we all have a few anxieties to drown out, ey?” He raises a brow at you. The words sound friendly, but there’s an edge to them - a pointedness that makes your stomach twist. So he's still not over it - picking at the scab. Fine.

The drinks arrive quickly, the waiter setting down three glasses. Scott takes a long sip, exhaling sharply as he sets his glass down with a thunk.

“I won’t keep you in suspense any longer. Let’s get to it. Scotty's archival finds.”

“Lay it on us.” Sam leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, hands clasped together.

You nod, clutching your glass, the cool condensation a welcome distraction against your fingertips.

Scott pulls a notebook from his bag, flipping it open. “So, so far we’ve got,” he starts, glancing at you, then over your shoulder to Sam before returning to his notes, “Emaan’s letter. Gambling. Winning or losing big - potentially losing the entire inheritance. Yes?”

You exchange a look with Sam, who shrugs and nods. “Sounds about right,” he says, leaning back against the booth, dragging his glass with him.

"And our ongoing questions include…" he peruses his notes again, "One: what actually is the Sadir Inheritance,"

“Mhm.” You hum, taking a sip. It's vile. People drink this for fun? Masochists.

You make an odd hiss-cough hybrid sound that draws a snort out of Sam, who takes it upon himself to pull you back by the shoulder to give himself the pleasure of seeing your screwed up face.

Scott continues speaking as you silently slide your glass over to Sam, grimacing as he pours your share into his own glass. You mouth a 'disgusting' at him, to which he responds by jabbing his elbow into your arm.

"and two: seeing as Petra was a bust, where can we find it?”

You wish away the aftertaste and focus. Nods all round.

“Well, I’ve got potential routes to explore for the latter right…” Scott fans his notes out in front of the three of you. “...Here. Emaan's connection to British aristocrats and… a lady called Layla.”

The name hits you like a slap to the back of the head. Your breath hitches, a dull thrumming beginning at the base of your skull. Again. Brilliant. Could we not?

Suffice to say, the returning feeling is both concerning and really starting to piss you off.

Scott notices your reaction and pauses, brow furrowing. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, waving it off even as the tightness lingers in your chest. “Yeah. Sorry, just… go on. Layla.” Your mouth feels tight when you say the name - the dreadful sensation you get right as your body is preparing to throw up.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Sam frowning, his eyes sharp and searching. You pretend not to notice, forcing your attention onto Scott’s notes.

“Layla Bashar was Emaan’s… partner? Girlfriend? Lover, whatever you want to call it.” Scott leans forward, his voice dropping like he’s letting you both in on a secret. “They couldn’t marry. Lower class, a scandal waiting to happen, etcetera, etcetera, so they kept it a secret.”

The waiter returns, setting down a plate of warm flatbread between the three of you. You barely glance at him when you nod in thanks, your thoughts snagged on Scott’s revelation. Without thinking, you grab a piece, tearing off a corner and chewing rapidly.

Sam’s frown deepens, scepticism etched deeply. “So you think she got her hands on it?”

Scott shrugs, his expression oddly nonchalant. “Well, she died, so-”

“She died?” you cut in sharply, leaning forward with your mouth half full, hand curling round the nape of your neck to subtly attempt to massage the persistent ache away. “So is that a yes or a no?”

Scott lifts a hand to temper your interruption. That action alone makes you grit your teeth. “She died in childbirth. About twenty-two years or so before Emaan’s death. So… no.”

Sam straightens, his brow furrowed. “Woah, hold on. Childbirth? Emaan had a kid with her?”

Your pulse spikes as you snort in disbelief, fingertips digging into your scalp as you wave the bread around. “He - he didn’t have any kids. Nothing came up in our research. He was the last of the Sadir bloodline.”

“It’s… blurry, sure. No record explicitly says it was his, but-” Scott pauses, flipping a page in his notebook. “-illegitimate children sometimes went undocumented. That’s what the archivist said, anyway. And given that they were supposedly childhood sweethearts… it’d make sense for it to be his.”

“Fuck!” You take another, rather feral bite. “How on earth are we supposed to follow up on that, then?”

Sam blinks, still processing, grimacing as he flicks off a bit of bread you’ve accidentally spat on his forearm. “Did the kid survive?”

Scott shakes his head. “Like I said, Sam, undocumented. Don't even know its gender.”

Blood rushes to your head, drowning out whatever choice expletives Sam mutters. Bite, chew, swallow. Your thoughts fragment, melting into a bubbling cauldron of stress. Sam and Scott’s voices fade into the background, your focus narrowing to the notebook on the table and the tidal wave of implications battering your brain as you go for another flatbread. Bite, chew, have a crisis, swallow.

“Okay, so - Christ, you animal, save some for us-” Sam mutters with a smirk, swiping the basket toward himself and grabbing a piece before turning back to Scott. “-you said something about the British… somethin’ or other. Is that gonna help us out?”

You snap out of it, narrowing your eyes at Sam. With deliberate precision, you reach across the table, pluck the bread from his hand, and take an exaggerated bite, crumbs tumbling onto your t-shirt.

“Really mature,” he deadpans, leaning back and folding his arms. Then, quick as a flash, he ducks forward, snatching the bread right out of your hand and biting it, his eyes daring you to try him. Cute.

Scott, entirely unfazed, leans casually over your shoulder to snag a piece too, flashing a grin. “Stress eating’s contagious - anyway, yes,” he says, waving his half-eaten bread for emphasis. “British aristocrats. They were…” He glances back to his notes, chewing. “Funding parts of the Hejaz railway's construction, alongside donors from Transjordanian high society. This included Emaan, surprise surprise. Started out as contractual stuff, then evolved into more friendly meet-ups, which included…” He trails off, raising his eyebrows meaningfully and gesturing for one of you to finish his sentence.

Sam leans back, exhaling. “Private poker games, by any chance?”

Scott points at him, snapping his fingers. “Bingo.”

Your pulse quickens, the conversation suddenly feeling like it’s moving faster than your brain can keep up. You grip the edge of the table, the wood pressing into your palms as your thoughts churn.

Oof.

Even thinking that name is making your head spin.

You don’t dare say his name out loud. Keep your elbows and sudden minor aneurysms off the table, please.

But Sam’s head snaps toward you, his knee knocking into yours under the table again. The touch is fleeting, but it sends a jolt through you, steadying the swirl of thoughts in your head, just for a few glorious seconds. He’s reading into you, and you know immediately he’s already made the same connection.

“William Campbell.”

The name hits like someone’s struck a gong right beside your ears, and the sharp pain behind your eyes flares into something molten. You force yourself to nod, your throat tightening as you push the feeling down.

You nod, your throat working as you force the uneasy feeling down along with your last mouthful of bread. “Makes sense. Name’s… British enough, and the timing tracks. If he was gambling big then-”

The pressure in your temple spikes, your breath hitching for just a second. You press your tongue against your teeth, willing yourself not to wince. Not here.

“-whatever he won could’ve driven Emaan to madness.” Scott cuts in, though you’re grateful for the quick removal of attention from you. His fingers drum against the table, a rhythmic counterpoint to the chaos in your head. You tune in to it as best you can. “Thus, inheritance. No?”

“So, what now? We’re suggesting that he either lost it all to Campbell in one of these backroom poker games, or passed it down to this mystery child?” Your voice wavers despite your effort to keep it steady.

“Both are possibilities,” Scott says, watching you closely. “If William was as ambitious as his investments in that ledger suggest, he wouldn’t have just walked away after winning himself a few bucks.”

You feel horrendous. And now Scott’s looking at you, waiting for a response.

Sam taps a finger on the table as he chews on his lip in thought. “Campbell’s a name we can dig into now. The kid? That’s a needle in a haystack. Undocumented - Dead? Lived after Emaan? Decades removed from anything solid. Feels like a waste of time that we might not have the luxury of any more.”

Scott nods reluctantly. His eyes stay locked on you, and for a second, you wonder if he’s caught the way you’re gripping the table or the faint tremor in your hands. The thrum at your temples fucking kills, and you feel like chucking up every crumb of the bread you’ve wolfed down.

“So, Campbell first. But if anything about that kid pops up - anything - we follow it. Agreed?”

Scott nods again, finally turning back to Sam, more sure this time. “Agreed.”

It takes you a beat too long to respond, and when you do, your voice comes out thin. You’re too focused on the dull tingling in the bridge of your nose. “Mm. Agreed.”

You shift in your seat, slipping your napkin up to your face with what you hope passes as casual nonchalance.

It’s fine. Just a headache. Just stress. Just another imminent nosebleed and pounding headache in the midst of another very Sadir-heavy conversation.

Scott leans back, satisfied, flipping his notebook shut with a snap, exchanging it for the menu. Sam reaches for his glass, his movements on edge, and slightly distracted.

Neither of them notices the blood staining your napkin as you pull it away a little.

You press it harder against your nose and swallow the creeping dread signalling that something’s very, very off with you. And now, this whole bloody thing has become three times more convoluted.

look, when i said slow burn i meant slow.

#uncharted #sam drake #samuel drake #sam drake x reader #samuel drake x reader #tsi

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jayhyunglover · 2 months ago

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S for Studying or Sylus pt3

Pt1 , Pt2

I didn't know what I expected when I decided to recklessly come here. Hell , I didn't even think I expected anything beside death.

I mean it's a miracle I even managed to get here in one piece.

I certainly didn't expect the dragon I was so desperate to approach would be one of the most beautiful man I ever laid eyes on. Or that he would voluntarily accept to let me stay here alive and unscathed.

"Which one of us do you think is more mad Jerome?" I asked the little reptile who just gave me a tired look .

I mean its been more than a week since I got here and he havent eaten me or burned me alive like he threatened to do so many times .

One part of me was a bit disappointed he didn't spit fire not once , not even an itty bitty flame.

"I guess it's me" I turned around wrapping my body in the fluffy blankets Sylus brought me . To not let me die of cold because he's the only allowed to take my life

Pfft let's just hope he's faster than my heart.

I was already planning to go back to sleep when an horrible 8 legged creatures started crawling on my direction.

The scream I let out could probably wake up the death and before I knew it I was bolting towards where Sylus was peacefully asleep

"A spider" I yelled hysterically climbing up on top of him making his eyes snap open.

What the-

"Kill it kill it please" I clung to him like he was a protective shield , self respect dead and buried.

Sylus took his time to observe the woman clinging to him like a lifeline before looking over at the small spider that wasn't bigger than his hand .

She was clinging to an almost demonic like creature just because she was scared of a spider?

"Our fearless little adventurous researcher scared of a spider . Who would've thought?" He chuckled

"Its not funny" I huffed still not letting go of him

"No ,it's hilarious" he retorted before untangling himself from me to walk over where the spider was. Picking it up with one hand before letting it go somewhere far away from me or where I was sleeping.

"Here your threatening foe is gone" he said while making his way back to his sleeping spot but I was still firmly rotted there unmoving , millions thought racing through my mind .

What if its come back in the middle of the night and crawl onto me?

Just the thought sent shivers down my spine and not the pleasants one Sylus's voice gave me.

"What now?" He asked curling himself around me "too scared to go to bed little human?"

"I am not scared" I retorted "just wary" I murmured before feeling his tail wrap around me to bring me closer to his chest.

"You'll get cold if you stay here" he drawled resting his head on top of mine. My body now flush against his .

His body was hot like an heater. And his scent reminded me of fire camp. Warm and inviting.

"Worried about me?" I teased earning a rumble from him.

"Hardly" he shook his head making me look up at him, taking in his features up close.

It was the first time I was able to observe him so closely . Usually I would just hang around debiting questions per minute while he patiently answered them

At one point I really thought he would tell me to shut up and go away but he never did.

"You are truly beautiful" I murmured raising one hand to touch him but his tail wrapped around my wrist.

Oh yeah no touching without his permission.

"Can i?" I asked in a small voice before feeling him release my wrist to trace his features.

His skin was surprisingly soft even softer than mine Holy shit what kind of products does he use? (Probably blood of his enemies). I traced his snowy eyebrows, his nose , his cheeks. when my hand brushed against his lips , his breathing deepened and his crimson eyes fluttered closed.

"Should I stop now?" I whispered softly making him shook his head

"No keep going" he murmured his voice a low husky rumble that made butterflies go wild in my stomach.

I continued to explore his face before my hand traveled towards his horns. He immediately stopped me clawed hand wrapping around my wrist.

"I'd advise you to not go there , little prey" he murmured shakily.

Sylus already felt like he's losing his damn mind with the way she was touching him. If she touched his horns he might snap.

Her skin was so soft and the way she touched him ,so reverently like he was something precious made his heart race. It's as if she threw all his balance away.

"Why not ?" I asked tilting my head at him . "Are they sensitive?" I added eyes sparkling with excitement

Lord she had no idea.

"I think you should go back to bed" he drawled before hosting her on his shoulder

If she stays one more second curled around him like this he might do something he'd regret.

"Oof" I let out , feeling Jerome clinging to my hair for dear life

Wait what does he mean by bed ? What if the spider comes back

"Wait no I can't go back there what if it came back?"

Panic started to spread throughout me at the prospect.

"That doesn't sounds like my problem" he shrugged before dropping me on the pile of blanket with a loud thud

Bastard

"Now stay and don't go bother me anymore" he said before turning his back leaving me with the gnawing fear of getting jumped by a spider tonight

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

A/N : crying as I post this because of Sylus's myth. What the fuck was even that . I love it and loathe it at the same time . Anyway Here's pt3

Taglist : @jinwoosbabyboo @loveanddeepthroat @ittybittyfanblog @mangooes @satansdaughter123 @sunsethw4

#crying my eyes out because of my little dragon #and the fact MC actually named him #infold you bitc-#love and deepspace ff #love and deepspace #Sylus x MC #Sylus x reader #Zayne #Xavier #Love and Deepspace x reader

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solarmorrigan · 1 year ago

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Hands Where I Can See Them, Part 12 (End!)

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3 | Pt 4 | Pt 5 | Pt 6 | Pt 7 | Pt 8 | Pt 9 | Pt 10 | Pt 11 | Ao3

[Warning for brief references to sex; nothing explicit happens]

For the first time in a long time, Steve wakes slowly.

His alarm isn’t blaring at him and neither is his brain; it’s quiet, and the room is filled with morning sun, and Steve is warm, and comfortable, and still a little muzzy with the heavy sort of sleep that usually only comes to him when he’s physically exhausted or feeling safe (usually the former).

He blinks at the blurry mess of color that is his wallpaper and tries to remember what day it is, tries to will himself to get up, because he’s sure there’s something he’s supposed to be doing, but it’s hard. He’s so comfortable. He turns his face further into his pillow, pressing in where it’s warm and firm and– breathing.

Steve sits up.

Beside him, Eddie is still asleep, lying sprawled across the mattress with one arm flung half over the side and the other stretched out where it had been curled around Steve’s back before Steve pulled away. There’s a red mark on his chest where Steve’s head had been resting, and he’s sure there’s a corresponding splotch of red on his cheek.

As the sleepy fog finally lifts from his brain, the previous night filters back in, and Steve can’t help the smile that follows. He shifts a little just to feel the pleasurable ache in his muscles, to feel the warmth of the cocoon of sheets around them, to feel the way the mattress dips beneath the weight of a second body, and sighs contentedly.

He’s just considering lying back down when Eddie groans, a drowsy frown pulling at his face.

“Where’d you go?” he asks, eyes still closed (at least, Steve’s sure that’s what he means to ask; it comes out a little more like “Whrd y’go?”, and he’s pleased that his ability to decipher Eddie’s half-awake mumbling hasn’t suffered in its absence of use).

“I didn’t go anywhere, I’m right here,” Steve says, laying his palm over Eddie’s chest and running his thumb along the ridge of his collarbone.

Eddie hums, bringing his hand up from over the edge of the bed to place it over Steve’s. “‘s too early to be awake,” he mutters, a little more coherent this time. “Come back.”

“It’s not even that early. It’s…” Steve ducks and squints a little to bring his alarm clock into focus, everything still a little blurry without his contact lenses in. “Holy shit, it’s past ten.”

“See? Early.” Eddie reaches up with his free hand to pat around for a hold on Steve’s arm so he can tug at him. “Lay back down.”

“I never sleep this late, what the hell,” Steve mutters, and Eddie finally opens his eyes, giving Steve a grin that’s equal parts sleepy and self-satisfied.

“Wore you out, didn’t I?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah, I’m exhausted,” Steve deadpans, before proceeding to flop back down onto Eddie’s chest, smirking at the little ‘oof’ he earns. “I don’t know if I can even move. Hope you don’t have to pee anytime soon.”

Eddie shrugs. “Eh, if I do, it’s your bed, not mine.”

“Ew. Dude.” Steve props himself back up on his elbow in order to wrinkle his nose at Eddie.

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Eddie says with a smirk, and – shit, Steve’s really missed this.

Eddie is one of the only people in the world Steve feels like he can completely be himself around. He’s second only to Robin (everyone will always be second to Robin, that’s just a given), and that’s what had devastated Steve most when he’d heard what Eddie had to say about their relationship. He thought he’d let Eddie see all of him, and Eddie hadn’t seen anything worth wanting.

Worth loving.

But that, apparently, hadn’t quite been the case.

“Hey,” Eddie calls Steve’s attention back, picking his hand up off his chest to press a kiss to the back of it. “Where’d you go?”

No, that hadn’t been the case at all.

Steve shakes his head. “Nowhere,” he promises. “I’m right here.”

He leans down for a kiss, and Eddie pulls their combined hands aside to meet it, bringing his free hand up to curl into Steve’s hair, cradling the back of his head.

It isn’t as though all the hurt has healed – all of Steve’s doubts and insecurities haven’t magically disappeared. As much as Steve might wish, it isn’t as though the last several weeks never happened. They can’t change any of that now, but Eddie’s honesty, his openness– openness from them both will take them a long way forward.

The idea still sits as a bit new to Steve: honesty. He’s used to people saying one thing and doing another. He’s used to being expected to decipher convoluted social cues and having to intuit unspoken messages. He’s used to not being allowed to ask for what he wants and just accepting whatever he’s given.

This, he thinks, will be better.

The kiss doesn’t end so much as it slides into another, and another, until Eddie and Steve have rolled to their sides, legs tangled together beneath the blankets, mouths sliding against one another, lazy and unhurried. There’s a hint of heat beneath their movements, something that could spark into more if they let it, but Steve is content with just this for now. There will always be time for more later.

Eddie hums deep in his chest when the kisses trail to an end, voice still warm and sleep-rough, and Steve rests his forehead against Eddie’s, unwilling to go too far away just yet.

“Good morning,” Steve says when Eddie opens his eyes again, and he can feel the puff of Eddie’s sigh against his lips.

“Don’t say that,” Eddie whines. “If you say that, we have to get up.”

Steve gives a little laugh. “We can’t stay in bed all day, Eddie.”

“Sure we can,” Eddie drawls, pushing at Steve’s shoulder until he takes the hint and rolls onto his back, only to have Eddie lay down on top of him, pressing him into the mattress. “In fact, I think that’s a great idea.”

“Do you seriously have no other plans for the day?” Steve asks, as if he has any pressing engagements himself.

Eddie presses a kiss to the base of Steve’s throat, humming thoughtfully. “Maybe one or two,” he says, trailing a few more kisses up the side of Steve’s neck.

“Besides that,” Steve huffs, though he makes no move to stop Eddie when his hand comes to rest on the waist of Steve’s pajama pants.

“What am I, an event planner?” Eddie asks, but he does pull away from Steve’s neck with a petulant (and largely exaggerated) sigh. “Fine. How about we stay in bed most of the day and then… we can go back to mine for dinner?”

Steve looks up at Eddie, brows drawing together as he thinks. “What’s at yours that we’d need for dinner?”

Eddie shrugs. “Nothing, really. It’s just been a while,” he says quietly.

And– well, it has. Eddie’s trailer used to be one of the places Steve had felt most comfortable, but he hasn’t spent more than a few minutes there in passing since he’d emptied it of his things. He misses it there – how warm and welcoming it always was, how he’d felt like he belonged there.

What if he goes back now and it’s changed? What if he feels as out of place there now as he does in his own house?

He must spend a moment too long thinking about it, because Eddie begins to backpedal.

“But if you don’t want to, we totally don’t have to, we can just–”

“No,” Steve cuts in. “Let’s go to yours for dinner.”

A slow-growing smile pulls across Eddie’s face, and Steve can tell he’s fighting the urge to duck and hide it.

“Wayne misses you, y’know,” Eddie says, and now it’s Steve who’s ducking away from eye contact.

“Misses my cooking, I bet,” he jokes, but Eddie shakes his head.

“Misses you. He does like you, Steve. He asked where you were, after– after everything,” Eddie says, and Steve isn’t sure what the hell he’s supposed to say to that, or if he even can speak around the sudden, weird choke of emotion in his throat. Eddie, as if he can sense his dilemma, saves Steve from having to respond. “He misses your cooking too, though, let’s be real. He had the audacity to tell me the other day that my mac and cheese isn’t as good as yours. It was your recipe!”

Steve laughs, and Eddie really plays up the offense.

“And you know the worst part? He was right,” Eddie laments. “It’s the same recipe, how does that even work?”

“So, what I’m hearing is that you want me to come to your house and cook you dinner,” Steve teases, smirking up at Eddie.

Eddie subsides just a little, packing away his theatrical energy in order to smile back down at Steve. “I just want you to come over. I’ll order dinner if you want. Hell, I’ll submit myself to public ridicule and try cooking for you again.” He cups Steve’s cheek in one hand and leans in to kiss him gently. “Whatever you want, Steve, I’m there.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, quiet, almost breathless with the depth of Eddie’s promise.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, his smile as ridiculous and smitten as the look on Steve’s own face must be. “I’m right here with you.”

And Steve decides he likes the sound of that. He likes it very much.

Thank you to everyone who gently threatened me encouraged me to continue the first part of this story, it's been so fun to write and to see everyone interact with! You've all been very kind, and I hope the ending satisfies <3

Tag list: @bushbees @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @gleek4twd @hellfireone @westifer-dead @anne-bennett-cosplayer @starman-jpg @mugloversonly @swimmingbirdrunningrock @alycatavatar @y4r3luv @rhapsodyinalto @vinteraltus @lilpomelito @tillystealeaves @noctxrn-e @pearynice @giverobinagfbrigade @novacorpsrecruit @hotluncheddie @strangersteddierthings @alongcomesaspider @theheadlessphilosopher @jettestar @rajumat @garden-of-gay @jamieweasley13 @dam28lh @oldwitcheshat @lololol-1234 @perfectlysensiblenonsense @salty-h0e @r0binscript @mavernanche @back2beesness @a-lovely-craziness @paintsplatteredandimperfect @redbullgivescaswings @emmabubbles @heartstarstar-blog @thesuninyaface @thatonebisexualman @fruitandbubbles @erinharvelle @m-owo-n @theystoodandplayedwithsilence @surroundedbyconfusion @luthienstormblessed @3ldr1tchang3l @pansexuality-activated

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiesteve #the one person whose perspective we haven't directly seen yet...#anyway this was a trip I haven't updated something AS I've been writing it since I was maybe in high school #solar wrote

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year ago

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IX ║ Warmblood

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 8: Silver Pony | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: The hardest goodbye you'll ever say.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, flirting, sexual innuendoes, semi-pubic sex, oral sex (F receiving), risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.6k

Notes: Here we are, at the end of the longest packtrip ever, and we did it with only one (1) little meltdown last night 😜 More notes at the end, but I just want to say - this has been a once-in-a-lifetime story for me. If a fic can be a soulmate, Palomino is mine.

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, I love every single one of you ❤️ Last thing, I never do this, but I must insist that you play this song when you get there. You'll know when 🥹

Warmblood: An athletic, agile horse that is noted for its trainability and usually calm temperament, is commonly used in equestrian competition, and typically possesses Thoroughbred, Arabian, and draft horse bloodlines.

Your awakening is gentle, soft and blurry around the edges, as if you’re looking through the lens of a Polaroid camera, tinted in sepia. The morning hour creeps across the ceiling of Jack’s bedroom in equal parts light and shadow, the curtains having been left undrawn last night. A crack in the window lets in the faintest breeze, but mutes all the sounds you’ve grown used to seeking out first thing in the morning, when your eyelids are too heavy to lift.

The hum of flying things, feathered or otherwise, charting their flight paths in your head by the buzz of their wings. The brush of the wind like a hand combing through grass and meadow. Even the sun speaks in the morning, raw energy strumming between constantly shifting air particles.

This stillness comes off as almost - unnatural. Even when straddling the divide between sleep and wake, you feel yourself making tiny adjustments to the physicality of being indoors again. Regret stains the corners of your consciousness, knowing it won’t take you long to recalibrate. Your body will return to what it knows, shedding your once-upon-a-time existence in the mountains like a coat discarded at the turn of the season.

When the mattress dips behind you, sensation floods your veins like a shock to the system, flushing out the pins and needles in your limbs that you haven’t even noticed. Jack is warm and solid behind you, where he belongs. One leg nudged between yours, his sun-kissed arm across your waist, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the edge. His breath whistles sweetly over the shell of your ear, and you smile. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that his mouth is parted in slumber.

The next time you come to, it’s the rude buzz of metal on wood that jolts you out of sleep. You squeak when Jack follows, almost inadvertently shoving you off the bed as he startles awake. But thankfully, his instincts are fully intact, and he catches you squarely in the stomach, biceps flexing as he pulls you back into his chest with an easy strength.

‘Sorry, darlin’,’ he rasps groggily, burying his face in your neck in an apology. You uncoil in a languid stretch, opening up your throat to the rough scratch of his moustache, wanting to feel the burn.

‘Phone, cowboy,’ you gripe when the vibration doesn’t stop.

With a heave-ho, Jack reaches over you to grab it, before falling back onto the mattress so heavily that the bedframe shakes. Rubbing his thumb and index finger over his eyes, he grouses into the receiver, ‘What?’

Teak’s voice on the other line is clear as day even though he’s not on speaker. ‘Where are you, man?’

You burrow into Jack’s side, and the wide span of his palm on your hip holds you to him possessively. ‘Where do you think I am?’

‘Listen. Poppy made sausage gravy and buttermilk pancakes. Y’all know what that means.’

You venture a peek at Jack, whose lips are pursed thoughtfully. You prompt, ‘What does it mean?’

He smiles down at you. ‘She really likes you, darlin’.’

Teak interrupts with a scoff. ‘Like her? She’s basically adopting you, sunshine!’

Your lips wobble - if you soften any further, you might melt into the mattress. ‘Oh, Poppy.’

‘Look, I’ve been stallin’ them, but they’re fixin’ to break down her door. You lovebirds best get here quick!’

Tossing away his phone without a goodbye, Jack drops a kiss to your forehead. ‘Listen, we don’t have to go anywhere, you stay here and I’ll make you - cereal in bed?’ He pauses with a wince. ‘Actually, I’m outta milk. And cereal.’

You chuckle, reaching up to run your fingers through his endearingly askew bed hair. ‘It’s ok, cowboy, we should go. I need to pack anyway.’

Your tummy takes the inopportune moment to rumble audibly, and he pins you with a knowing look. ‘And you want that sausage gravy, don’t you?’

‘Shut up,’ you laugh, pushing him off the bed.

When you step out of Jack’s bedroom in last night’s clothes after a quick refresh in his neat ensuite, he’s already outside, warming up the Silver Pony.

The house is even cosier in the morning. Facing east, daylight fills every corner of every room, bringing out the patterns in the wooden panels. Your gaze lingers where you can’t. You want to study the cracked spines of the paperbacks on his bookshelf one by one, you want to press your nose into the shirts hanging in his closet, you want to peer around the door to a second room that is temptingly ajar -

‘Darlin’?’

You look up, and Christ on a cracker - it’s downright unfair that even after a week of spending every waking minute together, this damn cowboy can still make your heart skip a beat just by standing.

Jack is on the doorstep, in what you assume is his ‘off-duty’ uniform. Instead of a plaid shirt, he’s wearing a simple white tshirt with a round neck that is decidedly not sweat- nor dirt-friendly, tucked loosely into the waistband of dark jeans that look a bit more polished, and if you would believe it, even tighter than the pair he wears in the saddle. While it’s business as usual with the Stetson and work boots, something unfamiliar hangs from the neckline of his top.

Plucking the gold-rimmed aviators from his tshirt, you slide them onto your face, winking at him through the tinted lens. ‘Nice shades. Gotta say, I didn’t peg you for such a snazzy dresser off the trail.’

He grins, all tidy teeth with a deliberately libertine edge, clearly enjoying the attention. Scooping you into his broad frame, he drawls, ‘Gotta look good for the ladies in town, y’know. They’re famished ‘cause you been hoardin’ me all week, darlin’.’

With an exaggerated huff, you elbow past him. ‘I don’t know how you manage to zip your ego into those tightass pants, cowboy!’

‘With lots of practice,’ he retorts, smacking you firmly on the backside.

‘Do you need your sunnies?’ you ask as you climb onto the Silver Pony behind him, pushing the aviators a bit higher on your nose where they’ve slid down.

He shrugs. ‘Keep ‘em. Gives you a reason to come back.’

You smile into his broad shoulders, palms sliding to interlock over his soft belly. The bike revs, startling a flock of birds into flight from a nearby tree, and you realise those six little words are the first to breach the subject of what comes after - which will come to be in a matter of hours, with your flight in the early afternoon, a prospect suddenly so frighteningly real.

But in the same breath, it becomes blindingly clear that you don’t even need to hear the words.

Because you know there is a space for you in his bed, tucked into his body, curled around you. A spot for you under his arm resting on the back of his couch in the living room, in front of a woodfire when it snows outside. A seat for you at the back of his motorcycle, where you are now, breezing effortlessly downhill towards the ranch, the white fences and red roofs winking at you between the gaps in the trees that line the winding country roads.

When you dream in the months to come, you will always smell pine, white cotton, and well-worn leather as the Silver Pony carries you home.

It’s a shorter drive than you remember. Jack’s watch reads just past half eight when you pull into the parking lot. He kills the engine as you dismount, passing him your star-spangled helmet to be returned to its place in the little cabinet for next time. You’ve turned on your heel towards the ranch when a hand on your wrist grounds you to the spot.

Hands that have made you feel safe, protected, wanted in turn over the past week.

There’s no fanfare, no declarations, as you watch Jack lace his fingers with yours, filling the gaps and the tips curling into the valleys between your knuckles. Palm to weathered palm, calloused from ropework and heavy lifting, you look up to meet his eyes.

He peers at you, almost shyly, an incomprehensible notion after all that he’s done to you, and what you’ve done to him, across the expanse of the Wyoming wilderness. But there’s a chastity to this simple action, and you find your throat tight when he asks, ‘Is this ok, darlin’?’

Your heart swells, as if it’s going to grow claws and tear itself right out of your chest cavity. Bringing up your tangled hands, you brush a kiss across his knuckles, and his whole countenance lifts with the upward curl of his mouth.

‘Yes, cowboy.’

The Statesman is putting on a show for your last morning. The sun is out, climbing high into the cloudless sky, with Jack’s aviators bearing the brunt of the harsh glare. It’s déjà vu when you retrace the path you took on the day of your arrival, the same crunch of gravel under your boots, the familiar scent of hay and horse on the breeze.

The bird’s eye view of the ranch has your breath stuttering just like that first time you cast your gaze on the green pastures and the red roofs. And beyond, like a perfectly painted stage set piece, the Bighorns loom tall and majestic. You’ve seen the mountains in all their incarnations over the past week - they change colour as the sun and clouds move during the day, and sometimes, you swear they morph in shape too.

It strikes you suddenly that just yesterday, you were but three specks moving across the vast landscape, the realisation almost bowling you over.

Before all this, it wouldn’t have taken much to convince yourself that you don’t deserve it. That it was the horses doing all the legwork and Jack the navigating, that you haven’t really done anything but sit in the saddle. But something’s shifted, it’s been a baptism by long summer days and the great outdoors - and damn it all, you’re proud of yourself.

You came on this trip alone, with nothing but a broken relationship behind you, a suitcase full of anxieties and riding gear covered in years of dust and neglect. You said yes, perhaps recklessly, when offered the chance to spend a week alone in the mountains with a complete stranger and the glamour of sleeping bags and portable showers, when it would’ve been easier (and certainly more comfortable) to turn it down.

Somehow, you’ve come out the other end, long gallops over untouched grassland and starry campfire nights piecing you back together, only to fall so damn hard for this cowboy that you’re sure to break again when you get on that plane this afternoon -

An unexpected tug on your arm has you tumbling clumsily. ‘Jack!’

He arches an eyebrow and remarks, ‘Ain’t heard those cogs in your pretty head grind that loud since the first coupl'a days, darlin’.’

You shrug and, not wanting to sour the mood, deflect his attention with a lighthearted fib. ‘Just realised that I didn’t even come close to falling off once the entire week.’

When he chuckles, the thought comes to you that you’ll miss the way he laughs with his whole body.

‘You did real good for your first rodeo,’ he pauses, then flashes you a lascivious smirk. ‘You ain’t bad at ridin’ bareback either.’

A rebuke of his crude quip is on the tip of your tongue, but then your nose picks up on the scent of bitter coffee and maple syrup, which is quickly followed by the sighting of the al fresco table set up not far from the grill last night, the singe of smoke and whiskey still hanging in the air.

From a distance, you can see Poppy and Champ engaged in what looks like a heated debate, both gesticulating wildly with fork and knife. On the opposite side of the table, an unbothered Teak mows down his breakfast as if he’s heard it all before, and Ginger is feeding Jameson pancakes under the table.

It’s the younger cowboy who spots you two first. He freezes, brows disappearing under the brim of his Stetson when his eyes flit downwards to your interlocked hands. A huge grin would’ve split his handsome face in two if his mouth wasn’t stuffed full of half-chewed pancakes. The beans are well and truly spilled when Jameson comes bounding over, barking his demands for morning cuddles.

Champ looks up, his argument with Poppy promptly dropped. ‘Aha! There she is! Howdy young lady, we were just wonderin’ where you -’

He halts mid-sentence, his head whipping towards his right where the guest lodges are situated beyond the stables, decidedly not the direction you’re coming from. The penny drops as he takes in your hand in Jack’s, eyes wide, and all the occupants of the table seem to inhale a collective breath that stops you in your tracks.

But not Jack. He ignores the gawking with a practised air of been there, done that, and ushers you into the empty seat next to Teak without skipping a beat. Planting a sweet peck on your cheek, he settles to your left and unfolds his starched napkin with a flourished flick of his wrist, which he tucks into the neckline of his tshirt.

‘Mornin’,’ he addresses the silent table in an exaggerated southern drawl. ‘If y’all would be so kind to shut your mouths, you’re embarrassin’ me in front of my lady. Now, pass the coffee if you please, Teak.’

Fittingly, it’s Champ who breaks the silence with a rip-roaring howl of laughter, palms hitting the table so hard you’re convinced everything on it jumps a foot from the surface, the ruckus sending Jameson scampering for cover. ‘Well, well, well! Butter my butt and call it a biscuit!’

Poppy leaps to her feet, halfway to the kitchen before shouting over her shoulder. ‘We’re celebrating! This calls for strawberry milkshake!’

Teak elbows you in the side. ‘Just so y’know, Poppy ain’t the type to make strawberry milkshake for just anybody.’ He salutes you with a crooked grin. ‘Welcome to the family, sweetheart.’

It’s a brand of chaos that is distinctly Statesman. Ginger and Champ are fighting each other to load up your plate with far too much food over your protests, Teak pours coffee into your glass and orange juice in the mug, and Jameson is probing your knees under the table for scraps. You meet Jack’s eyes, and he grins back at you with a wink over the rim of his cup.

There’s no reason why you should be this hungry after the barbeque last night, but you don’t stop until you’ve polished off the sausage gravy and biscuits, the welcome richness settling in the pit of your stomach and making you second guess if you have any room left for pancakes.

‘Young lady, I hope this means you forgive me for the strings I pulled to set you two up,’ pipes up Champ around a mouthful of bacon, washed down by black coffee.

‘You’ll hear no complaints from me, sir,’ you reassure him.

He raises a fist in a pantomime of indignation. ‘You wouldn’t believe the grief Jack and Ginger put me through for playin’ matchmaker! I demand a retraction from y’all!’

Ginger raises both hands in surrender. ‘Fine, I take it all back, even if it means you’ll be downright insufferable about it! But I’ll happily live with that!'

Jack slings an arm around your shoulder. ‘It kills me to say it, but you have damn good taste, boss.’

‘Well, y’all know what they say - ain’t a pot too crooked that a lid won’t fit!’ needles Teak.

‘Hey!’ You reach across to slap him on the arm as Jack chuckles behind you. ‘I don’t see you with a lid, you loud-mouthed kettle!’

Teak sasses back, ‘Fine, fine, how ‘bout - there ain’t a man that can’t be thrown, or a cowboy that can’t be rode -’

Right on cue, Poppy’s distant shout interrupts, ‘Tequila!’

Jumping onto his feet, the cowboy winks at you. ‘Hold that thought, sunshine - right away, ma’am!’

Unperturbed by the double entendres, Champ brings the conversation right back around. ‘Well, I do declare, this nosy old man gets it right -’

‘For once!’ heckles Ginger.

‘Joke’s on you, m’dear. I only need to be right once!’

There are oohs and ahhs when Poppy and Teak reappear with the decadent milkshakes in retro fountain glasses, topped with whipped cream and strawberry slices, distributed around the table.

‘So, what are we drinking to?’ asks Poppy.

You turn to Jack, holding up your milkshake. ‘To crooked pots.’

There are cheers and laughs up and down the table, and Jack clinks your glass with a grin as he adds, ‘And cowboys that can be rode.’

You think about the cassette tapes that you used to watch when you were young. How at the end of a film, the black tape is all rolled up in the right window, and you were always the one to press the rewind button on the VCR. You still remember the whirr of the film as it went backwards, round and round, right back to the beginning.

When the coffee has gone cold and the morning chores come calling, the breakfast table empties, and you hear the click of that button when Jack offers you his upturned palm to walk you back to your cabin.

The tape rewinds as you pack. The outfit you agonised over that first day or your introductory ride with the cowboy has been laundered, and you slowly fold up each piece - the jodhpurs, the plaid shirt, the socks - and put them into your open suitcase.

The tape rewinds as you close the door to the cabin, and Jack carries your luggage across the yard in one hand, yours nestled snugly in his other.

The tape rewinds as you walk by the stables - you nip in quickly to say goodbye to Whiskey and Bourbon - past the main lodge, and the grazing field next to the parking lot.

Putting your suitcase down, Jack whistles with his fingers, the sound carrying in the wind. You see a familiar golden head pop up from across the field, and your nose prickles with the threat of tears as you watch Scotch canter towards you, ears forward and tail swishing with an attitude you can spot from a mile away. Climbing onto the first rung of the fence, you throw your arms around his neck and bury your face into his snowy mane as he snoops around your pockets, always looking for treats.

You pull an apple out of your travel bag, neatly cut in two. Scotch nickers, his velvety nuzzle tickles as he carefully plucks each half from your palm.

Combing through his forelock, you coo at him, ‘I’m gonna miss you, boy. You behave with your rider next week, you hear me?’

The key is already in the ignition of your rental pickup when Champ puts your suitcase and tote bag on the backseat floor, while Teak and Jack load the Silver Pony onto the back.

Your arm almost falls out of its socket when Poppy passes you the promised takeaway lunch, packed into a chiller bag.

‘You’re flying Delta right?’ she asks. ‘I’ll call them up with instructions on how to heat up the food. It’ll be good as fresh off the barbeque.’

‘Thank you so, so much Poppy,’ you say as she pulls you into a warm hug. ‘I hope you know you’ve ruined food for me. Nothing will ever come close to being good enough.’

She winks. ‘You’re welcome, honey. Come back soon, ok? There’s more where it came from!’

Ginger is next, and emotion clutches at your chest as you squeeze her slender frame in a tight embrace. ‘Just so you know, I was furious that you wouldn’t give me a refund when I called you up all those months ago.’

‘What can I say? I’m a tough cookie,’ she giggles, and hangs onto you for just a moment longer. ‘I’m so glad you didn’t cancel on us.’

Champ surprises you, forgoing your outstretched hand and giving you a hug for the first time. His tweed suit is softer than expected under your cheek, and smells like pipeweed and leather.

‘It’s been an absolute pleasure, young lady. I’m sure we’ll see you again very soon,’ he winks. ‘And I’ll be in touch about the social media.’

Three steps away, Teak is waiting with his arms crossed, and he pushes off the truck to bundle you into his embrace, the hug as big and as bear-like as him, which makes you chuckle.

‘Anything parting Southern wisdom for me?’ you quip.

‘I’m all out, sweetheart,’ he says, giving you a pat on the back. ‘’Cept, y’know, that cowboy’s been grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ a sweet ‘tater all week, and it’s damn annoyin’.’

Jack rolls his eyes, one palm on your back as he herds you towards the truck. ‘C’mon, darlin’, we should make a move.’

Saving himself for last, Jameson trots up to you with a bark, tail wagging. The grass is warm and tickles your bare knees when you crouch down to give him one last hug, giggling at the wet kiss he leaves on your cheek.

The leather of the passenger seat is soft as you sink down into it, while Jack closes the door behind you and crosses to the driver’s side. Inhaling deeply as the engine starts with a rusty rumble, you look up when he gives your hand a grounding squeeze.

‘Ready, darlin’?’

You nod, though not entirely convincingly. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

The Statesman gets smaller and smaller behind you as the truck eases down the driveway, and the four figures waving in the rearview mirror blur into tiny shadows through the mist of your tears. The metal frame of the vehicle squeaks with the movement as it rolls over bumps on the long dirt track, at the end of which, Jack takes a right with a one-handed turn of the steering wheel onto the main road, and the ranch slips out of sight.

The midday sun streams through the windshield, hot on your skin. You’re glad you changed out of the jeans from last night into a lightweight dress, a slightly frivolous last-minute addition to your luggage that’s paid off.

Staring out of the open window at the rolling landscape, it takes you right back to exactly eight days ago when you were driving down the dusty road - except this time, the Bighorn Mountains are behind you, and next to you is a cowboy instead of an empty seat.

Unabashedly, you watch him drive. His right hand is woven in yours, disengaging only to shift gears every now and then. Under the brim of his hat, his eyes are on the road, occasionally darting sideways to find himself on the receiving end of your attention.

It’s certainly an adjustment to see him in the driver’s seat after a week in the saddle - Whiskey’s, then the Silver Pony’s. But it doesn’t matter, there’s no mistaking the competence behind his every movement, be it to ease his horse to a slower gait with the lightest closing of his fingers on the leather reins, or to redirect the truck with an effortless palm on the steering wheel -

‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer,’ he drawls, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.

‘Not long enough,’ you grumble, shuffling in close.

He half-turns, moustache brushing your temple as he murmurs, ‘Have I told you that you look beautiful in that dress?’

You press a secret smile into his shoulder. ‘You sure you don’t prefer me in jodhpurs?’

Untangling his fingers to slide blunt nails under the hem of your dress and up the inside of your leg, he replies diplomatically, ‘I can see pros and cons to both.’

Your breath hitches with a warning, but the instinctive parting of your thighs gives you away. ‘Cowboy -’

You startle at what sounds like a sudden crack of thunder, but it turns out to be an enormous interstate truck charging down the opposite lane. In a panic, your knees snap shut, trapping Jack’s wandering hand between the soft cushion of your legs. To your chagrin, he makes a point of waving to the driver as he passes by.

‘Jack, he definitely saw your hand up my dress!’ you chide.

He flashes you a knowing smirk, and you shudder when he digs into the meat of your thigh with a firm squeeze. ‘Somethin’ tells me you enjoyed that, darlin’.’

Your mouth opens, ready to object, but a familiar heat warms the back of your neck the same time your throat goes dry. It’s the same thrill from last night, in the cellar, not knowing if you’ll get caught bent over a whiskey cask, jeans pulled down just enough so that this cowboy could bury his cock deep inside you.

Despite yourself, you shift in your seat, and Jack’s knuckles scrape the fast dampening seat of your panties. Choking on a strangled noise, he turns his wrist so that he can rub the outline of your folds through the thin fabric, his knuckles going white on the steering wheel. ‘Fuck. I feel that, darlin’.’

Another car comes down the opposite lane, a smaller sedan this time, and you’re bold enough to spread your thighs, letting him slip under your panties.

The car swerves sharply as hisses at the wetness he finds, fingertip gliding slickly between the lips of your pussy, smearing the mess all over as your hips rock into the contact.

Through gritted teeth, Jack groans, ‘Darlin’, you’re soaked for me.’

‘Pull over. Now.’

He does - parking haphazardly behind a tree, barely a couple of yards off the main road before killing the ignition.

You mount him immediately, throwing your right leg over his lap as if pulling yourself into the saddle, the pain an afterthought when your knee jams into the control panel on the door in your haste. Jack grunts as your hips slot flush against his, his usual composure nowhere to be found as he’s caught between undoing his seatbelt, pushing your dress up and scrabbling down the sides of the driver’s seat for the adjustment lever.

The sudden recline of the seatback pulls a squeak from you while knocking Jack’s hat clean off, and you follow to claim his lips in a messy kiss as he palms the swell of your ass.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he bites out, rocking up against your pussy, head thrown back. ‘You’re so fuckin’ sexy.’

He doesn't question you when you climb over him, taking the chance to scrape open-mouthed kisses down your neck instead - and when you sit back down on your haunches, his pupils blow wide at the sight of you wearing his hat and a flirtatious grin.

‘How about now, cowboy?’ you tease.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing hard as his eyes darken. ‘You’ll look even better sittin’ on my face, darlin’.’

Your jaw goes slack. ‘Jack -’

‘I want to taste you one more time. Need to. Please.’

Something breaks loose inside you, unhinges, and you crawl over the length of his lean body to steal a bruising kiss that has him hot in pursuit when you pull back. The hem of the dress brushes his face when your knees make landing on the backseat, on either side of the headrest he’s lying on. Reaching for the grab handle above, you pull yourself upright, bracing the roof of the truck while you hover over his beautiful nose.

Calloused fingers bunch up your dress to the waist, and Jack hums at the display of your drenched panties, before hooking one thumb around the seams and pulling it unceremoniously to one side.

‘Look at that pussy,’ he groans brokenly. ‘Always fuckin’ soakin’ for me. Just beggin’ for me to taste it, hmm?’

‘Jaaaack,’ you whine on an exhale. Looking down at how he’s so wantonly eyeing you, your back arches with a confidence you didn’t know you have. Thighs splaying wider, you know he hears the slick parting of your folds when he stutters a pained moan.

‘C’mere and let me eat that pretty pussy, darlin’.’

From the moment his lips close around your clit in a sloppy suckle, you know this is a different beast from that first time he took you apart with his mouth, deep in the mountains, under the secret cloak of night. The afternoon sun casts shadows where his brow is creased in studious concentration, his keen gaze flitting from where he delicately holds you open with his fingertips, to your cleavage, to your face, and all the way down again. Every twitch of muscle, every whimper caught in the web of his determination to relish all of you.

In no mood to tease, each measured lick and curl of his tongue hits its mark, your physical reflexes compounded by this show of devastating competence. He draws desperate sounds that you don't even register as your own, your needy cunt leaking all over his face and chin.

‘Cowboy,’ you mewl, reaching down to coil your fingers into his hair, the strands beaded with sweat and sticking to his forehead as he doubles down. Your squirming only makes him tighten his grip on your hips to hold you still, the bite of his fingers bordering on painful. ‘I’m so close -’

The insides of your thighs are cool and slippery, a sensation you’re well used to now, his spit and your slick completely soaking through your panties. His three-day stubble rubs your sensitive skin raw, and the top of his Stetson bumps against the ceiling as you angle your hips to catch his puckered lips where you need him most, chasing friction.

‘Jack,’ you whimper when you feel the first spark of orgasm deep inside you, the spiral instant and relentless. ‘Jack, Jack, oh fuck, - I’m there, that’s it - I’m cumming, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’t -’

Somewhere on the fringes of your scattered mind, you’re aware that the windows are down, not that you can do anything about it now - you thrash and wail and sob his name, all the while he laps at the mouth of your throbbing cunt. The sounds are obscene as he slurps and wrings every last drop of you until you’re pushing him away, nerves firing blindly from overstimulation, choking hoarsely when you catch your breath.

Watching you in a drunken daze, Jack finally draws back with a lewd pop, wiping his thoroughly soaked chin on your knee, which narrowly misses his nose as a violent, full-body shudder ripples through you.

‘Relax, darlin’,’ he cooes. All your joints have capitulated, so Jack has to bodily rearrange you, dislodging your shaky knees from his shoulders down to his sides to pull you in for a kiss. You moan at the sticky release his moustache smears all over your face, the taste of yourself thick and heavy on his tongue.

His brown eyes snap open when you sneak between your bodies to palm his erection through his jeans, voice strained. ‘Darlin’, we ain’t got the time -’

Deftly undoing his belt, that damned flask-shaped buckle that looks as ridiculous as the first time you laid eyes on it, you assure him, ‘Don’t worry, it won’t take long.’

He arches an eyebrow, taking in your face shadowed by his cowboy hat, but stays put otherwise, almost docile as he lets you take the reins. ‘Is that so? And you’re so confident, how?’

Shoving down his boxers and jeans, his cock springs free, hard and ready. With a brazen grin, you sit up and line yourself up to the swollen tip, declaring, ‘Because I want you to cum inside me, cowboy.’

You’re not sure if it’s you sinking down on him, or him snapping his hips upwards. All you know is that by the time your head catches up, he’s driven to the hilt inside you.

‘What are you - fuck you’re so tight -’ he wheezes against your lips, giving you no pause as he ruts into you recklessly, the crude slap of skin on skin filling every space the truck. ‘Whatcha mean by cummin’ inside you?’

‘I don’t know how I can be more clear, cowboy,’ you sass, when a particularly deep thrust almost jolts you off his lap.

‘But you’re not on birth control, darlin’ -’ he tries to reason.

‘I’ll take the morning after pill as soon as I land,’ you promise, holding his unfocused gaze. ‘Do you trust me?’

The wind is knocked out of you when his strong arms pull you flush to his front, his answer immediate and irrevocable. ‘With everythin’.’

There’s too much going on. The coarse scratch of denim on the inside of your thighs, his nails scraping down your ass, the desperate whimpers he leaves in the secret place behind your ear. The air grows humid and thick as Jack feels himself slipping, your pussy gripping him so tightly that his eyes threaten to roll back into his skull.

He gasps in a breathless warning. ‘Darlin' -’

‘It’s ok, cowboy,’ you croon, fingers carding through his dark hair. ‘I want to feel you deep inside me. All of you.’

His bones rattle with a vicious shudder at your words. Snarling, he bucks into you at a pace so unrelenting that you cry out with each snap of his hips.

‘Gonna stuff you so fuckin’ full,’ he vows in between slippery kisses. ‘Been wantin’ to since the first time. Gonna fill your pussy with my cum, darlin’, you’ll be drippin’ with me for days -’

‘Yes yes yes do it cowboy, please -’ you beg, voice cracking.

‘Look at me,’ he orders, nostrils flaring as you knock foreheads. ‘Look at me while I fuck you full, darlin’.’

Choking on a whine, you feel him swell inside you until he teeters right on the brink. The raw need in his eyes robs you of your breath, and you grow faint on empty lungs as you sway with him -

And then his neck strains, his hips jerk, and you feel his abdomen cave in on itself when he lets go with your name on his lips, and his on yours. A primal roar fills your ears as he pumps you full of him, spilling into you again and again until all you feel is his cum hot and deep inside you, flooding your cunt, his whole body spasming as he pants raggedly for air.

A carnal musk hangs ripe and sweltering in the confines of the truck. Floating on a lazy stupor, you draw soothing circles on his quickly rising and falling chest through the aftershocks, his tshirt clammy with sweat, heart pounding under your palm.

Jack reaches up to push off his hat so that he can see all of you before pulling you in for a lingering kiss. When he softens, his spend dribbling slow and hot out of you, two thick fingers nudge between your thighs, and your back arches when he tenderly pushes it back inside.

His plea is a hoarse mumble into the side of your neck. ‘Keep me in you, darlin’. Take me with you.’

You nod, and smile, ‘Always.’

The airport is tiny, and Jack seems to know everyone you cross paths with. From the security guard at the carpark (previously a groom at the Statesman) to the staffer at the car rental counter (Champ’s nephew), he’s busy tipping his hat and dispatching howdy’s left, right and centre.

‘Small town, huh?’ you quip.

He hums, ‘Welcome to cowboy country.’

And he definitely knows the brunette checking you in at the airline counter, all the while glowering at you over the top of your driving licence.

‘Ain’t seen you 'round town much lately, Jack,’ she says, affixing you with a none too subtle glare.

‘Y’know how it is in the summer, always busy,’ he replies a touch too politely. As soon as he drops your suitcase onto the baggage belt, he wraps one even less subtle arm around your waist and pulls you pointedly into his side.

You bite your lip as the woman’s eyes narrow and she aggressively punches your details into the computer system, surprised that the keyboard doesn’t break. Once your suitcase is on its merry way, Jack wastes no time spiriting you away from the counter without so much of a fare-thee-well.

You burst into laughter, elbowing him in the ribs. ‘Brrrrrr. That was cold!’

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, admitting, ‘To be fair to her, she didn’t catch me at my finest moment.’

‘Do I want to know?’

‘Let’s just say there ain’t enough of this ol’ cowboy to go ‘round for the ladies in town,’ he winks.

‘Well, I hope they know there’s about to be even less of you going forward,’ you sniff primly.

Preening at the possessiveness in your tone, Jack ribs, ‘A tragedy, some might say.’

You huff, but can’t help a smile. ‘Well, aren’t I lucky to have roped you in, cowboy.’

‘And she can’t even lasso!’ he teases, leaning down to steal a kiss.

Feeling eyes on you, you duck your head, protesting, ‘Jack, people are looking.’

‘Let ‘em,’ he counters, prompting a gasp from you when he brazenly squeezes your ass through your dress. ‘I’m stakin’ my claim, darlin’.’

‘You already did in the truck, cowboy,’ you remind him, instinctively rubbing your thighs together, feeling the weight of his cum wet in your panties.

He hums, as if he knows, the sound deep and satisfied. His lips linger at the crown of your head, and he holds you close with his whole body, wrapping himself around your soul.

All too soon, the old-fashioned Solari board you’re sitting under whirrs into action. The retro split-flap display spins and flips with a mechanical staccato to spell out ‘final boarding call’ next to your flight number, one of five scheduled for that afternoon.

Stubbornly, you turn your face into Jack’s shoulder, inhaling him. He smells like horses and dappled sun filtered through leaves in a tree - you wish you could distil it into a bottle and take it with you.

You’re in denial, that much you know. You’ve warded off the thought of leaving too well, compartmentalised it and pushed it down somewhere it wouldn't be able to resurface.

But that’s the irony - even if you can keep it buried, it doesn’t change the fact that your suitcase is in the belly of the plane parked on the runway, that you’re about to leave Wyoming behind and put thousands of miles between you and this cowboy, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet as the minutes tick down.

Eventually, he murmurs slowly into your hair, as if the words are physically weighing him down. ‘C’mon, darlin.’

Your feet are heavy, dragging, and Jack has to practically strong-arm you out of the airport terminal and onto the tarmac. He holds you as you loiter at the back of the queue, until the crowd disperses, and the stewardess at the top of the boarding stairs gives you both a knowing but firm look.

That’s when the tears spill over the seams of your lashes where they’ve been teetering, held back by sheer willpower and clenched teeth. Ugly sobs bubble out of your throat, and Jack pulls you into him, his own voice thick as he rocks you soothingly. ‘It’s ok, darlin’. I’ll see you before you know it.’

‘But when?’ you wail, almost petulantly.

He answers with no hesitation, and it’s obvious to you that he isn’t just thinking on his feet, that he’s been making plans, but kept it close to his chest.

‘We have back-to-back pack trips the next three weeks, so I can’t get away. But next month, after the Kingsman’s rescheduled bookin’, I’ll take a whole week off.’

‘That’s an entire month away,’ you grumble into the soaked front of his tshirt.

‘I know, but you’ll need time to plan all the things we’re gonna see,’ he jokes, recalling your fireside conversation. ‘You’re gonna take this country mouse to all the museums and art galleries and all kinds of big city adventures, ain’t that right?’

You give him a watery smile. ‘I stand by the sex and Thai takeaway in bed plan.’

‘Even better,’ he answers, and you hold onto the way the crease of his smile lines bring out the soul in his eyes. ‘I’ll call you, darlin’, ok?’

Somehow, you muster the good humour to tease, ‘The cool kids FaceTime nowadays, and I hear your phone doesn’t have a working camera.’

He laughs, and you can’t quite tell if it’s tears clinging to his lashes, or if it’s a trick of the light. He thumbs away the wet streaks from your cheeks, nose brushing yours in a solemn promise. ‘I’ll get a new one.’

‘Just for me?’

And then he’s kissing you, plush lips slanting across yours, dragging slow like honey. When he pulls back, he breathes, ‘Anythin’ for you, darlin’.’

Jack has to physically unclench his fingers to let you step back. When your hand slides out of his, it takes him everything not to pull you back, or run after you up the stairs. He grasps the railing so hard his knuckles go bone-white as you turn back to him one last time at the aircraft door.

You blow him a kiss, your smile brave but wobbly. ‘Goodbye, cowboy.’

He swallows hard, wanting to be strong for you, but still, his voice wavers. ‘I’ll see you, darlin’. So soon.’

You nod, your tears catching the afternoon light as the stewardess ushers you into the cabin.

Then it hits him.

You’re not going to be in his arms when he wakes up tomorrow. You’re not going to be there when he reaches around for you - your face, your neck, your voice.

You’re not going to be there.

Jack watches your tear-streaked face appear at one of the windows, and he tries to smile at you, wishing he’d insisted on one last kiss. The heat from the jet engines and the sun is bouncing off the tarmac, but he’s cold, so cold, that his fingers have gone stiff. Nothing feels real, as if he’s been wrapped in cling film and dunked underwater, and he almost doesn’t hear the voice to his left.

The air traffic controller says apologetically, ‘’Mfraid we gotta clear the runway, sir.’

He fumbles over his words. ‘’Course. Sorry.’

Pressing his index and middle fingers to his lips, he waves the kiss at you, which you catch with your palm against the glass. Determined not to miss one single second, he slowly walks backwards with the controller beside him as he waves the batons.

He says sympathetically, ‘It’s always hard, but it gets easier.’

Jack glances at him with a questioning look.

He chuckles good-naturedly. ‘You ain’t the first lovelorn cowboy I seen on this runway sayin’ ‘bye to his city girl.’

His lips quirk despite himself, eyes still on you even as the plane slowly taxis away. He says, ‘I sure hope you’re right, man.’

With one last wave, the plane pivots, and you disappear around the bend.

Empty. He feels empty.

The sadness is helium in his chest, inflating between the gaps of his ribs, and he feels himself drift even with each footfall of his heavy boots on the concrete, while a dull ache ricochets in the hollow spaces of his skull.

Grappling for an anchor, Jack forces himself to focus, one thing at a time. Key in the ignition, twist, the whirr of the engine. Switching on the radio, it cackles between the frequencies as he straps his Stetson to the backseat, then swings one leg over the saddle and puts on his helmet.

The static starts taking on shape, lyrics and guitar riffs cutting through the white noise and catching his attention just as he wraps his fingers around the rubber grip of the handlebars.

I want to ride off on a palomino

Feel the fire in my breath and the breeze in my hair as I go

Why the hell am I even looking back for?

For I know, where you go my love goes

He misses the ghost of your arms around his waist, the slope of your nose tucked into his nape. He misses you. He wants to see your face the minute you get off that plane on the other side of the country. He wants to hear your voice before he goes to bed tonight. He wants to tell you mornin’ first thing tomorrow when he gets up.

As the 737 roars overhead, the shadow passing over him, he wonders if you can spot him from the clouds.

He’d better crack on and get to the shop in town before it closes.

Steering smoothly out of the parking lot, Jack takes a left, the Silver Pony kicking up dust with a purr as she cruises down the country roads -

The same country roads that brought you to him.

Fin

More notes: I've been writing fanfiction on and off for the past 17 years. Corny as it sounds, it feels like everything I've ever written has been leading up to this fic. I put my heart and soul into Palomino, and it's repaid me tenfold. It gave me the chance to write about my love for horses, to fall in love not only with cowboy Jack, but with Darlin', Teak, the entire cast and the horses, this whole universe that I built in my head. And it gave me all of you - the most wonderful, supportive friends and readers I've had the pleasure of writing for.

I hope I will have the chance to revisit the Palomino universe one day. But for now, I'm ridiculously proud for finishing this series and for giving it the ending it deserves. I don't think I will ever write a fic that I love so deeply again. Palomino was it for me, and I'm forever grateful that I got to share this incredible journey with all of you.

There are some special people I need to thank, please forgive me if I leave anyone out, I appreciate each and everyone of you ❤️

LJ @prolix-yuy: The wonderful friend and writer who made me fall in love with cowboy Jack in first place with her epic Westworld Whiskey series, which is also coming to an end next week. I've said this many times and I'll never stop saying it - there would've been no Palomino if not for LJ. Thank you for being my inspiration bestie, you are the literal best.

Ash @mandoblowmybackout: My OG bestie and fellow cat mum, one of the first people I screeched about cowboy Jack to, I treasure our friendship so much, thank you for your support.

Maddie @imaswellkid: Maddie, thank you for being in my corner throughout Palomino and for holding my hand when I need it (which is often). Talking to you about Palomino in person - well, talking about anything and everything to you in person - was one of the most surreal moments of last year, and I'm hoping it won't be long before I see you again.

Sil @psychedelic-ink: Sil, light of my life, thank you for always being there for me, for listening and talking me down from the ledge many times. I'm so lucky to have you, and to have you love cowboy Jack as much as I do. Talking to you is always the highlight of my day!

Peaches @ohsomightypeaches: Screaming at you/being screamed at by you about anything cowboy Jack is always so much fun, and not just Jack, but also Teak, Champ, etc.. Your love for this series is beyond infectious, thank you for your support and for always making me smile!

Skye @iamskyereads: Skye my love, I believe I was admiring you from afar when you popped up in my notifs with a reblog of the first chapter, and I remember how excited I was! So grateful that Palomino brought you into my life.

Heidi @wildemaven: Thank you for gifting Palomino with not one beautiful video edit, but also a gorgeous moodboard! You are an angel!

Jules @julesonrecord: My fellow cowboy aficionado, your enthusiasm for s'mores and Jack always makes me smile. Thank you for your support, truly.

Jo @mvtthewmurdvck: Thank you for listening to me rant and rave and holding my hand during my meltdown. I'm so grateful for you!

Snowsuit anon: It's always a joy to hear from you, and I will hold you forever responsible for sparking the snowsuit craze (affectionate) 💙 Thank you for your support my lovely!

A special shoutout to my lovely readers who have followed Palomino from the very beginning. Thank you for sticking with me, I really feel like we went on this trip together, all of us: @lola-lola-lola, @harriedandharassed, @witchisenpai, @miss-mandalorian, @fireproofmarta, @dreamymyrrh, @inkededucatednnerdy, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @freakrenaissance, @axshadows, @damnyoupedro, @thosewickedlovelies, @peridotsparadox, @radiowallet, @sherala007, @shirks-all-responsibilities

And needless to say, thank you for every single one of you (I wish I could tag everyone but we'll be here all day!), every comment, reblog, ask, tag for Palomino. You have been an absolutely joy to write for, your love and encouragement kept me going, I really don't know how I've been so lucky, y'all have my heart forever ❤️

Last but not least, thank you @saradika for these adorable dividers!

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x f!reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x reader #Spotify

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teamchasezwrites · 3 months ago

Text

The Stocking

Word count: 5,908

Characters: Damian Priest x OC

Genre: Romance

Tags: Christmas, Fluff, Hurt and Comfort, Ex is a Douche, Tears, Kissing

Summary: Damian does something no one else thought to do.

Author’s Note: First time trying out posting fanfic to tumblr. Been lurking for a bit. I had this idea and as always, my muses seem to swerve and do what they want. Cross posted on A03. Un beta. Enjoy!

The bed shifted, rousing Rachel from sleep. She blinked her eyes open. The room was swatched in darkness. No hint of the sun peeking through the edges of the curtains. Rolling her eyes upward she was able to just catch the soft glow of the clock on the bedside table.

3:23.

Delight swept through her as she realized she still had plenty of time remaining for sleep.

Maybe.

It was technically Christmas and that meant her kids could wake any second with shouted “Santa came!” or sleep until 8. Each year was different.

The bed behind her shifted again and she felt the mattress dip down behind her before a warm body pressed against her and strong arms wrapped around her.

“I didn’t mean to wake you…” Damian whispered in her ear as he pulled her more securely to him.

“I thought maybe one of the kids was sneaking downstairs.” Rachel brought her arm from beneath the blanket to entwine her fingers with Damian’s where it lay on her hip. She then brought their hands to her chest, hugging his arm to her. He responded by tightening his hold.

“All tucked in their beds,” Damian confirmed. A smile graced his lips as he thought about Isaac and Amelia. He just peeked in their rooms before crawling back into bed. Isaac’s room with its dark blue and grey and sports theme. He was a budding sports junkie and Damian already couldn’t wait for him to open the Aaron Judge jersey wrapped beneath the tree. The ten year old boy lay curled beneath the bedspread an arm tossed over the Baby Yoda Cuddleez plushie he made Damian swear to never tell his friends he slept with. The plushie, a purchase on a summer trip to Disney, was never far from Isaac’s side when he was in the house.

Across the hall from Isaac, was his sister’s room. Only younger by a year, nine year old Amelia had climbed right into his heart from the very first crooked smile she sent him over a year ago when she jumped out from underneath a slide at a city playground where he was chasing after his nieces and nephews to give his sisters a chance to wrap Christmas presents without worry.

Normally his big stature and tattoos were a little off putting to kids. Most kids at the playground steered clear because he was big and bulky. Not Amelia. She simply smiled at him, her bright blue eyes shining.

“I bet you don’t need a ladder to put the angel on top of the Christmas tree.”

“Amelia!”

The girl -Amelia – took her eyes off him to stare to his right where he’d felt someone come up behind him. His laughter died, but the smile stayed on his lips. He watched as the little girl smiled innocently.

“What? It’s not like I asked him how the weather was up there.”

Another laugh escaped him and he bit his lip to try to stifle it. Amelia grinned triumphantly at him as his niece, Gabriela popped out of the slide.

Amelia introduced herself and the two had run off to the monkey bars holding hands and laughing as if they’d been friends for years.

“What’s so funny?” Rachel mumbled just on this side of sleep. She felt Damian’s body shake behind her.

“Amelia.”

“She’s a pistol.”

“Just remembering when I first met her.”

Rachel laughed softly. “I was mortified.”

He’d been in love when he turned around to find the grown up version on Amelia. Shining bright blue eyes. Long strawberry-blonde hair. A red hue of embarrassment on her cheeks. They spent the rest of the time talking as they watched the kids play. Amelia and Gabriela racing across the monkey bars. Two more of his nieces, Sofia and Bella, on the swings laughing and giggling as they wondered how fast they needed to go to completely do a loop. His nephews, Julian, Michael, and Ivan eventually teamed up with Rachel’s son Isaac and a couple other boys playing some version of cops and robbers. Though his nephews argued it was different than what he used to play growing up. This was the Fortnite version. He still wasn’t sure what made it different even after listening to five boys talking over themselves in an attempt at explanation.

When it was time to leave, Damian was sure he was just as disappointed as his nieces and nephews when he rounded them up. Then he felt as awkward as a teenager asking a girl out for the first time. He mustered up the courage to ask for Rachel’s number and withstood the teasing he endured from his sisters and mom later on when Gabriela spilled the beans on Tio’s new girlfriend. Though the term didn’t officially apply until three months later in March.

“I love you,” he whispered and pressed a kiss into her hair.

Rachel tightened her hold on his arm and was rewarded by Damian tightening his. Warmth enveloped her. It was a quick second before she scooted away just enough so she could turn over in his arms to face him. Burrowing closer, she laid her head next to his on the pillow. Her hand rested on his bare chest; his skin warm beneath her fingers. She felt the muscle twitch as his arm moved. A warm hand worked its way beneath her sleep shirt to the small of her back. With applied pressure she scooted even closer. Their legs tangled together.

Even this close she could barely make out his face. Only able to see the soft smile on his lips, with just a hint of teeth. His chocolate eyes were lost in the darkness of the night. Trailing her hand up his chest, she pressed her palm against his cheek. The coarseness of his neatly trimmed beard scratched at the soft skin of her hand. Her thumb caressed over his cheek bone, rubbing back and forth. The softness of the area a contrast to his jaw line.

Arching her neck, she pressed her lips against Damian’s. The kiss was soft and gentle, unlike the ones they shared earlier in the evening after the kids were asleep and the presents under the tree. Their lips moved in unison and she shifted closer, helped by the firm hand on her back. The kiss broke slowly in a series of smaller kisses.

When they parted the last time, Rachel ducked her head down and snuggled into Damian’s warmth. As her eyes drifted close, she felt the press of his lips on her head.

“I love you,” she whispered softly as sleep overtook her.

*~*

Christmas dawned to the excited shrieks of Isaac and Amelia declaring that Santa had in fact come. Their yells echoed through the house rousing both Damian and Rachel from slumber.

“How much time do we have before they simply start without us?” Damian asked, his voice heavy with sleep.

“Five minutes…maybe less,” Rachel answered as she sat up in bed rubbing a hand across her face. A yawn escaped.

“Would they?” Damian asked incredulously. He picked up his glasses from the bedside table and slipped them on his face.

“I don’t think so, but better not test it.” Rachel threw back the covers and climbed from the bed.

While Damian went into the bathroom, she grabbed the buffalo plaid pajama pants from the dresser drawer. A red long sleeve shirt with Santa Claus’s face replaced her night shirt. She slid her phone in the pocket of her pants and headed to the bathroom where she went through a quick version of her morning routine. The basics: peeing, brushing her teeth, washing her face, brushing and pulling her hair into a high messy bun.

She was exiting the bathroom, when the bedroom door flung open.

“Mommy! Hurry up!” Amelia cried, hanging onto the doorknob. Her hair was a tangled mess, haphazardly pushed out of her face. One pant leg of her white Santa face print snug fit Christmas pajamas rested halfway up her calf.

Rachel’s eyes quickly swept the room before sighing in relief. Damian already pulled his own buffalo plaid pajama pants over the black briefs he slept in. A grey t-shirt with a script ‘Merry Christmas’ written on the front with a Santa hat hanging off the top of the y covered his expansive chest. “Amelia,” she scolded. “What did I say about knocking?”

“I know…” Amelia drew out as she danced in the doorway. Excitement coursed through her. She was unable to stand still. “But it’s Christmas!” The little girl said as if that answered everything.

Rachel supposed it did to a nine year old.

Damian chuckled as he stood up from where he was perched on the edge of the bed waiting for Rachel to finish in the bathroom. His phone, already filled up with notifications wishing him a Merry Christmas, went into his pocket. “I guess we don’t have to worry about the naughty list anymore do we?”

Amelia grinned and hit Damian with a high five. “Right!”

“Santa’s always watching!” Rachel called after her daughter when she ran from the room. “Don’t encourage her.”

Damian laughed and caught her hand in his. He pulled her to him. “You know Santa is probably laying facedown on his bed. His jacket tossed in the direction of the laundry basket where Mrs Claus will no doubt scold him later for not putting it in the hamper. His pants around his ankles because he was so tired he forgot to take his boots off as he face planted on his bed.”

The image made Rachel laugh. Doing all what Santa did in twenty four hours, she probably wouldn’t even make it to her bed before collapsing. She probably would end up putting the reindeer on autopilot to make their way back home while she passed out in the sleigh using the sack like a sleeping bag.

Damian leaned down and kissed her. He chased the taste of toothpaste from his mouth to hers. Their tongues matching stroke for stroke. When he finally released her, they were both breathing heavily. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Rachel’s murmured, leaning up on tiptoes to kiss him again. This time, just a small peck on the lips. She took his hand and pulled him from the room.

“Can we start Mom?” Isaac pleaded from his position in front of the tree. Packages of different shapes and sizes were poised behind him all wrapped in different colors and prints. His crocked smile promised braces in the near future. His brown eyes and equally brown hair were a painful reminder of the past.

“Of course.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before Isaac and Amelia dove toward the presents. “Just make sure they have your name on them!” She grabbed the remote to the TV from the coffee table. Within a few moments, the YuleLog appeared and instrumental Christmas music filled the room. Mixed in with music, an occasional crackling and popping from the fake fire. One of these days, they could maybe open presents in front of a real fireplace but living in Florida where she was sure it was already in the 70s outside, a fake fire was the way to go. Taking a seat on the couch, she folded a leg beneath her. A hand appeared next to her, holding a coffee mug.

Rachel followed the hand, smiling up at Damian. She hadn’t even noticed him breaking away to the kitchen. He took a seat next to her with his own mug. She threaded her arm through his and shifted closer, balancing her coffee cup on her leg with her right hand. He placed his hand on her leg as they both settled into the couch.

It didn’t take long for wrapping paper and bows to cover the floor like a blanket of snow. Rachel remembered those days from her own childhood. The excitement of Christmas morning and tearing through gifts in nanoseconds eager to get to the awaiting treasure. As she grew older and toys became a thing of the past, she opened presents much slower, hoping to draw out the excitement.

She tried not to overdo it in her Christmas shopping, but it was the first Christmas with Damian. She had a hard time reigning the man in. He drug her to nearly every toy store in a 40 mile radius and that was when he wasn’t bringing something home from whatever city he happened to be in for work. As they began to wrap, he sheepishly admitted that he may have gone overboard. Together they selected gifts from each child and sat them aside to drop off at the Salvation Army.

“No way!”

Rachel pulled her attention from Amelia, who had opened a box set of the tween book series, ‘The Crowns of Croswald’. Her daughter hadn’t been much of a reader until she randomly chose the first book in the series at the school library the beginning of the year. A reviewer called the series a cross between Cinderella, Harry Potter, and Alice in Wonderland. Amelia must have checked the same book out three times since, gobbling it up each time. It warmed her heart to see her love for reading passed down.

She looked at Isaac who had jumped up from the floor, an iconic pinstripe jersey in his hands. The number 99 was big and large on the back with ‘Judge’ across the top.

“It’s just like yours!” Isaac exclaimed looking at Damian. The smile on his face big and wide much like his eyes. He wasted no time pulling it on over his pajama top claiming ‘I tried’ on whether he was naughty or nice. The buttons weren’t even undone on the jersey. “This is so cool!”

Damian laughed and quickly found the boy in his lap giving him an enthusiastic hug. He held the coffee mug out to the side as Isaac’s small arms gripped him. “You’re welcome,” he chuckled, returning Isaac’s hug. He picked up the jersey a couple months ago in October during the playoffs. The crowds were absolutely insane and the store at the stadium was packed so full one could barely move. His friends begged off choosing to instead meet him at their seats while he fought off overzealous fans looking to buy their ALDS merchandise. He took countless photos that day but it was all worth it for the current moment. “Maybe we’ll be able to catch a spring training game in March.”

“I’d miss school for that!” Isaac declared causing Rachel and Damian to laugh.

“You’ve corrupted him,” Rachel turned to look at Damian after Isaac went back to sit on the floor in the midst of wrapping paper and toys. Jersey still in place. “We’ll never get that off him. My dad won’t even let us in the house later when he sees him.”

Florida had no Major League Baseball teams when her father was growing up. The closest team to their Venice, Florida home were the Atlanta Braves. By the time baseball expanded into Florida with the Marlins and then the Rays, no one could pry the Braves from her dad’s heart.

It was one of the reservations she had about introducing Damian to her parents. Her dad could forgive a lot of things, but she wasn’t sure if he could forgive her for dating a Yankee fan. At the beginning, her father called him ‘The Yankee’ and she was sure it was a dig, but over the months it had melded into almost a term of endearment. There wasn’t a big of a bite in the words anymore. Her mother even told her that’s how Damian was stored in his phone.

“I can’t wait to see the look on his face when Isaac gives him a ‘hi grandpa’.” Damian laughed, tickled at the prospect of needling Rachel’s father. It would be a little payback at the jokes and slander her dad threw his way after the Yankees lost in the World Series to the Dodgers. Though he had thrown a lot of teasing and needling his way after the Braves were eliminating from the playoffs.

‘Could have been worse. She could have brought home a Mets fan.’

A ringing endorsement if he ever heard one. He and her father both were able to come together and set aside differences over their mutual hatred at the New York Mets.

“Maybe he’d like to catch that spring training game with us?”

Rachel turned her head, sending him a smile. “He’d love that. As long as you’re okay with him in that dirty Braves hat and faded out jersey mom keeps threatening to throw out.”

An undignified sound came from Damian but his heart was warm. He couldn’t wait for the spring months and spring training baseball. He could take Isaac and Rachel’s father up to Tampa for Yankees spring training or maybe he could give in and head just around the corner to North Port where the Braves facility was located. Nothing soothed the disappointed of the previous season like the optimistic birth of a brand new season. Maybe this time, they could place a small wager on the season.

He already knew what he wanted.

Damian glanced at Rachel from the corner of his eye. Probably not the way to go about being gifted that particular hand. No matter his feelings he wouldn’t survive if his sisters found out he wagered Rachel’s hand in marriage on a baseball season. And if his mother found out…

“Mom, you gotta open your presents!”

Amelia saved Damian from thoughts of his mother taking skin off his hide. A glance at the tree told him the kids still had presents to unwrap, especially Isaac’s PS5 he argued with Rachel over purchasing which led to Amelia’s iPad. He wanted to buy a Nintendo Switch but the little girl wasn’t into video games as her older brother. The blonde headed sunshine was into reading, drawing, friendship bracelets, and Taylor Swift. He definitely felt a little out of his comfort zone. If Taylor would have worked with him and scheduled her already two year long tour into three, he could have gotten Amelia tickets but The Eras Tour ended a few weeks ago. Instead he purchased an iPad with an Apple Pencil and one of the best drawing apps recommended to him by a couple of people in the graphics department at WWE.

“Did Santa bring me presents?”

It was the wavering note in Rachel’s voice that had Damian turning his attention to her.

“Of course he did mom!” Isaac sent a wink to Damian. It wasn’t as sly as the little boy thought. Just last week, while he and Damien were tossing the baseball outside in the fading sunlight, he told Damian he knew Santa wasn’t real. Damian struggled with the conversation because he didn’t want to be the one to spoil the magic of Christmas and Santa.

“Here mom!” Amelia carried two rectangle shaped clothing boxes with a couple smaller rectangle boxes on top. Isaac followed behind his own arms filled with a few boxes of various shapes.

“These aren’t all from the big guy,” Isaac stated as he sat his own boxes down on the ones already in Rachel’s lap. “Damian took us shopping and made us promise not to tell you.”

“It was soooo hard!” Amelia groaned. “Keeping secrets is a tough business.”

Rachel laughed. She took her eyes off her children’s smiling faces to the presents resting in her lap. A lump rose in her throat as she took in the blue paper with silver snowflakes. She could tell the kids wrapped them or at least helped. The paper wasn’t tight on the boxes. Tape barely keeping the edges together. The smaller sides were folded crookedly and she could see folds from previous attempts before tape was just thrown on. Tears welled in her eyes.

They were the best wrapped presents she’d ever seen.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Amelia jumped up from her spot kneeling at Rachel’s feet and rushed back to the Christmas tree. She threw paper up in the air as she dug beneath the mess. “Found it!”

There in her daughter’s small hands was a cream knit stocking with a dark red cuff. Rachel embroidered in cream thread centered on the cuff. The stocking, a gift from her grandmother on her first Christmas as a married woman, matched her ex-husband’s. Her grandmother was then able to make one for Isaac and Amelia before she passed away. Isaac’s was a hunter green with a cream cuff while Amelia’s a matching dark red with a cream cuff.

She reached for the stocking, her hands shaking. Items inside shifted beneath her grasp.

For the last twelve years the cream colored stocking stating her name remained unfilled. A lonely vessel empty of favorite candy, lip gloss, travel sized lotion bottles and hand sanitizers. All those oft overlooked small tokens that get stuffed in stockings too small to be wrapped but just as important as those perfectly wrapped presents beneath the tree.

A feeling of being overwhelmed slammed into her. Her children’s faces blurred before her as her eyes filled with tears. She blinked rapidly in a losing effort to keep them at bay. A sob traveled up and escaped. She quickly lifted the packages off her lap to Damian’s. The stocking fell to the floor when she stood up and rushed from the room, a hand over her mouth to muffle the sobs.

“Mommy?” Amelia’s excited smile fell from her face.

Damian stared in shock toward the hall where Rachel disappeared. Confusion set in. He had no idea what happened. It couldn’t even be a reaction to a bad present, though he doubted Rachel would ever react to a gift in this manner. Not in front of her kids. The room was silent except for the low music coming through the TV. The Yule Log still burning faithfully on the screen. He turned his head back to the room and his eyes met Isaac and Amelia. Both standing in front of him staring at him with confusion filled eyes much like his own. He could see the tears starting to well in Amelia’s blue eyes.

Quickly sitting the presents Rachel nearly shoved in his lap on the cushion beside him, he scooted forward toward the kids who looked at him for answers.

Answers he didn’t have.

“Sometimes,” he started as he quickly searched for words to ease the situation but he fell short. “You guys stay here okay? I’m gonna go and see what’s wrong.”

“Didn’t mommy like our presents?” Amelia asked, sniffling softly.

“Oh dulce niña,” Damian pulled her into a hug. Her hands gripped at his shirt as she climbed in his lap. Her arms wound around his neck. “I’m sure she’s gonna love her presents okay.”

“You wanna make a bracelet?”

Damian was gonna buy Isaac that puppy he kept asking his mother about. “That’s a good idea.” He swiped his thumbs beneath Amelia’s eyes erasing her tears when she lifted her head. “You make me a kick ass bracelet to wear, Princesa. I’ll get mommy back out here and we maybe see if there are any more presents hidden under the tree with your name on them okay?”

Damian placed Amelia back on the floor and as he stood up, he ruffled Isaac’s hair. He left them gathering around the coffee table with Amelia’s new bracelet kit. The door to the master bedroom was shut when he reached it. He knocked softly but didn’t wait for an answer before entering the room.

Rachel lay in the middle of the bed curled up in a ball. Her knees were nearly to her chest; her arms clutching at one of the pillows, holding it to her. The pillow did little to muffle her quiet cries.

“Talk to me, Cariño,” Damien spoke quietly. He took a seat behind her leaning on his arm while he placed a hand on her hip. Her breath hitched at the contact. “I’m sorry if I overstepped taking the kids Christmas shopping for you.” He wasn’t sure if that is what caused her to be upset or not. He wasn’t sure what it could be. What happened to send her smiling and laughing to a ball of tears?

“No,” Rachel turned toward Damian and sat up. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. She felt his arms wrap around her waist pulling her as close as he could get her.

Damian felt the wetness of her tears on his neck and he hugged her tighter. He moved back on the bed, keeping her in his arms until he was able to lean against the headboard. He ran his hands up and down her back in a soothing manner, his touch light. He whispered hushes against her hair as he placed a kiss on her head. “Tell me what’s wrong… how can I fix it Bebé if I don’t know what’s wrong?”

“You did… you are…” Rachel whispered as her cries slowed and quieted. She pressed closer to Damian’s side, seeking his strength and warmth.

“I’m what?”

“Fixing it.” She moved her head to Damian’s chest. Her fingers caressed his chest until his hand captured hers. He brought her hand to his mouth pressing a kiss to her fingers.

“Well I’m glad I’m fixing it, but please tell me what happened?”

Rachel was quiet. The house held a type of silence that shouldn’t happen on Christmas Day and she felt awful for having been the cause. What her kids must think… “Isaac and Amelia?”

“Isaac is making bracelets with Amelia.”

“He’s gonna end up getting that puppy isn’t he?” Her body shook as Damian laughed. When his laughter died, she blew out a shuddering breath.

“Tell me,” Damian gently prodded, tracing random lines on her back with his fingers.

“The stocking…”

“I had to sneak out of bed last night to pull the items from where I had them hidden. I thought you caught me when you woke up as I was crawling back into bed last night.”

“I never had a stocking once I got married.” Rachel confessed.

Damian froze. Surely he didn’t hear correctly. Not have a stocking? How was that possible? “Like it was just a tradition you didn’t do?”

Rachel shook her head. “No. I hung them. Mine. Dan’s. Then Isaac’s and Amelia’s. Each year I would fill Dan’s with his favorite candy, a lottery ticket like my Grandma used to do, a brain teaser puzzle block for his desk, high quality pens for the office. Gift card to the café he would often go to for lunch because it was close to his office. Cologne. Random stuff. When the kids were little, I’d put small toys and teething rings. Rattles. Little puffs and yogurt melts. As they got older so did the items. Pokémon cards. Fidget spinners. Chapstick. Those punching balloons. Funky pens. The first Christmas Dan and I spent together as a married couple, I figured he was gonna sneak items into my stocking while I was sleeping…”

“But he didn’t.” It was a weird to feel both anger and sadness at the same time. Anger over a man who couldn’t do the simplest of tasks. Sadness for a woman who didn’t have someone to fulfill a simple task.

It was heartbreaking to think about knowing how much thought and effort she put into Isaac and Amelia’s stocking; into the whole holiday season. From present shopping to decorations. Fun events like The Polar Express Train ride and even going up to Sarasota to ice skate at the Sports Complex. Complete with photos with Santa Claus. The baking was beyond reproach and Damian tried to hit the gym more because he apparently lacked discipline when Christmas cookies were involved.

“He never did. Each year, stockings would be stuffed with favorites but mine would be laying there empty. As time went on I just became numb to it. If I didn’t expect anything, I couldn’t be let down.”

Damian cursed softly. Rachel spent the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas making sure the Christmas magic was alive and everyone’s wishes came true. While no one was making sure her’s did.

“When they put those presents in my lap… with that wrapping paper so messy and imperfect…” Tears filled her eyes again.

“You don’t want to even know how much tape we went through that day,” Damian chuckled. It was truly a test of patience helping Isaac and Amelia wrap presents.

“Damian… I never have presents under the tree. At least not the ones I didn’t put under there myself,” she confessed.

“That miserable asshole never bought you Christmas presents?” At Rachel’s head shake, Damian let loose a long tirade in Spanish.

“When Amelia handed me my stocking and I could see there was something in it… I just…”

Damian cupped Rachel’s face with both of his hands. He lifted her chin so he could stare into her eyes. Much like he did with Amelia earlier, he ran his thumbs across the soft skin of her cheeks, erasing the tear stains. “Cariño, you will never have to worry about an empty stocking ever again. I will make sure it is stuffed to the brim. Because you deserve it. You think I didn’t notice everything you’ve done, I did. Today is going to be a great day because of you. I love you.”

With his hand still cupping her cheeks, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. He kept the kiss soft and gentle, using it to convey how much he loved her. Her lips parted on an equally soft sigh and he couldn’t resist the invitation. His tongue swept into her mouth with gentle licks and soft nips. His hand eased to the back of her head, tangling into the strands caught up in a bun. Her hand fisted in his shirt, pulling the cotton tight across his chest as he used his hand to press her more firmly against his lips.

The heat turned up just a minute or two before his strokes turned more languid. He withdrew from her mouth, his lips turning up at the small noise of protest she made as she chased his lips.

“Mi vida, mi amor,” he whispered against her lips. “Let’s go back.”

The soft colored lights of the Christmas tree offered the only light in the house. A contented quietness laid over the house. Amelia and Isaac long since in bed after a full day of excitement, first in the magic of Christmas morning and then in the afternoon to early evening at her parents’ house with her siblings and their cousins. Isaac did in fact wear his new Yankees jersey much to the chagrin of her father.

‘You’re corrupting that boy!’

He was able to be coerced into taking it off for family photos in front of her parents’ tree as was the tradition dating back as far as she could remember. The four of them stood there while her mother morphed into a drill sergeant making them move a little to the left, back to the right. Angle this way. Turn that way. Stop smiling like that… she and her siblings suffered through it for many years. They learned to go with it. Not without some teasing.

She stood in front of the nine foot tree her mother spent hours decorating and nitpicking for days after - to make it perfect, smiling the biggest smile she could remember having on Christmas Day in years. Tucked into Damian’s side. His arm behind her back, his hand resting on her hip. Her bent behind his back. Amelia standing in front of her. Isaac in front of Damian.

‘You look happy Baby.’ Her mother murmured softly after pictures were through and conversation started back up. A dull roar that slowly grew louder as people fought to be heard and laughter broke out between her brother, brother-in-law and Damian.

Rachel knew her eyes were sparkling when she took her eyes off Damian to look at her mother. ‘The happiest I’ve ever been.’

With the kids tucked safely in bed, Rachel knew she was headed in that direction soon but she wanted to hold on to the day just a little longer.

“The day always seems to go by so fast,” she said softly as she stared at the Christmas tree with its twinkling lights. There was almost a sad look to the tree like it knew its job was done and was able to finally rest. “The build up seems to take so long getting here and then you blink and it’s over.”

Damian rubbed her shoulder. He sat on the end of the couch with Rachel curled up against his side under his arm. The dress shirt and pants he wore to her parents’ got traded in for a soft t-shirt and grey sweatpants. She changed as well, removing the make up and throwing her hair back up into a messy bun from the waves of curls she had it styled in, and putting on an oversized shirt with Frosty on it and shorts. A cream Sherpa throw covered her legs.

“Growing up I thought Christmas lasted forever. It always felt that way.”

“The older the kids get, the faster it seems to go.” Her fingers moved to play at the beaded bracelet wrapped around his wrist. The beads alternated in a pattern of red and black – the current colors of Damian’s ring gear. She tugged it gently so the white letter beads were visible.

‘Amelia <3 Damian’

“If I’m not careful, she might steal you away from me,” Rachel teased. “I saw the look on your face when she gave this to you this morning.”

Damian laughed as he flexed his wrist showing off the best piece of jewelry he owned. Amelia made a big production over presenting the bracelet, making him close his eyes and hold out his arm. When he was allowed to open his eyes and saw the upside down letters resting against his wrist, his heart stumbled to a stop. The little girl once again burrowing deeper into his heart. He knew in that moment, staring down at the innocent proclamation, his heart would shatter beyond repair if his relationship with Rachel didn’t work out.

“And you couldn’t wait to show it off.”

That was true. He snapped a photo of the bracelet sending it off in the group chat he shared with Rhea, Finn, and Dom.

‘You’re gonna be Papi for real in no time.’

Rhea’s response came after she sent a couple heart eye emojis.

The response warmed his heart. It was never far from his mind the rest of the day. So much so, when opportunity struck and he found himself alone with Rachel’s father he took the chance to ask the man if he could marry his daughter.

“You know you’re my best girl,” Damian wrapped his arms around her pulling her further into his body. “Just don’t tell her that.”

Rachel laughed and settled against him with her head on his chest. He adjusted the throw to cover them both. She stared at the lights of the Christmas tree as his heart thumped in her ear.

It had truly been the best Christmas.

#damian priest fanfic #damian priest #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfic #Damian priest x OC

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bobby-r2d2-floyd · 2 years ago

Text

The Nanny (Hangman x Reader)

authors note: so, hangman won by a long shot in the poll, but for the few that voted for the rest, they're still coming! i have to deal with the bs with my basement and i am a college student, so i have to deal with my coursework as well.

inspired by @roosterforme

this will be a mutli part series, im not sure how many parts though

pairing: jake "hangman" seresin x benjamin niece!reader; established mav x penny

warnings: some swear words and an inaccurate depiction of how social workers handle dropping a baby off to its living, absent father. also cyclone is a dad bc jon hamm if a dilf.

not proof or beta read, we die like men.

summary: Hangman wakes up one day to a social worker and an infant on his doorstep. the infant? his 3 month old daughter.

word count: 1.9k

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It was the one day that the Dagger squad had a later morning (11am, per Maverick’s request), so when the pounding on Jake’s door woke him up at 8:45, he was a little pissed.

He stumbled out of bed and the arms of some red head whose name he definitely doesn’t remember, throwing on a shirt along the way to his front door where the pounding is originating from and reverberating through his skull. “I heard you the first fucking time,” he curses out, throwing the door open and preparing to unleash verbal hell on the person standing at his doorstep.

All the words die out though when he sees an older woman standing there with a sleeping baby in a car seat at her feet. “Jacob Seresin?” she asks and his eyes bounce between the infant and the woman.

“Yes?” he asks, voice cracking a bit as he looks back to the woman.

“Do you mind if I come in?” he nods and moves aside as she picks up the car seat and steps inside. “My name is Caroline Husband, I’m a social worker for the state of California.” she tells him as she sets the seat down on his coffee table, “and this is Avery. Your daughter.”

Jake feels his heart stop as he looks down at the little girl, “what, what do you mean?” he sinks down to the floor on his knees, heart racing and Caroline gives him a small smile.

“Her mother-” she looks down at the paperwork she was holding, “Samantha Barnes, passed away from complications shortly after birth, you were listed as father on the birth certificate.”

Samantha Barnes… Jake remembered her with a small smile. They were briefly exclusive before she had disappeared one night, leaving behind the memories and a note saying she needed to go back home to help with her ailing father, her last living relative that she still spoke to.

“H-how uh, how old is she?” he asks, taking her small, but definitely bigger than a newborn, hand in between his finger and thumb.

“She spent some time with a foster while the state was waiting for you to return stateside. She just turned 3 months old.” Caroline forms him, which makes sense as he was just in the middle of the ocean for the last five months. “I have some supplies in my car that her foster mom put together for you, should you choose to keep her.”

“Choose to?” he asks, as if there was any other option for him. The second he found out Avery was his, there was never any other option.

“You can alway sign your parental rights away, there’s plenty of families looking to adopt babies.” she says and he shakes his head.

“No, she stays with me,” Jake says as he stands and Caroline smiles up at him.

“Well then, there’s all the information that you need. Her old foster mom made a list of information for you, her pediatrician, what formula she was feeding, how to prepare bottles...” she goes on to tell him more necessary information about Avery but tunes her out as he watches the little girl start to wake up and look around, well, as much as a 3 month old can, he supposed. “Here’s my card, it has my personal cell phone number on the back should you not be able to reach me at my office in the event of an emergency.”

He takes it with a smile and a thank you before walking Caroline to the door to help her bring the items in from her car and as quickly as she was here, she was gone. Leaving Jake to sit on his couch as he stares into the eyes of his daughter.

He kicks out his guest after 15 minutes of sitting there before he’s googling how to put a car seat base securely into the back seat of a F-150. After fighting for what felt like an hour (only 10 minutes) he has his daughter secured in his car before driving way under the speed limit to The Hard Deck, only 45 minutes late to meeting up with the rest of the Daggers but as soon as they see him walk into the bar with a car seat, all the teasing for being late blows out of there mind.

“Do we need to call the police?” Bradley teases and Jake lets out a nervous laugh.

“No.. no police needed.” Jake says as he sets his daughter’s car seat and diaper bag in the middle of the pool table the team was surrounding.

“Well, then who is this?”

Jake takes a deep breath before answering, “this is my daughter, Avery Seresin.”

Immediately the team has plenty of questions for the team’s resident playboy. He explains the situation as best he can with the information he got from Caroline.

“I never even knew Sam was pregnant. She never said anything and then she was gone.” Jake says softly as he looks down as his daughter in his arms, sleepily drinking from the bottle he made and Penny gives him a smile.

“You seem like a natural already.” she says, snapping a photo of the daddy-daughter moment and he smiles.

“Yeah, I was still around when my sisters started having their own kids, all girls too, ironically.” he responds with a small laugh and the movement of his chest startled Avery awake and she starts drinking more steadily again.

The squad takes the rest of the day before the bar opens with turns holding the newest member of the team. Aside from Jake, Bob and Natasha were the only other two who seemed comfortable enough to hold her without needing any instruction on support for her head.

“Does Cyclone know you have a kid yet?” Mav asks as he takes his turn holding Avery, seasoned from when Bradley was a baby and he used to watch him while Carole and Goose needed alone time.

“Fuck, no not yet.” Jake groans as he rubs his hands over his face. “I need to go see him.”

“Go see him now, between Penny being a mom and me dealing with Bradley as a baby there’s plenty of experience here to watch Avery for a bit while you try to get some time to adjust to dad-life.” Mav says and Jake looks over at him.

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah, besides, Avery is already better at 3 months than Rooster ever was.” Mav teases and Bradley makes a couple of offended noises before being slapped in the chest by Natasha.

Jake nods, “okay well here’s her-”

“Hangman, get out of here. I did all this with Amelia.” Penny says as she pushes him towards the door and Jake pulls her into a hug.

“Thank you so much, Pen.” he says, meaning it too since Penny is the closest thing to a mom that he has since he hasn’t talked to his real mom in years.

The drive into base wasn’t a long one, but felt like it was with how often he was checking his backseat and not seeing his daughter before remembering she was safe with Penny and Maverick at the bar.

Walking into Admiral Simpson’s office, Jake broke out into a nervous sweat. “Um, excuse me, sir.” he says as he knocks on the open door.

Both Admiral Simpson and Admiral Bates looked up at him from where they were sitting at the desk discussing some news that they received from higher ups.

“Can I help you, Lieutenant?” Cyclone asks and Jake nods, taking that as an ‘okay’ to walk into the office.

“Yes actually, I uh.. I was wondering if I would be able to get leave, sir. I had a surprise visit from a social worker this morning and-and my infant daughter.” he says as he straightens out his back and rolls his shoulders back.

“You have a child?” Cyclone asks, closing the folder that he had open to focus more on Jake. “Since when?”

“Well, as of 9am this morning, sir. Her mother passed away after she was born and no other living relatives so… She’s currently with me. Well, not with me Captain Mitchell and Penny Benjamin are currently watching her.. sir.”

Warlock and Cyclone share a look and Jake stands there nervously, “I know that this is short notices but all I’m asking for is a week to figure things out, find a sitter, get some kind of a routine started for-”

“Okay.” Cyclone says and Jake looks at him instead of the spot that he had been looking at on the wall. “You only want just one week?”

“I can have more, sir?” Cyclone nods, having recently become a father himself and knows how important bonding is for parents.

“Unless something urgent comes, how does three weeks sound?” he asks as he pulls something up on his computer and begins to type.

“I would greatly appreciate that.” Jake says with a small smile and Cyclone nods, ending the conversation and Jake starts to walk out of the office.

“Seresin?” Warlock calls out and Jake turns around, “congratulations.”

“Thank you, sirs.”

Jake drives back to the bar already feeling lighter than he had in the last 6 hours, and upon walking back into the watering hole, he sees a red faced Avery and a panicked Rooster.

“Bradshaw what did you do to my daughter?”

“What did I do? She threw up on me!” he says, holding the infant safely, and at an arm's length away.

The rest of the team is laughing behind him and Jake just takes Avery and lays her against him so her head is on his shoulder, “well I’m sure you deserved it.”

Bradley glares at him before wandering away to the bathroom to clean up. Jake smiles and rubs his daughters back as she babbles in his ear.

“How did talking to the boss go?” Penny asks and Jake smiles.

“Really good, actually. Said I can have three weeks as long as nothing urgent comes up that’ll need the full team's attention.”

“Well, if you ever need a nanny so you can have a break and none of us are available, my niece just moved to the area and is looking for work.” Penny says with a small smile as Jake moves to sit next to her. “Plus she has a degree in early childhood and special education.”

“Okay, yeah I’ll let you know.” he says with a nod.

“Well, you can meet her tonight, she’s supposed to come and help me out here for the night since Jimmy can’t make it in.” Jake just nods and Penny pats his shoulder that Avery isn’t sleeping on while she stands to start opening duties for the bar.

Jake didn’t end up meeting Penny’s niece that night, or any time in the following week. In fact, it wasn’t until the last week of his leave that he met her.

Jake was holding Avery as he walked into the bar before it opened, she was babbling up a storm and he took his sunglasses off to put on the top of his head when he saw someone new behind the bar, head thrown back and laughing at something that Bob had said.

You look over at him and he swears his heart stopped, “Hi! I’m Y/N Benjamin, but you can call me Saturn.”

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next part

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taglist: if you want to join the taglist for all my future works, shoot me a message and i'll be happy to add you :)

@mandylove1000

#glen powell imagine #jake seresin #hangman seresin #jake 'hangman' seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #top gun maverick #dagger squad #bradley bradshaw #bob floyd #natasha trace #hangman seresin x reader #not beta read we die like men

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