#and i turn off the alarm and see him driving away and have to flag him down 😭 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bluenet13 · 5 months ago

Text

Christmas One Gingerbread Cookie at a Time - Read on AO3

Love, loss, new beginnings, and bittersweet endings: a journey through Carlos and TK's holidays across the years.

December 2020

The car is quiet as they drive to a restaurant for date night. The silence only interrupted by Carlos' soft voice when he asks, "So, how are you celebrating Christmas?" His fingers tap anxiously against the steering wheel in a nervous gesture he had surely picked up from TK.

"Christmas?" TK raises an eyebrow and looks at Carlos questionably, but his boyfriend is doing everything in his power to focus on the road ahead of them and not on him.

Carlos sighs when they have to stop at a traffic light, reluctantly turns to look at TK, and smiles tentatively at him. "Yes, Christmas. You know, the holiday happening in one week. That ring any bells?"

"I'm Jewish, Carlos," TK says matter-of-factly, "I haven't celebrated a real Christmas since my dad tried when I was seven. He forgot to defrost the turkey, then burned the ham and had to call his own firehouse to turn off the fire alarm."

Carlos grimaces. "I know." He stops and swallows a few times. "That you're Jewish, I mean, not that Captain Strand can't be trusted with Christmas dinner."

TK smiles and reaches a hand to stop Carlos' fidgeting one. He squeezes once and lets go so it can go back to tapping a finger on the stick shift. "Why? Are you asking me to Christmas with the Reyes?"

He means for his question to be lighthearted, teasing even, for it to be a way to break away some of the tension in the car and put his boyfriend at ease. He doesn't have to always walk on eggshells around him. But the way Carlos instantly freezes and seems to have stopped breathing triggers warning bells inside his head.

Ever since Alex, he has been looking for red flags everywhere and he has been determined to stop after that fateful night at the police station, but, seeing Carlos stare wide-eyed ahead, his fingers no longer tapping but holding onto the stick shift for dear life, all TK can see is red.

Still, he tries to calm down his racing heart. Tries to breathe deeply a few times, which is decisively hard since he doesn't want Carlos to notice. A beat passes, then another and another, and only when TK is sure he can talk without bursting into tears or throwing himself out of the moving car does he speak again.

"I'm kidding," TK whispers, and his breath hitches on the last three letters. "I haven't even met your parents yet."

He wants to say more, thinks he should say more, but he isn't in control enough to trust what would come tumbling out of his mouth if he did.

Carlos doesn't say anything. He is grasping the steering wheel like his life depends on it, like it's the only thing tethering him to this world, to this reality, and he's scared of letting go and simply drifting away forever.

TK kicks himself mentally for making that comment, even if he doesn't know why it's affecting Carlos so much. And maybe he doesn't want to know. But he can't doom their relationship for the third time in less than a year, so he pushes past his own apprehensions and sets his hand over Carlos's that is resting in between them. He runs his thumb over the back of his boyfriend's hand and smiles to himself when he sees some of the tension that had been there a second ago leave Carlos's shoulders.

"I was joking, I promise," he tries again, wishing Carlos were less good at hiding his feelings so he could see some of it on his face. "I'm perfectly content with listening to Harry Styles on repeat and eating Sufganiyot my mom brought."

That finally makes Carlos look at him out of the corner of his eye, and TK chuckles at the incredulous look on his face. "Sufganiyot," he repeats, more slowly this time, "they're like a cross between a beignet and a jelly donut, and we eat them for Hanukkah."

Carlos seems to slowly mull over the new information before his face breaks into the most adorable and equally blinding smile TK has ever seen. "Do you want to come over on Christmas' Eve and help me bake some cookies?"

TK's first instinct is to decline the invitation. He doesn't like to be an inconvenience, or to be invited somewhere out of pity. But Carlos's smile is truly blinding, and TK doesn't think he's that good of an actor, so he must really want him there.

"Sure," he finally says. Because a night not so long ago, under a multicolored sky, TK promised himself he would be the reason Carlos' smile was there in the first place, and not the man that wiped it away. So now, as Carlos parks in front of the restaurant, he nods and smiles back.

Carlos jumps a little, clapping his hands together, and lets out an honest to God squeal. It's cute, but TK's not about to admit that out loud.

"You won't regret it. My Christmas cookies are legendary," he promises excitedly, before looking at his watch and ushering TK out of the car and towards the restaurant because they're already late.

-x-x-x-

TK does in fact regret it.

And in retrospect, he should have seen it coming. This is the same man that turned a casual dinner into a five course dinner that could rival the best three Michelin stars restaurant and made him want to run for the hills. But his smile had been so earnest when he asked that TK didn't have the heart to turn him down. Even if that smile, and everything that hid behind, sometimes still made him want to lock away his heart and throw away the key.

It's that smile that TK chooses to focus on now as he dips his hand in the bag of red and green M&Ms and dutifully sprinkles them over the dough still sitting in the mixer.

There are gingerbread molasses, Classic Sugar, and Chocolate Chip cookies cooling in various racks on the kitchen counter, Gingerbread Man on the dining table waiting to be cooked, Snickerdoodle Bars and White Chocolate Barks hardening on Carlos's bed because they ran out of space in the kitchen and Carlos is adding the jelly to one half of the Linzer Star Sandwiches while the tops finish baking in the oven.

The house looks like a poor man's bakery and TK belatedly wishes he had asked for more information when Carlos extended the invitation. Because apparently, to Carlos, baking cookies means baking hundreds of assorted cookies because it's a Carlos Reyes tradition to give a box to all his family members and friends, which also includes mailing one to those no longer living in Austin.

"Why did you wait until the night before Christmas if you wanted to bake enough cookies to rival an Oreo factory?" TK asks distractedly, his tongue sticking out as he concentrates on scooping the dough in the exact amount Carlos had shown him and setting them on the tray at the adequate distance so they don't, quote unquote, "run against each other, making one mess of a giant cookie like that one time his sister tried to help and ruined Christmas".

Carlos snorts and stops what he's doing to look apologetically up at him. "I usually start baking the week before Christmas, but work and other things have been keeping me pretty busy this year."

"So, you only invited me because you were behind schedule and needed an assistant?" TK shakes his head, feigning annoyance. "Unbelievable."

Carlos drops his spatula and turns panicked eyes to TK. He opens his mouth, but TK swallows whatever he was about to say with a kiss. "Hey, I'm kidding. I'm happy to be here."

Carlos' hands are sticky with powdered sugar and frosting, but he still cups TK's cheeks and kisses him again before he strays too far away. "I'm really happy you're here," he breaths against his lips when they part again.

TK nods, closing his eyes, and rests his forehead on Carlos'. "This sure beats listening to music and eating pastries alone," he says sincerely, before a cheeky grin overtakes his sweet smile, "and it got me out of trying new vegan eggnog recipes with my dad."

Carlos gasps, and dramatically clutches his chest. "You wound me, Tyler. Here I thought you genuinely wanted to bake together."

TK sticks his tongue out and fights the urge to remind Carlos he's never baked a day in his life. He likes eating pastries, not actually making them. Although, on second thought, he might actually enjoy baking with him. But he doesn't say any of that, instead he dips his finger on the frosting and smears it across Carlos' nose. "You're one to talk. I'm only here as your personal assistant."

"You're lucky you're not, or HR would have fired you already," Carlos mutters, catching TK's hands before he can smear more frosting across his face and licking it off his finger.

TK lets out a good-natured chuckle and accompanies it with a playful wink. "You'd miss me too much," he quips, a mischievous grin dancing on his lips as he reaches forward to snatch a gingerbread man out of the tray, ignoring Carlos' previous remark of no cookies until after dinner.

Were it anyone else, Carlos would have snatched the cookie right back, but seeing as it's TK, and he's been screwed since that night at the Honky Tonk, he just waits expectantly for his verdict.

TK breaks the cookie in half, offering one half to Carlos. He takes it but instead of taking a bite off it, leans forward and bites the exposed end away from TK's fingers, holding out his own half for him in return.

TK's eyes widen in shock at Carlos' move, but it quickly transitions into an infectious, delighted laugh. "Well played," he concedes, shaking his head in defeat before taking a bite off the offered half with a sigh of appreciation.

"Good?" Carlos asks, eyebrows raised expectantly.

TK finishes the cookie, and leans forward to kiss Carlos. "Delicious," he finally breathes out into the shared space.

Carlos rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face remains. "I meant the cookie," he jests, trying to fake annoyance but the affection in his gaze is unmistakable.

TK taps his chin, as if he was thinking it over. "Cookie was good," he confirms, his tone soft and warm. He leans in, swiftly licking the chocolate ganache off Carlos' nose. "Frosting was too. But you're so much better than both."

December 2021

On December 2nd, within an Austin apartment, a man leans forward, his hand trembling slightly as he lights a new candle. He's careful not to drop the shamash as he sets it back in the menorah, not wanting to incur the wrath of more than one version of his God. The warm glow of the candles reflects on his face, illuminating the tears streaming down his face, yet failing to reach the depths of his broken soul.

The space is quiet, except for the gentle melody of Christmas music resonating from the living room speakers. Discarded, burnt cookies lie in the trash, while an open recipe book on the counter remains set to a page featuring Sufganiyot. Despite the fact he still can't actually pronounce the word, he attempted to make them, yet the dough now rests in a bowl, half-submerged in water in the sink.

In a corner of the room stands a Christmas tree, its lights only partially aglow—the string ending somewhere in the middle. Sparse ornaments dot its branches, creating a feeble attempt at holiday cheer.

The rest of the apartment isn't much better and it mirrors the disarray. Pizza boxes occupy the coffee table, frozen meal cartons crowd the trash can, and the coffee pot wears the stains from previous mornings.

Settling onto the couch, the glow of his phone reveals a series of unanswered texts on his phone—Christmas party invitations waiting to be received, inquiries about lunch and dinner plans or post-work drinks demanding responses, family members and friends asking if he's okay and if there's anything they can do.

Shaking his head, he fails to respond to any message, except for a brief thumbs-up and smiley face sent to his mother confirming Sunday dinner plans. With a dismissive flick, he sends his phone flying to the other side of the couch.

The side of the couch that's empty and will remain empty, just like the unoccupied side of his bed.

That night, Carlos cries himself to sleep, his pillow the only thing absorbing his silent despair. He cries some more in the morning, then he washes his face, dresses up, and goes to work.

-x-x-x-

The following morning, a man arrives at his workplace in another part of Austin, awkwardly clutching tins of Christmas cookies, each adorned with matching ribbon and bow.

"When did you become the Pillsbury Doughboy?" teases one of his coworkers upon receiving a tin.

"Christmas cookies, sweet!" exclaims another, already savoring a bite of a ginger molasses treat.

"Did you bake this?" questions someone else, eyeing a Snickerdoodle Bar skeptically.

With a nod, the man meets their doubtful gazes. Beneath their skepticism, he senses their sadness. A shared sorrow that weighs on all of them, but nowhere as heavy as on his shoulders. It's an invisible cloak that threatens to choke him, gradually stealing his breath since that one fateful night when it all ended with a bang and not a whimper.

The previous night had been particularly bad, prompting him to bake. The first batch emerged too soft, the second too hard, the third burnt, and only the last batch turned out right.

He shed tears as he tasted the first cookie, yet he pressed on. His teardrops continued to glisten on the counter as he added ingredients to the mixer, frosted cookies and waited for others to cool down.

He didn't have a big family—no sisters, nieces or nephews, no brother-in-law, tías, or abuelos, to share the cookies with. But he had a work family and, thus, here he was, sharing with them the cookies born out of his despair.

Hesitantly, and then more animatedly, his friends sample the cookies, their expressions gradually softening into genuine smiles. He finds it in himself to smile back. And in that simple exchange of hesitant bites and shared smiles, a missing piece falls into place even if the greater picture is still missing.

An alarm goes off somewhere in the distance and it interrupts their conversation, though he wasn't particularly inclined to speak in the first place. Snatching a bite of a plain sugar cookie, he hurriedly exists, a solitary tear trailing down his cheek as he goes.

For the rest of the day, TK works, and that night, he bakes. Then he cries and eats broken pieces of gingerbread men with hot chocolate for dinner.

-x-x-x-

Weeks later, the two men step into the same Austin apartment, for the first time in weeks. The holiday decorations are gone and the place looks tidier than before.

"You moved me in," one of them says.

"Welcome home," his boyfriend responds, before leaning in until their lips meet.

They kiss like it's the first time all over again, but also like it could be their last.

Throughout the next few hours, their gaze remains locked in an unbroken connection as they reacclimate to the shapes of their bodies, the lines etched on their faces, and the cadence of their voices. All the while, TK's hand entwined with Carlos serves as an anchor to this lifetime, grounding him in the present, while Carlos' body pressed against TK is as a promise that, for as long as they're together, the chill of loneliness, and nearly dying, will never return.

December 2022

Carlos lugs the Christmas tree through the door, balancing it precariously as he kicks the door shut behind him. He glances around the apartment, noting the silence and lack of festive cheer. When his gaze lands on TK, he can't help but deflate a little. He's still sitting dejectedly at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone with a distant look in his eyes.

He sighs softly, deciding to give TK some space. Setting the tree in the corner of the living room, Carlos starts quietly decorating it, the sound of rustling branches the only thing breaking the silence in the house. Eventually, he goes to their room to get the remaining ornaments and out of the corner of his eye, sees TK staring intently at his phone, a picture of Gwyn and little Jonah on the screen.

Heart aching, Carlos skips the ornaments and walks to the kitchen instead. "Hey," he says softly, gently placing a hand on TK's shoulder, "Want to talk about it?"

TK looks up, his eyes clouded with unshed tears. "What's there to talk about?" He shrugs and leans closer to Carlos' side. "I just… I miss her so much, Carlos. I miss her every day, but I miss her a little more on Christmas because that's a time we were always together, even when I moved with my dad, and when we came to Texas. She always made sure to come visit even if just for a weekend."

Carlos pulls him closer and places a kiss on his forehead. "I'm sorry, TK." He wishes he could say more, but what can he say when he has never experienced the kind of pain that envelops TK now. He knows loss, all first responders do to some extent, but his parents are both still alive so he feels complete in a way that he knows TK will never be again.

"How do you feel about baking some of her favorite cookies?" He proposes, wanting to distract his boyfriend somehow. "I remember you said she always made some when she visited. We can include them in the gift boxes I'm putting together for our family and friends."

TK shakes his head, a small, sad smile on his lips. "Baking was her thing… and it's your thing too. Not mine."

Carlos sighs dejectedly and sits down next to him, their knees touching. "Would you be open to me baking some of her recipes? You don't have to help if you're not in the mood. If not, I can just bake the gingerbread man I was planning for today."

Looking uncertain, TK manages an almost convincing nod. He stands and returns a moment later carrying an old recipe book, its pages wrinkled in the corners and stained from many hours in the kitchen.

"Thank you, I promise to take care of it." Carlos grabs the book and starts gathering ingredients.

Meanwhile, TK continues scrolling through photos on his phone, a lone tear escaping every time he sees his mother's smile. Eventually he takes a deep breath and joins Carlos at the kitchen island.

Quietly, Carlos turns the book so they can both see and hands TK a bag of almonds so he can measure the right amount.

In the next few hours, the broken pieces of TK's heart start to mend with each new ingredient added into the mix.

They work side by side in companionable silence, with Carlos guiding TK through the steps, their hands brushing occasionally, igniting invisible embers in their wake.

"I remember when I was little," TK says when they're forming the almond crescents to set in the tray. "Mom would let me roll the dough. I always made a mess, but she never got mad. She only laughed and said the messier the kitchen, the better the result."

Carlos chuckles, his eyes twinkling as he imagines a young TK with flour in his hair and his small hands sticky with butter. "Thank you for sharing that memory with me."

"Thank you… for doing this, Carlos. It means a lot," TK says softly, his voice thick with emotion.

"Anything for you, Tyler. We're in this together."

-x-x-x-

Later they move to the living room, the aroma of vanilla and almond heavy and familiar in the air.

Together, they finish with the lights and start hanging ornaments: glass globes and icicles, wooden figurines, iron snowflakes, and some vintage ornaments from past generations of Carlos' family.

Once they're done, just before they settle the star to finish the tree, Carlos asks TK to wait and rushes to their room. He comes out a moment later and hands TK a final ornament.

TK cradles the piece in shaking hands, and takes a deep breath. "This was my mom's favorite," he explains, his voice barely above a whisper. It's a Star of David made in fabric, with a picture of TK, Gwyn, and Owen in the center. He'd made it for his mom as a class project.

"I found it last week in one of the boxes Enzo sent, I thought you would want it near. I hope I didn't overstep," Carlos says, wringing his hands as he waits.

"You could never, but… are you sure you want it on the tree?" TK can't help but ask. "It's old and tattered, and everything else is so nice and sparkly."

Carlos smiles at the gesture but shakes his head anyway. "It's not about a perfect tree, TK. It's about one that's a little of you and a little of me… and us, and our families. It's about bringing a bit of her back into our lives."

TK looks into Carlos' eyes, seeing only love and sincerity there. "She'd love this," he says as he moves to hang the ornament, but Carlos stops him with a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"Then let's put it at the top." He takes the ornament and raises on his tiptoes, settling it in place of the usual star.

Seeing it there, some weight lifts off of TK's shoulders and the tightness in his chest eases just a little.

Together they step back to admire their work, matching smiles on their faces as they stare up at the small symbol of Gwyn's presence in their lives.

Carlos wraps an arm around TK's waist, pulling him close. "Merry Christmas, TK."

"Merry Christmas, Carlos," TK replies, a sense of peace washing over him.

December 2023

Their first Christmas as a married couple wasn't supposed to be Carlos' first without his father, just as their first Christmas in their shared apartment wasn't supposed to be TK's first without his mother. But life's a bitch and here they are (or rather Tim is a bitch but TK and Carlos don't know about the omnipotent God destined to bring them misery and leave them parentles, and so still, here they are).

It's December 15th, the last day of Hanukkah and less than two weeks before Christmas, and the Reyes-Strand residence couldn't look any less festive. The menorah is lit, illuminating the corner of the living room and casting shadows across the rest of the space. But the Christmas tree is still at the farm, and the flour for the traditional cookies is still at the store. Instead, there's a poor excuse of a pre-illuminated, pre-decorated tiny tree sitting atop the coffee table, surrounded by unopened boxes from Amazon containing Walker’s Assorted Shortbread, Royal Dansk Danish Cookies, and White Fudge Oreos—a makeshift substitute for the cherished baked goods Carlos usually creates.

Carlos sits on the couch, staring blankly at the Hallmark movie playing on the TV, uncharacteristically unmoved by the decorations the protagonist walks past. His demeanor is as blank as his motivations and he wants nothing more than for the holidays to end and December to go on its merry way.

The months following Gabriel's passing were undeniably tough, but eventually, in between the shared pain with his mother and sisters, and the love and support he received every day from TK and their friends, Carlos found the strength to move forward. Slowly, he reached a point where he could smile again without guilt or the threat of an imminent breakdown.

It all had gone well, or well enough, until December arrived. Gabriel had loved Christmas, and with his life also went Carlos' inherited love for the holiday. Despite his own sadness, he tried to be present for TK and their friends as they got carried away in the holiday excitement. Everything worked out until a few nights ago when he was driving home from work, and "Feliz Navidad" started playing on the radio. It was his father's favorite Holiday song, and it pushed Carlos over the edge. He parked his car on the shoulder in the middle of the highway and cried until TK called him an hour later, asking if he was working overtime and had forgotten to tell him.

And so, every night since then, Carlos had come home from work tired and sad, carrying takeout and apologies. They ate in silence and watched in silence as the Hallmark magic failed to reach their living room.

This night is no different. When the credits roll on Hallmark's 'The Secret Gift of Christmas', Carlos automatically kisses TK on the forehead and mumbles something about being tired and going to bed early.

At this point in their routine, TK usually takes a hold of Carlos' hand and follows his boyfriend into the room, getting into bed together and running his fingers through his curls until he falls into a restless sleep. Tonight, however, he says he's too awake to sleep and stays behind.

TK waits until the bedroom door closes, a hushed silence settling over the room. Then he tiptoes into the kitchen and starts planning.

-x-x-x-

The following night, TK is reassured he's made the right choice as soon as he turns to Carlos, who is sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the 'Holiday Baking Championship: Gingerbread Showdown', playing on the TV. It took TK a few months of knowing Carlos to realize he loved baking shows as much as he loved baking itself. Typically, his boyfriend is a bundle of nervous energy and excitement when they watch. Tonight, however, he's quiet and subdued, and TK dearly misses his running commentary about the contestants and the treats they're trying to make. He even misses his uncharacteristic snark when someone messes up and his adorable muttering that he could have done it better.

As the living room clock ticks closer to eight o'clock it's TK who becomes the bundle of nervous energy as his conviction wavers, and he begins questioning his decision. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, he has no time to wonder further as the doorbell rings, and Carlos turns to look at him uncertainly.

"Can you get that? Please," TK calls offhandedly, busying himself with some dishes that needed drying.

Carlos raises a suspicious eyebrow and gingerly lifts from the couch. "Are we expecting someone?"

"Just takeout," TK lies, shelving the plates and cups from breakfast but looking at the front door out of the corner of his eye.

"Right." Carlos stops by the antique mirror he inherited from his grandmother to fix his hair, straighten the neck of his Polo, and take a few deep, calming breaths.

A shriek welcomes him as he opens the door. Instead of a delivery driver, there's Judd and Paul struggling to carry a fresh Christmas tree in between them, Mateo fumbling with various grocery bags and a case of beer, Marjan holding Target bags of Christmas ornaments, and Nancy, arms full with a Yule Log Cake from their favorite local bakery. Grace and Tommy are standing at the back, alongside Charlie, Evie, and Izzy, the last of which is carrying three boxes of various gingerbread houses.

More surprising is the fact they're all dressed in Christmas Pajamas ranging from completely adorable to hilariously inappropriate.

"Hey everyone," Carlos says, his breath hitching, and vision blurring.

"Hi Reyes. Thanks for having us," they all say in chorus.

Their friends are already familiar with the Reyes-Strand residence as if it were their own and they waste no time making themselves at home. Judd and Paul expertly navigate the Christmas tree through the door, their laughter filling the air when they almost knock over a framed picture of the firefam plus Carlos last 4th of July. Mateo arranges the food on the kitchen counter with one hand, the other already holding a beer can, while Marjan untangles strings of Christmas lights and Nancy opens boxes of ornaments and arranges them on the coffee table. Grace and Tommy, with the help of Evie, Izzy, and Charlie, begin to set up the living room with festive decorations.

TK notices Carlos standing by the door, shocked by the unexpected gathering of friends, and gestures to the others to go on without them. Concerned, he makes his way to his husband, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," TK says softly, looking into Carlos' eyes. "You okay?"

Carlos, still processing the scene in front of him, startles a little. Eventually he manages a nod and a tentative smile. "Yeah, just overwhelmed. I didn't expect…"

TK understands the unspoken words and pulls Carlos into a hug. "I wanted to make this holiday special for you, for both of us. Our friends thought so too. They have been texting all week asking to come over. They wanted to bring some Holiday cheer to us," he whispers, and his breath near Carlos' neck is warm and tingly and comfortable.

"Thank you." Carlos takes a deep breath, melting into TK's embrace. "I never thought I'd have this again."

TK sighs sadly and squeezes him a little tighter. "We can make new traditions, babe. We can celebrate with our friends, and just the two of us. We can create new memories," he pauses, letting his words reach Carlos before he continues, "and none of that is going to erase the traditions or memories you shared with your dad. Just like they didn't erase the ones I shared with my mom. They would want us to be happy and carry on enjoying the holidays."

Carlos nods into TK's shoulder, giving himself an extra moment to breathe him in before he pulls back. "How did I get so lucky?" He asks seriously, cupping TK's cheek and running his thumb over his bottom lip.

"I've been asking myself that same question for years," TK replies, without missing a beat. "We're a team, remember?" He closes the distance between them and kisses Carlos chastely, hoping to avoid the familiar groans and chants to "find a room".

"Besides, your smile? It makes it all worth it."

Before Carlos can respond, TK pulls him into their room and dresses them in matching pajamas before they rejoin their friends in the living room, the atmosphere already buzzing.

They decide to divide and conquer, and spend the next few hours setting up the tree, decorating it and the living room, baking chocolate chip and sugar cookies, and building three gingerbread houses because Evie, Izzy and Charlie couldn't agree on one.

Quickly, the room is transformed into a lively scene of laughter and friendly arguments, much like the Hallmark movies Carlos is so fond of. By the time the clock ticks midnight, the living room is no longer bare and shadowed, but adorned with twinkling lights, enough ornaments to rival Santa's workshop, and the fresh scent of a Christmas tree and recently baked cookies.

With the parents of the group having all gone home, way past the girls' bedtime, the exhausted remaining members of the group lounge in between the furniture and the floor, finishing the day eating cookies, broken pieces of gingerbread houses, and drinking spiked hot chocolate or apple cider.

When Carlos goes to bed a few hours later, he's still sad and a little bit overwhelmed, but he breathes a little easier. The holiday magic that seemed lost has been rekindled by the people who care about them the most.

December 2024

Carlos stands by the cabin's window, gazing out at the twinkling Christmas lights adorning the houses of their temporary neighbors. Snow had been lightly falling for hours, initially dusting the ground in a soft, white blanket. Now, it fully covers the yard, their car, and every road leading out of town and to the airport.

Resigned, he turns back to the room, which is filled with the comforting scent of pine and cinnamon. TK is bustling around, unpacking the luggage he had only packed this morning just before their phones buzzed with matching alerts informing them that their flight had been canceled.

After a challenging year in which they almost lost their way to each other, TK had convinced him to abandon tradition and embrace the new beginning that was thwarted before. No one had passed away recently, and their ghosts and demons were finally at peace.

So instead of spending a familiar Christmas at home, they had taken a flight to Aspen and spent a magical week getting familiar with each other and relearning the ways to make each other's hearts soar. The cozy cabin, with its roaring fireplace and rustic charm, had become a sort of sanctuary for them, a place where they could truly reconnect without other people and their jobs taking their attention.

Sensing eyes on him, TK pauses and looks up, a smile breaking on his face as soon as he sees Carlos staring. "You know, since we're snowed in, we might as well make the most of it."

Carlos raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? What did you have in mind?" He asks, his tone light and playful.

TK grins and nods towards the kitchen. "How about we bake some cookies?"

"Cookies?" Carlos looks dumbfounded at the many boxes of homemade cookies Andrea sent "because it's important to keep tradition alive."

"We're alone in a snowed-in cabin, with nothing to do and nowhere to be, and you want to bake cookies? Who are you, and what have you done with my husband?" He asks seriously.

TK chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Do you have other ideas, Ranger Reyes?"

Carlos nods and beckons TK closer. "I wouldn't mind continuing what we were doing last night," he whispers, his breath hot on TK's ear. "We don't have a hot tub at home, after all."

"I like the way you think." TK leans back and kisses Carlos chastely, laughing when his husband chases him and stumbles as he leads the way to the fenced-in patio.

-x-x-x-

"This week has been perfect," Carlos murmurs sometime later. He wraps his arms around TK from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder as they stand in matching ugly sweaters and cozy sweatpants gazing at the Christmas tree they decorated on their first night here.

TK turns his head to press a kiss to Carlos' temple. "It really has. We should do it more often."

Carlos nods and pulls a small box from his pocket. "That reminds me, I have one more gift for you. I was going to give it to you when we were back in Austin to fight the post-vacation blues, but now feels like the perfect time."

TK's eyes widen in surprise as he takes it in. Carefully, he unwraps a delicate locket. Inside it's a picture of the two of them on their honeymoon, and their initials are engraved on the cover of the small heart.

"It's a promise that no matter what comes our way, we'll face it together. You're my home, TK. I'm sorry that this year I strayed a bit farther away." Carlos holds up the locket and clasps it around TK's neck, its length making it fall just above the insignia he's seen his husband wear every day since they met.

Tears well up in TK's eyes and he turns around, burying his face on Carlos' chest as he hugs him tightly. "I love you so much, Carlos. Thank you."

Carlos smiles, heart full. "Thank you, TK."

Lost in their own bubble, TK and Carlos lose track of the time. The cheers coming from outside are the only thing alerting them of the arrival of the new year.

Laughing, they turn towards each other. "Happy New Year," TK whispers, their foreheads pressed together.

"Happy New Year," Carlos echoes, pulling him into a slow, heartfelt kiss. One full of promise for the new year.

They move to the couch with a plate of gingerbread cookies and hot chocolate, and sit down, content to just hold each other.

Carlos turns to look into TK’s eyes, mesmerized at how they reflect the light from the fireplace. He chuckles softly, "We were supposed to be at Nancy's party, but I wouldn’t trade this for anything."

TK smiles, his thumb brushing the heart-shaped locket resting above the one beating inside his chest. "Neither would I. This feels right."

As the night gives way to dawn, the sound of distant fireworks and jubilant cheers fills the air, but in their cabin, the world revolves solely around the two of them.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fanfiction #tarlos #tarlos fic #tarlos fanfic #tk strand #carlos reyes #firehouse 126

15 notes · View notes

we-keep-odd-hours · 1 month ago

Text

Up In Flames by Annabel7 (A03 link)

"Is that why you didn’t let Severen rip his head off? Because you did something stupid and impulsive once too?” Sure, Mae being the favorite had something to do with it, but there had to be another reason Severen wasn't allowed to kill Caleb on the first day.

Full text of story below the cut.

JULY, 1986

Once the fun was over, they still had to get the mess off the road.

Diamondback could hunt on her own; she never struggled doing that. Even her first kill (at least in this second life) she made on her own: a woman who had wanted to go outside for some air at a bad music hall. She had to prove to the boys she had left her human ways behind her, that she could hold her own, not hold them back or weigh them down. Still, hunting alone wasn’t ever as much fun.

She licked the gore from her teeth, rolled her tongue in her mouth to suck the lingering rot away. Some blood tasted better than others; the thieves they'd torn apart had something in them that gave the blood a mouthfeel like spoiled moonshine. Something ill, something off.

“Where’s the tall one’s face?”

She looked up from the bed of the highwaymen's truck—nothing much they could take, just a couple old tires, an empty gas can—and let her eyes settle on her companion in the desert night. The days when such a feat would have thrilled her were long gone; her better-than-perfect eyesight in the dark was as commonplace as the piles of meat on the front seats of the truck. Part of her world.

“Did you drop it on the road?” she asked, again.

“All I dropped was one of his hands,” he threw the scrap towards the truck. Maybe tonight's kills had been a bit theatrical, but something had gotten into him, something between his wife not remembering the date, the year when he first saw her, and then their hitchhiker sticking his gun, then his hand down her shirt before holding her head back to kiss her--a gesture she'd eagerly returned, even with her eyes open and turned to him.

“Coyotes will take care of it," she was never as worried about the clean-up, not for things like this. Not when the clean-up wasn't as fun as the kill itself.

“Rather not leave something that could rise alarm,”

Diamondback bent the driver’s side mirror towards herself: she wasn’t quite as slick as Jesse, but she was more like him than Severen: she didn’t like leaving blood on herself. She wiped her face with the shirt she had on under her jacket earlier.

Not looking like they'd just come from tearing out the throats of humans would be good, if some bored cop flagged them for their driving later on. They'd have to catch them off guard and weakened to haul of one off to a holding cell, but even that slim chance of any of them being someplace with daylight coming in through the bars…

A shudder cut through the excitement of a fascinating hunt, of recently watching her partner pull a man’s skull backwards, separating vertebrae before pulling back on his jowls. The result had been the human’s face coming off in two neat strips as she held the skull of her prey still to see what was coming for him next. She had then left her own suitor to Jesse, knelt down and pierced the jugular of the freshly dead one.

“I hope that boy knows better than to leave a mess,” she mumbled. A nasty flicker of fear for her family’s safety, a twitch of guilt that she’d left Homer and Severen on their own, even a blink at how she didn’t give leaving Mae with her new toy a second thought.

"You didn't want to clean this up,"

"Out here? Toss 'em to the side, animals will take care of it soon enough, or the heat. In town? You know she's got that boy hunting around a crowd."

“Mae knows better; she’ll teach him.”

“Mae knew better than to turn ‘im too. Don’t know what’s gotten into that girl but—“

“I’ll talk to her.” His word was final. Even though he wasn’t looking at her, Diamondback turned to her left and right, sarcastic, as if checking to be sure that Severen and Homer weren't there. Whenever the boys weren’t in agreement, it always fell on her to talk to them, or quickly shake her head to give them a just stop it gesture, or save it. Severen and Homer obeying to Jesse's attempts to keep order was one thing, but taking one of Jesse's mood swings as law was something else, and she always figured she'd pry a better answer out of him later, even if prying jaws apart was easier.

“Well, make sure it’s sooner than later," Diamondback said, a quiet order. And then, an afterthought: "She listens to you.” Homer would listen to her sometimes, but usually only after he’d argued with one of the men. Her son only saw her as his mother when he felt like it.

There might have been some seed of envy in her, somewhere, for how quickly Mae and Jesse had fallen into familial roles, but she never gave it enough light to grow.

“She don't always listen.”

“What kid does?”

He stepped in something wet, and hoped it was the rest of the face, but it was only a scrap of a bloody jacket. Probably best not to leave it either. Diamondback leaned against the car they stole earlier in the night, and lit a cigarette, keeping her lighter out. He learned to adjust his own vision a few decades ago, and focused in on the soft glow of embers. She hated modern cigarettes; he didn’t give much of a damn, nothing but blood ever registered as pleasant in taste, smoking for him was just a sensation, a habit, and he did his best not to think too long on what other parts of their existence no longer served a purpose other than a habit that outlived death.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she didn’t apologize, but the tone was dry, and Jesse gave her he dignity of not addressing a subject that would have ruined their otherwise nice dinner out.

“Mae took to the life like it was nothing. She’ll see to the boy.”

“You always sound so sure of yourself,” she grinned around the cigarette as Jesse reached into the inside pocket of her jacket, and pulled out another cigarette. She lit it for him.

“Your turn,” he said. He didn’t really keep track. Burning was part of the procedure for him, but for Diamondback and Severen it was part of the fun. With a smile she leaned down and lit the trail of oil she’d set up. He had to admit it was a nice flourish.

“D’you think that she’s got him turned yet?”

“It’s just the boy’s first night.”

“You’re really giving him the week?” she asked

He shrugged, one shoulder nudging at her; she laid her head on his arm. The highwaymen’s truck burned just far enough away not to be a threat to her night.

“We gave you almost a week,”

“Because it took you that long to decide where to take me for it,” fifty-ish years off, she still felt an odd mixture of warmth and venom at that—someone looking out for her, but also someone thinking she needed looked out for in the first place. Fifty years will do that: expose nerves, truths, things she never felt mature enough to name—her soft parts she’d rather not recognize she even had, let alone allow someone to uncover.

“How long it’d take Severen?”

The question startled him.

Jesse was sure that Severen had told his version of the story a dozen times; his own input was never asked for other than to verify events. Severen had half-planned delusions of grandeur, of making his first kill out of the ranger who single-handedly took down half his men. Instead, less than an hour after he was bit, he killed a drunk patron stumbling out of the saloon, and the man who had been helping him. It was dark, Severen’s vision hadn’t improved yet, but Jesse saw the color of the men’s scarves: Severen had killed the last standing men of his gang.

Severen didn’t know some aspects of the denouement of Diamondback’s mortal years, and Jesse returned the favor. Their clan's relatively few secrets over the decades were less a lack of trust than they were something else to protect them from: Severen had no regrets. Far be it for Jesse to give him one.

“Impatient son of a bitch lasted about thirty-seven minutes before tearing a man’s throat out in the middle of the street.”

Diamondback laughed—giggled. Her laughter was almost always a high-pitched trill, and Severen thought it was the most annoying noise in the world—no matter how often he tried to make everyone laugh. Jesse disagreed; it charmed him, and he draped an arm around the back of her shoulders.

“How long'd it take you?” she knew she had asked before, but she was smarter than any of the men gave her credit for: something bad, something truly goddamned awful had happened to him not long after turning. She never fished for details, but always had a suspicion about how his mortal family died.

“Don’t know. I blacked out. Woke up on the beach…timbers, bodies. Came across the second gunner—he was still alive, barely. I killed him.” There was no guilt, no shame darkening the words. “Few hours, I guess.”

If he wasn't interested in disclosing more, she wouldn't push, not when everything felt so precarious.

"I have no idea how the boy’s still standing—I thought I was dying, waiting as long as I did. As much as I forget...I still remember that."

“That goes away eventually. You would probably a couple weeks now,” a week without discomfort at least. At his age he barely noticed a few nights without hunting. “Maybe three weeks before dying, if you’re desperate.”

“Doesn’t sound like much fun…”

“I’m not saying you should go that long, only that it’s possible,” at least he hoped. There wasn’t a reason that he could see that would require them to avoid hunting that long, but it was reassuring, that even after the years made her more vulnerable to daylight, she would grow stronger in every other way.

She leaned forward, and tilted up to see him staring past the fire—that shadow in his eyes looked too much like fear for her liking.

“Are we still talking about blood, sailor?” she tried with an unsubtle purr. He almost smiled.

“Does your husband know you talk to strange men like that?”

“My old man always has something else to worry about. He’d never even know I was gone.”

“Not sure about that…” the momentary flare of playfulness receded, like gore and debris and evidence pulled out of sight in the tide, when both were startled by something cracking in the burning truck. The inferno didn’t last long; it’s initial roar of a near-empty gas tank was a let-down after so much trouble, but they probably had a few more minutes before any sort of responder would show up.

“Even if she gets him to kill; do you think he’d cut it as one of us?”

“Mae picked him. It might have been stupid and impulsive, but she wouldn’t have bothered letting him live if she didn’t see something there.”

This wasn’t the same spot, it wasn’t the same highway. Hell, it wasn’t even the same state. Still, Diamondback lost the fight with her mortal-self: a voice that sounded even younger than Mae’s (but twice as cynical) wrung its way out of her throat:

“Is that why you didn’t let Severen rip his head off? Because you did something stupid and impulsive once too?" her normal voice returned, but she couldn’t lace it with teasing, with fun. A flip of a coin, spin of a barrel, the clicking of a roulette wheel at a speak-easy. In the pictures, tommy guns always rattled but in person they sounded like dozens of little explosions, split seconds of audio pulled straight from hell.

“You’re the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” he meant it. The words were flat, factual, without affection or sentiment.

She couldn’t argue with him, even if she wasn’t sure pulling over that night was a smart thing or not, she was only sure that it was inescapable. Under the sound of the blaze (fire doesn’t sound like a crackle, and she couldn’t remember if her human ears could hear the sound of the air around the fire growing hot, growing thin, but she could hear it now) she could almost hear that slow, slow squeeze and release of her heartbeat, an organ operating on memory and someone else's blood instead of necessity. A cheap, vaudeville performance of life.

“And you weren’t an impulse,” he added, in case her silence had been a sign that it needed saying.

“Sure,” she brought back a taunting tone, an invitation to a game; but he declined it:

“I didn’t marry you on impulse.”

Technically, he didn’t marry her at all—commitment and a ring didn’t mean much, but then again, they were damned outlaws, so what did a clergyman or a judge’s word mean? What did any mortal thing matter when held next to a promise of a very literal forever? The wedding band she wore since the year he turned her had her initials in it—he never said, but she figured he wanted her to see that he didn’t just take it off of a body. Oh, she was sure he stole it or killed for it, but wherever it was, he had to have the intention of procuring it for her.

“Still don’t think Mae did anything other than make a stupid, impulsive choice because she’s young and lonely and fell for a pretty face,” she leaned back into him again—half a century or so did that too, wore off any concept of personal space, and they existed in the same place now.

“You didn’t make an impulsive choice because you were young and lonely?”

It might not really have been a choice; at some point he would have decided to kill her or keep her, and she would’ve been a dead woman if she stayed in her old life anyway. At least now she was dead on her own terms, instead of just on her own.

“Might’ve been a bad idea, honey, but I put some thought into it,”

“Just some?”

“Shut up,”

Homer would have been miming gagging by now; Severen pretending to doze rather than listen to their banter, but he always listened, was always fond of hearing it.

“We need to leave soon.”

The night wasn’t neither young nor dying—it would have been stellar to get another hunt in, something more subtle…seduce a man, a woman, one of them could get their target outside, the other waiting in the shadow, desert phantom on the prairie horizon. If the kill was quiet enough, they’d bleed them into canteens, take the blood up to the hills. She’d lost the transistor a couple months back, but neither of them ever liked dancing to the same songs anyway, and out above the plain the night sounded just so…But Mae had to go and drag in someone else, without a clue how he’d fit in with the rest.

“Really...how much longer are you givin’ them?” she asked. A whole week was too much, too risky.

“Mae’s not strong enough to keep him alive on her own, and he’ll be liability with the law at some point,” he almost didn’t add on the rest, “I’d hate to see her upset.”

There was a fine line between back-seat driving their fucked up family, and trying to be sure Jesse didn’t do something he’d regret later—not out of any sense that she was responsible for what he did (if anything, she usually blamed him for her own bad decisions), but because she’d much rather not see him miserable.

“Not just her—Severen’s taken’ a shine to him,” it was a simple observation—Mae’s boy started to behave more like a person and less like a shaking lamb since they burned the camper. The kid seemed a bit brash, proud, and maybe even a little decorous-yet-forceful. He didn’t seem to think all that much, but hell, neither did Severen (neither did she if she could help it), and when the kid told Severen to go fuck himself, he had responded with mirth instead of violence.

“Severen gets attached easily,” Jesse said.

“No, he doesn’t,” she’d been living with them long enough. She knew the man didn’t care about much anything, other than a good time. She envied him that.

“Course he does. Told me days after you turned that he’d rather throw me to the daylight than lose you,”

“You’re making that up.”

“He said if I scared you off, he’d go with you,” he remembered it well. He had come back the one night after scouting for prey for his bride to find her locked in their room, and Severen serious as a hurricane after some conversation the two had (he still didn’t know what was discussed, but he had his guesses).

“So that means I’ll be getting Homer and him in the divorce?” she flicked her cigarette towards the fire.

“You’d probably have more fun. Wouldn’t last a week.” It’s not a joke; he knew that; without him this little band wouldn’t last. If he didn’t know that, he might’ve run off with this woman half a century earlier, turned her a little later, had their own corner of the earth to hide from the sun—oh, he wouldn’t have, it was only that he might have. “But it’d be a good time,”

“I’d like to have more time than that, so I guess I’m sticking around.”

“Might take you another fifty years to have a collective week of fun in that case,”

“It wouldn’t take so long if you’d learn to relax a little,”

“Told you years ago, I don’t know the meaning of the word,”

“I think you knew it once,” she kissed his neck, would have bitten if they didn’t have to leave; nostalgia made her itch for their own room, another hour, two, to chase off whatever misery kept trying to get its claws in them. All this…because he mentioned the night I found him. If the idea that healthy, successful marriages don’t wobble like a house of cards at memories of first meetings occurred to her, she threw it out along with the rest of the unwanted things. She already had her work here: shotgun seat got its name for looking out for danger, for anything that threatened the party, after all.

“We should go. See if they had any luck,” he let go of her and started for the driver’s side.

“Jess?” she waited until he looked up. “If that boy can’t do it—if he drags us down. I’m not gonna ask your permission.”

“It’s—“

“You might be their leader, but they’re my family,” she saw him try to speak but didn’t let him, “I know you took a likin’ to Mae but she’s still new—“ it was nauseating, she couldn’t remember the year she turned but she still remembered hearing her mother say her brother was her favorite child. “I’d die for Homer—Severen too, and—“

“Not me?” he was smiling as he said it, wanted to coax her away from this morbid mood the same as she had been trying to do for him.

“I already died for you once, didn’t I?” there was a scar under the knife holster on her wrist, the last wound she had as a human, the last scar she’d ever get, in the shape of his teeth. She crossed her arms and rested them on the roof of the car; he was—afraid, almost. This might take a while. “I love her too,” she sighed, fully aware how little the words meant after her last remark about dying for the boys, “But Mae’s happiness comes after my family’s survival.”

“We’re all—“

“Just because she’s smilin’ again doesn’t mean—“ she could get away with more than the others, but even she wasn’t sure just what the limit was. “Your daughters won’t be any less dead if she starts calling you her father,”

“Get in the car.”

#annie writes #near dark #near dark 1987 #featuring a Worse detail about severen's origin story!

2 notes · View notes

cynicalone94 · 1 year ago

Text

Left For Dead

Read on AO3 here.

Jay walks out of the grocery store.

He and Hailey don’t usually have a lot of time to do their grocery shopping which means that they tend to stick to late night runs on the way home from work.

Tonight’s his turn.

“Hey man.” a guy calls out, and he turns to see a man walking toward him with an uneven gait. “You spare a couple bucks?”

Jay groans internally.

It’s so hard to know when these people legitimately need his help and when they’re just looking for their next fix.

The unsteady gait could be a sign that he’s intoxicated but it could also be a host of medical issues.

He shifts his keys to his left hand with the bags and reaches for his wallet.

The sharp stab of pain in his lower back catches him off guard.

He looks back to see a knife sticking out of his side, the hilt still encased in the man’s hand.

“What…”

A van screeches up next to them, the door flying open and then Jay is being shoved into the back.

He cries out as he hits the floor of the van and the knife shifts.

And then he’s being rolled onto his stomach and the blade is ripped out.

He screams but they just grab his head, slamming his face against the floor.

His arms are jerked up behind his back and secured with a zip tie.

What the hell is going on?

“W-what do… you want?” he chokes out.

“Nothing from you.”

Before he can attempt another question, they press duct tape over his mouth.

Then a knee is pressing into his back, keeping him down.

He’s closed his eyes, trying to tone down the nausea that the movement of the vehicle is uncharacteristically causing him, when he feels the van slow.

And hears the door slide open. And then he’s being moved.

He opens his eyes, looking around in alarm and scrambling to try to find something to hold onto.

Trying to kick their hands away.

But it’s a hard fight in close quarters with his hands tied.

And then he’s airborne.

He hits the ground with force on a slope, crashing and tumbling all the way down to the bottom.

When he finally comes to a stop he can just lie there for a while, gasping for breath.

Everything hurts and it takes a long moment before he can zero in on anything in particular.

Ribs, right shoulder, left leg, lower back, and head. Everything else is minor.

But he’s losing a lot of blood from that stab wound and he needs help, now.

He looks around, seeing nothing but pitch darkness. He knows there’s a hill to his right, knows if he can just get to the top of it, there’s a road.

And if he can get to that road, he can get help, can flag down a car.

But he also remembers how long he’d spent tumbling down that very hill.

And he has to get out of these zip ties before he can even really try.

Every move as he searches for something he can use to cut himself free takes his breath away but he finds something and manages to saw through the plastic.

He rolls onto his back, lifting his shirt to try to feel at the stab wound on his side.

He tries to pull his shirt off, hoping he can bandage it to slow the bleeding but his shoulder won’t cooperate.

Giving up on that, he rolls back onto his stomach and starts crawling up the hill, dragging himself inch by painful inch with only the use of his left arm.

“Jay doesn’t just not answer his phone, Sarge.” Hailey says and he can practically hear her pacing.

“No. He wouldn’t.” he agrees. “How long?”

“He went to the store after work.” she says. “I expected him to be home by eleven, we hit quarter after I started calling.”

It’s just short of midnight now which means Jay has been missing for over an hour, with the possibility of an hour and a half.

“What store?”

“Danny’s market.” she tells him. “It’s the only place close to our drive home that’s open that late. We take turns stopping to restock essentials when days off get farther and farther apart.”

“Well even they’re closed by now.” he tells her. “I can try to drag the owners out of bed to get access to the cameras but we don’t even know if he made it to the store.”

“I can check traffic cams.” Hailey offers. “Maybe get eyes on the truck and see if he did make it that far.”

“And maybe get eyes on any vehicles that were in the area at the time he would have been.” Voight says. “I have a CI I want to check in with. He’s got the pulse on the neighborhood and might know something.”

“Okay.” she says, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

“We’ll find him.” he promises before ending the call.

But Tanner doesn’t know anything about the abduction of a cop in the neighborhood and Hailey’s search of the cameras doesn’t turn up anything.

She can get a single glimpse of Jay’s truck approaching the store but there wasn’t a single other vehicle that passed the traffic cameras within the thirty minute window afterward.

Without getting access to the store cameras they’re dead in the water and Jay’s already been missing for nearly three hours.

His phone rings and he looks down, expecting to see Hailey’s name on the screen.

But instead he gets Jay’s.

“Halstead?”

“He’s already dead.” a voice says coldly. “But I thought you might like to recover the body before the animals get to it. Get a clear look at the cost of your actions.”

“Where is he?” he demands.

“Old Route 66 where it goes through Douglas Park. Near the tennis courts.”

The call ends and he scrambles back to his car, contemplating whether or not to call Hailey.

If whoever this is is telling the truth and Jay’s already dead, maybe she shouldn’t be there when he finds the body.

He parks next to the tennis courts, drawing his weapon and starting the search.

It’s miles more specific than he’d had an hour ago but its still a lot of ground to cover.

He reaches a hill, spotting disrupted brush and following it down the hill. Halfway down, he sees a glimpse of boots in the beam of his flashlight.

Hurrying toward them, he drops to his knees, pressing his fingers into the side of Jay’s throat.

The pulse isn’t as strong as he would like but it’s still there.

He calls for an ambulance and rolls Jay onto his back.

“Jay?”

To his surprise, eyes flicker open.

He wouldn’t say that Jay is conscious and completely with it but he’s definitely not dead.

“It’s okay, kid.” he says gently, searching for injuries.

He finds the stab wound on Jay’s lower left side and presses his hand over it.

“Just keep breathing.” he urges. “Stay with me, kid.”

Jay is more of less still with him when the ambulance arrives and sticks it out through the ride to Med.

Hailey rushes up to him in the waiting room, staring at Jay as he’s wheeled past him.

“What happened?”

“I got a call.” he says. “With a location.”

“And you didn’t call me?” she demands. “What you didn’t think I should be there?”

“No.” he says, shaking his head. “I didn’t.”

She frowns, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“They said he was already dead.” he tells her. “You didn’t need to be there if that was the case.”

“But he’s still…” she trails off.

“He hung in there the whole way here.” Voight tells her. “And who knows how long out on that hill. Don’t give up on him yet.”

She sinks into a chair.

A few hours later they’re sitting on either side of Jay’s bed, watching him sleep.

The stab wound had come close to serious damage that would have caused him to bleed out long before Voight had arrived but luckily the wielder of the knife had missed their target.

The repair had been easy and once they can replenish his blood volume he should make a full recovery.

He has other injuries, ones that Voight suspects had come from being thrown down that hill.

A broken ankle, dislocated shoulder, broken ribs and a concussion are all painful but also expected to heal.

But that doesn’t mean that Voight won’t be visiting some serious pain on whoever had done this to him.

The suggestion that this was revenge for something that he’d done in the past is the only lead he has right now.

“Don’t worry kid.” he says, leaning down. “I’ll find the bastards who did this to you.”

#febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday27 #left for dead #jay halstead #chicago pd #whump fic

5 notes · View notes

anthonybialy · 6 months ago

Text

Buffalo Bills Off to Later and Later Starts

You’re ready for the game. Your team was not. Fans strive to emulate positive qualities displayed by beloved athletes. The Buffalo Bills could reciprocate by showing up at 1 p.m. That’s the conventional NFL start time, which should be written on a dry-erase board displayed in a prominent locker room location. Sleepy openings turn truly stressful when culprits nearly run out of time to get peppy. Getting thrown off by daylight saving time can only be used an an excuse once annually.

These two particular teams being tied after the first quarter was unpleasantly surprising. Don’t worry: it got worse. The Bills listlessly got around to trouncing the Titans and Seahawks. Their lackadaisical approach nearly caught up with them while hosting Miami. I have never been a professional sports coach, but I humbly suggest using each minute provided to maximize point potential.

Sean McDermott’s plan of having Josh Allen create a miracle paid off again. His more active decisions proved less beneficial. Only McDermott could throw a flag regarding a play where the opponent deserved better field position. He should be challenging defenders to tackle, not obvious first downs.

Not showing up ready is their signature. There have been dominant NFL clubs known for more appealing aspects than waiting until after the unearned break. Insouciance is uninspiring. The unwelcome habit serves as the most prominent coaching failure of a franchise that still feels like it’s underachieving despite its sweet record.

Half-efforts for half the game is ensconced as a trend. It’s important to not read too much into an aberration. But the Bills remained stubbornly sluggish against a desperate divisional enemy playing like they have nothing to use. It has become their wont.

Players are bound to occasionally flub. Please don’t let the essence of humanity stop you from criticizing every error, because I certainly won’t. There are not many games with zero incompletions, and even those don’t all go for touchdowns. But outfits reach a tipping point where the lack of success becomes unacceptable. Six points from three first-half red zone drives is not the result produced by a serious contender.

A field goal is still better infinity percent fewer points. I’d be eager to praise Keon Coleman growing into a top option for an offense with a singular quarterback if he didn’t do unproductive things like let a catchable football bounce off him near the goal line.

The Bills won despite often losing the line of scrimmage. Overcoming a battle loss makes war wins arduous. Dion Dawkins is too busy starring in commercials to block. As for a counterpart, Ed Oliver works on his sack dance like Bobby Hill without getting to use it. Von Miller made an impact. Of course this is not praise.

The line can blame the secondary for underwhelming results and vice versa. Kaiir Elam was a first-round pick, which is something new fans are alarmed to learn and older ones wish they could forget. The steady bust got an opportunity with Christian Benford hurt, which is not to his benefit. He’s inactive even when he’s active.

Seeing how long he can get away with screwing up: Tyler Bass is the emblematic 2024 Buffalo Bill. Making up for earlier flubs is a pattern with this squad. We call it the McDermott precedent. Coleman is already accustomed to it. Bass is a C student who doesn’t apply himself unless he feels challenged.

Exasperating wins are what this year’s Bills are about. You could fire their coach after improving to 7-2 and cut the kicker after making a winning field goal without either transaction being truly jarring. In fact, a high percentage of team followers would be appreciative despite the most recent results. Longterm thinking outweighs present euphoria.

Relying on the Dolphins fumbling worked. It’s too bad Taron Johnson can’t punch the ball into Coleman’s hands. Miami deserved to be scored on for thinking Coleman was the target.

Miami not tackling is as cunning a strategy. An implosion is only reliable against the rest of the AFC East. Ray Davis has emerged as a demolition expert.

Who’s responsible? Jerry Seinfeld can feel relieved that it’s finally a question where people want to be noticed. It depends on the play. Josh’s statistics credit him for both the Davis touchdown and Coleman-caused interception. Life balances out. Quintin Morris’s fantastic catch on a spectacular improvisation from his imperiled quarterback is the most deserving of shared billing.

Khalil Shakir continues to impress even without a score. His elusiveness means the catch is just the start, so don’t check your SimCity presuming the play’s over after the reception. The same goes for rushing counterpart James Cook, who is uninterested in when anyone else thinks a play should be over as he maintains his balance.

Trying to enjoy entire games has become infeasible. It’s not ingratitude to hope that domination goes beyond the last few moments. I didn’t even have the decency to thank the Bills for maintaining tension for an entire game. I must not appreciate drama.

The desired ultimate result doesn’t obfuscate excessive difficulties in reaching it. The rest of the league will see only the win. Even the shockingly close score’s psychological impact will fade. Outsiders will know the Bills got it done. Meanwhile, the doers should focus on how much they struggled to do so unless they’re eager to get exposed as playoff impostors.

Divisional games don’t have to be competitive. A matchup between eternal rivals is traditionally framed as hazardous even if second place in a division means being the franchise with the least amount of flaming toxic waste. The Bills could fight stereotypes by blowing out the AFC East consolation teams. Sweeping the Dolphins is what’s important. But the one thing better than redemption is not bungling in the first place.

#Buffalo Bills #AFC East #football #NFL #Josh Allen #Sean McDermott #Tyler Bass

0 notes

fieldofdaisiies · 2 years ago

Text

Ruhn Danaan x Reader | Like I Do

type: fluff, smut warning(s): curse words, explicit descriptions, unprotected sex, use of guns word count: 3k words request: @kennedy-brooke: hi lovely 🖤 i hope you are doing okay! idk if youre taking requests- but if by some chance you are (if not just completely ignore the ask i promise i wont be offended) would you be willing to write a ruhn oneshot? enemies/rivals to loversish with a fluffy ending (maybe smut if ur feeling up to it). i genuinely LOVE that u write for him, esp bc he is criminally underwritten for (smh) and i just know youd do it justice <3 xoxo -k

The gun is hot against your palm when the bullet just about an inch misses bull's eye. A frustrated groan leaves you, but a second later turns into an annoyed one.

“Close, but not close enough.” Tossing your braid over one shoulder and fully pushing back the earmuffs that have only covered one ear and now land on your shoulders, you glance back and lift a brow at the starborn prince that is casually leaning against the doorframe, a grin on his lips.

“Your business?”

“I am just trying to be helpful.” “Fuck off.” You turn back and place the small gun down, wanting to reach for a bigger one when a presence moves close to you. The scent of cologne and night fills your nostrils and you desperately try to not inhale. You hate him. You hate him so much.

Or…you want to hate him. You want to hate him so much. But you can't. Something has always been pulling you towards him and that is stressing you out. Not only because Pollux would do unspeakable things to you if he found out but also because he is Ruhn Danaan, Crown Prince of the Valbaran fae and you really, really don't want to have feelings for such a spoiled git.

“Let me help you,” Ruhn says and closes the door behind him with the kick of his foot.

“I really don't need help from someone like you," you growl and feel anger burn inside your veins.

He fakes hurt and folds a hand over his heart. “Ouch, that hurt." “Good.”

Ruhn chuckles lowly, watching you as you reach for a gun, one that is bigger than the one you just had.

“Really? That one?” Ruhn questions, his presence making you terribly angry. And nervous. And…aroused. What the hell is wrong with you? you ask yourself.

You roll your eyes, more at yourself but you hope he takes the hint—that his presence is not welcomed.

“Oh, so you think I cannot handle a big gun?” You put some stress to the word big and gun, slowly sucking your lower lip between your teeth while you give the starborn prince a once over.

Ruhn chuckles casually while his blood runs hot. And not only his skin but also one very specific body part tightens at how you have spoken the words. He has no doubt you can handle a big gun, but he internally knows that it will be his end to see you lift that rifel onto your shoulder and fire.

Oh, does he want to hate you. The Hammer being your lover should already make all the alarm bells in his head ring and it is probably your biggest red flag. Ruhn has wanted to hate you since the moment he met you, you are so proud and arrogant, but he cannot. It seems like a sheer impossibility, so all he can do is pretend and pretend only.

And that nearly drives him insane, because look at you – the most stunning, gorgeous female he has ever seen. Beautiful lips, soft skin, captivating eyes, your are breathtaking and outstand—

“Done drooling?” Your brow cocks up, challenge glowing like bright flames in your eyes.

The starborn prince’s nostrils flare, his eyes narrowing on you and he huffs a chuckle. “I wasn’t drooling.” Pushing your hip of the counter, you move to him, standing so close you are nearly breathing the same air. Your gazes lock and one could cut the tension with a knife when you place the not yet loaded gun under his chin, tipping it up. “You totally were, princeling.”

Ruhn’s lips form a smirk when his slender fingers curl around the gun and he moves your hand away from his jaw, but only to pull you to him, both your hands and the gun trapped between your bodies.

“Maybe thinking of you handling a big gun truly makes me drool,” Ruhn says, his voice dropping at least an octave. The deep tenor reverberates through you, making your toes curl. Ruhn is rewarded with hearing the breath hitch in your throat and he takes this moment to lean in, his brow raising when his eyes trail your features.

“So prove to me that you can truly work with such a big gun.” A smirk appearing on your lips and colour blooming high on your cheeks, you pull your hand out of his hold, step backwards and turn around so you can walk back to the stall where you put your gun down and pick up a bigger rifle.

“I thought you said big and not as small as this tiny thing.” Cackling, you flash him a grin over your shoulder, mischief sparkling in your eyes. “I bet that’s what most girls say to you in the bedroom.”

Every irrational thought has definitely left him, Ruhn thinks, because he finds your teasing more than erotic. He tries to glower, a small growl leaving him before a grin parts his lips. “Feisty little thing.” Now you huff, the tone rather playful than annoyed. “Take that back.” “Only if you hit bull's eye.” You wave your hand, that is not holding the gun at him, rolling your eyes and turn back, your whole focus going to the target. And damn him. You immediately lose focus again when his figure moves closer to you, towering over you, his chest nearly against your back.

“Can you step back?” you snap, almost growling at him.

“Why? Am I making you nervous?” His voice is taunting, a sweet whisper brushing down your spin. You hate this, you hate what he does to you.

“No,” you say and push your elbow backwards, shoving him softly. “I just need space.”

He chuckles, but gets the memo and gives you some more space—not much though.

You pop on the glasses again, and move the ear cuffs up, hefting the bigger rifle into your hands. Weighing it in your arms, you grin, hoping it will annoy him that you indeed can handle this big boy.

I’ll be dammed, Ruhn thinks when he cannot move his eyes away from you, his gaze following the movement of your fingers brushing over the chassis, stroking all the way down to the butt plate. He swallows hard and clear his throat, his hardening cock a painful ache behind his tight pants. You fit the gun to your shoulder with graceful simplicity. All your focus is finally on the target.

And then…

Ruhn nearly comes at the sight of you firing and aiming bull’s eye. His mouth gapes, a silent gasp leaving him. “Fuck.”

He internally thanks every god and higher being that you wear those cuffs and have not heard him. He is still in admiration when you turn to him, removing the ear cuffs, then the glasses and placing all things down on the counter. Ruhn wants to praise you for the shot, but he cannot give you that just then.

“Good, but still a lot you need to work on.” He is a cocky ass bastard, you decide once again. And Ruhn also knows that himself, but he just loves seeing you angry, all riled up, because this is what gets him worked up. Until meeting you he has had no idea that anger could be so hot, would turn him on so much.

“You know what, Ruhn, I really don’t care and I am anyways done for today. I am done here.” Shoving his shoulder, you brush past him, ripping the door open, dashing outside.

He annoys you and you know that the longer you stay with him the more it will hurt. Because this hate, this hate for him does not specifically come from him being a dick. It comes from your raging feelings for him. But your are stuck with Pollux and Ruhn hates you, so leaving Pollux would not be the solution to the problem, you would just be alone.

So you have to get out, get away from him. It is too much, and your hopes and dreams of what could be if you and Ruhn—

You shut your mind down and clamp your mouth shut when you run into the locker room, adjoint to the shower room. For a moment you just sit there, on one of the benches, staring at the opposite wall. Over the blood rushing in your ears from how many thoughts are coursing through your mind and the emotions bubbling up inside of you, you don’t even hear the door open.

Until—

You jump to your feet and your jaw drops to the ground. The starborn prince leans against the threshold leading to the bathroom, and is wearing just a towel around his waist. Your eyes lower for a moment, following the tattoos on his chest, his arms, glancing at his strong, solid muscles, his pierced nipples, moving up again to his lip ring, he is currently sucking between his teeth.

Your body flushes hot, and your have to first catch your breath to say something. Ruhn is quicker though.

“Sorry,” he says woth graceful simplicity —so casually, so cool, like it will make everything good. Like this word would solve all your problems.

You are irritated because in this very moment you don’t even know what he would be apologising for.

He has been cocky, yes, but that is it. He has done nothing wrong other than teasing and taunting you.

“I really dislike you, Ruhn,” you say with a smile on your face when you lift your gaze to his.

“A sweet little liar you are.”

“Wasn't lying,” you drawl and take a step closer to him. Ruhn also pushes of the threshold, eyes roaming your figure. “Nobody can hate some one and look at them like that.” Your voice is a breathy whisper when you ask, “Like what?” “Like you are stripping me bare with your eyes, imagining what is underneath that,” —Ruhn’s hand falls to his lower abdomen— “towel.”

You swallow thickly, desire clouding your vision.

“Something very little and tiny, I assume.” You grin, hoping to have landed a blow to his ego. But Ruhn only shakes his head and laughs. “Want to find out?” Your mind, and heart, and also your lady parts scream YES in unison when your lips part and you avert your gaze.

“Idiot,” you huff instead, trying to focus on anything but his private parts. Those thoughts you only allow in the dead of night.

“You are a starborn dick, Ruhn.”

His shoulders shake with silent laughter and Ruhn wipes one hand over his towel. “Yeah, I assume my dick has star potential…which brings me back to the topic.” He pauses, silently regarding and assessing you. He can see the desire in your eyes, your arousal so poignant, so delicious, your passion just as acute as his own.

Ruhn knows that this is the last chance to make you his. He knows if he lets you go again today there will never be a future for the two of you, and as much as he wants to hate you, he cannot bring himself to do so. So this is his last chance. That is why he is pulling all registers. “So we are going to shower together now? Angry fucking is always a good option.”

“I hate you.” A silly grin spreads over your whole face.

Ruhn’s hand brushes up your arm, to your shoulder and he curls his finger under the strap of your top. “Is that a yes?”

Your hands meet his chest first, then your lips close over his and you push him back agains the wall behind him. “Yes,” you breathe into his mouth, lips moving against each other, devouring the other. The kiss is passionate, hungry, like you have been longing, yearning for each other your whole life.

And it truly feels like this. Ruhn can't get enough, his hands are all over you, pulling your shirt up, unclipping your bra and tossing it away. He turns the two of you, you are now pressed against the wall, his hand moving over your chest, cupping your breast.

“So perfect,” the starborn prince groans against your neck, lips moving over the skin in a bruising kiss that has you moaning. His thumb rubs your taut nipple, before rolling it between his finger and his thumb. “Do that again.” And as bad as you do not want to do it again, you do, a moan parting your lips, your head falling back to the bathroom wall, eyes closing.

Finges curling around the edge of his towel, you simply pull it away, the starborn prince now in front you in all his nude glory. And gods, is he beautiful.

His erection is a hard press against your lower belly when his hips rub against you. His hands sliding down your sides, softly squeezing your hips, before moving to your rear. He helps you out of your leggings, pulling the little piece of nothing that is your underwear down your legs as well.

“Did you put them on already planning ahead?” Ruhn rasps in your ear, before pushing of the wall behind you and lifting the panties. “Going to keep them by the way.”

And with that he tosses them over to his bag, them landing perfectly in it.

“Ruhn!” you express loudly.

“Remember that name for when you come. Would like to hear you scream it.”

The starborn prince winks, amused by your stunned expression. You shove at his shoulder, laughing, but when his palm touches your lower belly, fingers splayed out, the laughter dies down. A gasp slips through your lips when Ruhn slides his hand lower, his heated gaze not leaving you, his lips still a smirk.

His middle finger touches the apex of your thighs and he once again leans into you. “You want this, right?”

Soft lips brush your jaw, your own hand sliding up Ruhn’s arm, over his shoulder, his neck, finding its place in the hair at the nape of his neck. You bring his mouth to yours, nipping softly at his lower lip. “Nothing I want more.”

This must have been his undoing—all restraints are gone.

Ruhn parts your hot flesh, sliding one, then two fingers inside of you, groaning at the wetness he is met with. “Always so wet for me?” he says, lips mere inches form his, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. You reward him with a grin, your own fingers curling around his proud length, stroking him, your thumb brushing the crown where a bead of liquid has already built up.

“Can return the question,” you pant, “always so hard for me?” Ruhn adds a third finger when he says, “Never not hard when I am around you.” Something tells you that this is the truth and you find it…incredibly hot.

When desire and need fully overflow the two of you, it all gets too much, the rising lust and need hardly bearable any longer. Ruhn’s fingers slip out of you. You kiss down his neck, still working him, the ungodly sound of him suckling on his fingers, the ones that have been inside of you, making you clench your thighs, your walls squeezing around nothing.

He moans low in his throat, nothing tastes like you, he knows that. The only thing he will need in his life from now on.

Your moan, the silent plea Ruhn understands, draws his attention fully back to you. His eyes darker than usual, ablaze, move over your face, stopping at your lips. “Jump,” he says and kisses you again, hands grabbing your ass, lifting you up, pushing you against the wall when you simultaneously bring the tip of his rigid cock to your entrance. He slides in with ease, having prepared you well, his length stretching you out, filling you so perfectly. And you fit perfectly, like his cock has been made exactly for you.

A groan makes Ruhn press an open-mouthed kiss against your jaw, hips softly moving against yours. Your curl your legs around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders from how tightly you hold onto him.

“So wet and and tight, sweetheart,” Ruhn drawls, licking over your ear.

“Just for you, starborn prince.” Your raspy voice has his cock twitching and he pushes harder into you, pounding you against the tile wall, skin slapping against skin, but also against the wall. The sounds are so wet, so sinful. Also the pöace you have chosen is somehow a sin.

Are you truly letting Ruhn, the starborn prick, fuck you in the bathroom or a public olace?

"I bet he can't fuck you like I do."

A strangled cry leaves you in response because he truly can't.

"Say it!" Ruhn commands. "Say that he can't fuck you like I do." "No one can fuck me like you do. It is only your cock that–"

You cry out loudly, Ruhn’s name mixing with curses, when your throw your head back and squeeze him tightly. You move along with him, riding his proud length.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Ruhn himself releases a deep growl, taking you harder, rougher, his thrusts deep, making you feel every glorious inch of him.

You come with a scream, hand twisted in his hair, the starborn prince’s mouth on your boob, suckling, his tongue flicking over the taut bud. He follows quickly after you, hips moving against yours with sloppy thrusts when his hot release spurts of your walls.

“We forgot protection.”

You release a loud breath, chest heaving with deep inhales, eyes squeezed shut. Sweat grazes your skin and you pant loudly, ringing for air so you can answer him. “I’m on…the pill.”

A relieved groan leaves Ruhn at that and he kisses your brow, slowly helping you climb down, softly placing your shaky legs on the ground. “Can stand alone?”

His seed is running down the insides of your thighs when you glance downwards, knees wobbly. You hold onto him and give your head a little shake. “No, need you.”

Leaning forward you kiss his chest before leaning your chin against his chest and smiling up at him.

“I will break up with Pollux tonight. Will you offer me a place to stay, a bed to sleep?” “Nothing I would rather want.” Happiness makes a small tear appear in the corner of the prince's left eye. He kisses your nose, your forehead, your mouth, pulling you to him by your shoulders.

“My home is always open for you and I will always welcome you. I will wait outside when you break up with him, I cannot not,” —Ruhn kisses your pouted lips— “let you go alone. And yes, I know you are a grown girl amd very strong, but I cannot risk anything. I will be there, all the time.”

You kiss his toned chest again, smiling. “I know that Ruhn. I really do.”

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

tags: @azrielsbabyg @brekkershadowsinger @euphoricpixiee

#ruhn danaan x reader #ruhn x reader #ruhn danaan #crescent city

248 notes · View notes

glassbxttless · 2 years ago

Note

So I heard rumors about a Shark Enthusit Matt Solo??

The Tide

Matthew “Matty” Organa-Solo x f!Reader

summary: You finally get to meet Matt’s mom, as his girlfriend and not just a girl in his circle.

word count: 1.7k+

warnings: mentions naked bodies but nothing explicit, au alludes to an eventual emotional incest situation (a toxic mother/son relationship)

notes: this is an installment of a larger au that will be written here on my blog. a similar au is being posted to peachy and i’s shared blog.

There’s a sharp sound ringing in his ears. Matt reaches over to hit the snooze button on his alarm clock next to the bed. 7am. The morning still lays thick outside. It’s barely a sunrise, but it’s quiet and still as he sits up in his bed. He rubs his eyes and slides his glasses on. Matt rubs a palm against his chest as he stands, sauntering quietly across the hall to wash his face and brush his teeth. When he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he sees the fading bruises of his last encounter with Sunny— the ones she left right over his heart and left him with their first I love you.

He brushes his hair and pulls on his hoodie, his jeans feel just a little too tight these days. He takes a glance over himself in the mirror and then he pulls his phone out to check the time. He sees the little puffer fish emoji she had sent him this morning, their unsung agreement instead of a typical good morning. It always warmed his heart to see. He’s not sure exactly when it started, but over the last month, he didn’t know a single emoticon could extract such an emotion from him.

Pensacola is a long drive from Miami, where he wishes he was right now. As much as he dislikes sleeping on Randy’s couch— his whole world is in Miami. His school, his internship, his friends, his brother, his girlfriend. But here he sits, getting himself together for a breakfast date with his mama. Normally, he wouldn’t oppose. He loves spending time with his mom. She’s his best friend. Everything he’s turned himself into has been by her hand. He’s stumbling out of the bathroom and quietly walking down the hall. Mako, the old gray tabby cat Matt brought home from a walk when he was ten, rubs against his legs as he starts the coffee pot. When he dumps a cup of food into Mako’s bowl, he takes a second to message Sunny back. The quickest I love you, he’s ever typed out. The first time he’s seen those words written. But it puts a smile on his lips when he hits send, watching Mako’s tail flit to the side as he eats.

Leia comes out of her room, wearing a dress Matt’s never seen. “Your brother and grandpa are going to meet us.” She says as she passes Matt, pouring them both a cup of coffee. Which makes Matt just nod.

He’s the youngest of Leia’s four boys. Kylo, his oldest brother— owns some big shot tattoo studio down in Orlando. Ben, he’s a prosecutor right there in Pensacola. Randy? The brother he’s closest to— his best friend. He’s smarter than Matt could even imagine, a programmer. Works at some software company in Miami. He lets Matt sleep on his couch during the week, while he attends his classes. The classes that point Matt to the best future he can imagine.

Leia marks something off the calendar and it only catches Matt’s eye for a moment. Something about calling Han. Who Matt knows fathered him and his brothers. He knows Leia gets a check from him for the smallest portion of his tuition every month. He’s never met Han, but his brothers have and his brothers have always said he’s not worth the trouble. Matt’s phone is lighting up, Sunny’s face plastering the screen. He’s eager to step away from his mother, cheeks tinged a little red when he ducks out into the hallway— “Hey Sunshine.” His voice is quiet, soft, still a bit sleepy.

And you sit quietly, leaning your elbows against your desk as you watch the wind blow the flag your window faces rapidly. “Matty.” Your voice matches his tone. Sweet and gentle and everything Matt needs. “I didn’t get to say goodnight, didn’t call me when you got in.”

“It was a long drive, bub. Just went to bed.” He says softly and bites his lip gently. He spills the thought brewing in his head for weeks. “How about you come with me next weekend? See where I actually live and formally meet my mom and everything.” He bites down on the tip of his thumb while the offer hangs in the air, but you’re quick to accept.

“yeah, okay.” Your smile is ear to ear. Happy to finally get asked back to see his family. You’ve met Leia, at one of Randy’s barbecues. But not as Matt’s girlfriend. Your hair twirls around your finger as you listen to him talk about his plans for the day. How he’s got breakfast with his mom and his brother. How he’ll video chat you tonight before he goes to bed, he swears this time. “Hey, Matty?” Your voice pitches, stopping the anger filled tangent about shark fin soup before he can start it. “I love you.” Your voice is soft as you say it, making Matt’s heart start to melt. Reminds him of last friday night in your dorm, your roommate gone for the weekend. Tucked under your duvet, your head against his chest in the dim light. Your hands intertwined as your bare skin burns hot each place they touch. It reminds him of the way you whispered I love you so quietly he wasn’t sure if you really said it at first.

His heart wants to burst in his chest but he bites his tongue as Leia turns the corner. “Matthew, we don’t have all day.” It’s a quick jab, but she smiles as she says it— walking over to slide on her shoes.

Matt sighs heavily, “Sunny, I have to go. But I'll call tonight. I promise.” He makes the declaration again before he hangs up. A smile on both of your faces. And Matt makes quick work of finishing his morning routine, washing his face and getting dressed as he drinks the coffee Leia had poured for him. He even brushes out his hair and debates on pulling it up before sending a quick snap to you, counting down the seconds to the following weekend.

Rushing out the door, settling himself into the passenger seat of Mama Solo’s car— he smiles. It’s a thirty minute drive to the restaurant closest to Ben’s firm. The one they always meet at for breakfast. “Ma?” Matt’s voice sounds hesitant, making Leia take the quickest glance at him.

“Yes?”

“I was just… I was doing some thinking.” He starts to fiddle with that little beaded bracelet he’s been wearing since your first date. “I think I’d like it if you met the girl I’ve been seeing… you know? Things are getting pretty serious and I…” he shrugs. “If you’d be okay with that.”

“Of course I’d be okay with that.” Leia says softly, smiling over at him. “If you’re happy that’s all that matters, Matthew… but…” Her smile falters for just a moment. “Those college girls, I wouldn’t… Are you sure this is serious?” She asks, not really meaning anything harmful by it. But the way Matt recoils, suggests he takes it that way.

“I’m very sure.” Matt is quick to offer up the statement, omitting the part about giving you his virginity, his first real kiss, his first relationship. You were his first everything and he’s so serious about you. Doesn’t want things to change and he’s desperate to make sure his mom knows that.

“Just worried about you and those girls in Miami is all.” Leia waves it off and Matt sighs heavily. Randy had warned him of this happening. “I’d love to meet her, Matthew, if she’s someone you’re serious about.”

“She is.” Matt just nods, eyes drifting towards the window. “Next weekend. I’m bringing her when I come home next weekend… Gonna stay in my room.” Matt explains and Leia can’t help but take her turn to nod, just as nervous as he was. Even more so when Matt admits his girl was Randy’s girlfriend’s best friend. “Randy’s how we met, Ma.”

You pack a bag for the weekend as Matt paces your dorm. He’s got his keys in his hand, nervous but excited. Happy to finally have you coming home with him. You pull your bag over your shoulder and smile at him reassuringly. “Listen, my mom is… she’s feeling weird about this.” Matt says softly, “I know I’ve said it before and I know you’ve met. But you met as Randy’s friend. You know? Not my girlfriend and she’s going to be so much worse.” Matt starts to ramble and you place a hand on his cheek.

“It’s going to be fine.” You whisper softly. “We’ve got almost a ten hour drive ahead of us, bub. You don’t need to stress yourself out before we’re even there.” You mention and he nods, agreeing with you. You hold his hand almost the entire ride. Switching seats every few hours, you listen to Matt tell you about his research lab on Black Tip Reef Sharks— how this week he’s gonna be able to get in the cage with them. You watch as the closer you get to Pensacola— how the nerves that have been keeping him up at night begin to creep back.

Matt and Leia had agreed to have this first meeting over dinner. Just the three of them. And Matt takes a deep breath when he parks the car, right next to the SUV that has Pensacola Catholic High School stickers plastered across the back. Matthew Solo: class of 2019– complete with scuba diver above, Randall Solo: class of 2016, paired with a trumpet, Benjamin: class of 2013, you now know he was a high school soccer player from the sticker, and Kylo Solo: class of 2009, with another soccer ball. You smile softly, Matt has always said she was proud of her kids and she is. But you’re watching Matt as he looks his mom’s car over, catching her eye in the driver’s seat. He waves quietly, watching as she gets out of her car. “Here we go,” He whispers as he exits, walking around the car to open your door all while Leia watches.

You feel your cheeks begin to heat up as Matt reaches for your hand to help you stand. He kisses your head and walks over to Leia, hugging her as tightly as he could. He introduces the two of you quietly, his own cheeks turning the brightest shade of pink as Leia pulls you into the tightest hug you could imagine. “It’s nice to finally meet you properly.” She makes a point to squeeze your arm which finally helps Matt to relax and allow himself to think this is going easier than he had hoped.

tags ;; @peachyproserpina

#glassbxttless #glassbxttless adcu #matt solo #matty x reader #matt solo x reader #matt the radar technician #matt the radar technician x reader #matt the radar tech #matt the radar tech x you #matt solo x you #cw: emotional incest

22 notes · View notes

abbygrabska · 3 years ago

Text

The Empty Child

Sorry this took so long I got accepted and started my transitional program thats residential. its been in the drafts for like a month, i have them stock piled

“What’s the emergency?” I ask.

“It’s mauve.” The Doctor answers as we all rush around the console, the TARDIS shaking and shuddering as it flies through space.

“Mauve?” Rose questions.

“The universally recognized color for danger.” He explains.

“What happened to red?” I hold onto the railing.

“That’s just humans. By everyone else’s standards, red’s camp. Oh, the misunderstandings. All those red alerts, all that dancing.” He gestures to the monitor, where the object we are following through the time vortex, “It’s got a very basic flight computer - I’ve hacked in, slaved the TARDIS. Where it goes, we go.”

I look at him in alarm. “That’s not safe!”

Part of the console explodes, and the object hurtles through the vortex.

“It’s jumping time tracks, getting away from us.” He says.

“What exactly is this thing?” Rose asks.

The Doctor answers in the negative.

“Then why are we chasing it?” I shout.

“It’s mauve and dangerous. And about 30 seconds from the center of London.”

Once the TARDIS lands, we exit.

“Do you know how long we can knock around space without having to bump into Earth?” He asks.

“Five days?” I guess, “Or is that just when we’re out of milk?”

He sighs, “Of all the species in all the universe, it has to come out of a cow.”

We walk away from the TARDIS, and he continues, “Must have come down somewhere quite close. Within a mile, anyway. And it can’t have been more than a few weeks ago. Maybe a month.”

“A month?!” Rose looks surprised. “We were right behind it!”

“It was jumping time tracks all over the place, we’re bound to be a little bit out. Do you wanna drive?”

I look at him. “Yeah… how much is ‘a little’?”

“A bit.” He crosses his arms.

I smile at him teasingly, “Is that EXACTLY a bit?”

Rose looks around. “What’s the plan, then? Are you gonna do a scan for alien tech or something?”

“Rose, it hit the middle of London with a very loud bang. I’m gonna ask.” He shows us the psychic paper.

“Doctor John Smith, Ministry of Asteroids.” I read out loud.

“Not very Spock, is it? Just asking?” Rose asks.

We watch him try to get through a door.

“Door, music, people. What d’you think?” He asks.

Rose looks unamused. “I think you should do a scan for alien tech.”

The Doctor holds his Sonic Screwdriver to the door.

“Gimme some Spock! For once, would it kill ya?” She asks.

“Are you sure about that t-shirt?”

For once, I agree with the Doctor’s taste in fashion; the flag shirt is garish.

“Too early to say. I’m taking it out for a spin.”

The Doctor continues trying to open the lock with his sonic.

I turn around as I hear an eerie voice,

“Mummy?”

I look around until I spot a child on the roof. “Doctor? Doctor? There’s a kid up there!”

I go towards the building and shout up to him, “Are you alright?”

I run up the steps that go up the side of the building and look at the child, who is standing precariously on the edge.

The child looks down at me. A rope suddenly swings into sight, and I grab it.

As I climb the rope, it moves away from the building. I look up and realize it’s attached to a barrage balloon. I turn and see German planes dropping bombs on London.

Suspended hundreds of feet in the air, I whimper as planes whiz past me, holding on for dear life.

Something below me explodes, and I lose my grip on the rope, falling. A blue beam shoots out from somewhere near Big Ben, and a voice surrounds me.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got you.” I look around, terrified. “Who’s got me? And how?”

“I’m just programming your descent pattern. Keep as still as you can and keep your hands and feet inside the light field.”

“Descent pattern?”

“Oh, and could you switch off your cell phone?”

I glare at the air as I pull my phone out of my skirt pocket. “You know, no one ever believes that.”

“Thank you. That’s much better.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s great. I’m hanging in the sky in the middle of a German air raid covered in strawberries, but hey! My cellphone’s off!”

The voice laughs, “I'll be with you in a moment.”

After a few seconds, the voice comes back, “Ready for you. Hold tight!”

I let out a noise of surprise as I zoomed down the tunnel of blue light.

A second later I am caught by a man.

“You’re fine, you’re just fine. The tractor beam, it can scramble your head just a little.”

I blink a few times to adjust to my surroundings before looking at the man. “Hello.”

He raises his eyebrows and looks me up and down. “Hello.”

I make a face. “Gross.”

“You alright?”

“I’ll be fine as long as you don’t look at me like a perv again,” I say.

He grimaces as he sets me down. “Sorry. I forget not everyone’s into men.”

I brush my skirt off. “Oh, I’m into men, just not ones who look at me like that within five seconds of meeting me.”

“Fair enough.”

“So who’re you supposed to be then?” I ask.

“Captain Jack Harkness. 133 Squadron Royal Airforce - American Volunteer.” He hands me an ‘id’ card as he sits in his chair.

“Liar.”

He pauses.

“This is psychic paper. It tells me whatever you want it to tell me.”

“How do you know?” He sits back.

“Two things. One, I have a friend who uses this all the time.” I hand it back to him. “And two, you just handed me a piece of paper telling me you’re single, and you work out.”

He leans forward to take it back. “Tricky thing, psychic paper.”

“Yeah, can’t let your mind wander when you’re handing it over.” I hand it back to him.

“Oh, this is a picture of a dick.”

“Is it?” I ask sarcastically, “So, shall we try and get along without the psychic paper?”

He stands up. “That would be better, wouldn’t it?”

“Nice spaceship,” I comment.

“Gets me around.”

I run my hand along the ceiling. “Very… Spock.” I look at him for a sign of recognition.

“Who?”

“Guessing you’re not a local boy, then.”

He looks at his wrist device. “A cell phone, fake Adidas sneakers, and fabrics that won’t be around for at least another two decades… guessing you're not a local girl either.”

I sit at the pilot’s seat, examining the controls. “You are correct.”

I go to touch something but withdraw my hand quickly with a gasp of pain.

“Burn your hands on the rope?”

I nod, looking out the window. “We’re parked in midair. You’ve got a cloaking device, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, can I have a look at your hands for a moment?”

I look at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Please?”

I hold my hands out, he runs a scanner over them. “You can stop acting now. I know exactly who you are. I can spot a Time Agent a mile away.”

“Right,” I say.

“I’ve been expecting one of you guys to show up. Though, not, I must say by barrage balloon. Do you often travel that way?”

“Not on purpose,” I say.

He takes his scarf off and wraps it around my wrists. “Whatcha doing?” I ask.

“Try to keep still.” He finishes binding my hands and leans over me to switch a button over my head.

I look into his eyes and watch them dilate, which gives me an idea. There is a bleeping sound, and what looks like golden fireflies appear above the wounds on my hands.

“Nanogenes. Sub-atomic robots. The air in here’s full of ‘em.”

The nanogenes heal the burns on my hands.

Jack presses the button again, and they disappear. “They just repaired three layers of your skin.” He takes the scarf off my wrists and gets up, smiling.

“We’ll get down to business.”

I look up at him, he’s holding a bottle of champagne.

“Of course.” I smile.

“Shall we have a drink on the balcony?” Holding my gaze, he presses a button and steps to the roof, descending into the spaceship. He starts going up the stairs. “Bring up the glasses.”

We emerge on top of the invisible spaceship, and Jack uncorks the bottle.

“What does the outside of the ship look like?” I ask.

He chuckles and takes a device out of his pocket. He flicks a switch, and the spaceship becomes visible.

“You tethered to Big Ben so you don’t forget where it’s parked?”

He smiles before popping the cork out of the bottle with a loud bang that makes me flinch.

We sit on the spaceship, him drinking champagne.

I stand up. “It’s getting late. I should be getting back…”

“We’re discussing business.”

I smile, “This isn’t business; this is champagne.”

“I try never to discuss business with a clear head.” He stands and approaches me. “Are you traveling alone? Are you authorized to negotiate with me?” I step closer towards him, watching his eyes dilate. “What would we be negotiating?”

“I have something for the Time Agency. Something they’d like to buy. Are you in power to make payment?”

I flutter my lashes and look away. “I should talk to my partners.”

“Partners?”

“Yeah, I should be getting back to them.” I brush off my skirt. “Do you have the time?”

Jack cleared his throat, took the device out of his pocket, and flicked a switch. Big Ben chimes next to us.

“That was flash.” I laugh. “That was on the flash side.”

He moves closer and places his hand on my waist, “Do you like Glenn Miller?”

He points the device over his shoulder, and ‘Moonlight Serenade’ plays. He sets his other hand in mine and starts swaying to the music.

“It’s 1941. The height of the London Blitz. The height of the German Bombing Campaign. And something else has fallen on London - a fully equipped Chula Warship. The last one in existence… armed to the teeth. And I know where it is. Because I parked it. If the Agency can name the right price, I can get it for you. But in two hours, a German bomb is gonna fall on it and destroy it forever.” He looks at me seriously. “That’s the deadline. That’s the deal. And now, shall we discuss payment?”

“Not sure. I’d have to discuss it with my partners.” I contemplate falsely.

“So when you say, ‘partners,’ just how disappointed should I be?”

“Well considering I’m in love with one of them, very.” I whisper in his ear before pulling away from him and crossing my arms, “You gonna do a scan for alien tech now to find them or what?”

We enter the hospital and start calling out.

I turn around and spot the Doctor and Rose. We walk towards them.

“Good evening. Hope I’m not interrupting, Jack Harkness.” Jack shakes the Doctor’s hand, “I’ve been hearing all about you two on the way over.”

I look at the Doctor while standing beside Rose, “He knows. I had to tell him about us being Time Agents.”

They nod.

“And it’s a real pleasure to meet you, Mr. Spock.” Jack pats the Doctor on the shoulder and walks off.

Rose looks at me with a hysterical smile before following Jack.

“Mr. Spock?” The Doctor questions.

“I thought it was funny.” I grin.

“Where’ve you been? We’re in the middle of a London Blitz, it’s not a good time for a stroll.” He says.

I start walking after Rose and Jack. “Who’s strolling? I went by barrage balloon. Only way to see an air raid.”

“What?!” He asks.

“Long story. Anyway, what’s a Chula warship?”

Jack scans one of the bodies in the hospital ward, “This just isn’t possible. How could this happen?”

“What kind of Chula ship landed here?” “He said it was a warship. He stole it. Parked it somewhere out there, somewhere a bomb’s gonna fall on it - unless we make him an offer.” I cross my arms.

“What kind of warship?” The Doctor asks.

Jack turns to him, agitated. “Does it matter? It’s got nothing to do with this!”

“This started at the bomb site. It’s got everything to do with it. What kind of warship?”

“An ambulance!” Jack snaps, turning on his wrist device, “Look.”

A hologram of the warship appears above the device. “That’s what you chased through the Time Vortex. It’s space junk. I wanted to kid you it was valuable. It’s empty. I made sure of it. Nothing but a shell. I threw it at you. Saw your time travel vehicle, love the retro look, by the way, nice panels, threw you the bait…”

“Bait?” Rose asks.

“I wanted to sell it to you and then destroy it before you found out it was junk.” He walks away from us. “It was a con. I was conning you, that’s what I am, I’m a con man. I thought you were Time Agents, but you’re not, are you?”

“Just a couple more freelancers,” I say.

“Should’ve known. The way you guys are blending in with the local color, I mean, Strawberry Chique was bad enough, but Flag Girl and U-Boat Captain?”

Rose and the Doctor look uncomfortably at their clothes while I roll my eyes.

“Anyway… whatever’s happening here has nothing to do with that ship.”

I look around at the bodies in the hospital. “What is happening here, Doctor?”

The Doctor looks at me, “Human DNA’s being rewritten… by an idiot.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I dunno, some kind of virus. It’s converting human beings into these things.” He nods at the bodies. “But why? What’s the point?”

I lean over one of the bodies, examining it when it suddenly sits up. I jump back, and all the other bodies do the same.

They all start saying ‘mummy?’ repeatedly.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” The Doctor says.

The gas-mask people all get out of bed. They start to surround us.

“Don’t let them touch you.” He warns.

“What happens if they touch us?” I back up against the wall.

“You’re looking at it.”

#abbygrabska writes #Chrysalis: Part One #ninth doctor x reader #ninth doctor x oc #doctor who x reader #doctor who x oc

25 notes · View notes

yourfangirlfriend · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Nothing Serious - Chapter Six

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Five and a Half

A/N: idk if this is good but I’ve been putting off writing it and perfect is the enemy of done so here you go, I had fun

It’s not not serious.

At least, this seems to be the mutual conclusion you have both silently reached after that weirdly intimate night you never talked about, either.

And yes, you’re aware of how childish that is.

For two people voluntarily living in one of the more dangerous cities on the continent, it turns out you’re both pretty cowardly. But why put yourselves through the agony of all that when you could both instead play a game of emotional chicken to test where the boundaries are?

You go first the morning the two of you wake up in your bed. You both woke up in a tangle of limbs and slid out of bed after the second snooze alarm went off. He had just pulled on his jeans when he reached for the shirt you had folded the night before.

“Wait,” you said. You walked to the closet and pulled a crisp black shirt off its hanger, continuing to brush your teeth and you walked up and deposited it in his hand. “I washed this after you let me wear it home.”

That night we made pasta and I spilled sauce on my shirt and you took it off and fucked me in your kitchen until the chicken burnt-

He looks up at you, his eyebrows raised.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head before pulling it over his shoulders. “Thank you.”

You give him a look before dipping into the bathroom to spit.

After a quick cup of coffee, you’re both striding towards your door when you stop short. He turns and looks at you, waiting for you to take another step and flick the deadbolt. Instead, you ask

“Are you going to be okay? Today, I mean. With...”

His face falls a little, like he was expecting to get out of this without you mentioning it. It makes your heart hurt.

“I’m fine,” he says, curtly. He drops his head to look at his shoes. You swallow.

“So...drinks tonight? Still?” You reach out and bop his hand with yours.

“Not if you don’t open the door.”

You roll your eyes, walking forward and flicking the bolt. You pull the door open and he catches it, holding it back for you as you take the first step out.

“...yeah. I’ll be back around 6,” he says as you finish locking the door. You drop the keys in your purse, straightening up as the two of you walk towards and out the doors.

“Bar or your place?”

“Mine.”

“You sure? It’s my turn to buy,” you say.

“No, it’s not,” he says as he opens the passenger door for you, gesturing that you climb in. You do and watch as he walks around the front to his side. “Besides, mines quieter.”

You nod, staring forward as he starts the car and pulls into the street. Like every morning, his hand falls to your knee and you feel content with his answer.

You can’t help yourself, though, when he pulls up in front of the school and parks, waiting for you to climb out. Usually, it’s a pretty quick, platonic affair- a quick “thanks, Javi” before you open the door and swing your legs out. This morning, though,

“You know,” he says when you reach for the handle. “You...you don’t have to take care of me.”

You drop your hand before turning back to face him. And maybe it’s the coffee you drank took quickly, or maybe it’s the way last night is still lingering in your head, but

“I like taking care of you.”

You reach out and pull his face to yours, letting the kiss linger before pulling away.

“See you tonight,” you said, flashing him a quick smile. If you’re not mistaken, you see the corner of his mouth twitch up before he remembers himself, and gives you a cool masculine nod. You climb out and watch as he drives away before you hear behind you:

“¿Es tu novio?”

You turn around and see three little girls from your class huddled together and giggling that they just caught the teacher doing something naughty. Despite yourself, you smile through your teacher's voice.

“Entrad, niñas. La clase está a punto de empezar.”

He makes the next move when he shows up outside the school, waiting against his car when you walk out that afternoon and he flags you down.

“Hey,” he says when you approach his car.

“Hey,” you say. “What’s up?”

“Was told to go home early,” he says. “Figured...” he waves his hand up, gesturing to you. “You got plans?”

“Was just going to swing by the liquor store. For tonight.”

“It’s not your turn to buy,” he says, moving out of the way so you can open the door. You send him a look.

“It’s the 90s. Let a girl buy you a drink, Javi.”

He smiles, and over his shoulder, you see one of the girls from this morning- Cara - sending you a shit-eating grin.

Despite yourself, you give her a little wave as Javi drives the two of you out of the parking lot.

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

It becomes a game after that. He picks you up from school. You ask him to stay the night again, and he does. The next morning, he kisses you goodbye in front of Steve, whose eyebrows you see pop up from the corner of your eye. That night, you stay over at his and leave the spare toothbrush you brought next to his in the bathroom. The next day, he comes to your house with take-out and a tape and the two of you fall asleep on the couch, drunk and full. Soon, you don’t remember a night where you aren’t sleeping in the same bed or whose turn it is to initiate a sleepover. You just meet at your smoking spot and then, inevitably, one of you will lead the other to their door for the night, and inevitably, the other one will stay.

The small reminders of each other begin to pile up in your respective apartments. A mystery toothbrush appears in your bathroom. Then there’s a jacket and two of his shirts hanging in your closet. A drawer in his bathroom slowly begins to fill with evidence of your presence- hair ties, bobby pins, the odd bit of makeup. During one of your drunk nights, when you are once again lamenting the lack of decoration, you draw a stick-figure portrait of the apartment - you, Javi, Steve, and the creepy silent man who you only ever see leave his place to buy fish - and tape it to his fridge. He tells you you hang around kids too much, but every time you come back, it’s still up.

Then the bigger things happen. You go to dinner with him and Steve. You bring him on a double date with Alessa and Frankie. He kisses you goodbye in front of the school every morning, and you reach out and hold his hand whenever the two of you walk outside- which you do now, by the way. You walk to the grocery store, you walk to the liquor store, you walk to the corner store to buy pre and post-coital smokes, and every time his hand finds yours. You’re still having sex, you still fuck, but now, sometimes, to what would once be your disgust, it’s slower. Softer. There’s eye contact and prolonged kisses and caressing and very little hair pulling.

And god. Now there’s cuddling.

You no longer sit across the sofa to hanger a drink. No, now your legs are in his lap or his arm is around your shoulder or some other horribly intimate design the two of you just naturally find yourself falling into whenever you’re in proximity. Now, after sex, he’s pulling you to him or you’re pulling him to you or you just both mutually descend towards each other. And when you’re all wrapped around each other, the worst thing of all happens. He talks.

It’s not like you hadn’t talked before. You were friends, after all. He already knew about your kids you taught, your parents, and some random, funny stories about your life. In turn, he had told you some stories about his mom, about the ranch, and about the people in his life. But now it’s different. Now, whenever you two are alone in the dark, bodies pressed against each other under the sheet with such softness it’s grotesque, the walls come down. He tells you about his mom's death, and how he didn’t cry for months. He tells you how afraid he is of himself, and how he worries she would hate the person he is. He tells you he doesn’t think he’s a good person, because of the women he’s hurt ( -“The DAY of?” “I’m not proud of it”-) and the people he failed (“-supposed to get her out, keep her safe, and I couldn’t-“) and how, though he won’t go into detail about it, he’s worried how numb he’s become to things, and that he’s only going to get number (“-you see so many people die, there’s got to be a point you just stop feeling that, like self-preservation, and that’s fucking scary-“). You listen. You think you may be the first person who has listened in a while. When he tries to apologize, that he shouldn’t have said that or that he’s a mopey sad sack or you don’t want to hear this, you kiss his hands.

“Javi,” you tell him. “I like listening to you. Anything you have to say.”

Looking back, you think the look he gives you the first time you said that was when you really knew. But now, you’re still playing dumb. You both are.

What’d he call it? Self-preservation?

To pay him back, you tell him about you. You try to match his scars, telling him about growing up in a loud, weird house you’d only learn at the age of fifteen was a commune. You tell him about all the times you caught your parents tripping out naked on drugs and having to drag them to bed, or how you had to watch your sister for days on end as a kid whenever they decided to go out on ‘spirit walks’, and how you eventually enrolled yourself in school after your mothers homeschooling attempts fell to the wayside. That one time when you were six and accidentally took a tab of acid your mother and father’s sometime lover, Sunshine, left on top of your peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You try and tell him the good things, too- how you speak five languages (“what?” “English, Spanish, German, Russian, and some Chinese.” “...what?” “My parents were communists!”), how you used to be really good at gymnastics (“is that why you can’t do a handstand?” “I can do a handstand-“ ), and the things in yourself that you’re afraid of- your denial, your anxiety, your bad habit of never calling your sister back and how that actually reveals you’re a sociopath. And in turn, he listens. He squeezes your hand. He asks you questions when you know he wants to and lets it be silent when you can’t bring yourself to answer.

About three months into this, you find yourself lying on your side one night, staring at his beautiful, stupid, snoring face as he drools against your pillow, and for the first time, you finally, finally, finally let yourself admit it.

It is serious.

---

“Well no shit.”

You scowl at Lisa over your glass.

“What? Like we all didn’t already know? For months?”

“Leave her alone,” Alessa elbows her. “I think it’s sweet.”

“You think everything’s sweet.” Lisa rolls her eyes. “You tell him yet?”

You bite the inside of your lip and look down at your drink. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Timing?”

“You spend all your time together.”

You shake your head, taking a swig.

“Coward.”

“What!”

“I said you’re a coward,” Lisa says as Maritza deposits the tray of shots between the two of you.

“Who’s a coward?” she asks sweetly.

“Eloise.”

“Yeah, I am,” you reach forward and take two of the shot glasses, snatching the one in front of Lisa before downing it.

“Hey!” She yelps.

You flip her off and down the second.

She huffs. “Bitch.”

You shake your head and march towards the bar to order another tray.

----------

To be fair, he knew it would be like this.

He had to. It’s you. It’s both of you. Two weirdly cagey people who don’t like having their guard down and never, ever want to be the one person who sticks themselves out for ridicule. The little dares over the past few months have been one thing, like you’re placing pebbles on a scale, seeing how long it takes until it collapses under the weight. Nightly sleepovers? Pebble. Toothbrushes? Pebbles. Sharing childhood trauma after a round of particularly kinky sex where you had your hands tied to the headboard and it inadvertently reminded you of the time you got your hands stuck in some old handcuffs your sister and you had found and you had to spend three hours with your hands looped around a bed frame because Tanya was seven and when she found your mom they were high on peyote and it turns out it takes five drugged-out hippies to find a tiny pair of keys to free a small girl in the woods after it’s already gotten dark and then he told you about the time his uncle had drunk too much shiner and tried to shoot an apple off his cousins head with a BB gun but missed and now the cousin has one eye kind of like Lorenzo and then you both chain-smoked cigarettes and wondered what a glass eye feels like - alright. Maybe five pebbles.

But...actually saying it?

Stones. Big, ugly stones. The kind that fall on cars.

No wonder you got shit-faced.

“Javvvvvvvi,” you sang through his door. You pounded out the melody that only made sense in your head. “Heyyyyy,”

You hear footsteps approaching from the other side and you stand up straight, ready to drunkenly seduce him with your pose when the door swings open and-

“Can I help you?” She asks, annoyed.

You take the woman in front of you in. She’s tall, with long honey blonde hair that falls across her shoulders. Her waist is bared under the halter top she wears, and you’re only a little jealous of the toned plane of her stomach and the long legs that stretch out from her short shorts.

“I...” you start.

“What are you doing? Get away from the door!” Javi appears from behind her, reaching out to take her arm and pull her back. His eyes fall on you, though, and he drops his hand.

“El- hey- I thought you were-?”

“I was...what uh,” you raise your hand to the woman. “What the fuck?”

“Who the fuck are you?” The woman hisses back. Javi reaches up and takes her arm, pulling her back gently.

“I told you not to answer the door-“

“No, I think I’ll leave-“ you toss your hands up. “Enjoy your night.”

“She’s not- it’s not like that-”

“OH PLEASE, I wasn’t born yester-“

The door behind you opens, and the two or you swivel you hear to see Steve enter holding two bags of food. He looks between you and Javier, then to the door.

“Hey,” he says finally.

You give him a pathetic wave. He waves back before turning to Javi.

“Is she-“

“Yeah,” Javier says. He points to his apartment “Could you actually-?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods a bit too quickly, moving behind him and disappearing into the apartment, closing the door behind him.

Javier turns back to you.

“She needs a place to stay before we move her. I was going to tell you when you got back.”

“Ohhhhhhh,” you draw out. You grimace, before looking back to him. “...Sorry.”

“You really think I’d do that?”

You open your mouth to answer before he cuts in again.

“Are you drunk?”

“I-“ you start before huffing. Fucking cop. “Yes! Of course I’m drunk! It’s tequila night! I even, kindly, I might add,” you reach in your bag and pull out the bottle you picked up on the way home. “Got some for you, too!”

“Who did you think she was?”

“Javi-“ you groan, squeezing your eyes shut. This wasn’t supposed to be your night. Tonight was supposed to be about getting drunk with your friends, then getting drunk with Javi, then having drunk sex on your couch loud enough the upstairs fish guy would have to bury his head in what you only assumed was a pile of rotting fish carcasses in his trash to drown out your moans.

Now it’s this.

You shake your head and nod to your door, beckoning him to follow. It’s tense, and he watches over your shoulder as your hands shake trying to pull the right key. Once you manage to unlock the door, you hurry inside and deposit your things on the table, before turning back and facing him.

You open your mouth to say something-

-and then shut it again. You sigh.

“You thought I was sleeping with her.”

You snap your head back up to see him, cross-armed in front of you. You shake your head.

“This isn’t fair, I’m drunk. You’re not.”

He walks over to the bag you threw on the couch and unscrews the bottle you brought home. He takes a swig, holding eye contact as he gulps a third of the small bottle down, all while you watch flabbergasted.

“Say it,” he says, screwing the cap back on.

“You’re going to be sick-“

“Eloise.”

“Well, it’s not like we’ve talked about it!” You snap. “We never- said! What we’re doing!” You drop your hands to your side and turn, walking to the kitchen and leaning forward onto the counter. Javi follows you up, eying you.

“You thought I was, though?”

“Yes! No? I don’t know!” You bring a hand to your face. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just got scared. I guess...I’ve been scared? Lisa thinks so, the bitch-“

“Scared of what? Me sleeping with someone else?”

“No! Not- necessarily-“

“You really think- Jesus, it’s like we never-“

“Hey, don’t!” You spin to face him. “Don’t turn this around on me. You never brought this up. We haven’t talked about this. We talked about everything else and are doing everything else like dinner dates and sweet sex and fucking movie nights but we haven’t...said anything! Saying things matters!”

He stares at you.

“I didn’t think it did! I thought I was fine with just...letting...ugh!” You bring the heels of your palms to your eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that last shot.”

“Eloise, what are you-“

“I’m not a coward!” You point at him. “I’m not! I’m just- it’s just-“

“No one said you were!”

“Lisa did!”

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t...Ugh! They really make strong drinks at that bar! Because I haven’t said-“

“Jesus Christ, WHAT.”

Ooh, you wish you could just fall apart and have him see what’s running through your mind right now. You feel the anger in your stomach bubble. He’s really annoyed with you for thinking the worst of him, and maybe he has a right, but you two haven’t talked about it. You had just assumed- assumed he felt the same way, assumed the little intimacies have built up in such a way that you had something real and concrete, and especially that you both weren’t fucking other people. But the second she opened the door it felt like your worst fear had come true: you were the idiot who had let their guard down first and got hurt, because they were too stupid to realize what this was, and you couldn’t even be mad. Because you hadn’t talked about it. Because he never technically said he was with you.

But now he’s looking like he’s feeling the exact same way, only he’s the idiot. He’s the idiot for confiding in you and crying on your tits and telling you all those fears and worries and believing you when you kissed his hands and told him you thought he was a good man. He’s worried that you’ve always seen him this way- as the guy who would cut and run and betray you, and maybe if you think that, then it’s true. Maybe he was kidding himself into thinking someone like you could believe in his goodness, after all he’s done.

Fuck, you may be drunk but it does make you insightful.

It may be too late though. Because he’s dropped his hands from his hips, tired of waiting for an explanation. He’s making towards the door, murmuring something about having to work and it all just seems like it’s slipping out of your fingers like you can see he’s building up the wall again and this time you’re not going to be able to tear it down-

“Javi,” you say, your voice strained. He stops and turns to you, and you know you only have a few seconds to do it. You try and form the words, but your tongue isn’t working and maybe Lisa was right, maybe you are a coward, but you have to try.

“I like taking care of you.” You say, pathetically, dropping your hands to your sides.

A beat passes. He brings his hands to his hips, waiting for a further explanation. You sigh and walk down to stand in front of him. “I like having you take care of me...and...I haven’t wanted to tell you, because I don’t want to scare you but maybe that’s just me ‘projecting’ or whatever Alessa said. She’s really annoying now that she’s doing that psychology class-“

“El.” He says, not without softness. You feel his fingers come under your chin, gesturing for you to look up at him.

This wasn’t the plan. This was supposed to be a hookup. Then a friendship. You don’t want to lose that.

But now he’s staring down at you like that, and your drunk brain is turning over itself as you think maybe that train has already left. Maybe it left a long fucking time ago, and the two of you have just been hanging onto the back, waiting for the other person to let go first.

But you don’t want to let go. You never really did. You were just waiting for him to give you a sign so you could make it look like you were jumping off together instead of you pathetically holding on as he disappears behind you.

But from the way his thumb traces your jaw and his other hand reaches forward to take your hand in his, you think maybe he’s been utilizing the same strategy, and he’s been just as scared as you.

Well, now you can either let go or try to pull yourself up.

So.

Are you a coward or not?

He wets his lips before his eyes drop. He looks defeated. And at that moment you decide – fuck it.

Between the gymnastics and dragging your high parents to bed and all this fucking holding you’ve been doing inside of you, you’ve got strong enough arms.

So.

Fuck it.

“El, I don’t-“

“I love you,” you say without thinking. “And yes I’m tequila drunk, but I don’t think that takes away from-“

You’re stopped as he leans forward and presses his lips to yours, cutting you off. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in closer and deepening the kiss. You feel him pulling at your top and you shimmy it off and over your head, tossing it to the side before dipping your hands down and unbuckling his belt as he unbuttons his shirt before you. You drop your hand down the front of his pants, jerking him softly as he moans into your mouth. You feel him guiding you to the couch, and when the back of your knees hit the arm you drop down and begin to pull his pants down for him as he rids himself of his shirt. You’re about to take him in your mouth when he pushes you down, your back hitting the cheap leather as he crawls over you, pulling your skirt up to your hips. He pauses.

“You always skip the underwear in girls' night?”

“Only when I’m coming back to you.”

That gets him, because a second later he’s between your legs, thrusting inside of you. You let out a cry and drop your head back, exposing your neck to him as he continues to pump into, his hands reaching behind and you and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

“Say it again,” he says.

“I don’t wear underwear-“

“No,” he growls, dropping his hand down between your legs to play with you. You let out another little cry.

“I love you,” you say. “I-I’ve loved you for a long time- ahhh!” The next thrust hits a little too well. “Ah, fuck, Javi- right there-“

“Keep going-“

“YOU keep going- fuck, has your dick gotten bigger?”

“El-“ he lets out a moan. Taking advantage of the moment, you slip out from under him and switch positions, pressing him back onto the couch and climbing atop of him. His hands settle on your hips as you ride him, pulling sounds from him that echo around your living room. When you cum he’s not long after, and the two of you collapse onto each other, breathing heavily as you come down with his hand holding the back of your neck.

“Hey,” he says finally. You lift your head and sit up, looking down at him. His eyes are glassy, and the look on his face makes you giggle.

“Are you drunk?”

“Yes,” he says. “But a wise woman once said that doesn’t take away from what I have to say.”

“She sounds smart, you should fuck her,” you say, moving to stand. He catches your wrist, pulling you back down onto his lap with a bounce.

“Give a girl a few minutes before round two-“

He cuts you off with a kiss. It’s slow and soft and you melt into it. The way you always melt into him.

When he pulls away, you chase after his grinning lips. He brings a hand to the side of your face, tracing his fingers down the side of your cheek.

“I love you, too.” He says. “I don’t know what that’s worth…but I do.”

You lean in, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck.

"Baby," you say "It's worth everything."

In the morning, you’ll have to contend with the knowing look Steve gives the two of you before asking “Good night?”, a joke that earns him a look from Javi and a deep blush and muttered apology from you. You’ll have to put up with the squeals from Maritza, Lisa, and Alessa when you tell them in the staff room during lunch. You’ll even get a look from your upstairs neighbor when you pass him and his fresh fish that next afternoon. Most of all, you’ll have to consider what the fuck this means for you and Javi and this scary, exhilarating little life you’re leading.

But.

Right now, you’re naked and smoking a cigarette on the couch with the man you love who loves you back, and you’re both laughing, and that's more than enough.

taglist: @fuckoffbard

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier Peña x oc #narcos #it's nothing serious #fic

85 notes · View notes

celosiaa · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I am obsessed with your writing, it is so so endlessly good and you. Are so. Talented. Anyway, please feel free to ignore this, I won’t expect a reply, but prompt idea of someone (probably martin) giving jon a shoulder rub, and it giving jon flashbacks to his kidnapping and him very not being ok. Could take place either soon after the kidnapping, or like in post canon (maybe even with emma?) Again feel free not to reply, just wanted to share and tell you how much I love your work❤️❤️

hi friend!!! thank you so so much for this wonderful prompt!! and your sweet message <3 I apologize that this has taken so long, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! and I hope you’re having a wonderful day!

CW PTSD, flashback, panic attack

Quiet.

Peace of solitude, silence, loneliness has always been a bit of what Martin has missed from his life. He needs it as much as the sun, as much as the breath in his lungs. Sometimes the lingering ache of it all leaves him hurting—hurting over the fact that he shouldn’t want this; he should want to be, not to fade. He should be over this by now.

But, Jon. Jon understands. He understands that need for something you do not want better than just about anyone. So when Martin needs to disappear, or begs for quiet, or takes time to meditate and drift away, Jon always keeps his worry under what he surely thinks to be a careful façade. Martin sees right through it, of course. And loves him all the more for it every time.

Days like this should build up his reserve—the quiet days, where Jon is either gone, or busy, or engrossed in a novel Martin would never dream of picking up. But something about this is off, and Martin knows it.

He knows it by the way that Jon has barely shifted positions at his desk for many hours, other than to unfold and refold his legs under himself. Surely they must be aching—Martin knows they must. So many hours in one place tend to make Jon restless, his muscles cramping and his mind running wild. Sometimes in a good way—Martin is now accustomed to listening to very excited, lightning-fast monologues about whatever Jon had found himself fascinated by that day. But sometimes...sometimes, in other ways as well. Other ways not altogether pleasant.

Martin is certain this is one of the latter type.

From his vantage point in the kitchen, Martin can see the screensaver on Jon’s laptop running across it. Jon is working on nothing at all—has not been working on anything for nearly an hour now, and yet has not moved. It sets Martin’s teeth on edge, this sort of thing. When Jon appears as himself, is present as himself—and yet, not quite. Never quite there, not really. It reminds him of the early days after they had put the world back together, coming up on five years ago now. Days when Jon was drifting…and Martin had never been sure if he would come back.

Stop thinking stop stop

Don’t go there. Not now. Focus.

His head feels heavy with fog when he stands, as it often does—and he makes his way over to Jon, careful to step a bit heavier than usual so as to give some warning of his approach.

“Jon love?” he murmurs, keeping his tone as light as possible, much lighter than he feels. “You alright?”

The tiniest of jumps, barely noticeable. Jon freezes in place for a moment, before attempting to turn his head to look at Martin—and coming to a sudden stop with a groan, and a hand pressed into his shoulder.

“Hmm. Martin.”

His voice is rough from disuse, and he lets out a dry cough as Martin kneels slowly beside him.

“What are you working on?” he asks, trying the gentlest approach he can think of—and trying not to feel affronted when Jon flinches against the fingertips brushed against the back of his arm.

“I-I—erm—I was just…” He trails off as he realizes his laptop is asking him to enter the password again. “Ah. Well. Nothing at all, it seems.”

With a long sigh, Jon tips his head against the back of his chair—or rather, he tries. The motion seems to pull something uncomfortably in his neck, and he hisses painfully as he replaces his hand over the angle between his neck and shoulder.

“Alright, love? Can I help?”

“Ah, it’s—it’s fine, I-I did this to myself, I—”

“Jon.”

“—should get back to work—”

“Jon.”

Something of it seems to cut through his downward spiral, and he manages to meet Martin’s eyes at last—the shadows beneath his eyes outlining the exhausted desperation bubbling just behind them. For what, or who, or when, Martin cannot be sure—but he is sure that he needs to coax Jon out of whatever space he’s found himself in today.

“Does your neck hurt?” he asks, creasing his brows together when Jon attempts to shake his head, and winces instead. “Right, stupid question—how bad is it?”

“It’s fine—it’s nothing, it’s my fault anyway.”

It drives Martin mad how much Jon still wants to blame himself for everything, even the mundane, even things that require none. Especially things that require none. But, instead of putting a voice to this unsolvable frustration, Martin softens for the moment, stretching out a hand to cover Jon’s own where it still rests on the side of his neck.

“Want to try a little massage?” he asks, pressing a small kiss to Jon’s temple. “Maybe it’ll loosen you up enough to turn your head, at least.”

“Hmm,” is the only reply Jon gives, eyes falling closed against the gentle warmth of Martin’s hands.

“I’ll take that as a yes then.” Chuckling lightly, Martin stands behind him and gets to work.

He rests his fingertips lightly on the sides of Jon’s neck at first, being sure to always remain toward the back and away from his scar. Slowly, he begins to work his fingers a bit deeper into the muscle, traveling from the nape of his neck and down, as Jon unbuttons just the top of his shirt and shrugs the material off his shoulders. It warms Martin’s heart immeasurably to see him beginning to relax under his hands. And more importantly, gives him a wonderful idea for how to make this even better.

“One moment, love,” he whispers next to Jon’s ear, pressing another quick kiss to his temple before stepping away to root through his desk for the massage oil he’d been given by a friend. Sure, maybe he’s never used it, but…lavender certainly sounds like a relaxing smell, and god knows that Jon needs as much assistance with that as he can get.

“Alright, here we are.” He uncaps the bottle and holds it in front of Jon for him to smell. “What do you think?”

Jon blinks in surprise at the new smell, then furrows his brows.

“Wh—what is this?”

“Massage oil. I’ve never used it but—well, now’s as good a time as any, right?”

“I-I…I suppose so.”

The hesitance in Jon’s voice sends up warning flags in Martin’s mind at once—and he steps to the side to get a better look at Jon’s face. A bit glazed, vacant, as he turns the bottle of massage oil over and over in his hands.

“Is something wrong?” Martin asks, cocking his head to one side in confusion. “If you don’t like the smell, I won’t use it.”

“No no, it’s not that,” he assures, closing his eyes as if to clear some picture displayed in front of them. “I don’t know. I—erm. You can try it.”

“Jon…”

“Try it, please try it. It—it should be nice.”

For all that he insists, something about this gives Martin pause. Something in his voice, his body language doesn’t sit right at all—

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, setting a gentle hand on his knee as he crouches to his eye level. “What’s going on?”

A few tense moments go by before Jon responds, the knee beneath Martin’s hand beginning to bounce with an all-too-familiar surge of anxiety. Face going ashen, he attempts a strained, awful sort of smile.

“S-sorry, I—sorry, it’s fine, just—ah.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, love—is it the smell that bothered you? Can you tell me what’s happening?

His leg bounces harder, the other one beginning to join it. As he meets Martin’s eyes again, it is with a particular brand of shock and horror that tells Martin he is barely hanging on to his surroundings. It twists as a knife in his gut, pulling at his insides as his new task shifts to keeping Jon with him.

“Alright, love. You’re here with me, okay? Here, take my hand—”

He extends his own trying to pull Jon’s away from the white-knuckle grip on the arm of his chair—and Jon takes a gasping inhale, clutching at his neck in panic.

“Woah woah, Jon—”

“STOP stop stop please stop—”

Reeling from the sudden shouting, Martin pulls his hands away from Jon as if they had been burned, falling backwards from his crouch and onto the floor in alarm. The lavender oil in Jon’s hand skitters away across the floor as it slips from his hold. Pounding, pounding, pounding is Martin’s heart in his chest, adrenaline overpowering his thoughts for a few moments before he can really take action. What had happened? What had he done to make Jon feel so unsafe?

“Mm—ha—ah—”

“Hold on love, hold on,” he soothes, reaching out a hand of comfort, before thinking better of it. “I’ll be back, just hold on.”

Lifting himself as quickly as possible from the floor, Martin strides quickly towards their refrigerator, yanking open the freezer door and grabbing an ice cube for Jon to ground himself with. Or at least, so he hopes.

What happened?

What did I do? Did I say something?

Did I—

Oh.

Oh god, no.

Heart twinging with guilt, he hurries back to his husband’s side, gently slipping the ice cube back into his palm with as little skin contact as possible. If he feels like he’s back there, back with the clown, with unfamiliar hands of plastic and metal touching him, preparing him, readying him for the harvest—then Martin knows even his own familiar hands will be lost among the noise of the others. Interpreted as a threat.

God, Jon. What have I done?

“Here, sweetheart. I’m right here. You’re here with me.”

The words seem unable to reach him in this state—he blinks rapidly, staring into something unseen, unheard—his entire body trembling with adrenaline, fear, anticipation…and god knows what else. Aching, aching is Martin’s chest as he watches it all unfold, knowing that there is nothing to do but wait for the flashback to end and hope his suffering is as brief as possible.

“N-no—Nikola—”

“You’re here with me, Jon. You’re safe.”

“S-stop, don’t—touch me!”

Oh, Jon.

A few more seconds of true unawareness—before a bit of movement from his right pulls Martin’s gaze down towards the hand which holds the ice cube. As he begins to roll it around, Martin prays the sensation of it will be enough of an anchor this time, that this will be the end of it. That nothing will launch him back into the panic, just as his breathing begins to slow. As a precaution, Martin grabs the small vial of lavender oil from the carpet, shoving it into his pocket and out of sight.

“Jon? You back with me?”

“…mmm,” he hums, after a few moments’ delay. His eyes slip closed as he attempts to control his breathing, still running the ice between his fingers while his entire frame trembles.

“Alright,” Martin murmurs, coming to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of him. “I’m right here. I’m not gonna touch you, but I’m right here.”

Eerie stillness hangs heavy in the space between them, all silence save for the shuddering of Jon’s body against the chair and the scant air moving through his lungs. And oh, how Martin wants to reach for him—but knows of course he cannot, not until it’s passed a bit, not until Jon remembers where he is. When he is. It cracks in Martin’s chest, spidering through his heart and lungs the longer the silence holds.

Come back.

I’m not going to leave you.

“Mmm,” Jon echoes his earlier hum, leg beginning to bounce again, stocking feet curling into the carpet. “I’m—here. Here.”

“Yes, you’re here. Here with me,” Martin breathes, nearly crying with relief as tears begin to slip down Jon’s face. “Do you know where?”

“Home.”

His voice cracks in the middle, forcing a shuddering inhale; a broken sob of an exhale as at last he leans forward, bracing his head in his hands.

“Martin.”

“I’m here, love. Home with you.”

“I can’t—” He breaks off to inhale sharply. “Can’t feel my legs, Martin, please—”

“Okay, alright, love. Head between your knees—you’re gonna be alright.”

Jon obliges at once, sinking lower, deepening his breaths, following Martin’s careful pattern toward some semblance of calm. Not quite there, and will not be for some time. The knowledge of it sits heavy in the back of Martin’s throat, and he swallows angrily at it. This is his fault; he should have seen this coming, should have spared a single thought for the wellbeing of his husband and now he cannot even comfort him—

A trembling hand suddenly brushes against his arm, searching. Asking for him—searching for his anchor. After all this time…after everything.

Martin can no longer keep the tears back—and does not want to.

“Oh, darling,” he whispers, pulling Jon into his chest at once, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his hair. “I’m here. I’m so sorry, love. So sorry.”

“Martin.”

“You’re safe. I’m here.”

Jon buries his face into the soft knit of Martin’s jumper at his shoulder, slackening so deeply into his hold that Martin nearly topples over.

“I’m safe,” he echoes, muffled. “You’re here.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #hurt/comfort #jonmartin #cw ptsd #cw flashback #cw panic attack #if I need to tag this as anything else please please tell me!!#I know it's a bit heavy #my writing

115 notes · View notes

anonymous0writer · 5 years ago

Text

Not Together Anymore

Author: @anonymous0writer

Summary: The break up hurt. It hurt a lot. So why is he jumping in to save you?

Warnings: Swearing. Alcohol use. Fighting.

A/N: Shout out to @lindzaylove, for giving me this idea. (You’re the best) This is pretty long, and unedited, sorry. The passages in italics are flash backs.

Let me know if you want a second part!

It hurt. It hurt when he said it. And it hurt now. It never stopped.

“Y/N? Can we talk?”

Usually, those words never sounded good, but he’d used the excuse before just so you could spend time alone. So no alarm bells went off in your head. No red flags waved. Honestly, you probably should have known by the tone of his voice, but you were distracted. Kie and Pope were arguing over a silly that had you doubling over in laughter and John B.’s side comments made it all the more hilarious. And when he called your name, you took a second before turning toward, him, eyes shining with joy and mouth cracked into a wide smile. You were blinded by the pure happiness, so you didn’t see the hurt about to be unleashed. Maybe it was good you were so happy then, because it was a good moment, and it’d be one of the few you’d have in the following weeks. But maybe it was also a bad thing, because when he talked, you came crashing down so hard from your happy high. And it hurt when you came crashing down. Either way, the hurt was inevitable.

You sat on the beach, a log pressed against your back, rough and hard. The sea pushed and pulled a few feet away from you, content on doing it’s sole job. Fade in, fade out. The water crashed and sprayed the sand at your feet. You were sitting far away from the festivities of the kegger at the Boneyard. Usually, you’d be in the heart of the dancing and drinking, but nothing eased the pain in your chest or the memories bubbling to the surface. Really. You’ve tried everything. Getting high, getting wasted, fucking another guy. Nothing worked. You felt like shit every time you got high. You even tired not coming down from the highs. You wanted to stay in that place forever, but it didn’t work. Plus, that place didn't block him out. Getting wasted wasn’t nice, because the headache and the throwing up and the beyond shitty feeling the next morning made you spiral farther down the bad path you were going down. Even fucking another guy didn’t work to well. Sure, you were screaming his name, but before, after and sometimes during, you thought of him. So now you were left by yourself, finding no escape. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes briefly. He fucked you up.

You grinned wildly, and climb off the couch, following him into the bedroom with a bounce in your step. You giggled when he closed the door. He was so close, breath fanning across your face, eyes watching you and lips mere inches away. He still made your heart race and your breathing uneven. He had a crazy affect on you. And you’d been together for almost a year. This is why you saw a future with him. He still made your heart race even after a long time. You giggled, putting your hands on his shoulders, one hand curling around the back of his neck and pulling him closer. You leaned in to kiss him, but he pressed his lips into a thin line, jaw clenched. He didn’t outright pull away, but he didn’t come closer, just stiffened his back, standing an arms length from you. You frowned deeply. Why was he pulling away? Usually he couldn’t keep his hands off you, let alone his lips. He was always pressing kisses to you neck while you lounged on the couch. Always wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder as you talked to Pope or Kie. And whenever John B. was teaching you to drive the HMS Pogue, he would pout and have an arm around your waist. He always wanted your attention and kisses. He just wanted you. So why was he pulling away? A bad feeling settled in your gut, and a knot formed.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper. You leaned closer, thinking he just didn’t get it. But no, he pulled away a little bit. With a sting in your heart, you dropped your arms. “JJ?” You pressed when he stayed silent.

The blonde looked up, jaw clenched and an emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t place. The knot in your stomach tightened. You had a horrible, sinking feeling. His blue eyes didn’t seem as happy as they used to be. They seemed sad and determined. JJ ran a hand through his hair, sighing. And then he opened his mouth, speaking the words that would break your heart.

“We aren’t good for each other, Y/N. We should take a break.”

Your stomach dropped. He was breaking up with you? Your heart raced for a different reason, and the bad feeling increased to the point where you thought you were going to throw up. Break up with you. His words rang in your head, a scream of heart break. We aren’t good for each other. You aren’t good for me. You aren’t enough. His words twisted and morphed into your nightmare. Tears pricked at the back of your eyes. You gaped at the boy.

JJ’s expression hadn’t changed. Your frowned. “A break?” You shook your head. A break never meant a break. It meant breaking up. It meant avoiding each other, finding other people, moving on. Forgetting the memories you shared. Forgetting the love. Moving on. That’s what it meant. Not, ‘let’s take a break and then figure this out and get back together’. A break meant extracting yourself from their life. But that would be impossible. You shared the same friends, went to the same school, hung out in the same spots. One of you had to leave. And you were positive that person would be you. You were going to have to say goodbye to your friends. Goodbye to your best friend John B. Bye to your sister, Kie. Bye to your levelheaded smart ass Pope. And goodbye to your boyfriend. “JJ, a break isn’t a break. It’s a break up.”

JJ threw his hands up. “Fine. We’re breaking up.”

You shook your head again. The words made your heart ache and your vision swim with tears. “You’re breaking up with me. Why?”

JJ swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing. Tears fell down your cheeks, little rivers of sadness. You hated this. Hated that he felt the need to break up, and you didn’t even know why. Or what you did wrong.

“We’re not good for each other. We’re too dependent.” He repeated.

Your heart broke. ‘We’re too dependent’ turned into ‘you’re too clingy’. You had messed up big time, but there was nothing you could do to fix it.

You sighed, debating whether or not to enter the crowd to find Kie and tell her you were going to split. It was better than just leaving. After the break up, you still stayed in touch with the pogues, but it was mostly Kie. You didn’t hang out at the Chateau as much as you used to. The first week after the break up was when you tried getting wasted or high or fucked. After the second week you completely avoided everyone, convincing yourself that the rest of the pogues hated you. It was completely irrational, but it what you believed. It wasn’t until Kie came over unannounced for a sleep over that you eased back into regular life with your crew. You missed them. All of them so much. And JJ. Even though he hurt you so horribly, you still ached to kiss him. Or just talk to him. How could you still love someone even though they broke your heart?

You stood, brushing the sand off your shorts. You walked back into the throng of people, dancing and drinking. You could use a drink, but over the week of getting wasted and drinking alcohol almost constantly, you decided it was best not to drink for a long time. You were surprised you didn’t get addicted, and didn’t want to push it.

You looked for your curly haired friend, but she was no where to be seen. You sighed. You just wanted to send her a quick goodbye, have her pass it along to John B. and Pope, and leave. Quickly, you spotted a tall guy, curly hair tamed under a backwards cap and an open button down shirt. John B. You called out his name and once he spotted you, he grinned.

“Hey, Y/N!” As you joined his side, he flung an arm around your shoulders. He was definitely a little tipsy. “Where were you?”

You bit your lip. “Just hanging out.” You peered up at his freckled face. “How many drinks have you had, John B.?”

He laughed. “Not enough.” He seemed to realize why you was here and frowned. “Are you leaving?”

You nodded. “Yep.” You peered at the crowd, still looking for your best friend. “Where’s Kie?”

John B. shrugged, taking a sip of the alcohol filling the red cup. “Stay, Y/N. Really. It’s not fucking fair we barely get to see you anymore.”

Your heart ached. It wasn’t fair, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to handle seeing JJ. And you were pretty fucking sure he didn’t want to see you at all.

“You know why I don’t come around often. I want to, but he doesn’t want me around.” Anger started to fill your veins. It wasn’t fair at all. “So talk to him about it.” You spat.

Making a rash decision, you agreed to stay and told your oldest friend you were going to get a drink. It wasn’t a rational decision, but your judgment was clouded by the anger. It wasn’t fair you never got to see your friends. They were your friends too. Hell, you’d known John B. since birth and he’d met JJ in second grade. If anything, JJ shouldn’t see them. He chose to break up with you, for a fault of yours, but he did it. He should have to deal with the consequences. Not you. Your thoughts spiraled into angrier, more delusional ones, but you didn’t stop them. You needed this. To feel another emotion other than sadness. Plus, not seeing the pogues everyday was making it worse.

You arrived at the keg, filling your red solo cup to the brim, the beer sloshing over the rim and falling to the sandy ground. You took a deep breath and with a final angry thought, you chugged the beer. To hell with JJ!

“Hey pretty girl.”

A voice lulled you out of chugging the rest of your beer. You looked up from the rim of the cup, surprised. You lowered the cup, and took in the sight before you. Two boys, grinning at you, red cups decorating their own hands. The first one was tall and dark. Tan skin, wide smile, dark eyes and even darker hair. The second was average height and reminded you of the boy who broke your heart. Hell, they could be brothers. He had the same blonde hair, but this random’s was cut shorter. God, the eyes were uncanny. Bright blue, same glint. The lips got you too. If the eyes didn’t have you on your knees, the lips did. The ones that used to kiss you and whisper “I love you’ into your skin after long nights.

He pulled out of you, flopping next to you on the bed. You flipped on your side, facing him. You have him a sleepy smile as you pulled the covers over your naked body. You giggled as he pulled you close, hands on your hips. He peppered your faces with kisses, unfazed by you laughing loudly and telling him to stop. He pulled away, smiling.

“Is this better?” He asked, tickling your sides. You withered underneath his touch, barely able to catch a breath you were laughing so hard.

“JJ!” You squealed, and his fingers finally stopped their attack.

You were pressed against him, craning your neck just to look at him. The only view you got was of his lips. He was talking, but you weren’t listening. Just memorized by the way his lips moved. You thought of all the blessed things those lips gave you. Unmentionable things. But the first I love you, and the countless ones that followed it. The words that sparked your relationship further than friends. The words the spilled out of his mouth that had you laughing your head off. Or the words he first spoke to you when John B. introduced you to him in second grade. Or the words that confessed the horrible things his father did to him. The words that broke your heart, but always repaired you. You sigh, delighted in watching his lips move and lull you into a sleep. Sometimes it wasn’t words at all. It was the smiles. The grins, the smirks and the winks that came along with them. The smiles after you beat him in a race to the waves you were surfing. Or the grin he always gave you when you said something funny. And the bright, genuine smiles that made his face light up when he saw you. Just because he saw you.

“Are you listening to me at all?” He asked, lips ceasing their movement.

You blinked and grinned sleepily at him. You buried your face into his chest. You mumbled an apology against the warm plains of his chest. He laughed, the sound amplified in your ears. His arms wrapped around you tightly and he rested his chin on your head. You wrapped your legs around him, becoming a tangle of limbs and sheets. JJ pressed a kiss to your hair, running his fingers gently through the locks.

“I love you so much.”

You gasped, the memory fading. You desperately wanted it back. It was one of your favorites. It was a time when nothing was wrong, and you two were happy. None of this avoiding each other and not speaking bullshit. How could you go from that to this?

The tall one smirked. “I’m Caleb.”

You smiled. They seemed nice. Plus, your mind was already a little muddled by the alcohol coursing through your veins. “Y/N.”

“This is Jack.”

Your heart gave a painful squeeze. Jack was so close to JJ. Hell, it could even be JJ’s real name. You swallowed hard. Jesus- what were you doing?

“You want company?” Caleb asked, watching as you tipped the rest of the beer into your throat in one smooth movement.

“Sure.” You said, “I’m getting another drink.” You turned back around, and filled the cup halfway, downed it and filled it back up to the brim. Tomorrow you would hate you right now. But you didn’t care. You just wanted to talk to two nice boys and forget how similar one was to your ex. You shivered at the words. Ex. You’d never get used to that.

You walked past the boys, letting them follow you to one of the bonfires. The flames licked the sky, sparking embers that floated down to the sand. The warmth from the raging flames touched your skin, lighting you up. You felt better, warmth spreading through you. Jack came to stand on your right. You three fell into easy conversation, Jack taking a step closer. You kept drinking, trying not to focus on the boy with the same eyes as JJ and only held the eyes of the other.

Suddenly, as you were talking, staring down at your almost empty cup, you’re mind reeling from so much alcohol at once. The beer had been switched to something stronger. Which wasn’t a bad thing. It helped blur the lines. Jack closed the gap between you, lifting your chin and pressing a hungry kiss to your lips.

You startled, and then kissed back. Rational thoughts having left a long time ago. Then his hands gripped your hips, and slid to your butt, sparking a memory you buried deep.

“Did you miss me?” A familiar voice teased.

You spun, squealing with delight as you saw your boyfriend walking down the beach towards where you and Kie were sun tanning. You picked yourself off the sand as fast as you could, speeding toward him. Your feet couldn’t carry you fast enough as JJ stopped, and opened his arms, grinning wildly. You crashed into his awaiting arms. He stumbled backwards, but held you tightly. He spun you around, laughing.

“Hey baby.” He said softly, placing you back down. You hadn’t seen him in a week. You’d gone to visit some family and the day you got back, which was yesterday, JJ had been at work, and couldn’t see you until today. The whole day, as you and the rest of the pogues were waiting for JJ to show at the beach for a day of surfing, you’d been bouncing up and down. You were so excited to see him again. You had missed everything about the boy, but you missed having his kiss against your hair and his hugs where he squeezed your butt. You also hated the fact that you had to sleep alone.

“Hi,” You breathlessly exclaimed. He hands traveled to your hips and farther as he leaned in. You kissed him as his hands squeezed your butt before going back to your hips. You smiled at him. “I missed you.”

“I know.” He says, kissing your hair before starting to walk to Kie and the rest of the crew. “Me too.”

You instantly pulled away from the boy, scared. Scared of how the memory hit you out of no where. Scared of how this boy was just a slight variation of the ones in your memories. Scared of how quickly you fell into the deep end.

Jack didn’t take the hint, and kissed you again. You pushed him away. “Stop.” But your voice was quiet, mind still consumed by the memory. That was such a good memory. All of them were so good. And Jack and his lips and eyes and hair didn’t help you get over JJ.

“’C’mon, we’re just having fun.” Jack insisted, still too close. His breath fanned over your face, sparking yet another memory.

The keys jingling in the lock and the footsteps coming down the hall had you shoving the blonde into your closet. You followed soon after, closing the closet door and shutting off the light. You both listened to the movements of your mother throughout the house.

You couldn’t help it, you giggled loudly, trying to stop it by pressing your face into JJ’s chest. He huffed a laugh, trying to shush you. You weren’t supposed to be home. You were, as far as your mother knew, having a fun night with Kiara. At her house. Not pressed against your boyfriend in your closet because you lied to your mother so you could have a night alone with your boyfriend. Not making out on your bed before you heard your mother’s keys in the door.

“Shh!” JJ said, eyes wide but laughing as he pulled back to look at you.

You pressed your lips together to stop laughing like an idiot. You calmed down and finally realized how close he was. You were chest to chest in the tight quarters that made up your closet. His breath fanned across your face. You didn’t mind, you liked the close proximity. You liked hearing his breathing. It was soothing.

“Hi.” You whispered.

JJ gave you a funny a look, but he pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “Hi.”

You pushed Jack away again. “Stop!” You glared. You took a step back, but met the chest of Caleb. His mouth was close to your ear. “We’re just having fun, Y/N.”

You shivered, his words chilling. You wanted out of this, but your back was pressed against Caleb’s chest and you were inches from Jack’s hungry lips. You shoved Jack away, “Get away from me!”

The alcohol made you dizzy, so you stumbled a foot away from the boys before Jack was there again. He smiled at you.

“C’mon. Just a dance?” You frowned, about to protest, but he was grabbing your wrist and pulling you back to Caleb.

“No!” You screeched, catching the attention of other party goers around the fire. “Let me go!”

The party goers stared, frozen. You tugged yourself out of Jack’s tight grip. You fled, knowing the two creeps were on your heels. You pushed yourself farther into the throng of people. The crowd was thick and loud, so you hoped you’d loose them. But you smacked right into Caleb.

“Where’re you going, pretty girl?”

You shivered, but Caleb smiled, reaching for your hand. A blur of blonde and gray flashes before you, positioned themselves in front of you, blocking off the tall creep.

“Get the hell away from her man!” The voice yelled.

For a painful moment, you thought the blonde was just Jack, but after a second you knew exactly who it was. The height, the build. The gray, sleeveless top, and the shorts and boots. The blonde hair and the voice.

It was JJ. Your heart gave another painful squeeze.

“Dude, chill. We’re just having some fun.” Caleb scoffed.

“No you weren’t.” You could tell JJ was glaring even though you stared at his back. God, you could recognize him just by his back. The way he moved, his tan skin, the freckle on his left shoulder blade. It was JJ. “Now get the hell out of here.”

“No. I just want to enjoy the party.”

“Get out of here!” JJ insisted, shoving the taller guy back.

And a fight ensued. Caleb tacked JJ, both boys throwing punches. Blood sprayed and the sounds of a fist smacking against skin filled the Boneyard. People cleared, a circle forming around the fighting boys. They looked on, hunger for a fight bright in there eyes. You looked up as John B., Pope and Kie pushed they’re way to the front. You met eyes with Pope.

“JJ!” Kie screamed.

“JJ! Get off him.” John B. yelled, the three trying desperately to diffuse the fight without having to get in the middle of it.

“JJ! Please!” You yelled. Maybe he’d listen to you. He’d done it before. Plus, if you still had feelings, maybe then he did too. “Stop!”

JJ kept going, getting pinned to the ground and then flipping. It was an even matched fight. The taller boy, taller and stronger, but JJ with the experience. The pogues continued to scream at him until John B. and Pope pulled JJ off the bloody Caleb.

The crowd quickly eased back into a party once Caleb got up and left with Jack, and JJ was contained by JB and Pope. It was almost scary had easily people forgot the violent fight. You stood in the middle, unsure of what to do. Thank JJ or getting the two creeps off your back? Or leave, just to continue the pattern of avoiding each other?

You stepped closer to the pogues. Kie was arguing with him about stopping the string of fighting. JJ’s face was already starting to bruise, purple marring his skin like a tattoo. His lip was split and blood ran from his cheek. You winced. You’ve seen him get into plenty of fights. But none quite like that.

The boys were fighting. Actually, JJ and Rafe Cameron. They fought all the time, always on each other’s nerves and ready to throw a punch. They loved fighting. They were fighting for their sides. JJ for the Pogues. Rafe for the Kooks. They were natural enemies. Currently, JJ was getting the shit beat out of him. Rafe was straddling him, fists pounding into JJ’s face.

“Rafe! Stop!”

You looked up. The voice wasn’t familiar. It wasn’t Kie, but it was female. It was Sarah Cameron, the Kook princess. Her blonde hair loose and falling around her shoulder, her pretty face contorted into one of concern.

“Please stop, Rafe!”

JJ had gotten Rafe underneath him, and started beating the shit of out him. You swallowed, your voice hoarse from begging your boyfriend to stop.

“JJ! Please!” The last word was filled with pleading and desperation.

JJ did stop. He threw the Kook to the ground before standing and spitting on him. You sighed in relief. You hurried to reach him, taking his hand. You studied the damage done. It was bad. You had to admit. Rafe Cameron knew how to throw a punch. You glanced over at the boy. Sarah was kneeling over him, helping him up. But she wasn’t happy. You could faintly hear her lecture him about getting into stupid fights. She looked up at you, eyes meeting.

You smiled at her. You’re thought process was the same You both wanted them to stop. You wanted to make sure they were safe, but were angry about all the stupid fights they picked. You also smiled to make sure there wasn’t bad blood between you. God knows you didn’t need another feud between Kooks and Pogues. Sarah smiled back. You sighed. No bad blood.

You stood still, staring at JJ and your friends. Kie was done, rolling her eyes, annoyed with her stubborn friend. She walked away and caught your eye. She met you, asking if you were okay. Kie’s dark eyes were watchful. You studied her. Her hair was pulled into a bun, and she was wearing more muted colors. That’s why you didn’t spot her in the crowd.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

You nodded. How were you going to explain what just happened? You got drunk, breaking a rule you promised you’d keep and kissed a boy that was the spitting image of your ex? But when the memories of you two together came back, you didn’t want his touch? And you pushed him away, but they wouldn't leave you alone, so JJ intervened? Would you tell her how you still loved him?How you weren’t okay hadn’t moved on?

“I’m okay.”

Kie smiled, pulling you into a hug. It felt good to hug her. Her scent was familiar and comforting. You loved Kie like a sister, and she you. Kie pulled away, her brows pulling together in confusion.

“Did you know why JJ was punching that guy? Getting into another fucking fight?”

You blinked. Another fight? “Um,” You started, but were cut off by Pope. He called her name, waving her over. Kie nodded to you and met JB and Pope. You could faintly hear them talking.

“He got into a fight because the guy was an asshole, apparently.”

“Does Y/N know why?”

“Who was the guy?”

“I think the fight was because of Y/N.”

You zoned them out, not interested in hearing their ideas. Without thinking, you scanned the crowd, and your eyes fell on a familiar blonde. JJ. Your heart ached. How could you have so much love for a guy who caused you so much pain?

But JJ wasn’t staring off into space. He was looking right at you. His blue eyes still striking even from far away. You met eyes. No one looked away.

“We’re not good for each other. We’re too dependent.”

You finally understood. You weren’t too dependent. He was.

1K notes · View notes

honey-dewey · 4 years ago

Text

Loud and Proud

Pairing: Trans Masc! Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales/Benny Miller/GN! Reader

Word Count: 1,536

Warnings: None aside from the usual swearing! This is 100% pure fluff

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Welcome to week one of pride month! For this entire month, I will be participating in @flightlessangelwings and @autumnleaves1991-blog Pride writing prompts! I’m super excited to do these prompts, and can’t wait to see what I come up with.

Prompts: Pride/“Kiss me again, like you mean it.”

“Wake up!”

You groaned, rolling over in bed and shielding your eyes from the sunlight that threatened to blind you completely. To your left, Frankie mirrored the action, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Jesus fuck,” he mumbled, sleepily fumbling for his glasses. “Benny, for fucks sake.”

Benny grinned widely, bouncing up and down at the end of the bed. “C’mon!” He said eagerly. “Wake up sleepyheads! It’s parade day!”

Frankie sighed, smiling crookedly and pulling Benny close. “Take a chill pill,” he said, kissing the top of Benny’s head as Benny wiggled in his grip. “Let us wake up, please.”

You snuggled up towards Benny, making kissy noises until he indulged you. When he finally pulled away, you fell back against the bed, smiling. “Benny, what’s for breakfast?”

“I made pancakes, why?”

“They’re burning.”

Benny shot upright, scrambling out of Frankie’s arms and racing to the kitchen, chanting “Shit, shit, shit,” as he ran.

You and Frankie took some time getting ready. It took some shuffling, but finally you were both dressed in your pyjamas and decent enough to trudge to breakfast.

“I saved it!” Benny said happily, showing off a plate of golden pancakes. “The burnt one went to Rufus.”

“Benny.” You sat at the table, letting him kiss your forehead as he put a mug in front of you. “That poor dog is fat enough as it is. And you know Mr. G hates it when you feed him scraps.”

Frankie snorted into his coffee as Benny gasped. “I did ask before I fed Rufus this time!” He said defensively, handing Frankie the pancake plate.

Breakfast was, as always, a lazy affair. Both of your boys ate four pancakes each, and you watched, mildly impressed and disgusted at the same time. An alarm went off in the background, and Frankie stood, stretching slowly as he grabbed a tin on the counter that was labeled ‘Fish’s anti-baby candy.’ The container had been Benny’s idea.

While Frankie took his birth control pill, you and Benny planned for the day ahead.

“I’m bringing extra water,” you said, watching Benny eat yet another pancake. “You’re on snacks?”

“I am on snacks!” Benny said happily. “We’re taking Frankie’s truck, and-“

“I’m sorry?” Frankie looked up from where he was swallowing his pill. “Frankie did not know we were taking Frankie’s truck!”

You laughed. “News flash,” you said, doing jazz hands in Frankie’s general direction. “We’re totally taking your truck.”

Benny grinned, tossing a wadded up napkin at Frankie. “You know you don’t mind,” he said. “That bench seat means we all have to smoosh, and you love being smooshed with us.”

“No comment,” Frankie said, hiding his grin behind his mug.

Half an hour later, you were sitting on the kitchen counter, adjusting various makeup items. Benny and Frankie were both in the shower, but the water had been turned off, so you assumed they were almost done. Benny came bounding out, wearing a pair of jean shorts and a rainbow tie-dye crop top hoodie. You laughed as he stood closely in front of you, bouncing from foot to foot. You’d promised to do his makeup, and he was very eager for it.

While you were holding Benny’s face and doing his eyeliner, Frankie trailed out of the bathroom. He was wearing overalls and no shirt, showing off his surgery scars. You gestured him closer, and he leaned against the counter, watching you as you concentrated.

“God you are amazing,” Frankie murmured, smiling at you. “I love you.”

“What about me?” Benny asked, peeking one eye open.

Frankie laughed. “I love you too, you dork,” he said, kissing Benny’s cheek.

Benny gasped, grabbing the straps of Frankie’s overalls. “Oh hell no!” He said. “Kiss me again, like you mean it!”

Frankie smashed his face into Benny’s while you packed up your makeup. “Benjamin, if you ruin your makeup, I might kill you.”

Benny laughed, pulling away from Frankie for a very brief moment so he could stick his tongue out at you before he crashed into Frankie again, forcing Frankie to dip back, gripping Benny’s arms.

“Boys,” you said, hopping off the counter. “Firstly, if we don’t leave now, we’ll be late. Second of all, I want kisses.”

The boys broke apart, both kissing your cheeks. You laughed, putting your arms around them and pulling them towards the truck. Frankie, who was the only one able to drive a stick shift, sat in the driver’s seat. You shuffled between the two boys, squished between Benny and Frankie. There was decidedly nowhere you’d rather be.

The parade was already in full swing when Frankie parked. The street that had been roped off was full of people, all dressed to impress in rainbows and glitter. A hundred different flags hung in the air, lining the buildings in color. You smiled as you stepped out of the truck, watching Benny run off immediately. This would be your first pride as partners, and he was already doing his own thing.

“He’s just going to find some funnel cake,” Frankie reassured, putting an arm around your shoulders. “C’mon, let’s go find him before he ruins something.”

Benny was, as expected, ordering funnel cake when you found him. After a bit of pestering, he shared with you and Frankie.

“Ten minutes,” Frankie said, checking his watch. “Wanna find a place to sit?”

You and Benny exchanged a look. “We’re already on it,” you reassured, taking Frankie’s hand and pulling him back towards the truck.

As soon as the old truck was in sight, Benny ran to it, climbing into the bed and sitting on top of the truck, his feet dangling on the windshield.

“Guys!” Frankie said, watching you follow Benny. “This truck’s too old for this!” Despite his complaints, he climbed up behind you, settling between you and Benny. You smiled, leaning on his shoulder as he pulled Benny closer so he wouldn’t slide off the roof of the truck.

The parade was, as it was every year, a lively affair. By the time it had ended, you had been tossed a variety of necklaces and pins, all of which had been distributed amongst the three of you. You laughed as Frankie got a beaded necklace stuck on his hat, his attempts to pull it over the brim only getting it more stuck.

“Babe,” you said, taking his hat off. “Let me.”

While you had his hat, Frankie was able to don a rainbow lei that Benny commented matched wonderfully with his shirtless-ness.

“Shh,” you said, putting Frankie’s hat snuggly on his head again. “Don’t tell him he’s handsome. He already knows he’s the pretty one.”

Frankie snorted, nearly choking on his water.

Once the parade was over, you slid off the truck, leaving Frankie and Benny behind as you searched for something specific. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched them wander off, likely to entertain themselves until you returned.

You found the vendor easily. Prior research had reassured you he’d be there, and you eagerly approached the small tent that was selling jewelry. You bought three rings, all identical, that were decorated with a line of gems that formed a rainbow and writing that said ‘Loud and Proud’ on the inside.

It took some doing to find the boys again, but you found them talking to a few drag queens, one of whom was wrapping Frankie in a pansexual flag.

“Fish, Benny!” You said, jogging up. “There you are.”

Frankie smiled, pulling you close. “Where’d you run off to?”

“I’ll tell you later,” you promised, the rings growing heavy in your pocket.

You three were still out when the sun set, and finally, after dinner and more conversation, you headed home.

As soon as he walked through the front door, Benny pulled his hoodie off and fell onto the couch, groaning into the cushion.

“Did you have fun?” You asked, sitting beside Benny’s head.

“Yeah,” Benny said, still face down.

Frankie chuckled, scooping Benny up and sitting down, putting Benny in his lap. Benny stretched out again, laying his head in your lap. “Love you both.”

“Love you too Benny,” Frankie said quietly, taking his hat off and laying it on the coffee table.

It was a few minutes before you remembered the rings still in your pocket. Sitting up from your relaxed position, you rummaged through your pocket, finding the rings.

“You good?” Benny asked, opening his eyes.

“Yeah,” you said. “I got you guys something, so we could remember our first pride together.”

Frankie sat up, watching you. “Is that why you left us after the parade?”

You nodded. “Yeah.” You found the ring in Frankie’s size and took his right hand. You slid the ring on his ring finger, copying the action for Benny’s hand.

Both boys examined their rings. Frankie moved first, pulling you close. Benny followed, surrounding you on both sides by affectionate boyfriend.

“Thank you!” Benny said, kissing your cheek. “They’re perfect!”

Frankie smiled, resting his cheek on your head. “Perfect,” he agreed.

You put your arms around the boys, hugging them close. “I love you boys,” you said softly. “Thank you for today. Not to borrow Frankie’s word, but it was perfect.”

#Triple Frontier #Francisco 'Catfish' Morales #Benjamin 'Benny' Miller #Frankie Morales #Benny Miller #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #benny miller x reader #benny miller x you #frankie morales x benny miller #frankie morales x benny miller x reader #Pedro Pascal #garrett hedlund #My writing #writer wednesday #jey's pride celebration 2k21

44 notes · View notes

just-come-baek · 4 years ago

Text

get in, loser 3

Pairing: Taeyong x female!reader

Themes: smut | mafiaboss!taeyong | streetracer!reader | carthief!reader

Word count: 6.8k

Summary: Taeyong has another assignment for me, and though it seems quite simple, I could not foresee these complications. Also, why do actions have consequences? Somebody should’ve warned me before!

A/N First of all, special thanks to Ally for supporting me through ko-fi! 🥰 Also, sorry for not updating it sooner, I’ve been busy with work and college, the next chapter will be probably around New Year, since I’d like to write something christmasy. 🎄Enjoy~~

There’s something unexplainable about Taeyong.

He’s a living paradox; on one side, he’s a ruthless mafia boss who won’t hesitate to attack people who had dared to wrong him. However, on the other, he’s a caring leader that is ready to go out of his way to protect his loyal associates.

Though it was, give or take, two weeks since I got to know him personally, I could deduct this much. There was nothing he valued more than loyalty, and I made a mental note to myself to never let him down, especially in this department.

Despite witnessing him murder Haechan and Jisung, I felt oddly safe in his arms, and it was alarming as fuck. Only God knows how many red flags I decided to ignore this night for the sake of his warm embrace. Perhaps it was stupid and reckless, but I didn’t care.

I was scared, and it provided me with warmth and comfort. Taeyong was the one who inflicted the wound on my mind by making me torture Haechan. However, at the same time, he was helping me to treat it with his support.

I didn’t do anything wrong. However, according to Taeyong’s twisted sense of justice, it should be me to punish them – an eye for an eye and all of that bullshit.

As soon as Taeyong led me out of the basement, he leaned in. His whisper tickled my sensitive skin as he ordered me to wait for him in my new car. With a slight nod of my head, I exited the mansion, awfully glad he let me go. Though I tried to forget it even happened, my mind was replaying all of the events from the last hour, making me sick.

The cold fresh breeze hit my face, making me shiver. Wrapping my arms around my torso, I made my way to the vehicle. Once inside, I turned on the music player, looking through for my therapy playlist.

The first song on the playlist was “Don’t Cha” by The Pussycat Dolls, and I nervously began tapping my fingers against the steering wheel in the rhythm. At some point, I unconsciously started singing my heart out, and it actually helped me calm down my nerves.

Unfortunately, the sensation was short-lived. As soon as Taeyong sat down in the passenger seat and closed the doors, I once again became a nervous wreck.

What did he want to discuss with me in private?

“Your opponents didn’t make it easy for you, did they?” Taeyong asked with a mischievous smirk upon his face after he saw the current state of the car.

“It’s just a couple of scratches; it’s no big deal,” I stated, trying to brush it off. Though it pained me, I knew Doyoung would gladly help me fix the vehicle in exchange for a fancy bottle of booze. (And some free ride coupons if he happened to be extra whiny.)

“So…” I cleared my throat, trying not to seem overly intimidated by his presence. “What did you want to talk to me about?” I asked, avoiding his dominant gaze. Under the influence of Taeyong's penetrating eyes, I’d most likely agree to anything in a heartbeat, and that’s not what I wanted at the moment. I had to be assertive and stand my ground.

“First of all, where is the money you won tonight?” Taeyong inquired, and I tilted my head toward the glove compartment, where I had stuffed all the cash I had won in the race. With a playful smirk, Taeyong reached in, pulled out the bag, and looked inside.

“You made me really proud tonight,” he commented, staring at the money before he put his hand into the bag and threw a handful of cash on my thighs. “That’s the tip, spend it wisely,” Taeyong added, and I smiled sheepishly, having no idea what I could spend this money on.

“Thanks,” I answered out of courtesy.

“I know you must be exhausted, so I’ll be quick,” Taeyong started, and I smiled, glad he understood my state. I had survived a couple of terribly tiring days, and right now, I just wanted to return to my tiny apartment, crawl under the covers, and sleep to my heart’s content.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Next Saturday, I have a business to tend to, and I’ll be needing a driver,” Taeyong explained vaguely, and I nodded my head, making a mental note of it. “Normally, I’d ask Lucas, but we’re a bit understaffed right now, so he’s going to be pretty busy.”

If I wasn’t half-asleep by now, I would be outraged. Ever since I had stolen Taeyong’s vehicle, I put my blood, sweat, and tears into proving I could be a legit gang member. And now, they were looking for recruits, the nerve! Partially, I might’ve been an indirect reason they were understaffed at the moment, yet it still managed to anger me.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll do it,” I replied dismissively, not even bothering to ask for any additional information. The case seemed too easy; there must’ve been a catch, but at this point, I didn’t care. I just wanted this conversation to be over with. Taeyong wouldn’t assign me to this task if he didn’t believe I could pull through, so I naturally agreed, hoping I wouldn’t regret this negligence.

“Someone will text you more details sometime next week until then, get some rest, you look like you need lots of it,” Taeyong spoke teasingly as he once again eyed me from head to toe. I could only guess how awful I looked with the bruises, the eye bags, and an unimpressed frown on my face.

“Gee, thanks for that,” I jested, making Taeyong smirk in response.

“See you soon, doll,” having leaned toward me, he whispered before pressing a delicate kiss in the corner of my mouth, confusing the hell out of me.

What the hell was that?

***

Though at first, I was doubtful, I somehow managed to get better over the week. I still had a vivid picture in my mind of the crime scene unfolding in front of me, but it didn’t bother me as much as it had earlier. Also, I didn’t feel like throwing up out of stress when I thought of Taeyong. As time passed, all the intensity seemed to wear off, and I was glad because I wasn’t ready to take in any more stress.

Right now, I felt great.

Most of the bruises already healed, and I slept to my heart’s content and even went to the fitness club for some yoga classes. Last night, Doyoung and I had a sleepover at my place with classic 90’s movies, unhealthy snacks, and fruity face masks.

Life’s beautiful, I’d say.

Just as Taeyong had said, someone had texted me the details about the next gig. It was Lucas, and as much as I liked hearing from him, I’d much prefer a face-to-face encounter. He was hot as fuck, and though out of my league, I would love to appreciate his ethereal beauty in person instead of imagining him in yet another gorgeous outfit. I just couldn’t help myself; it was his fault he looked like his place was on the cover of Men’s Health.

His message was short, but it provided me with a lot of information, and in all honesty, I was glad he didn’t give me too many details. All I had to do was to escort Taeyong and his friend to a nightclub outside the city and drive them back to the mansion. The car would await me in Taeyong’s driveway, and I should arrive about half an hour before the departure. Oh, and of course, what the dress code was – nightlife extravaganza.

I had no idea what business they were to tend to, but I decided it was for the better. The less I knew about Taeyong's dirty dealings, the less trouble I was getting myself into. If I knew what they were about to do, I might’ve found myself in yet another one stress-heavy episode. It seemed like the only reasonable option to stay the hell away from any possible stress factors.

“How do I look?” I asked Doyoung as I stepped out of my bathroom, letting him check out the outfit. I was wearing a black two-piece, consisting of a cropped top with straps around the waist and a pair of high-waisted leather skinny pants. With ankle strap red high heels, a matching quilted purse, and sharp make-up, I felt sexy and empowered.

“You look like a badass CEO, is this the look you were going for?” Doyoung stated after carefully judging my outfit. Sighing, he put one leg over another. “I like it,” he smiled, giving me thumbs up. “Top it off with that leather jacket, and you’re good to go.”

“The black one or the red one?” I asked, looking at the jackets, wondering which would suit me better, ignoring ‘the really???’ look that Doyoung was giving me. “OK, never mind, sorry I asked,” I groaned, throwing the black jacket at Doyoung’s face, putting the red one over my shoulders.

“Mr. Bad Boy won’t be able to take his eyes off of you,” Doyoung remarked in a snarky manner, and I stuck my tongue out, trying to ignore the verbal jab. Very sophisticated conversation between two best friends, I had to admit.

“I won’t even reply to that,” I sighed and went to the mirror to check out if my make-up needed any retouch. Doyoung must’ve really thought I was trying to impress Taeyong with the outfit, and to be honest, it was the least of my worries. Though we barely spoke with each other, Taeyong didn’t seem to understand the meaning of personal space, so I doubted he cared what I was wearing. As long as I’d let him take it off, he would be satisfied.

Not that I thought about letting him do that…

I was a professional, and sleeping with my boss, or even thinking about it isn’t at the top of my priorities. I’m a skilled car racer and a thief, and that’s what I’m planning on focusing on.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back. Close the doors when you leave, okay?” I told Doyoung, and he smiled, lying on the couch, reaching for the TV remote.

“No worries, I’ll just watch the game, clean up the mess you made, and leave,” he said before he stuffed his mouth with a handful of potato chips. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

***

Punctually, I parked my cute Fiat on Taeyong’s driveway right next to a big ass black Hummer. Having got out of my tiny vehicle, I made my way around the monster truck, seeing Lucas in the driver seat, setting up the navigation system. I knocked on the window, and the man turned his head around in a second, sending me a playful smirk.

God, he’s ridiculously hot. My memory didn’t do him justice. With his hair swept back, in a loose red jacket and a low-cut black t-shirt, he looked mesmerizing. A minute later, he exited the vehicle, and I saw him in all his tall glory, and for a brief second, I forgot how to breathe.

It was the effect® Lucas had on regular people.

“The keys are in the ignition, the location already typed into the GPS system. Taeyong and the other guy should be here in a few,” Lucas said, and I nodded.

Who’s the other guy?

Not even Lucas knows his name?

Strange…

“Hello to you, too,” I spoke, smiling at him. Taeyong was nowhere to be seen, so I cleared my throat before firing a question, initiating small talk. “How is recruiting going?” I inquired, genuinely curious about the progress he must’ve made.

“Nothing much yet, but I’m full of hope,” Lucas answered honestly, scratching the back of his head. “Actually, you inspired me to broaden my horizons,” he added, and I cocked up my eyebrow, wanting him to continue. Did I inspire him? Wow.

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’ve done some impressive shit,” Lucas confirmed, and I blushed at the compliment. “I’ve figured we need more women in our field, and I’ve talked to two best female candidates I could find. Right now, we discuss terms of recruitment,” Lucas explained excitedly, and I was positively shocked to hear such news.

Did someone hit him in the head with the feminism manifesto, or what?

“I don’t know what to say…” I whispered, trying to wrap my head around the newest revelation. Having experienced the treatment I received from most of them, it was hard to believe it took them so little time to change their mindset. I mean… it was just Lucas for now, but the change was already visible. “I’m happy to hear that; I can’t wait to meet them,” I added, turning my head to the side upon seeing Taeyong and his friend.

“Meet who?” Taeyong asked in confusion as he didn’t know the full context of our conversation.

“We were just talking about new recruits. I fill you in as soon as I have everything confirmed,” Lucas spoke. Taeyong nodded his head in comprehension, not even half as interested as I was. “Have a safe trip. I’ll get going,” he excused himself before walking away to a white Lamborghini Huracan.

“Missed me, doll?” Taeyong asked with a suggestive smirk decorating his face, as he bit on his bottom lip, glancing at me from head to toe. Yikes! It was unprofessional, and I wanted to scold him for being such a caveman. However, on a second thought, I decided to straighten my back to assert my confidence. Taeyong just wanted to express his appreciation for my fantastic outfit. Even though he chose the creepiest way of doing it, I chose to ignore it with a subtle eye roll.

“Is he always this nasty with you?” The mysterious man asked me as he walked past Taeyong, stretching his hand, greeting me like a regular person. “Pardon him, I’ve told him many times to work on his manners, but it’s like talking to a wall,” he added, and I chuckled, respecting the man already. He was talking shit about Taeyong in his presence – it was admirable.

“Who’s nasty? Speak for yourself!” Taeyong yelled, but his shorter friend just brushed it off.

“I kind of got used to it,” I replied casually, trying to give him a neutral answer.

“I’m Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, but since no one can pronounce it right, everybody calls me Ten,” he introduced himself, and I replied with my name, hoping he would use it instead of yet another infantile nickname.

“Nice to meet you, Ten,” I answered, smiling at the man politely.

“Should we get going?” Having cleared his throat, Taeyong asked, urging us inside of the vehicle. Following Taeyong’s order, I smirked, thinking of his ridiculous behavior. It was the first time when I didn’t give him my full attention, and it was evident it bothered him.

It was new and refreshing, and it was kind of cute of him.

“Yeah, sure, get in, losers, we don’t have all night,” I added, growing a little bit impatient with their slow movements.

“You really have to stop calling me that,” Taeyong whispered in a low voice as he put his hand on my thigh and gave it a firm squeeze.

“And you really have to fasten your seatbelts, or we’re not going anywhere,” I teased with a big, artificial smile, scraping his hand off my thigh. “Those rules apply to you, too,” I added, looking into the rearview mirror, catching Ten sitting comfortably, ignoring seatbelts.

“Is she always like this?” Ten asked, yet obediently following my instructions.

“No. Usually, she’s way cooler,” Taeyong answered, pouting slightly.

***

A little over an hour later, I parked the Hummer in front of a night club. Apparently, all types of shady dealings were meant to be discussed over strong liquor and with a half-naked lady sitting on their laps.

“Good luck, boys,” having turned off the engine, I spoke, sounding awfully like a mom, dropping her kids at another soccer practice.

Annoyed, Taeyong smirked. “Oh no, you’re going with us,” he added, and I cursed under my breath, displeased that Taeyong managed to ruin my plans of staying behind and not getting involved in whatever business they were about to discuss. The less I knew, the better, and Taeyong was really making it difficult for me.

Trailing slowly behind them, I entered the club.

“Get anything you want. We’ll be back in a few,” Taeyong whispered into my ear as he slid his platinum credit card into my palm. “Don’t cause any trouble,” he added before they both walked away to the booth at the back of the establishment.

I still could see them, though they were outside my earshot. It couldn’t get any better. I wouldn’t have to worry about hearing anything that wasn’t meant for my ears. However, at the same time, I could appreciate their natural beauty, fashion sense, and confidence in their original habitat.

I was a designated driver tonight (duh), and it was more than irresponsible to buy myself an alcoholic drink – especially with my ridiculously low alcohol tolerance. Leaning over the counter, much to the bartender’s dismay, I ordered a virgin Mojito.

Having checked whether or not the bartender spat into my drink, I picked up the glass, wrapped my lips around the straw, and took a sip. Though it was delicious, I’d much prefer it to have some alcohol in it. Maybe next time, perhaps tomorrow on my day off, I told myself as I spun on the barstool to have a look at Taeyong and Ten.

They both looked gorgeous, though they didn’t fit the typical mobster description.

Taeyong had his now baby blue hair styled down, a white suit jacket, a baby blue T-shirt, and light pants that made him look like some lawyer on a business trip. Ten, on the other hand, with his messy parted bangs hairstyle, an olive bomber jacket, black hoodie, and a pair of black cargo pants, resembled a lost college student.

The men, who they were meeting, were a completely different story, though. All of them seemed like lethal mobsters with their short hair and all leather outfits. I knew for sure I wouldn’t like to stumble upon them in a dark alley. Without any doubt, they had guns on them, and I was fearful enough to turn my head around and return to my drink.

Not knowing how much time it would take them to discuss all terms of whatever agreement they wanted to sign on, I decided to text Doyoung to pass the time. Unfortunately, before I managed to pull out my phone, my drink got knocked over by a very drunk girl sitting on the barstool next to mine.

“Hey, watch it!” I shouted as I jumped off my stool, not wanting to get all wet. In a matter of a few seconds, the bartender rushed over, helping me wipe off the counter.

“I’m really sawwy,” she said in a drunken haze, and I rolled my eyes, not really wanting to start an argument with an intoxicated person. When drunk, I also tend to be more clumsy than usual, so I simply decided not to hold her accountable for such a minor mistake.

Having apologized for spilling my drink, she excused herself, leaving her date at the bar alone. A good-looking man ordered another round of cocktails for him and his date. I cocked my eyebrows at his behavior. She was already drunk; another drink wouldn’t make her any good.

In a minute, the bartender placed two cranberry vodkas on the counter, putting it on the man’s tab. At first, I wanted to mind my own business and not attract any unnecessary attention. However, when I noticed the man slipping something into the woman’s drink, I knew I needed to intervene. He wanted to hurt her, and I just couldn’t let that happen.

Sighing, I jumped off the barstool and marched to the bathroom, wanting to warn her. Thankfully, she was standing in front of the mirrors, washing her hands when I found her.

Casually, I stopped next to her and pulled out my lipstick to reapply it.

“Are you alright?” I asked her, watching her wobble in her ridiculously high stilettos. She was barely standing on her feet – she was in no condition to have yet another drink, let alone a drink spiked with some type of drug.

“I feel funny. I had one drink, yet I feel like I had five,” the woman commented, placing her purse next to the basin, searching for cosmetics to touch up her make-up. “It must be because I barely ate today, I was so stressed about this date, so I only had breakfast,” she added, but it didn’t calm me. If anything, it made me even more alert.

“Is it your first date with him?” I inquired, trying not to sound intrusive. She seemed a bit naïve, and I wanted to look out for her. If I could prevent her from getting hurt, I had to try.

“Yeah, he asked me out yesterday in a coffee shop next to my building. He’s so romantic,” the woman explained dreamily, and I refrained from groaning in distaste. What kind of dudes did she date in the past to think this guy was romantic?

That was all I needed to know to figure out that he just wanted to get laid and toss her aside. He just wanted to use her body without even earning her consent. No matter how good looking he was – it was unjustifiable. I couldn’t let her go to him and become a victim. I had to try and prevent her from getting hurt.

“Are you sure you want to go back to him in this state? If I were you, I’d reschedule,” I commented, trying to talk her out of continuing this date.

“What is your problem?” asked she, her tone laced with anger and irritation. “I’m on a date, and you keep ruining it. What’s your deal?”

Wow, that was rude.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She couldn’t be for real, right?

“Listen–” I started, trying to defend my case, but she, once again, interjected me.

“No, you listen! I’m on a date with his hot man. You may try your luck somewhere else. I can bet you’ll find someone willing to fuck you but buzz off from me, and my man,” she hissed, and I just blinked a couple times, trying to comprehend what just happened. Though she was annoying the hell out of me, I still had to help her. Perhaps she didn’t fully deserve my saving, but I had to try. Friends or enemies, she didn’t merit to be taken advantage of.

Trying to flee the scene, she grabbed her purse and turned around to storm out of the bathroom. Fortunately, I managed to wrap my hand around her wrist before she made her way to the doors.

“Get a grip, woman!” I shouted at her, hoping she would listen to my loud voice – especially when she didn’t seem to particularly enjoy my calm and worried tone. “He roofied your drink and wants to take advantage of you. You better get yourself a ride home and leave.”

She looked at me, and I looked at her, having an intense stare contest. She must’ve been weighing her options before she tore her arm from my grasp.

“I can take care of myself,” she added before leaving the bathroom.

I tried, I told myself, but it still made me uneasy. She didn’t listen to my warnings, and she was about to get hurt, and it made me feel remorseful. I didn’t do my best. I still could prevent her from getting assaulted.

Heaving a deep sigh, I left the bathroom, determined to stop the man from drugging her even if I had to swallow the poison myself.

They were sitting by the bar as earlier. She was laughing at his joke, and he had his hand on her thigh. They seemed comfortable, but I knew enough to realize it was superficial.

Slowly, I approached them, stumbling over my legs, pretending to be shitfaced drunk. Once the drink was within my reach, I fake-tripped, spilling the alcohol on the man’s laps.

“You bitch,” he yelled in absolute anger. Apparently, he didn’t like it when his plan fell through. “Look what you’ve done!” He jumped to his feet, trying to wipe off his jeans.

Unfortunately, his furious outburst brought lots of attention to us. Instinctively, I turned to look at Taeyong. He was staring at me, mouthing, get out.

It was my much-awaited cue, so I gave this gross man some half-ass apology and left the club without any second thoughts. I had enough of this drama; I’d rather wait for them in the car.

Patiently, I waited for Taeyong and Ten to return. Time flew by quickly as I browsed my social media feed, forwarding the funniest memes to Doyoung.

Maybe thirty minutes later, Taeyong knocked on the window, wanting me to open the trunk. Two huge men with heavy leather jackets and gold chains around their necks threw four enormous black bags into the trunk, shutting it close with a loud thud.

I had no idea what the cargo was, but it didn’t sit right with me. Whatever it was, it must’ve been illegal, and it made me jumpy.

“What’s in the bags?” I asked carelessly, regretting my questing the second it left my mouth.

“Do you really want to know?” Taeyong challenged, and I vigorously shook my head in firm denial. Chuckling, he added, “Just samples.”

“Right,” I answered, dismissing the topic. Quickly, I turned on the engine and drove away, wanting to get back to the mansion as fast as it was lawfully possible.

Unfortunately, not talking about the cargo didn’t make me stop thinking about what’s inside the bags. Taeyong’s business has many branches, varying in dozens of illegal activities. Regardless of what was sitting in the trunk, we would all go to prison if caught.

“What kind of trouble did you cause when I specifically requested you didn’t?” Taeyong asked somewhat throughout the ride. His hands were squeezed in fists, resting on his thighs as he waited for my answer.

“I know, I’m sorry,” I genuinely apologized before I began pleading my case. Hopefully, with proper justification for my actions, Taeyong would understand. He was a human, after all. “I just couldn’t stay idle and watch this nightmare unfold in front of me. I had to help this girl out, even though she didn’t seem to appreciate it."

“Jaehyun was right about you,” Taeyong whispered mysteriously, making me raise an eyebrow in confusion. What kind of prejudice Jaehyun held against me? “You’re way too nice for this job,” he added, and I took a deep sigh, expecting a much worse response.

Though it pained me, it was understandable that being good was a bad thing in this line of business. Typically, I’d be glad to hear such a compliment, but under these circumstances, it made me upset. I wasn’t a saint, but I had some sort of a moral backbone.

“I wouldn’t necessarily put it that way,” I trailed off, thinking of the best way to present my abilities in the most fitting way.

“It was admirable if you want some second-hand opinion,” Ten interjected, pretty amazed with my attitude. “You should’ve punched him in the face, though. I’d love to see that,” he added, and I giggled, picturing my fist colliding against his jaw.

That would be a very nice picture.

“Can you drop me off at the Moonlight club? I’d like to meet with a friend of mine if that’s not a problem?” Ten asked, and I hummed in agreement, punching the club location into a navigation system. It was on our way, so it really wasn’t a nuisance.

“Sure thing,” I added, returning my focus on driving. Unfortunately, as soon as I shifted my attention to the front of our lane, I saw a car overtaking the Hummer. A second later, it flashed red and blue lights right, mentioning for me to stop the vehicle on the side of the road.

The police cruiser.

FUCK.

It was impossible. After doing so much illegal stuff, it was ironic to get caught when properly driving. It was a bad sign, and in a matter of seconds, I turned into an anxious ball of stress.

What a lame way to the end of my career!

OK, you gotta keep calm. Normal women can bullshit their way out of getting a ticket, so you can do it, too! I tried to psych myself up, though it didn’t help much. My mouth was still dry, and my hands were all sweaty. They’re about to discover I’m hiding some illegal stuff in the trunk. I couldn’t go to prison – orange is definitely NOT the new black.

“You can do it, doll. Don’t lose your cool,” Taeyong whispered, giving me an encouraging squeeze on the knee. Admittedly, it didn’t work.

“Yeah, don’t even think of all the drugs we have the trunk stocked up with,” Ten added, and I angrily turned back to yell at him for giving me info that I did not want nor need.

“Why would you say that?!” I shouted, trying to collect my thoughts. Cool, cool, cool, cool. You got this. You’ve survived worse. “If we make out of this alive, I’m gonna kill you,” I warned Ten before I straightened my backs, rolling down the window for the policeman who approached the vehicle.

“Good evening, Mr. Officer,” I beamed innocently, trying to read the policeman’s surname off the uniform, yet in vain. “I didn’t go too fast, did I?” I asked, batting my eyelashes in a poor attempt at flirtation.

Yikes, so much cringe!

“Driving license and vehicle registration certificate,” said the police officer coldly, completely ignoring my pathetic wooing. Unwillingly, I handed him the documents, praying to all the gods for him not to investigate the trunk. “Please, step out of the vehicle,” he added, and I followed his orders, ready to cooperate if he was willing to overlook the car inspection.

Obediently, I entered the backseat of the police cruiser, awaiting the interrogation.

“I’m an experienced driver. Did I make a mistake?” I inquired, waiting for them to give me the reason for pulling me over. My driving skills are mastered to perfection. I was really interested in what lame-ass excuse they were about to conjure to give me a ticket to fund the city’s budget.

“It’s just a routine checkup,” one police officer spoke dismissively, checking my data in their database. “All cops were asked to do routine checkups. Apparently, tonight some gang was doing drug drop-off, yet we stopped dozens of suspicious cars, and nothing came out of it. It must’ve been a false lead.”

What the fuck?

How, on Earth, did the police find out about this? Even I, who was a part of the drop-off, didn’t know what was inside the bags until two minutes ago. Was there a mole in the organization? Or maybe the police sent an undercover agent?

Thoughts were running through my head at a ridiculous speed, my gears were shifting swiftly as I tried to make any connection. Unfortunately, I didn’t connect shit. One thing was sure, though. If, by any chance, they let me go without investigating the car, Taeyong wouldn’t be thrilled to hear the news.

“Really? Drugs? And here I thought I live in the safe neighborhood,” I commented, feigning my cluelessness. Surprise, surprise, it actually sounded natural. Almost as if I was born to be a benighted dumb-dumb. “You better catch those smugglers.”

“We’re doing our best, miss,” the other policeman chimed in, and I tried my best not to roll my eyes at his for this evident negligence. They had culprits right under their nose, and it seemed they did not suspect me.

How could a dumb chick like me be involved in such a shady operation, am I right?

As much as I felt the urge to prove them wrong, I decided not to. As tempting as it was, it was extremely unbeneficial. I just wanted to get the hell out of the cruiser, drop the guys at Taeyong’s mansion, get my paycheck, and go home.

“Where were you going at such a late hour, miss?” The policeman asked, handing me back my documents after not finding anything worth further investigation.

“My friends were at the bachelor party in the club outside the capital, and they got really drunk, so I drove all the way there to pick them up,” I explained, though I got a feeling they weren’t listening to what I was saying.

“Uh-huh,” one of them muttered, quickly writing a messy note of the routine checkup, handing me back my documents. “That would be all, thank you for your cooperation,” the cop added, and I politely smiled, bolting out of the cruiser.

Phew!

Having fastened my seatbelts, I drove away. I just wanted to get the hell away from them, hoping they wouldn’t change their mind and order a thorough vehicle inspection. Taeyong and Ten must’ve had a dozen questions; however, I just turned up the volume of the radio, ignoring their concerned glances.

“Get out,” I barked when I abruptly stopped by the Midnight club. Perhaps it was rude, but I didn’t care. I’ve had a very stressful night, and politeness wasn’t on my mind.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow; good luck with miss grumpy,” Ten spoke before he jumped out of the vehicle, almost as if he was afraid I was going to talk back to him.

“What’s with the attitude?” Taeyong casually asked, and I sighed, trying to calm myself down. “I get you’re stressed, but you shouldn’t take your annoyance on us. Besides, if you’ve forgotten, let me remind you. I’m your boss, and Ten is my close associate.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized before I revealed what exactly happened in the police car. Truth to be told, Taeyong didn’t seem particularly surprised.

“That’s not the worst thing I’ve heard today,” Taeyong whispered, looking at my profile. “Jungwoo from Busan division called me today. Some of Yuta’s men crossed the border. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate our little prank,” he explained, and I grew speechless.

Karma was getting back at me.

Why do actions have consequences?

“That’s not good,” I answered, unable to form a coherent response. I was royally screwed, yet at the time, I was overwhelmed by the revelation.

Why couldn’t I just wait for Taeyong to put an ad on Craigslist, for fuck’s sake?

“Hey, look at me,” Taeyong ordered, and I obediently tore my eyes off the road to gaze into his eyes. “Don’t think too much about it; it’ll be fine,” Taeyong promised, yet his words didn’t make me feel assured. “You’re one of us; we’ll protect you.”

“You better,” I added, clutching my palms around the steering wheel in yet another stress-fuelled episode. There better be a professional health care program for Taeyong’s employees. Otherwise, I may need a therapist. Stress factors don’t stop coming, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to carry on much longer.

“Do you want to hang out?” Taeyong inquired, taking me by surprise. He, the mafia boss, wanted to spend some time with such a peasant like myself. That concept was wild, and it actually made me wonder. I couldn’t really say no. Some people would die to get a chance to wander around his big-ass mansion with Taeyong himself. “We can order some take out and just chill. What do you think?”

“I’d love that.”

***

Since the police knew the registration number, Taeyong ordered me to park the vehicle in a large garage under his majestic mansion. Having turned off the engine, we got out of the car, and I handed him the keys, lifting some heft off my shoulders. It was a nice car, but the memories it held were terrible. I’d rather forget that I even drove that thing.

“Give me a sec,” Taeyong said, taking a handful of samples, stuffing his pocket with them.

“What are these exactly?” Having creased my forehead in contemplation, I asked.

“These? Oh, it’s a new type of drug. It’s called the punch,” Taeyong explained, showing me a single dose of the drag. It was nicely wrapped like candy, and inside it looked like a mint. “It’s like LSD had a baby with shrooms,” he commented casually, winking at me. “And it tastes like bubblegum; you want to try some? The first batch is in the house.”

“Maybe later,” I answered dismissively, not really keen on having my first trip with Taeyong. But on the other hand, who was a better candidate to do drugs with? “I’d rather have some take out first if that’s not a problem,” I added, hoping he wouldn’t press me into doing anything out of my comfort zone. Not that I expected Taeyong to force me to do things against my will. I didn’t. After all, he was a really considerate man.

“Sure, what cuisine are you craving? I’m thinking… maybe something spicy. How about Mexican?” Taeyong proposed, and I vigorously nodded. Either he was my soulmate or really was able to read minds. “I’ll order something delicious.”

This time around, his mansion felt odd.

It was still majestic and glamorous, yet at the same, it was quiet. Back then, it was packed with Taeyong’s minions, but right now, they were in hiding, giving Taeyong his much-needed privacy. Following behind him, roaming around the spacious corridors felt like being guided through a museum during a private tour.

Once settled in the day room, Taeyong walked up to the bar, brought two glasses and a bottle of tequila, and set them on the coffee table.

“You want some? You look like you need a glass or two,” Taeyong offered upon seeing me all tensed up and anxious on the leather couch, nervously scanning the room.

“I’d rather hear some good news, but the alcohol will do,” I answered, reaching for the glass, downing it in one go, only to regret it a second later. “Pour me another one.”

“Take it easy,” Taeyong suggested, yet obediently filled my glass before turning on music, letting me know what type of songs he was into. Apparently, for late night’s chilling EDM hits were his to-go playlist.

With some liquid courage, it was easier to relax at Taeyong’s place. I took off my shoes and stretched on the sofa comfortably, all unpleasant and stressful occurrences slowly fading away. Unfortunately, these feelings were about to come back in the morning.

Twenty minutes later, the food was delivered, and it was absolutely mouthwatering. Fresh corn tortillas, spicy ground beef with a ridiculous amount of cheese made a perfect combination, tasting orgasmic. If I had less self-control, I’d moan at the foodporn laid out on the table for us to devour.

“So… how did the meeting go? Was it a success, or did I fuck it up with my shenanigans at the bar?” I inquired, narrowing my eyes, carefully watching his reaction.

If I could make out an emotion that his eyes were conveying, it was amusement.

“We will see,” Taeyong whispered, reaching into his pocket, playing with a single sample in his hands. “I only distribute the goodies. I gotta check first if this innovation is worth my time,” he added before popping the substance into his mouth like candy. “Is ‘no’ your definite answer?” Taeyong questioned, looking like a cute innocent hamster with the pill dissolving against the inside of his left cheek.

After a few tequila shots and delicious Mexican take out, I was much braver. However, at the same time, I became a way less assertive version of myself. Consenting to his kind proposition was too easy. Besides, what’s the worst thing that could happen? His mansion’s probably the safest place in the country.

“Fine, gimme,” I gave up, reaching out for the pill.

At first, nothing happened. A few minutes later, still nothing, and I even began to think Taeyong gave me a sample from a faulty batch. It was until it hit me good.

The couch melted like milk chocolate swallowing me in its soft waves before I crashed through the floor of nonexistent colors splashes.

#taeyong smut #nct smut #neosmutcollective #nct angst #taeyong angst #taeyong #lee taeyong #nct #get in loser #taeyong fanfic #nct fanfic #taeyong fanfiction #nct fanfiction

193 notes · View notes

olivinesea · 4 years ago

Note

Oooh fun! Okay, do you have any headcannons or thoughts on a dyslexic Hotch? I feel like I never see dyslexia with any characters really, and I like the idea of him with it. And if you do and you want to write something about it, a dyslexic Hotch with the team (and them being the supportive and protective family they are?) Thank you! ❤️

I hope you have fun, wherever/whatever you’re doing!!

I love this so much!! Thank you :) okay I don’t have much personal experience with dyslexia so hopefully I get this decently accurate. The biggest thing that surprised me when I was doing a quick search is that it isn’t actually a matter of reading words or letters backwards? It’s more an inability to connect letters to the appropriate sounds or to break words up into component parts; a general phonological awareness struggle.

So, as with many things, it seems to me to be a matter of slowing down, learning at your own pace. This ties in nicely with so many of my other Hotch thoughts, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. Idk what this is, it’s neither headcanon nor proper story but hopefully it’s something like what you were looking for:

When he’s a kid he gets called a slow learner due to his undiagnosed dyslexia. It was much less common to get that kind of diagnosis back then in general and I am sure his dad would have hated the idea of his son needing any kind of extra help. So he’s slow to speak, slow to learn how to read, has difficulty with numbers, absolutely hates being called on to read out loud because it’s actual torture and the other kids have no hesitation about laughing at him. So he becomes withdrawn, labeled a “bad kid,” stops trying because, fuck it, he never gets any kind of support, who cares right? It’s always a fight at home, he starts hiding his work, lying about his grades. This works for awhile bc his parents are distracted by other things. His problems are much bigger than grades by the time they do notice.

However, while he hates school and the way people talk about him and his struggles, like he isn’t even there, he discovers that he doesn’t hate learning. There’s a small library in town where he found he could hide out, no one bothering him for hours if he just sat still for with a book open. He was good at sitting still, at being invisible. But eventually a librarian notices that he’s always got the same book open, some sort of technical manual, that he is rarely turning the pages. She asks him if he likes what he’s reading. He’s just alarmed to be spoken to, afraid that being noticed means he will soon no longer have this sanctuary. He nods and tries to bluff his way through but it’s obvious he hasn’t read it, despite having looked at it for weeks straight. The librarian doesn’t say anything outright, just lets him be for now.

Next time she sees him she brings him a different book, a collection of Grimms fairy tales. He wants to complain that it’s for little kids but is too nervous to refuse it. She asks if she can read him her favorite story from it. It’s dark and twisted and fantastical and he can’t help but be drawn in by it. He’s sad when she’s done reading, wants to hear it again, to capture all the details to replay to himself later. She shows him where it starts, encourages him to read it himself. He doesn’t look at her bc he doesn’t want her to see how upset he is by that, already frustrated by the anticipation that he won’t be able to get through it. But she stays with him, helping him where he gets stuck, asking him questions about the story, making sure it’s making sense to him.

They slowly work their way through the whole collection over the course of months. They spend days on each story, repeating it until he’s confident, she never makes him feel like he’s taking too long or wasting her time. Sometimes has to reread a section multiple times, gets hung up on the language rather than the story but it’s okay, she gives him a notebook to copy down parts that spin too loudly in his mind, saving them and also releasing him from their hold so he can move forward. She lets him keep the book, tells him it was too old to stay in circulation anyway, they had a new copy on order already. She’s the first person who was patient with him, that showed him he could do it, he just needed a little more time, a little more practice than other kids.

In college this is part of why he spends so much time at the library. Part of it is his natural inclination to overwork himself, push until he’s given more than he can in hopes that it might be almost enough. He knows he’s never been enough, why would that change just because he’s in a new place? But the other part is he simply needs more time to get through the coursework, to make it through the excessive amounts of reading he’s assigned. Some other students don’t even bother to read but he would never do that, he makes sure that he not only reads every chapter assigned but he reads it again, takes notes, highlights, annotates, does everything in his power to be prepared. Sure he might work himself to the point of exhaustion, to the point where he makes himself sick (though he’ll try to deny that too) but he’s never caught trying to read something while others wait for his answer, the letters and sounds meaningless, slipping away from him faster the more eyes he feels turn towards him, wondering what could be taking so long. No one ever gets the chance to laugh at him for being slow in college, he never allows them to see that side of him.

As an adult, the leader of the BAU, he’s too well respected for anyone to dare laugh at him but he still hates feeling unprepared. This ends up looking like long nights in the office, reviewing case files to the point of memorization, so that he won’t have to read any of it in front of his team. He can if he has to, he’s developed skills over the years, ways to calm the panic that only makes it harder, can fake it well enough that no one would really notice. Until one day, distracted by a migraine and the fallout of some fight with Haley, he gets stuck. He can’t remember something and he tries to read the sentence that has the information but the stupid word just won’t resolve into sounds that make sense and he just stops talking. He’s glaring at the form like it might catch fire. No one says anything for a moment while he tries to refocus, tries to work around echoes of laughter, decades long past but always ready to jump out at him if he lets his guard down, allows a mistake, a tired moment to derail the image of perfect competence that he’s built around himself. Penelope jumps in, finishing the thought, completing the list of traits shared by the victims. He forces himself to smile at her because he really is grateful, it wasn’t her fault. She scrunches her nose at him, dismissing his silent thanks with a toss of her head. It was nothing, everyone needs a little assist now and then.

No one brings it up and he doubles his efforts not to let anyone see. But he’s so tired on the plane coming back from a case, he’s been staring the same forms for an hour at least. He can feel his ears turning red with frustration. There’s really no reason he has to do this now but the fact that his mind is refusing, almost seems to be teasing him, makes him dig in harder. Emily sits down opposite him, pulling the folder away without asking. He’s about to say something sharp, something he’ll regret saying to her when he really means it for himself, but the expression on her face is so odd, smiling with a frown between her eyebrows. It isn’t pity, she respects him far too much, but there is curiosity and something else, something soft.

“Drink with me.” She slides him a glass and they don’t talk, just look out the window, look at the light playing off the ice in their glasses. He doesn’t see the file again until it appears on his desk, every form neatly filled out, the places needing his signature flagged. All but the last spot, where she’s signed his name eerily perfectly, difficult for even him to see that it’s not his own. Just so he knows she can if she wants to. Equal parts offer and threat.

Penelope and Reid start a book club. Derek joins right away. Emily rolls her eyes when she’s invited, muttering something about spending her free time on more work but they know she will join. Rossi flat out refuses to read the books but offers his house for meetings. Hotch hesitates, wanting to say yes but nervous to commit to an activity like that. He loves books, loves to talk about books. He doesn’t love a time limit on books.

The next time they have to drive to a case, Derek puts on a copy of the audiobook. It’s the first time they make it to a destination without any bickering from the backseat. They don’t get through the whole thing but later he finds a copy of the audiobook on his desk, complete with a disc player and headphones.

A different month, Reid tells him about how his mother always used to read him books and somehow finesses an offer to read to Hotch without him even realizing he’s accepted it. So Spencer comes in to Hotch’s office on lunch breaks occasionally and reads to him whatever the book of the month is. He loves it, remembering the first person who read to him, how shocked he’d been to be treated with patience, with understanding and wondering how he got so lucky to be surrounded by people like her, so ready to support him, wanting him there with them rather than off alone, uselessly fighting with himself to prove his self sufficiency over some uncooperative letters.

Okay, that was so much more than I was planning on but here we are. I hope you liked it and thank you SO much for the idea. If you ever have any others you want to share I am totally here for it. :)

Send me requests!

22 notes · View notes

ateezmakemeweep · 5 years ago

Photo

badboy!wooyoung

word count: 5k

angst, fluff

request

your first week of bartending had been exciting.

you liked the rush of the crowded bar and buzzing excitement, thinking that you’d be dealing with chipper regulars and funny drunken ramblings. but within the first week, you quickly realized that’s not at all what you were gonna be subjected to.

the crowded bar would lead to orders being shouted and demanded left and right at you. the buzzing excitement was actually a mix of testosterone filled with fighting and the drunken squeals coming from dancing girls.

and the chipper regulars were more so in the form of obnoxious wannabe rockstars, who perform there every friday and saturday night and add on to your frustration.

because after six months of dealing with jung wooyoung, you were just about ready to quit.

at first, like any living breathing human with eyes, you were immediately taken by the boy and his band members. they were attractive and alluring and you couldn’t help but watch their cocky smirks and confident walks as they took the stage.

you remember wooyoung watching you the whole time he played his guitar and sang into the microphone, black hair hanging in his face as his lips kissed the mic before he pulled back with a smirk.

you did your best to show your indifference, taking orders or cleaning the bar when, really, you couldn’t pull your eyes away. but then the second he approached you, it was over. because if the way he pranced over and visibly checked you out wasn’t enough, he really had the balls to ask if you wanted to meet him backstage.

backstage meaning the back room, where you keep extra barrels of food and liquor and napkins. you couldn’t help the way your lip curled in disgust nor could you help the way you told him you would never do such a thing with a person like him.

“i don’t know, i saw those eyes, pretty,” he had said, his voice low but eyes teasing. “i think we’d have a lot of fun.”

“i think you should fuck off if you ever wanna perform here again.”

and then he laughed in your face and ordered a round of shots, slipping you two twenty dollars bills after he took back his card. “i’ll see you next weekend then,” he said with a parting wink.

and then he never looked your way again that night. it had become sort of a staple within these past months.

you watch him on stage, he watches you back. he comes over when he’s done and sees if you’re gonna accept his backstage invite. and then when you decline, he smiles teasingly and leaves you with a wink.

and perhaps the reason he never comes back over is because he’s usually getting shitfaced. downing shot after shot, sneaking in and out of the bathroom as he fiddles with his nose, leaning against one of the many girls you know he has wrapped around his finger before bringing them backstage.

but you don’t care, why should you? you know everything’s just a game to him. that he’s careless and causes trouble and there’d be absolutely no way he’d want anything more than just a night with you.

and that’s something you’re not willing to give him, no matter how much you like watching him on stage. like watching his lips part on the mic as his hazy eyes look at you in a way that always gets your stomach fluttering.

it had been especially packed tonight. you’d been taking orders and filling glasses since your shift started at 8:00 and it showed no signs of slowing down five hours later.

you hadn’t even been able to watch wooyoung perform but it was truthfully the least on your concerns; especially now, as you had to deal with a group of obliterated men you and your coworker were cutting off.

or at least trying to. because one man in particular was screaming at both of you, the vein running down his forehead threatening to burst and you wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to jump over this bar and sock you in the face.

“i can get you water,” you told him for the fifth time, looking apologetically at a group of women who’ve been waiting to order.

“did i say i wanted a fucking water?” he screamed, his fists slamming down on the table probably in an attempt to intimidate you; but with the night you’ve been having you could give a shit; in fact, you’re half tempted to take the water nozzle and spray him right in the face, thinking that the consequence of getting fired would be well worth the satisfaction.

but you refrain and stare blankly the man, telling him again he’s only able to have water for the rest of the night. he starts screaming in your face, cursing at you for being a stupid bitch and slurring that he’s the cu-customer so you should listen to him.

but you only roll your eyes and walk over to take another order, apologizing before attempting to ask what they want. but before you can get the sentence out, they’re pushed out of the way and a hand wraps around your arm, pulling you forward and your side smacks right into the bar.

loud grunts of surprise echo around you and the drunken man’s friends attempt to pry him off of you but he’s only tightening his hold. cursing lowly and demanding more drinks before you squint your eyes and tell him to get the fuck off of you; because even though you’re terrified and in pain, you refuse to let him see that.

you’ve dealt with enough shit at this job and you’re not about to let some immature loser manhandle you. but before you can twist your arm out, a fist to his face knocks him into one of the barstools and into his group of friends.

you rip your red, bruising arm away and to your side, snapping your head to see wooyoung standing there with a pissed off look on his face. his black hair is still sweaty from getting off stage twenty minutes ago and the vein in his neck is bulging. the man looks to the side and sees wooyoung was the one to get him off you, probably thinking that the few inches of height he has on the boy is gonna work in his favor.

but because he’s so obliterated, wooyoung’s able to get a few more punches in until the guy’s friends back him up. they push wooyoung away roughly and grab their friend who fights against their hold, calling the guitar player with fire in his eyes a pussy and telling him to take it outside.

“you both can,” you snap and wooyoung looks over to you in the midst of the chaos. his eyebrow is raised at you before his gaze drops to your arm, eyes narrowing when he sees your hand holding the red spot.

about thirty seconds too late, the lousy bouncer comes from outside and drags the man and his friends out of the bar, your co-worker fretting over you and asking if you’re okay. she nearly has tears in her eyes and you can only roll yours, insisting that you’re fine before looking at wooyoung again.

“that wasn’t necessary,” you tell him, dropping your arm so you can start to clean up the wet mess of beer on the bar.

“oh no?” he hums lowly, cocking his head to the side as he looks at you. there’s a sliver chain around his neck that shouldn’t be grabbing your attention so much; nor should his cut arms or hint of a tattoo peeking out of his shirt.

“no,” you snap. “i could’ve done it myself. you know you’re not supposed to fight in here.”

“am i not supposed to punch someone who was hurting you?”

you narrow your eyes at him, holding his gaze before the darkness in them causes you to get far too nervous. you look over to grab another rag and clean off the bar top, listening to the bouncer telling wooyoung to get out too.

“are you fucking kidding me? he was ripping your bar tenders arm off because you were busy dicking around.”

and then even though you were just victim to a fight, you find yourself needing to jump around the bar and throw yourself in between wooyoung and the bouncer two minutes later.

“get out,” you snap.

“y/n, you’re joking, i was fucking helping-”

“and now you’re making my life harder,” you cut him off, hearing the ruckus of people getting louder throughout the bar. because after one fight here, it almost always sets off some sort of idiotic wave and you wouldn’t be surprised if two more people try to rip your arm off tonight now.

your eyes catch hongjoong, the drummer of the band who seems to be the most level headed one of the bunch and you flag him over. you drown out the sound of wooyoung whining at you and tell them they have to leave before the bouncer kicks him out.

hongjoong nods his head in understanding, growling at wooyoung to follow him before they fuck up the one steady gig they have. he narrows his eyes at you and you only shrug and throw your arms up in defeat because what are you supposed to do? he fought the guy too and your coworker is about to lose his shit.

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy, y/n,” you hear his voice grumble as he turns away and leaves you, a posse of girls following behind that only makes you roll your eyes and groan. you go back behind the bar and lift your shirt up, a large ugly bruise already forming on your skin.

“he was just trying to help, you know,” the other bar tender says, your friend who from the beginning thinks you should give wooyoung his night with you. “he likes you.”

“he doesn’t like me. he wants to fuck me like he fucks everyone in this place.”

“okay so he likes you and he wants to fuck you. what’s so wrong about that?”

you let out a huff and smack her with rag, growling that you guys have to get back to work and finish the rest of the two hours without incident. she only lets out a sigh and rolls your eyes at you, telling you she knows you like him too so what the hell is holding you back?

her comment effects you but you don’t even have the time to dwell on it, refilling drinks and cleaning up before your shift ends at 3:30 in the morning. you have to all but kick everyone out, almost debating to set off the fire alarm but remembering how much trouble you got into last time for that.

you say goodnight to your coworkers before walking outside, the cool night air a pleasant contrast to the stuffiness in the sticky, hot bar. your car was parked right across the street but before you can even look both ways, someone leant against the side of the building catches your eye.

you’d recognize him anywhere, those arms and hair that you more often than not ogle during your shifts. you highly consider just leaving him there, knowing san or hongjoong probably isn’t too far behind before his head snaps up and he sees you staring at him.

you let out a huff when he waves at you, attempting to walk over before he stumbles off the wall and nearly falls right onto the concrete. so even with a pounding head and irritation flooding through you from the night, you stomp over and stand right in front of him.

“why are back here?”

he smirks at the sound of your voice, his head back against the wall and his black hair hanging low in his face. “you’re usually more excited to see me.” you narrow your eyes at him and refuse to answer, raising a brow at him and crossing your arms.

“why are you here? where are your friends?” because even though you’re so fucking irritated with him and everyone else tonight, you know you couldn’t leave him here.

“told them to leave. that i’d get a ride home with you after i made sure you were okay.”

he watches through his hazy vision as your eyes roll and you let out a sharp exhale, his smirk widening as he leans closer to you. “since, you know, that guy hurt you and then you got me kicked out. what was that about, pretty?”

you bite the inside of your cheek at the way that word falls from his lips, looking at him skeptically. “you punched him in the face, wooyoung.”

“he was grabbing you, y/n,” he growls lowly and your eyebrows shoot up at the anger and frustration in his voice. “was i supposed to sit there and watch it happen?”

“i had it under control.”

he lets out a scoff as he looks over your body, his hand reaching out and taking your wrist to examine for any injury; but you quickly rip it away, wincing when your elbow smacks into your side.

and even in his drunken state, this obnoxious boy notices and his eyebrow raises curiously. “what was that?”

“nothing,” you snap. “now get in the car. i’m exhausted and wanna go home.”

“you finally giving me a chance, y/n?” he asks with a smirk, your eyes narrowing before you turn around wordlessly; you wait for him at the curb, letting out a sigh when he stumbles over to you and grabs at your arm.

“hold my hand, i can-can’t stand.”

“then maybe you shouldn’t have drank so much.”

getting wooyoung into his apartment proved to be a challenge. because, to begin with, it took him nearly thirty minutes to tell you where it was.

“you’re able to have a conversation with me, wooyoung, you’re not that fucking shitfaced. so which way is it?” and when he only looks dumbly out the window, squinting to see the street signs in the darkness, you’ve had enough.

“if you don’t tell me, i’m leaving you on the side of the road.”

“bullshit,” wooyoung says and you raise your eyebrow at him challengingly. a handsome, obnoxious smirk appears on his lips and you shake your head, reaching over him to open the door. “get out.”

a deep chuckle rings from his mouth and he swats your hand away before you can pull the handle, a pout you’ve never seen before taking over his face. “you didn’t even give me time.”

“i’m serious, wooyoung, tell me or get out. i’m fucking exhausted.”

he leans his head on the side of your leather seat, staring at you with glossy eyes before whining when he sees your hard gaze isn’t budging. “make a right up there.”

you let out an annoyed sigh, bringing your hand back to the steering wheel before following wooyoung’s directions. he tells you to stop in front of a brick building and you do so, looking over at him to see he’s already staring at you.

“what?”

“walk me up.”

your hands curl into fists and you hold back the urge to scream, instead grumbling his name through clenched teeth.

“c’monnn, i’m a little tipsy and have to walk four flights of stairs. what if i slip and fall and crack my head open?”

“then maybe you’ll learn not to-”

“drink so much? yeah, maybe. but i’ll be dead so the lesson would kind of be too late, right?”

you two have a stare down, his eyebrow raised and eyes so hopeful you find yourself eventually taking your keys out of the ignition with a huff; it would also probably worry your mind to think about him making his way up the stairs, the small chance that he really would crack his head open forever wrecking your conscience.

so with a happy, lazy smile on his face and a scowl on yours, you wrap your arm around his waist and guide him up the stairs. he falls into you several times and, despite everything, you can’t even stop the laugh that leaves you when his loud ones echoes in the stairwell, quietly telling him to shut up and walk like a normal person.

this wooyoung is so different from the one you’ve seen every weekend. he’s lighter and carefree and open, not so intense and dark and jaded. he seems like a real person opposed to some sort of...phony. playing it up as a cool guitar player who only cares about getting high and fucking.

“it’s this one,” he tells you once you’re in the hallway, watching him type in his key code before guiding you into the apartment; it’s a lot...cleaner than you expected. modern dark furniture with walls free of photos or decor but it’s still nice enough, looks lived in but not too cluttered or disgusting.

and there’s also not a scent of sex or pot or dirty laundry, which is always a plus.

“where’s your room?”

he snaps his head over to you and looks at you with a smirk, his eyebrow raising suggestively. “why do you wanna know? are you accepting my offer now?”

“sleep on the floor then,” you bite back, his hand around your shoulder tightening as he sloppily guides you down the hallway. he opens the door to his room and plops right down on his bed, slipping off his boots before laying out like a starfish.

you watch him carefully, trying to assess if he really is okay or if you should call one of his friends to stay here tonight. because he made it without any incident on the stairs but if he ended up choking on his vomit, you’d also be ridded with guilt.

“wooyoung, are you good?” you ask. your eyes widen when instead of answering, he rips his shirt off over his head and shimmies out of his black jeans. you can’t even help the way your mouth falls open, more so shocked by his bold undressing than the defined muscles of his abdomen and tattoo in full display on his ribs.

because, yes, that’s what has you more shocked. you’re not at all effected by him laying there, looking up at you shirtless with a smirk and half-lidded eyes.

“are you good?” he counters, his arm behind his head defining his oblique muscles. the sight makes your cheeks flush and the room to feel incredibly warm, swallowing down the nerves as you nod your head.

“i’m not the one who had to get escorted home.”

you want it to sound snippy and feisty but it only sounds pained to your own ears. maybe he doesn’t realize though, maybe he's too drunk to realize the effect he has on you. maybe he’s just gonna tell you to go home and-

“come here.”

something in your lower stomach swoops at the way his voice commands it, cheeks warming and your head shaking.

“no.”

“please.”

you let out a shaky breath, taking a dramatic inhale because you can’t do this tonight. he’s drunk and you’re irritated and attracted to him and everything about it would be wrong. but you find yourself walking over anyway, standing next to his bed and keeping your eyes trained on his face.

he’s looking you up and down and you resist the urge to bite your lip, especially when he reaches out and tugs you closer to him.

“wooyoung,” you say warningly. but he only lets out a quiet groan, dropping his hand from your waist and you bend down so you’re face to face; you can’t have him eyeing your body and touching you, the air is too thick and he’s far too attractive.

“why don’t you like me?”

you can’t help the small laugh that leaves your mouth, biting down on your lip to hide your smile. “i just drove you home and walked you in,” you state obviously, “what’s giving you the impression i don’t like you?”

you also can’t help the way you mock his words ever so slightly, just because they sound a little too juvenile leaving this man’s mouth.

“you make it obvious,” he grumbles. you roll your eyes because you have a feeling you know where this is going, the familiar scene of the backroom flashing in your head.

“why, because i refuse to go backstage with you?”

“no,” he says lowly and you look at him skeptically; but he only narrows his eyes at you and reaches out to touch your cheek.

the gentleness throws you off, your eyes widening and breath catching in your throat. he sees the way your eyes change but he doesn’t say or do anything, just holds your gaze before his thumb start to caress your cheek slowly.

“then why do you think that?” you eventually find the ability to say, words coming out in a whisper you didn’t intend. your eyes fall to his lips that pull into a smirk, meeting his gaze again when he pulls you down closer to him.

“because i wanna kiss you,” he tells you bluntly, not a hint of hesitation or doubt in his tone. “but i don’t think you want me to.”

your tongue pokes out to lick your dry lips and his eyes immediately follow, a tiny noise in the back of his throat causing you to swallow nervously.

“you’re drunk, wooyoung,” you remind him gently, his eyes rolling and a sigh leaving his mouth.

“barely,” he grunts out in annoyance which causes you to hum questioningly, your eyebrow raising as you look at him because then why the hell did you walk him up in the first place?

“you knew i was lying, pretty,” he says with a smile, the amusement in his voice causing you to shake your head. his thumb starts moving over your cheek slowly again and he brings your face closer. just a bit, to test what you’re gonna do, either push him away or drop your gaze to his lips and lean in.

“i don’t think i did,” you mumble back sarcastically, feeling your resolve weakening the more you lean down. the more you look from his eyes to his lips and his hand cups your cheek, guiding you down until your lips meet.

and then the second they do, it feels like it’s over.

the months of waiting and flirting with your eyes and leading each other on like both of you didn’t so desperately want this. to feel your lips part against one another and your tongues to tangle, for his hand to fist the back of your hair and for you to moan quietly into his mouth.

he tugs you up until you’re straddling his waist, the thin layer of his boxers under your jeans. your hands are cold on his warm skin but the kiss never breaks, a mix of teeth and tongues and moans as you finally give in to one another.

but when he puts his hands on your hips and squeezes, it acts sort of as something to ground you. remind you that he’s drunk and that he might not remember this tomorrow. that if this ends badly, you’re still gonna have to see him every weekend and you don’t want to make your workplace awkward.

because you know you’ll go through with this and get attached and then you’ll be the one hurt.

you mumble his name against his lips and he pulls back immediately, looking over your face and sees all the hesitance and fear in your eyes. “you’re drunk,” you tell him quietly. “i- we can’t do this.”

“i’m not even drunk, y/n, i was-”

“if we do this and you don’t remember tomorrow, i’m gonna...” be hurt, be really fucking hurt and i won’t ever be able to look at you again. i’m gonna feel like i took advantage of you and waited all of this time for nothing. “i can’t.”

you try to get up from bed but he pulls you back before you can, your butt falling back onto the mattress as you plop down next to him.

you inhale shakily because you wish you didn’t have to stop. you want to keep kissing him and hear his moans and see all the things his fingers and tongue can do. the fingers and tongue that you swear tease you every god damn weekend on the strings of his guitar and pad of his microphone.

“i’ve wanted you since the second i fucking saw you, y/n, of course i’m gonna remember.”

the confession makes your eyes widen because even though you’d known he was always flirty and obnoxious, this seemed extremely...forward. and deeper. but you thought that maybe those were your own hopes clouding your judgment and perception, the softness in his eyes and the frustration in his voice maybe a figment of your imagination.

“but that’s...all you want,” you say quietly and it’s the first time he’s ever heard a ounce of vulnerability in your voice. you’re usually so strong and sure of yourself, eyes hard and entire being so confident. but right now you look completely out of your element. nervous and unsure about what he even wants from you.

“how do you know?” he asks, his hand running through your hair softly. “you never gave me the chance to tell you what i wanted.”

you purse your lips to the side as your eyes roam his face, everything genuine and soft and you think that might be scaring you the most right now.

“oh? so i was supposed to know that you were gonna ask me on a date backstage?”

you can’t help but chuckle at the smirk that crosses his face, stretching out his bare muscles as a tiny sigh leaves his mouth. “okay, maybe a little bit of both,” he hums lowly, your hand lightly smacking his stomach. both of you let out quiet chuckles before a yawn leaves your mouth, his pouty request that you sleep over causing him to get another smack.

“i was kidding,” he huffs and you shake your head as you stand from his bed. he looks up at you with heavy eyes and you know the second you leave, he’s gonna pass out. “but not about...a date,” he suddenly says. “and not about me remembering. when i see you next weekend, it’s gonna be the first thing i say to you.”

you roll your eyes and nod your head sarcastically, still keeping yourself guarded in the event that this is all a lie. that he’ll see you next friday and give you that signature smirk and wink calling you pretty.

“right, of course you are.”

“i am,” he says sleepily, his black hair messy as it hangs in his face. “so you better say yes.”

true to his word, that following friday after his set, it’d been the first thing he said to you. a knowing glint in his eye and a smile pulling at his lips as he asked you in front of everyone, band members and your nosy, excited coworker included, if he could take you on a date next week.

san and hongjoong sighed in relief, their synchronized voices shouting “finally!” causing him to roll his eyes and punch them in the arm. you looked at the boy with a smirk, cocking your head to the side as your gazes meet. he raises an eyebrow challengingly before nodding his head toward the back of the bar.

“unless you’d prefer i take you back-”

“yes,” you squeak, narrowing your eyes as you shake your head and fight back a smile. “let’s go on a date.”

#this had to be bumped up for OBVIOUS reasons #the man he is #wooyoung #wooyoung angst #wooyoung fluff #ateez #ateez angst #ateez fluff #request #wooyoung scenarios #ateez scenarios #wooyoung imagines #ateez imagines

1K notes · View notes