#daddy come in from shoveling the driveway

[angel5ofp0rn]

♡ part one ♡

ExHusband!Price x f!reader

been thinking ab this post 4ever and need to get it out tbh.

**I’ve never done something like this b4 and I haven’t proofread so pls be nice 2 me ._. **

You have been divorced from your ex husband John Price for two years. Still, he comes over and shovels your driveway for you every time it snows.

He’s come inside and warmed up in the mudroom nearly every 15-20 minutes, puffing hot breath into his hands and rubbing them together for warmth before stepping back out and shoveling again.

You meet him in the mudroom for his fourth warm-up break and hand him a mug of hot coffee. Dash of cream, one sugar.

“Still how you take your coffee, right?” You offer a small smile, hugging your arms around yourself as John takes a sip from the mug.

“Still the same.” He nods before he takes another sip, the small smile that had appeared at the corner of his mouth quickly fading.

He leans up against the doorframe, the shovel leaning against the wall next to him. He peers out of the door's window, checking over his work.

“I'll get goin' soon enough. It ain't snowing right now, the drive's nearly clear.”

You thank him again, even though you never asked him to do this in the first place. You can’t help but look up at him, meeting his blue eyes for just a moment.

Before he could reply, your two children came running around the corner cheering and squealing when they saw their dad.

John's smile brightens at their presence, his body language immediately softening as he squatted down to their level.

“Hey, my little monkeys. Come give yer ol’ dad a hug.” He opens his arms out wide, inviting both of them to come to him. It doesn't take long before they both go crashing into him, squealing, smiling. Their giggles filled the small room.

You just smile. Even if you and John aren’t always on the best of terms, you can’t deny that he’s a great father.

“Daddy’s cold.” Your youngest shivers a bit from hugging their dad, who still had snow on his clothes and frost on his beard from shoveling.

John tries to shrug it off, but you ask him to stay and warm up for a while.

For the kids, of course.

Plus dinner is nearly ready, and you definitely made too much for just you and the kids, anyway.

More cheering, more squealing, more giggling as John finally agrees and kicks his boots off, hanging his coat on the hook.

John’s blue eyes scan the new decor and different paintings on the wall, but he doesn’t comment on how much the place has changed since he moved out.

After dinner, the two of you stand in the doorway as you watch the kids play together in their playroom, that used to be John’s “man cave”.

“They're gonna make you tuck them in.” You mention, sipping your glass of wine.

John smiles, a casual shrug of his shoulders.

“Maybe you can convince them to go up and brush their teeth?” You lower your wineglass and offer a fake, pleading pout.

He looks down for a moment, pretending not to see the gesture. Instead, he looks back to the children.

“Right then, you two little monkeys. It’s gettin’ late. Go on up and brush your teeth. I’ll come tuck you in.”

Both children protest for a while, but eventually give in without too much of a fight. That’s a new one.

John lets out a chuckle as the children roll their eyes and go up the stairs. He watches them disappear from view before turning and meeting your eyes again, still smiling for this small victory.

As if he had just realized he was staring, John’s eyes darted down into his now empty mug.

"Let me take that." You reach for his mug but he shakes his head.

"I haven’t forgotten where the kitchen is," He smiles a bit. "'ll clean up and then tuck the kids in."

John makes his way over to the kitchen, placing it in the sink and starting water. You follow, and notice that he was also washing the dishes from dinner as well.

“John, you don’t have to-“

“I know.”

And that’s that.

You chew your bottom lip. This looked too familiar. It felt too familiar.

"I'm... gonna go check on them and get them in their pj's." You gesture to the stairs in the hall.

He looks up at you briefly and nods; "Be up in a bit, love.”

Once the water is emptied from the sink, he starts loading the dishes into the dishwasher. Once completed, he starts to wipe down the counters and stovetop, wanting to make sure he left no mess behind. Then he trekked back up the stairs to tuck in the kids.

You’re downstairs again, on the living room sofa. You wanted to let John have a moment alone with the kiddos before he left again.

He makes his way down the stairs and sees you sitting there in the dim lighting. He clears his throat a bit as he walks through the living room and back into the mudroom.

“They're tucked in. Not a whisper from ‘em.” He mentions casually as he gets his snow boots back on.

You thank him, turning to watch him leave, but notice him looking out of the door window and pause. So you make your way over to the door to see what he’s seeing.

It's started snowing and the driveway is completely covered again. It looks like he hasn't even shoveled.

John lets out a grunt of disbelief and sighs, pulling on his beanie and reaching for the shovel once again.

“Don't-“ You shake your head, placing your hand on the shovel. “It's snowing hard, there's no point in shoveling it all up just for it to be covered again. Why don't you... stay on the couch or something tonight.”

He stares down at the shovel for a moment, debating it. After a beat, he sighs a bit, nodding.

“I... could do that.”

You go upstairs to the bedroom and bring John some extra pillows and blankets to make a bed on the couch with.

You set everything on the coffee table and the two of you sit on the couch for a moment, just catching up and chatting about the kids.

“The kids both want to do soccer in the spring.” You mention, your cheeks a bit rosy from the wine you had with dinner.

“Football.” He corrects with a small smirk. You roll your eyes.

“Let me pay for the lessons.” He says; not asking.

Of course you refuse.

Of course he insists.

You settle on splitting it.

Then it happens again. Your eyes meet his. Neither one of you speaks. Suddenly you’re transported back to the first night you met; you were newly 21 and already tipsy when your eyes met those of an older man in his fatigues as he sat at the bar. You remember drunkly telling the older man that he had the prettiest blue eyes, and that you wanted a hundred of his babies that looked just. like. him.

You have two, at least.

“Oh!” You sit up a bit straighter, snapping out of your daydream. “I was going to ask you to look at something on my laptop. It's doing that thing again. It's upstairs.” You get up and head to your home office, John right behind you.

You open your laptop and hand it to John. He knew how to fix it last time, so it should take him no time.

He sits in your office chair and you step away into your bedroom across the hall to get into a pair of pajama shorts and a hoodie, since it's getting late.

The laptop whirred softly before he got it running again. Only took a minute. He sets it on the desk, leaning back in your chair with his hands behind his head as he looks up through the open door where you can be found, changing in the bedroom.

You were his wife at one point, anyway. Isn’t something he hasn’t seen before…

After you’ve changed, you lay on your bed, scrolling through your phone as you wait for John to fix the issue with your laptop, unaware that he was watching. Unaware that the laptop has been fixed for a while now, and he was just wasting time.

Eventually, his voice wafts through the doorway.

“Think I got it, love-“ He pauses for a moment. “Er, Y/N.”

“Ugh, thank you.” You sigh and sit up, taking the laptop from him and setting it on your nightstand. “Stupid thing always acting up.”

John sits on the edge of your bed as you take the laptop back from him.

“Not a problem. It was a quick fix.” He offers a small smile, rubbing the back of his head.

He takes a glance at you, noticing the pajamas you had put on.

"...Is that my sweatshirt?"

You blush a bit sheepishly, looking down at the oversized, grey 2XL Special Air Service hoodie you’re wearing. "Um..."

Another small chuckle escapes his lips. He shakes his head a bit, trying to contain his amusement.

“S’what I thought. You look... comfy." He reaches his hand out towards your leg, running his hand lightly over your bare legs, exposed by the shorts you were wearing.

Without realizing what he's doing, he has his hand on your thigh, and he gives it a light squeeze.

Eventually his hand travels higher to rest on your sex over your pajama shorts.

Usually, you'd tell him off. Monologue about how this isn't how things work because it complicated things and you both need to set boundaries.

But tonight you don't.

Maybe it's because you had two heavy-handed pours of your favorite wine with dinner. Maybe it was seeing him with your kids again. Maybe it had just been too long since you'd felt anything other than a cheap bullet vibrator.

So you let him slip his hand down your panties.

But it's a bit jarring to feel his wedding band still on his finger.

You look down at his hand for a beat when you feel it.

You look back up and place your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in and crashing your lips together.

John wastes no time in laying you back on your bed and tugging your shorts and panties off, tossing them somewhere behind him.

His lips are on your neck, his hands spreading your soft thighs apart. You can smell the musky scent of himself on him, mixed with that familiar cologne of his, and you breathe a sigh.

“Take this off f’r me.” He mumbles against your skin, sliding your his hoodie up your body.

Your body aches for this to continue, and John doesn't plan to disappoint, but he takes a moment to admire what's sprawled out in front of him. He lets out a satisfied smirk as he pulls you closer by your thighs. He's undone his belt and shrugged out of his jeans in no time.

You pull his shirt off over his head before you close your eyes and tilt your head to give him easier access to kiss your neck.

His scruffy beard tickles your neck, his calloused hands gripping your thigh and rubbing your slick, dripping pussy.

“So needy.” John observed as your back arched and your body squirmed at his touch. "Poor thing... No one's been keepin’ you satisfied, hm?”

You shake your head a bit. You hate that he’s right. You hate that he can tell. That he knows you too well.

But he’s right; no random Tinder hookup and no blind date that your friends have set you up with could ever compare to your ex husband.

“Should’a told me...” He murmurs as he leans lower, positioning his head in between your thighs, pressing desperate kisses to your aching clit.

He’s got you figured out completely. He’s always been good at that.

A smile forms as his hands move to grip your thighs. He lets out a quiet groan as your legs instinctively clamp around his head. The look of his veiny hands gripping your plushy thighs with that damn wedding band still around his finger is doing things to you.

His tongue slowly plays in circular motions, teasing you, loving the game. He takes his time, enjoying himself, as you continue to squeeze your thighs against his head. Hell, he’d let you suffocate him if it meant he could eat your pussy this one last time.

You try not to, but you let out a desperate moan of pleasure. He knew exactly what you like, exactly where to lick, exactly where to kiss, exactly where to nibble.

Damn him.

“You sound s’pretty, lovey. S’pretty f’r me.” He pants, his praise ending with a whimper.

Your eyes roll back. Fuck, he has you. He knows he has you. Your moans and whimpers are uncontrollable as he picks up the pace, all but slamming his thick cock into your pretty little hole.

You’re his, and he knows it, and in the moment, it’s true. Just him. Just you. The rest doesn’t matter right now.

John pulls out for just a moment while he swiftly flips you over, roughly gripping your hips and pulling your backside into him. He’s got the angle just right now, and your breath catches in your throat, followed by a needy whimper.

“Mine… All mine… Isn’t that right?” He whispers, more of a command than a question.

Your face is pressed against the mattress as John’s grip on your hips tighten. This angle, this position, John is so familiar with it. He knows what it does to you. He knows the way it makes you respond.

John lets out a loud groan as your whimpers and moans get more needy, desperate. He knows that you’re about to come.

He finishes right then and there, along with you.

You gasp a bit, surprised by the synchronization. Should you really be surprised, though? Only he would know your body like that. You’re his. He’s yours.

John slowly pulls his softening cock out of you, lying on the bed and pulling you into his chest. His hand grabs your thigh, draping your leg around his waist in an attempt to hold you closer.

He lets out a few deep breaths, letting the adrenaline and endorphins just fade away. Neither of you wants to move right now, both just content being in each other’s arms. Both content feeling the heat of each other’s bodies, just listening to each other breathing.

“Better than I remembered it.” John murmurs, his voice laced with a smirk.

You catch John’s left hand after he reached up to push your sweaty hair from your forehead. You hold it in yours, playing a bit with the wedding band.

next >>

[charliemwrites]

Bark, bark, snort, grrr

(The ex idea comes from @st-el-la-luna, absolutely brilliant darling ❤️)

Content: Voyeurism, Mild Injury, Possessive/Protective Behavior

Johnny, for all his quirks and… weirdly human tendencies, is an incredibly good sport. Particularly about letting you put him in Santa hats and wreaths, ugly sweaters and snow socks. He poses for every picture so dutifully, looks so serious and annoyed up until you plant smooches on his head or cheek and that silly lupine grin comes out.

He’s been your perfect little heater ever since the heater started to go on the fritz. It keeps shutting off or turning itself lower than it’s meant to be, leaving you shivering before you realize something is amiss. It’s not so broken that you’re willing to interrupt your solitude to have someone come fix it. But you’re grateful for a big fluffy body laying on your feet or snuggling under the blankets with you.

As the winter sets in, you tromp out with him in the snow a lot. Often use his sturdy shoulders and better footing as a crutch to navigate without slipping. He always gets fussy when you do, dancing in his feet and snuffling at your coat, urging you up.

One morning you wake up after a fresh snow, expecting that you’ll have to clear the driveway and porch - only to find it freshly shoveled and salted. It would spook you, except you’re sure Johnny would have woken you up barking his head off if it was anything to worry about.

Your mother calls about holiday plans in mid-November. You hedge around any commitments, hand buried in Johnny’s fur, saying that you don’t want to leave your precious pup at home.

The combined efforts of both your parents, your sister, and a cousin you actually like makes you cave eventually though. They promise it’ll just be family, that you can even bring Johnny. You grimace at that - debate getting him some meds from the vet…. But he’s been doing better on walks in town.

The weird assurance that it’ll “just be family” should have been a red flag.

When you arrive at your parents’ place, several gift bags and Johnny (with a bow tie on his collar) in tow, you find your ex there. On the couch. Next to your least-favorite cousin and your sister.

“What’s he doing here?” you ask sharply.

“Well, you two were engaged—”

Johnny’s ears shoot straight up as you tense.

“Yeah, and then he cheated.”

“People make mistakes. If you would just hear him out.”

“I don’t care what he has to say. And I don’t care what you have to say either.”

You drop the bags in a heap and click your tongue for Johnny. He falls in with you instantly, leaning up against your side. You get all the way to your car before you hear your ex’s voice calling your name.

You try to hurry, but there’s ice and the last thing your dignity can take is slipping right now. Luckily, you have the perfect deterrent before you ex can even get within arm’s reach.

Johnny snarls, so deep and loud you feel it in your own chest.

“Jesus!” your ex cries, coming up short. “Where did you get that thing?!”

“Johnny picked me. More than I can say for you.”

“Don’t be like that, I’m picking you now.”

“Oh, did your girl best friend lose all her daddy’s money?”

His cheeks light up neon. Huh. Got it in one.

Then he dares another step and Johnny lunges. You just get a hold of his harness but it’s enough ward your ex off a bit more.

“He’s very loyal,” you add. “Also more than I can say for you.”

“Baby, just listen—”

“An upgrade all around, I think.”

You round your car, climb into the driver’s seat with Johnny standing guard, then let him clamber over you into the passenger’s seat. At the front door, most of your family is gathered and staring. You flip off your ex one last time before peeling out of there.

The tears come after you’ve gotten back home. Johnny licks your face until you stop crying, then leads you inside. The two of you curl up on the couch together, his face buried in your stomach. You fall asleep there and dream of a man’s voice whispering love and comfort in your ear.

—

A week later, your ex shows up.

You’re out in the yard with Johnny, watching him zoom through the snow and laughing as he speeds by. Your ex must hear you because he comes round the side of the house.

And Johnny. Goes. Ballistic.

Literally, he hits your ex like a missile, taking him into the snow and snarling like something from hell. He’s got his teeth in your ex’s designer coat, ripping it to shreds. It’s frightening; you’ve never felt safer.

“Johnny!” you call. A growl. You walk closer, kick a bit of snow at both of them. “Johnny, down! Leave it!”

And he does, finally does, though not without taking a good chunk of fabric with him. Your ex, wide-eyed and pale, panting, doesn’t bother to say a word. He scrambles away while Johnny barks after him, all canine and spit.

You hum as he returns to you, fabric in his mouth, tail wagging.

“What a good boy,” you coo, taking the partial sleeve and inspecting it. Louis Vuitton, it looks like. “Very good. My perfect boy.”

You drop his prize into the snow and snort as he wastes no time peeing on it. Well, that’s gonna stay there. Forever.

“C’mon bud, you deserve a treat.”

Johnny follows you happily inside, a new pep in his step.

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Masterlist

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. ii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter

chapter summary: Joel tries, and fails, to keep Sarah away from you, and you get to know the family across the street a little bit better. It’s a slow burn, so let the yearning begin, baby! pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 7.7k chapter warnings: some light angst, alcohol use, references to marijuana use, parental neglect. divorce mention, implied age gap. reader has daddy issues - shocker! a/n: Was absolutely floored by the love on part one. Seriously you all are the best. I hate doing chapter summaries because I don't like giving away too much info, so I'd suggest just reading this. This story might end up being a longer than six parts, because I don't want to rush anything and it's been really fun to write these relationships as they form! Let me know what you think :)

-March 25th, 2003- 

Joel cannot keep Sarah away from you. 

Unfortunately, he can’t blame her. Unlike him, she doesn’t need an excuse to show up on your doorstep after school and on the weekends to be in your company. Still, he doesn’t technically know you that well, and he imagines you didn’t intend to see her as often as you did after extending some kindness to his family for one night. 

Despite the two of you having not spoken since you helped him with the Tommy situation, Joel feels like he knows you, or is getting to know you, just from the snippets of information Sarah drops to him, which is then followed by a barrage of questions.

“Do you know she grew up in New York City? Have you ever been there?” 

“She gave me her old tennis racket. Do you think I could start taking lessons?”

“She says her brother got her front-row tickets to The Strokes last year. You like them, don’t you?”

Joel decides to give Sarah a talking to about her tendency to wander over to your house whenever she sees your car in the driveway. Perhaps you are just being friendly, and feel bad saying no each time she’s asked to come in. He tries to broach the subject with her one morning in the kitchen while she’s eating breakfast. They’re already running behind, her for school, himself for work, but neither of them are in a rush. If you’re already late, what’s an extra ten minutes?

“Take it easy, alright? She might not want company after a long day at work,” Joel leans over the countertop, hand wrapped around a mug of hot coffee, watching her shovel cereal in her mouth.  

“Dad, she said I could come over whenever,” It’s accompanied by an eye roll, which is a new thing that had started about six months back. Teenagers. Well, almost teenagers. She’s still the sweet kid he’s always known, he’s just playing with fire trying to talk to her at seven in the morning, an indent on the side of her face still fading from where she slept on a crumpled pillow. 

Joel was at least grateful that she did have occasional company on nights when he was working late. It made him feel better to know Sarah wasn’t alone.

“What do you even do over there?”

“Homework, reading….watching TV.”

“So the same thing you do here?”

Sarah thinks about it. “Well, no, because she’s teaching me to knit.”

“And what does she do while you do your homework?”

“She works too. Or makes calls.” Sarah smiles a little. “It sounds like people ask her for advice a lot. She does give good advice.”

“Better than mine?” Joel holds his hand over his heart with mock offense.

Sarah groans. “Relax, don’t get jealous…there’s just stuff I can talk to her about and not you. Girl stuff.”

“Girl stuff? What like, boys?”

“No, you wouldn’t get it.”

“I was a boy once.”

“Ew, dad, gross.”

“How is that gross?”

“Just- not everything is about boys, okay?”

Joel isn’t going to argue with that, and Sarah eventually goes back to finishing her cereal.

“Alright babygirl,” he raps his knuckles on the counter after he’s finished his coffee. “I’ve gotta load up the truck, and you better get going, or I’m gonna get an earful from Miss Davis.” He grabs his keys and his wallet, then yanks a baseball cap over his mess of hair that’s long overdue for a haircut.

“Oh, I bet she would love an excuse to talk to you,” Sarah slides out of her seat with her empty bowl and marches towards the sink to rinse it out, grabbing his empty mug on the way.

“What do you mean?” 

“Don’t you remember how giggly she was at parent-teacher conferences?” Sarah says. “I’ve never seen her so happy before.”

It’s Joel’s turn to roll his eyes. He’d pegged it as unusual, but never considered it was because Miss Davis was into him. He wishes Sarah isn’t so….observant. 

Over the years, Joel has basically kept his head down, doing his best to keep things together. Because of that, he feels like he’s sort of lost his ability to pick up on when women are interested in him. And it’s safe to say, in general, he’s had a pretty uneventful love life since Sarah’s mom left. 

For the most part, he got by on flings — one night stands, casual no-strings-attached arrangements that always fizzled out. Joel had never been a man who liked that sort of thing, and ultimately craved a deeper level of intimacy, companionship, but he had trouble sustaining anything more. And even when he thinks of the more serious relationships he’d had over the years, those were also never completely satisfying. 

The fact of the matter was that when you had a kid, you weren’t just looking for someone for yourself anymore. For most people, introducing their partner to their parents is always a big deal. But for Joel, it was always introducing girlfriends to Sarah. Over the last decade he’d only ever introduced her to three different women, and at that point he had usually been dating them secretly for several months before deciding that it was serious enough. It always felt like he was trying so desperately to ensure they liked each other. But he could tell that Sarah was never quite comfortable with any of them. And when they’d start asking about moving in, marriage, and babies — he’d always panic. It was reasonable for them to want those things, hell, he wanted those things. But it had to be the right person. He knew he couldn’t bring someone into his life, forever, that didn’t love Sarah like a parent should. Like he did. No one ever would, and because of that, he knows there’s a good chance it’ll just be the two of them forever.

So, even if Sarah’s teacher, as cute as she was, were to ask him out, he would never be able to go. But less for the latter reasons, and more because he knows he’d never hear the end of it from her. 

“Alright, that’s enough. I’m leaving in five minutes…with or without you.”

“Nooo!” Sarah screams in mock panic, scrambling upstairs to brush her teeth. 

Joel exits through the garage, grabbing a few extra tools from his workbench that he needs for the job today and a saw. 

When he opens the garage door, the harsh sunlight is the first thing to greet him, and then he sees you. 

You’re in your driveway across the street, barefoot and in a short, black silk robe that’s cinched at the smallest part of your waist. Next to you is a man in a suit, holding a briefcase and trying to straighten his tie. He can’t do both at the same time, though, so he pauses and turns to you, murmurs something, and you slow to help him, your fingers wrapping around the tie, tightening where it’s looped around his neck and tucking it into place, straightening his lapel before stepping away. The type of domesticity that doesn’t happen with a one-night-stand.

It makes sense, he thinks. That you’re with someone like that. It’s the world you’re in all day. And even though he’s standing in his own fucking driveway, Joel feels like he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to. Or maybe, he just doesn’t want to be seeing it. 

Joel tears his eyes away, putting his stuff in the back of the truck – the toolkit, the saw, glancing over to see the man kiss you on the lips and mutter something unintelligible before getting in a shiny, blue sports car. You nod, offer an easy smile, and stoop to pick up the newspaper. The car's engine roars to life, and you cross your arms, looking after it until it peels out of the cul-de-sac.

The bashful smile you’re wearing drops instantly once it’s out of sight, and he watches you pinch the bridge of your nose, and tilt your head back to the sky.

He turns before he gets caught, and slams the back of the truck shut, which is a little ignorant in hindsight. Joel looks over his shoulder to see your attention has shifted, and you’re shielding your eyes and squinting at him. 

Great.

“Hey Joel,” you wave, your opposite hand pulling at the bottom of your robe, in a futile attempt to cover yourself. You look good, obviously, but it makes Joel feel a little guilty to make the observation because it’s clear you didn’t actually intend to be seen like this.

“Morning,” he answers. 

“Where’ve you been?” you ask, crossing your arms across your chest. 

“Busy. Work.”

“That’s no fun but…same here, I guess,” You shuffle forward hesitantly. 

Joel takes a beat to think about what he’s supposed to say in response, but doesn’t get the chance, because you speak up again.

“Hey uh, not to put you on the spot, but were you actually serious about fixing my step the other night?” you ask. 

Before he can answer, you continue. 

“It’s okay if you weren’t, but I twisted my ankle on it the other day, so I need to get it fixed before that happens to someone else. I was thinking maybe I’d just call-”

“No-”

“It’s no big deal if you can’t-”

“No,” Joel cuts you off. He had been biding his time, waiting for the right opportunity to bring it up to you, not realizing that taking said time probably made him look like an asshole. “Don’t call anyone else, I can do it. How about Friday night? Will you be around?” 

“Friday?” you answer, pondering. “Yeah, that works. I have a friend from out of town coming to visit, so I’ll be home early because I’ve gotta pick her up from the airport.” 

“Alright, I’ll try to cut out early, too.”

“And also I can pay-”

“Stop it, I”ve got you, don’t worry,” he waves his hand. 

You smile at Joel. He’s sure it means nothing, but he gets some satisfaction from how sincere it is compared to the one you’d given the guy you had been escorting out of your home. 

He feels himself grinning back, and you open your mouth to speak, but are cut off by the sound of his screen door slamming. Sarah stumbles down the steps, backpack hanging off one shoulder, headphones to her walkman around her ears, holding her bright pink windbreaker in one hand and a book in the other. She looks at Joel, then you, standing in your driveway, and her face lights up as she calls your name. 

“Hey, Sarah,” you wave. 

Sarah opens her mouth to speak, and Joel knows whatever she’s going to say will start a much longer conversation that unfortunately they just don’t have the time for.

“She’s gotta get to school,” Joel tilts his head in the direction of his daughter before she can say anything. “But I’ll get that done Friday.”

“See you then!” You turn on your heel, and he looks away for a second to Sarah before glancing back in your direction, and you’re already gone, the only evidence you were there being your front door slamming shut. 

Joel waits until he and Sarah are in the car on their way to school before he speaks again. 

“She’s never mentioned a boyfriend or anything, has she?”

Sarah doesn’t even look up from her book. “No.”

Joel nods, and it’s quiet for a moment.

He hears Sarah’s book shut. “Why?” she turns to him, and she’s got her eyes narrowed, like she’s trying to figure out what the question really meant. He’s never seen her make that face before, and it’s a little terrifying, because it looks like she could see right through him.

Joel wracks his brain for a good enough excuse. “If she has people over, I don’t want you hangin’ around adults I don’t know.”

That seems to satisfy Sarah, and the skeptical look on her face disappears. If anything, she seems slightly annoyed by the comment, which is definitely preferable. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that because it’s never happened.” Sarah plays with the dials on the radio, changing the station until it lands on one playing The Chicks, her favorite group. She hums along to the song, filling in the gaps whenever the radio cuts out, and looks out the window. 

“Alright.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-March 28th, 2003-

“Oh, I wanna come!” Sarah jumps up from the couch and joins Joel in the entryway. It’s Friday evening, and he’s about to head out the door to your place.

“You’re stayin’ in tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“Well first of all, you’re grounded, in case you don’t remember.”

“You don’t even know what that means, though.”

Joel shakes his head, because she’s right. He’s never had to ground Sarah before, but when he’d gotten a call from her teacher that she had failed her last math quiz, and was close to not passing the class, he figured it was an appropriate punishment. “I’m pretty sure it means you can’t leave the house.”

“But this is barely leaving the h-”

“Second of all,” he cuts her off. “She told me earlier this week she’s got a friend visiting, so it’d be rude to intrude if that’s the case.”

Sarah groans, throws her head back, and falls onto the couch dramatically. “But I’m so bored.”

“You could study. Practice dribbling, clean your room, clean your bathroom-”

“Dad, it’s literally Friday night.”

“And?”

“All that stuff is so boring.”

Joel can’t help but chuckle. “Look, when I get back we can watch a movie. This won’t take long.”

She sits up a little, placated. “Okay, but it’s my turn to pick.”

“Deal. I’ll be home in an hour or so,” he steps out onto the porch. 

There’s a special kind of glow in Texas about an hour before the sun sets. Warm light filters behind the trees, casting the leaves and anything else it catches in a golden halo. Joel takes in the view for a moment as he walks across the street, skipping the rotten step and knocking on your front door. 

You answer it quickly. “Hey, you wanna come in?”

Joel supposes he doesn’t have to, and could just let you know he’s here, stay out on the front porch and just get the job done, but he accepts your invitation anyway.

There’s another woman sitting cross-legged on the couch, two half-full glasses of wine on your coffee table, music playing low on some speakers in the corner. The front windows are open, despite the chill of the evening, and your sheer curtains billow in the breeze. 

“Claire, this is my neighbor, Joel,” you say. “He’s helping me out with the steps. His daughter’s Sarah, the one I was telling you about. ”

“Oh, yeah.” Claire’s face lights up in recognition. “Joel. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he nods.

“Claire’s visiting from New York. We grew up together,” you explain. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Her and I were roommates at boarding school,” Claire explains, finishing off a glass of wine. “We got into a lot of trouble together.”

“Hmmm, if I recall, it was more like you got me into trouble, but sure,” you say. 

“You were bad, if not worse, than I was.”

Joel smirks, and you turn to him, changing the subject. “She’s jetlagged, so we’re just staying in for the night.”

“But…we’re still getting drunk, obviously.”

“Oh yeah, that too,” you say flatly, although to Joel, you don’t seem drunk at all. Luckily, your friend answers his question with her next sentence.

“This one isn’t very good at keeping up, though,” Claire tilts her head in your direction, then finishes off the glass of wine in her hand.

“You sound like Vincent,” you roll your eyes.

“Oh, how is Vincent?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you cross your arms and look at Joel. “She always had the biggest crush on my brother, and it was dis-gus-ting.”

“To be fair,” Claire clears her throat. “At the time, he was pretty dreamy. And if we’re being honest….he still is…too bad he’s married.”

“Divorced, actually. But still…” You wrinkle your nose. “Gross.”

“Divorced?” Claire sits up, jaw dropping. “When? Why didn’t you tell me? What happened?”

You raise your hands and shake your head, like it’s too much to get into. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later. Sorry, we’re being rude,” you turn back to Joel. “Can I get you anything? Want some wine?”

“I would, but it doesn’t usually mix well with power tools,” Joel answers. “I should be good, though, I brought everything I need.”

“Great well… I’ll let you get to it, then.” you pad across the floor to return to your friend on the couch. “We’ll be in here if you need anything.”

“Sounds good,” Joel nods at you and your friend before stepping back out onto the porch.

The screen door shuts behind him, and the birds are quieting down for the night. He only has a little bit of sunlight left, but this shouldn’t take him long. Just as he is about to get started, he hears your friend’s voice, muffled, from inside the house. 

“Okay, I thought you were lying because your taste in men is usually questionable, but you’re right, he is really cute.”

“Dude,” you interject, and Joel hears a sound of impact, like a smack on the arm. “Lower your voice the fucking windows are open.” Claire starts giggling, and you continue. “You know you don’t have to say, like, every thought that comes into your head.”

He hears your friend laugh even harder, and eventually you join her. Joel shakes his head, but even after he starts working, can’t keep the grin off his face.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 5th, 2003-

It has been the longest week of your life. Work had been hectic – you’d spent the last five days going to so many meetings and dinners with potential clients that you had almost no time to do your actual job. Plus, your visit from Claire had already wiped out nearly all your energy, since you had spent the whole last weekend showing her around Austin, entertaining.

Normally, on a Saturday like today, you’d do a number of things – the first of which would be to sleep the fuck in. The ideal schedule would go something like this: You’d get out of bed in the early afternoon and immediately order some kind of takeout – most likely pho, or ramen, or some other type of soup. You’d get high, eat the takeout, and then watch TV until you’re tired enough to go back to bed in the early evening. If you’re feeling motivated at all, you might change into a fresh pair of pajamas before you crash again. It would be the ultimate lazy day, and you had desperately wanted it.

However, the past version of yourself had made plans to play tennis in the morning with some friends, and then check out a new breakfast place in the city. Sometimes you hated how optimistic she was about your ability to wake up before 10 a.m. While you weren’t excited to play tennis, you were excited that there was, at some point, going to be food involved. 

So you dragged your ass out of bed, rifled through a box of clothing in your garage (one that you still had yet to unpack) to find a tennis skirt and visor, and then got in your car to go play all before 8 a.m. Then, you’d had your ass handed to you by your friends on the court. It was a little humbling to realize that you weren’t very good at tennis anymore. The last time you’d seriously played was when you were still in school, and you’d originally started because your father had wanted you to be involved in an extracurricular activity. According to him at the time, anything involving the arts – music, dance, drama – didn’t count. You had challenged this idea, and it had escalated to become one of the top ten worst fights you’d ever had with him. After that, you had learned that it was better to just do as you were told. 

You’d joined the tennis team, and started to pick up on how intrigued your father was by the trophies and ribbons you’d bring home when you did well. He started to ask you questions when he saw them, pat you on the head and say things like ‘that’s my girl’. Regardless of whether or not you liked playing, you had finally found a way to earn his attention. So, you got better. One time, he even came to your school to watch one of your matches. Of course, when you lost that one, it all kind of crumbled. But you still stuck to the sport since that’s what all your friends were doing, even if it didn't get you what you wanted. 

On the drive home from your morning out, belly full of breakfast and ready for a nap, thinking of your family brings about a terrifying realization. 

You look at your phone. Shit.

April 5th. 

Immediately, you dial a number on your cell. You’re aware of the dangers of talking while driving but you know if you don’t make this call, you’ll never hear the end of it. The line only rings twice before it’s picked up.

“Hello?” 

“Vincenzo!” you say with your best – but probably horrible – attempt at an Italian accent. 

“Well, well, well….if it isn’t the estranged daughter…” the familiar timbre of your brother's voice answers. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

You roll your eyes. “Well first of all, fuck off…” We're off to a great start. “...and second of all…Happy Birthday.”

You hear your brother’s chuckle on the other end of the line, a noise that you’d been on the wrong side of –  laughing at you, not with you – more than once, but your heart aches a little at the sound of it now. I miss you, you wish you could say, but you keep it to yourself. 

“Thanks, I’m surprised you remembered,” he says, lightly.

“I’ve never forgotten.”

“There was that one year-”

“Oh my god, I was like twelve.”

“You were fourteen.”

“Okay, well, sorry…It’s been over ten years and it hasn’t happened since.”

“It feels like you’ve forgotten more than once, but that might just be because it’s pretty much the only time you ever call me these days,” Vincent says, and if you were with him, in person, you’d be able to tell by the look in his eyes whether or not he was joking. But over a cell, you’re not sure at all. 

“That’s not true,” you say, turning your car into your neighborhood. “But I mean, the phone does work both ways.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you catch something flippant in his tone. 

“Do you want this to be a nice conversation or are you gonna be an asshole?” you ask, maybe a little too matter-of-factly, but at least you can determine whether or not it’ll be a waste of your time to try and be cordial. If he’s in a bad mood, you know it’s pointless.

“Relax,” he says, and you hear a hint of the teenage boy you once knew. “You’re always so ready to argue with me, I’m joking.”

“Very funny,” you say, and try to be nice about it, because deep down, you know Vincent is right. You don’t talk to your brother enough to argue with him when you do speak. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. “So what are you doing on your big day? Anything special?”

“Nothing really special, I worked out, had lunch with a friend, and I think I’m having dinner with Elizabeth tonight.”

“Oh…really? Elizabeth?” At the mention of his soon-to-be ex-wife – or maybe current ex-wife? You’re not sure – you’re surprised.

“Yeah she and I are uh….talking still, I guess. For Ethan, mostly, but…I don’t know…the divorce isn’t finalized, and I think now that I’m seeing a therapist and shit, maybe we can work something out. We’ll see.”

“And do you want to work something out?”

“I mean, she’s only the love of my life so yeah, it’d be great.”

“I think so, too. How is Ethan, by the way?”

“Oh he’s great,” you hear your brother’s smile over the phone. “Just a big ball of energy, and so fucking smart. He told me he misses you the other day.”

Your heart lurches at the mention of your sweet, five-year-old nephew. “You’ll have to tell him I said hi, and that I love him.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will,” he answers. “You know, next weekend I’m having a proper birthday party.  We’re all going to the Hamptons. I could fly you out here, you could tell him in person.”

“I can’t, I got shit to do,” you answer a little too quickly, turning the car into your cul-de-sac.

“What uh, your little corporate gig keeping you busy?”

There’s a subtle dig in there, little. 

“Maybe.”

“I’m telling you, all I have to do is phone a friend, and we’ll find you something here that’ll pay a thousand times better and won’t have you working weekends.”

“I don’t work weekends,” you say, pulling into your driveway.  “And I’m not interested.”

“You like making yourself miserable, don’t you?”

“Vinny,” you say, exasperated, putting your car in park. “I’m happy here.”

“In Texas? I don’t believe it,” he says. “And you know, at this point, you’ve proven whatever you wanted to dad. After everything you’ve done, he probably respects you. Like, you did it. You cut yourself off, you made a name for yourself, you don’t need us anymore. Congratulations, amazing. I get it. But you should come home now.”

“Vincent,” you repeat yourself. “I’m not going back. You know what it was like for me. For you.”

“You’re my fucking family too, you know? You can’t just let him control every decision you make,” he says, and he’s not quite yelling at you, but he is sounding a lot more stern than he was before. “And by the way, it wasn’t so bad. You and I always got along.”

“Even if I move back, things will never be like they were.”

“You don’t know that.” he says it with such a deep sadness in his voice that you want to take back every cruel thing you’d ever said to him – not just from today, from forever. And then he speaks again. “You know, you used to be so sweet when we were kids….I don’t know what happened.”

I do, you think. “I had to look out for myself.”

Before he can respond, you change the subject. “Anyways, you should move out here instead,” it’s only halfway a joke.

“I’m not leaving New York.”

“Well, I’m not leaving Austin.”

“Well…” he says, clicks his tongue. “Then I guess things’ll just stay this way.” 

“I guess so.”

You wish you could offer more. But he has never understood. The silence on the other line is so loud, your ears are ringing.

“Look, I just pulled in my driveway, I gotta get going.”

“Yeah.”

“But have a nice day, okay?” you’ve gotta turn this conversation around because it went so far off the rails. “Tell Elizabeth I say hi, and I hope you do work things out with her because you know I think she’s great. And give Ethan a kiss for me.”

“I know, and I will,” you can see him closing his eyes, fingers pinching between his eyebrows.

“I love you.” 

“Yeah…okay,” he says, like he doesn’t believe you, and it’s a punch to the gut. As usual, you weren’t able to say the right thing. Tears start pricking the back of your eyes, guilt twisting deep in the pit of your stomach.

“Goodbye,” in one swift movement, you end the call and get out of the car, slamming the door shut. You’re sad now, but it’s only a matter of time before you become angry, which is always easier to deal with, so you just gotta suck it up until it passes.

Trying not to be upset is such a high priority that you don’t hear your name being called right away, and when you turn around, it’s too late.

“Hey!” Sarah Miller is skidding to a stop in front of you, wearing boots that look a size too small for her feet, dressed in athletic clothes with her hair pulled back. “My dad says I’m not grounded anymore so I can-” she falters when she sees your face. “Are you okay?” she asks. 

Clearing your throat, you fix your expression and try to shake away the lingering disappointment like dirt off a kitchen rug. “Yeah I’m fine,” you lie. “So does that mean you passed math?”

Since that night you let her stay when she was locked out, you’d seen quite a bit of Sarah. It was a little unconventional, and you probably needed to find friends in the community that were more age appropriate, but you enjoyed her company. She would hang out and do homework at your house while she waited for her dad to get home from work. You had always valued your independence, and told yourself you preferred to be on your own, but whenever she left, your house always felt a little emptier than you remembered. Maybe you needed to get a fish or something, since Martini’s appearances were few and far between. 

“Not yet, but I did get an A on my last test. I hate to say it but my dad was right…studying actually helps.”

“Yeah, that tends to be true,” you say, relieved at how easy the smile comes, and you glance over your shoulder to see Joel standing at the edge of his driveway with his hands on his hips. He looks fucking good, and you’re almost sort of mad about it, or it’s hopefully just the irritation kicking in after the conversation with your brother. 

Does Joel know? He has to. It’s like having whatever the male version of a siren is living across the street from you – working with his hands, being a doting father, and mowing the lawn shirtless when it’s hot out. And apparently this was a record-breakingly hot spring, because you’d seen that more than once. Not that you minded, though it only made you want a closer look. Years ago, you probably would’ve scoffed at what sounded like a suburban mom’s wet dream, but actually experiencing it, you felt differently. There was just something about him. 

You give Joel a wave, and he waves back, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he’s trying to decide if he wants to come over and talk. As usual, he seems like he’s got somewhere to be, but he’s too polite to tell you to fuck off. 

“How have you been? I’ve hardly seen you,” Sarah says. “Did you play tennis today?” she pokes at the racket that’s hung over your shoulder. “Were you serious about teachin’ me to play this summer?”

It’s hard not to be amused at the barrage of requests. You admire her ability to be so enthusiastic, so open, something that most people are unable to do, but for her, is effortless. She’s older than your nephew, but you get the same kind of relief from interacting with both of them. The kids are alright. At least, some of them are. 

“Of course,” you answer, and notice that Joel is slowly and hesitantly making his way up your driveway. It’s upsetting that everytime you run into him, you conveniently look like shit – like last Tuesday when you’d just rolled out of bed and were still in your robe. Or right now, after spending the whole morning chasing after balls on a clay court, scuffed knees and hair slick with sweat. But you suppose that’s sort of what neighbors are for.

“Hey, how’s it going?” you ask Joel. 

“It’s goin’,” you take him in as he gets closer, notice the way the arms of his t-shirt are just a little too tight because of his biceps, and feel like you need to take a cold shower to wash yourself of this morning. “Babygirl, we should probably get going.”

He calls his daughter babygirl? There’s no way he was being serious, that it isn’t some ironic joke, or part of an act. You always assumed that was just something you saw in movies.

“Because I did so well on my test my dad is takin’ me on a hike,” Sarah says, and then her face lights up. “Wait….you should come with us! Dad, can she come?” Sarah whirls around to face her father.

Joel looks down at Sarah, and then up at you, and then at Sarah again. “I mean, that’s fine, but…she might have other things going on.” 

It’s hard to tell if he’s trying to give you an out, or if he’s hinting that you shouldn’t come. And you probably normally wouldn’t want to go, but the alternative is moping around your house and thinking of all the things you could’ve said differently to your brother to ensure the conversation would have gone better than it did. You’re always desperate for a second chance to do things over, and do them right. 

You look between the two of them, back and forth. “I mean I would totally, I just…don’t want to interrupt a father-daughter activity-”

“You aren’t,” Sarah says so quickly that Joel looks offended. “I couldn’t leave the house this week so we’ve been spending too much time together.”

Joel frowns. “That’s rude.”

“What?” she says. “It’s true.”

Joel sighs. “She’s right, though. You wouldn’t be interruptin’.”

“Please?” Sarah begs, and you realize you can’t say no even if you want to. You wonder how Joel was even able to ground her for a week, looking in those big, innocent eyes. 

“Yeah, just…uh, could I put my stuff inside and maybe change?” you ask, gesturing towards the house. 

Joel nods, and Sarah rocks back and forth on her heels. “Yes, yes! Take as long as you need.”

“I’ll be fast,” you assure her, and duck inside. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halfway into the hike with Sarah and Joel, and you’ve decided you’re out of shape. You try to tell yourself there could be another reason you are so out of breath – you already worked out once today while playing tennis. But that doesn’t seem like a good enough excuse. Of course, you’re trying to play it cool, because you’re not about to embarrass yourself. Sarah is entertaining you with all kinds of talk about school, and soccer, and sleepaway camp she gets to go to for two weeks once school's out. And you suppose the pain you’re in right now is also  welcome distraction from thinking about Vincent. 

However, you can’t dip away from the group to rest for a second, because Joel is already trailing behind, and he’d catch on. However, his distance – several paces back from where you and Sarah walk – is not because he’s out of shape. On the contrary, he seems to be putting almost no effort into the steep climb. He’s on his own, head on a swivel, kind of like a brooding security guard, and you wonder if he feels left out. 

You steal a glance over your shoulder to take him in, shrouded by the verdant foliage. He looks at home in this environment, sun-kissed and rugged, a finger hooked behind the strap of a leather bag he carries over one shoulder, his gait measured. Aloof, but there’s a quiet confidence to him that draws you in, causes your stare to linger just a touch too long, so when he turns his head straight, his eyes catch yours. You focus back on the trail ahead. 

He hasn’t said much since you’ve started hiking, or in the car, even. Most men are easy to read, but so far, Joel has kind of stumped you. There were times, during the night that you’d helped him bail his brother Tommy out of jail, that you had thought maybe he was- no. He’d been pretty tense in every other interaction you had, so you still couldn’t decide if he had been flirting with you.

And he was older than you, you were pretty sure. Not so old that it wouldn’t be out of the question for him to be interested, but enough that, depending on the type of person he was, might see you as a little too young for him. And he had a kid, responsibilities. 

You were a-single woman with a high-powered career, one cat and a fish on the way. You slept in on the weekends, refused to learn to cook for one, and got violently stoned on your back porch a minimum of three times a week. In suburban Texas, most of the women your age were long since settled, and you were an outlier. It was fair to imagine that Joel probably didn’t see any real promising future when he looked your way…. or maybe he was more of a one-night stand kind of guy, and didn’t care about that at all. This was not necessarily information you needed – but you wanted it anyway.

Not feeling like an outsider would be one upside of moving back to New York – you could be exactly yourself, and still blend right in. It was one of the parts you missed most, besides Vincent. Your heart sinks, and you realize that the hill you’ve been climbing has flattened out, and so you’re able to think clearly again, which is why you’re thinking of your brother. 

Sarah has pulled away, and is wandering towards a clearing. Your eyes are on her form, bounding up ahead on the pathway, the sunlight peeking through the leaves dancing on her skin, when your foot lands on a loose rock, and slips out from beneath you. 

Please, God, n- You don’t even get the chance to plead yourself out of humiliation, because there’s a steady hand on your hip and your back collides with a broad chest. 

“Gotcha,” Joel’s voice is right in your ear — when did he get that close?  

He’s solid, strong, and for the shortest, sweetest moment, you’re overwhelmed by him – get notes of his bar soap (pine, cedar, mint)  mixed with whatever laundry detergent he used, and just the faintest bit of - Fuck. In one swift movement, he brings you upright like you’d never slipped at all, then pulls back. The skin on your hip smarts even after his hand drops away.

“You alright?” Joel steps beside you, watching Sarah, who stands with her hands on her hips, her back turned to you both.

“Yeah,” you nod. He looks back over at you. “Come on,’ he tilts his head towards his daughter, and you walk beside him to where she’s standing.

The whole hike you’d been so occupied with bullshit. Trying not to think about your brother. Trying not to act too out of breath. Trying to not let Joel catch you staring, although you’d already failed at that. But now, you wish you wouldn’t have been in your head, because what you’d come to see made worrying about all that seem stupid.

Stretched out in front of you was a wide creek with moss-colored water that flowed down over layered slabs of rock, and crashed into the waterfall’s churning basin. The sun hits the mist in just the right light, and casts a series of rainbows midair, which move and shift as you turn your head to study the lush, tree-lined shore across the river. 

You’re standing with one hand on your hip, and out of the corner of your eye Sarah shuffles back a few steps to stand beside you, looping her arm through yours, her cheek on your shoulder while you both enjoy the view. 

“I’m glad you got to see this,” she says, and you can just make it out over the sound of the falls. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“It’s beautiful.”

Joel’s hands land on Sarah’s shoulders as he steps close behind you both. She straightens, leans back against him until he wraps his forearm across the front of her in an easy embrace, and she grabs for his wrist with both of her hands, tucking them beneath her chin. A pang of familiar grief stirs inside you at the sight, and you turn away, back towards the view.

“This is the only time of year it’s worth seeing,'' Joel says to you. “It dries up in the summer.” 

“It’s still pretty in the summer,” Sarah pipes up.

“Not as pretty.”

“Can you get me the water?” she asks. Joel grunts an affirmation and a moment later you hear the sound of a zipper.

When you’ve had a considerable amount of time to contemplate life while looking at the water swirling across the granite, you turn to find Sarah sitting on a rock, struggling to peel an orange, and dropping each tiny piece of skin she can get off into Joel’s begrudgingly outstretched hand.

You use the opportunity to stretch your calves against a nearby tree.

“Have you hiked before?” Sarah asks.

“Here and there,” you say. “But not often.”

“Why not?”

“Well this is basically a workout. I don’t like working out, I’m pretty unathletic.”

You’re surprised when that draws a smile from Joel.

“But you play tennis.”

You shrug. “Eh, kinda.”

“Me and my dad go hiking a lot.”

“That’s sweet,” your eyes flicker from hers to Joel’s, because they are both staring at you, and you’re pretty sure, though it’s hard to tell from this distance, that their eyes are the identical shade of caramel. Sarah finishes peeling her orange and Joel pockets the scraps of skin. She eats a slice before offering you both your own, and you step closer to accept it.

Sarah’s taking her last bite of orange when Joel speaks up. 

“Should we head back?”

Sarah turns to take one last look. It’s mid afternoon, the slant of light from the sun as intense as it can be, and you squint when it reflects back off the water and into your eyes. 

“Yeah, we can,” Sarah decides, and it’s clear that Joel would have stayed there for as long as she wanted. It wasn’t up to him. 

The hike back isn’t nearly as difficult. It’s all downhill, and Joel leads. Sarah stays behind with you, and clings to your arm while she teaches you how to navigate the trail without slipping. Back at the trailhead is one steep step that drops off into a puddle of stagnant water. 

Joel jumps down first, and turns to offer his hand to Sarah, who takes it and leaps lightly, landing on two feet on the other side. You aren’t sure what you’re expecting, but it’s not for Joel to offer you his hand to you as well. But he does.

“Careful,” he murmurs. And of course, you could’ve easily done this yourself, with no help. It’s a two foot drop and an inch of water. But you accept it anyways, putting some of your weight against his hand as you hop down, noticing how he doesn’t waver.

By the time you’re long since settled in the car, pulling into Joel’s driveway, you can feel sleep tugging down your eyelids. A steaming shower and a pair of pajama pants is imminent, and it’s like your body knows. Surely, you will still probably feel guilty about your brother, but you’re convinced that you won’t lose sleep over it, which you consider a win.

Sarah, who insisted that you both sit in the back together on the way home – leaving Joel in the front alone – gives you a quick hug after you’ve gotten out of the car, and then plucks the car keys from her father.

“Sorry, I drank a lot of water and I have to pee!” she says, before jogging up the walkway and unlocking her front door. 

Joel lets out an exasperated sigh, but turns back look at you with startling warmth. 

“Thanks for having me, I really needed that,” you tell him, and you’re not sure why you feel compelled to be honest with him, but continue on. “My brother and I got into it on the phone this morning, so if I didn’t go I probably would’ve spent all afternoon moping in bed.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice soft. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” you say, quickly, brushing it off. “Siblings, you know?”

“Yeah,” he nods, but you can tell he isn’t convinced. “I know.”

“How’s Tommy, by the way?” you ask. “Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

“He is,” Joel answers. “We actually have a big project we might be about to book. Pays well, and will keep us employed for the next year.”

“Oh that’s exciting,” you nod. “So what I’m hearing  is…if my step rots again, you wouldn’t have time to come fix it?”

“No,” Joel chuckles again, and you’re dizzy after hearing it. “I’d make time.”

You take a deep breath. “Good to know,” you shuffle a few steps backwards. “I better get going, though.” He doesn’t answer right away, and just as you’re turning to walk across the street, Joel calls out to you again.

“Hey,” and you pause, facing him again. “I wanted to ask you if…” he hesitates, blinks and shakes his head once before continuing. “If Sarah is coming over too much. If you want, I can tell her to cool it.”

“Are you kidding?” you ask. “I don’t mind at all. She’s great company, really.”

“You sure you’re not just sayin’ that to be nice?”

You sniff, look at the ground, then back up to him. “I’m not actually very nice.”

He studies you. “I’m not sure I believe that.” 

“You hardly know me,” you shrug, and his eyebrows pinch together very briefly before his expression neutralizes. “I’m just saying….if I didn’t like having her around, you would know.”

He bobs his head slowly, and you turn back around to walk to your house, glancing at him from over your shoulder. 

“I’ll see you around.”

- - - - - - - - - -

taglist: @yaskna @venomous-ko @lomljigg @yeehawbitchs @ay0nha @eldahae @lol-im-done @melancholicmelanin @reggies-floatie @omniscientqueer @superflymaterial @mikkorantanev @zbeez-outlet (i'm sorry if i missed anyone, i didn't tag anyone that didn't explicitly ask!).

part iii

[mega-pixie-dream-girl]

Snowed In - Part I

1996

Pairing: Dave Mustaine x f!reader

Summary: When a festival gets canceled for inclement weather, Y/n–the young guitarist from an up and coming band selected to tour with Megadeth–is stuck at a vacation rental. Her bandmates get stuck in town and Dave comes back just in time to get snowed in together with her. Dave doesn't mind showing her a few tips and tricks on the guitar, but there is another tune a-hum between them.

𝓦𝓐𝓡𝓝𝓘𝓝𝓖𝓢: power dynamic/mentorship, Dd/lg, age gap, size

read Part II here

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It started innocuously enough. When Dave first reached out to my band inviting us to tour with Megadeth on their upcoming tour, I was beside myself–it was the dream: to go on tour with such a successful rock band as their opener. I figured we wouldn't be spending much time with the big shots, but once we were on the road Dave actually spent time with us–chatting, jamming, sharing meals at backstage catering. He had advice for us. He took a liking to us–he took a liking... to me.

Now I stood by the window, watching the snow out in the field. We had the rare break in the tour schedule and this vacation rental was the perfect place to rest for a few days when one of the festivals got canceled due to the report of a possible blizzard–how could such a light dusting of flurries take down a major concert? "Inclement weather"... it seemed silly. But my thoughts drifted to Dave's warm smile, melting the stiffness of disappointment that had been filling my chest. 

Hopefully the Megadeth guys would be here soon, returning from any PR obligations and from jetting away for a few days. My bandmates had gone to town to get groceries and it was my job to get the fire started in the hearth. In my heart, I wish time would burn up like the fiery logs, until Dave would arrive. I thought of the promo photoshoot we did before the tour, his biceps playfully wrapped around my small frame and how I fit right under his chin, framed by his apricot hair–he was a lot more experienced at posing for the camera than me and knew exactly where to put his hands. I can still smell the cologne he wore that day–my body warmed to the thoughts I play over in my head night after night, my heart a skipping record, hearing that first nonchalant utterance of "sweetheart" on his tongue. I wonder, had I fallen right into his knowing checkmate in this game he must have played so many times before?

At first, our practice sessions were purely musical–honing my skills on the fretboard and learning the intricacies of his compositions. But gradually, other elements crept into our exchanges. The warmth of his fingertips tracing delicate patterns along my exposed flesh, sending shivers down my spine. His voice, low rumbling whispers in my ear, making my heart race faster than any riff. 

I knew I was playing with fire–every compounding moment when I sent him one more burning doe-eyed gaze, every rehearsal I showed up effortlessly braless bouncing breathless, every playful tilt of my head onto his shoulder. This man held my dreams of 'making it' in his callused palms, but after years of staying on the straight and narrow path, putting everything into my music, I let myself be intoxicated by his nearness whenever I could steal the moment.

The familiar crackling of the gravel driveway broke through the quiet snow-dampened stillness, followed by the creaking of the front door. I felt the frigid outdoor air draft through the old farmhouse, tickling my neck, my breath puffing a small fog in front of me. 

"Daddy's home!" called out the familiar snarky voice, "Heeey-llo?"

"Dave? In the living room!" I called back.

Dave kicked off his boots, hung his stiff leather jacket on the stair railing, and walked up behind me. "The guys left you all alone?" he purred with a smirk. "Do they expect little you to shovel all this snow by yourself?" 

"It's not that bad." I shrug.

"Well, we're not in Cali anymore. It's going to get much worse tonight. I hate driving on these icy roads, so I decided to beat the storm," Dave said, "...and I wanted to make sure my Cali girl has everything she needs here." 

Dave encircled me with his chiseled arms from behind, holding out a box of graham crackers in one hand and a bag of marshmallows and cacao powder in the other. I couldn't help but breathe in, lifting my chest closer to his offerings of s'mores and hot cocoa supplies, grazing his arms. 

I lift my chin to look up at him, "In the mood for something sweet?" I ask.

"Mmmm… you could say that…" His voice was deep, almost hungry sounding. "So where are your ‘mates anyway?" 

"Went to town to pick stuff up."

"They better hurry or they may be spending the night at town hall until the roads are clear…" Dave looks at his watch, furrowing his brow. "It may just be you and me tonight," he smirks, his hazel eyes penetrating me. He leaned over to the little radio on the mantle and turned it on.

"18:00 2 INCHES. 20:00 5 INCHES. BEEP BEEP BEEP MONROE COUNTY: 18:00 2.5 INCHES. 20:00: 7 INCHES…"

I turned around in his loose embrace, "Maybe you can show me the fingering for the chords in Sweating Bullets?"

Dave smirked down at me, recognizing my desire for his attention. Biting my lip, I gently shifted closer to him. He put the groceries aside and wrapped his arms around me tighter, giving me a slight squeeze, his muscles flexing. He put a finger under my chin and tipped it up so that my eyes were forced up to his sultry gaze.

"You want me to show you the fingering, sweetheart?"

I blushed, gazing back at him, his lips slightly curled but otherwise poker faced. Typical Dave.  His eyes were like nets for my quickening breath. 

Dave chuckled with a smirk. He looked down at me, admiring my flustered cheeks. He slowly dropped one hand to my hip and pulled me closer, holding me against his strong, worked out body.

"Don't be shy now... You asked for some help with the chords and you'll get it. But I have a few conditions–" The lights flickered and then the room was darkness. 

Dave looked around the dim room, the only light now coming from the soft glow of the fireplace. "Fuck..."

The sudden fading of the room around us felt like floating in a sensory deprivation chamber, every rise and fall of his breath against me sending shivers down my spine in the absence of our surroundings.

"Looks like it's nothing but the two of us for a while, sweetheart. Hope you're prepared to spend a long time in the dark with me. It'll give me plenty of time to show you the… chords."

"BEEP BEEP BEEP REPORTS OF POWER OUTAGES IN MONROE…"

Dave was absolutely enjoying the effect the darkness had on me. He always saw right through my best efforts at rock n roll toughness–I was so easily flustered, and being in the dark was definitely exacerbating it. I could hear my own nervousness and excitement in my little breaths and undoubtedly he could hear it too.

"Come on…" He leaned into my ear with a whisper, giving my hips a squeeze. He put his lips against the side of my neck, just barely touching the skin. The vibration of his words against my throat awakening my heat. "Let's sit on the couch over there and get comfortable. You still want to learn the chords don't you?"

Dave grabbed a guitar and carried it over to the couch. He could see the way I stumbled around in the darkened room, bumping into chairs and things as my feet tried to feel their way. He gently placed a hand in front of me and guided me over to the couch.

"Watch your step, sweetheart. You're all over the place…" He teased in a soft tone, still enjoying how the darkness had me flustered. As we got to the couch he laid the guitar against the edge of the couch and sat down, stretching his arms out and pulling me close to him, situating me between his legs and wrapping an arm around my waist. I could feel his smirk in the air, but in the cold room he was warmth. 

"There we go." He said, his lips tickling my ear. "Much better." He slowly traced the tip of my inner thigh, his touch feather-like, before putting the guitar across my lap.

I tried to regain my cool. "Oh, so the secret to Dave Mustaine's playing is having an extra pair of hands?"

"You've figured it out, sweetheart. That's my big secret. I just need a pretty, little thing to have on my lap while I play..."

"For warmer tone, of course..." I replied slyly.

He pulled me tightly against his lap, his hands snaking under my shirt and pulling up at the hem until the heat from his chest radiated against my bare back.

"Very observant, sweetheart. You're picking up on things fast. Seems like someone is ready for a more… advanced lesson." He whispered in my ear.

Dave gently reached out and put his hands over mine, situating them into the correct position for the chords. His large, muscular, and callused hands held my own small, lithe (albeit callused) hands. He curled his lips, noticing how the size difference made me look so small compared to him.

"There we are. Now try it, sweetheart." He said, keeping his hands over mine, his lips brushing against my ear. His chest lightly grazed my back as he spoke, the faint scent of cigarettes and ambrette filling my nostrils.

Dave smiled, watching me play. He couldn't help but admire how my body moved and how I concentrated on the chords while his muscular frame was pressed against me from behind. I struggled to focus on the music with the electric feel of his hand on top of mine, his arm around my waist, and his warm breath against my neck. His every touch made my skin tingle.

"That's it… keep going… mmm, you're doing great sweetheart…"

I could feel Dave's steady gaze. I loved getting to show off in my element, passionate and focused and skilled; He slowly moved his hands away from mine, allowing me to play on my own while his arms curled around me, keeping me pulled against his chest.

"'Atta girl. You know what you're doing, sweetheart. That's right. Like that." He muttered into my ear, nuzzling the side of my neck as I played, his nose and lips setting my skin alight while his wavy hair fell around me, perching on my bare chest. I couldn't help but gasp lightly at his tender sensuality, giving me the kind of attention I craved from him.

"Mmmm… don't tense up now… keep your hands relaxed." He teased as my body reacted to his grazing hands. I felt him lightly nip at my earlobe before speaking again, his tongue just barely flicking against my ear.

"Keep going, sweetheart. You're doing so well. Let's try it a little faster." 

I picked up the tempo. He shifted his arms tighter around me, my back against his chest with no space in between, the sturdiness of his muscular torso scaffolding his embrace. I could feel his body already responding in his jeans and couldn't help but shift into him every time I changed chords.

"BLACK ICE DANGERS! GAS PUMPS OUT OF SERVICE IN THE FOLLOWING COUNTIES…"

"m'uugh just like that, sweetheart. Keep going…" He whispered, his hot lips brushing against the side of my neck as his hands crept along my body, tracing every contour.

"You like it when I touch you like this, don't you?" He whispered.

"m'Dave. Show me something harder." I whine.

"Something harder? I think I can work with that." He chuckled, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Why don't you put down the guitar, sweetheart?"

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡.｡❅* ...to be continued... read Part II here

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submission for @mustainegf contest #1

[teddyeyeseddie]

To Hell I Go

Part Two: With Daddy By My Side

Bull Rider Steve Harrington x Reader

masterlist

warings: alcohol consumption, sexual harassment, general violence

(a/n: when I say I am having the time of my life writing this, I mean it. I have never poured more of myself into something than I have this. Please enjoy and as always feedback is so so encouraged ! thank you @lofaewrites for helping me with this chapter xx)

Now Playing: Open The Gate

Steve wakes the next morning hungover and running late. He throws on the jeans he wore yesterday before shrugging on a denim jacket over a white t-shirt. He pulls on his boots, grabbing his hat off the nightstand and heading downstairs. He's racing down the flight when he hears his dad yell. 

“Come on Steve, I haven’t got all day,” he barks from the porch through the screen door. Steve rushes into the kitchen to pour himself a travel cup of coffee and then he is out the front door, speed walking to his dad’s truck. 

The pair had to drive over to the Bounds residence, the family hosting a meeting about this year's cattle raising and how the families were going to split the revenue. 

The ranch sat on the outskirts of town so any drive into Jefferson was a lengthy one. The bounds lived on the east side of town, an area where the more influential families lived. 

Steve’s dad pulls into the driveway, a large white house with black trim in front of them. It was nice, big, bigger than the ranch house. Steve shakes away his nerves, the feeling in his stomach always spiking every time he has to attend a meeting. Luckily, he knew the Bounds well so it was at least easier to deal with them. 

Richard knocks on the door, waiting for Mr. Bounds to answer the door. Steve and his dad step back when the door opens, Mrs. bounds standing before them. 

“Richard! Steve! It’s so good to see you two, come in!” Mrs. Bounds shouts as she moves to the side to make room for them to peek through the rather large front door. She leads them to the dining room where Mr. Bounds and Jamie are sat. Jamie usually sat in on these meetings, one day he would be taking over the business just like Steve, or so his dad thought. 

The meeting goes off without a hitch, the family splitting the revenue fairly and planning for the next season. Steve and Richard make their way out of the house, his dad actually in a good mood giving how well the meeting went. 

“God I can’t wait to leave this ranch in yours and Jamie’s hands! You guys are going to make a great team,”

Steve sucks in a breath, his nerves back in his belly. Steve Harrington wasn’t afraid of much, his list consisting of spiders and making his dad angry. His dad was keen on teaching Steve lessons when feathers were ruffled, so the idea of telling his dad he was going for nationals again made him sick to his stomach. The car slows once it reaches the corral, his dad pulling beside his beloved K10 he had abandoned last night. 

“Not this year dad,” Steve finally says, hand picking at the frayed edge of his denim jacket. 

“What do you mean not this year?” Richard grits through his teeth. His knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel, one hand leaving the wheel to turn off the radio. 

“I’m going for nationals again. Want to beat the all time record, I’m at the top of my game and I can’t stop now Dad,” Steve states confidently, a surge of courage flowing through him as he stands up to his dad. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that this bull riding is a waste of your time! You’re gonna get hurt, better yet you’re gonna get killed,” his dad seethes, knuckles still stark white.

“Dad, I’m good at it! I am the top bull rider in the nation and all you see in me is a brain that can crunch some numbers and a body that can shovel some hay,” Steve begins to raise his voice, swinging the passenger door open, hopping out and marching toward his truck

“Don’t you walk away from me, boy,” his dad yells from the truck, “I am not done discussing this,” 

“Yes dad, we are done discussing this. I’m going to nationals and you can’t convince me to step down. I was made for this, I wasn't made to run around a ranch, I was made to prove that I’m better than my father,” Steve spits, his dad now out of the truck marching towards him. Steve turns on his heels, meeting him halfway in the middle.

“You’re lucky I taught you hard work, you’d be nothing without me, Steve, nothing. I made you,” 

“Get fucked, dad,” 

Steve backs away, climbing into his truck and speeding off. 

He pulls into Goldie Jane’s shortly after his fight with his father, throwing his car in park and rushing inside. After the morning he’s had, he needs a drink. 

He sits at his usual place at the bar, Steve smiling at the newspaper clippings of all of his rides that litter the walls.

“My handsome boy, what brings you in so early. Line dancing doesn’t start for another 2 hours!” Goldie asks as she pours Steve his usual shot of whiskey. Steve says nothing, taking the shot, throwing his head back and downing the alcohol as if it were water. 

“That bad, huh?” Goldie asks, pouring him another shot. 

“You have no idea,” 

That’s where Steve spends his afternoon, talking to Goldie about anything and everything going wrong in Steve’s life.

“You know what you need?” Goldie inquires, smiling widely as she watches people flood the bar, ready for line dancing night. 

“What might that be, Goldie,” Steve has moved to sipping whiskey instead of throwing doubles back, the first few doing a good job at numbing his feelings about his father. 

“You need you a girl. I’d volunteer but I’d break a hip trying to keep up with you,” 

“You know this life’s a lonely one Goldie, don’t think there’s many ladies lining up to take a bull rider home to mommy and daddy,” 

With that, Steve gets up from his place at the bar. The line dancing has begun, loud twangy country music playing throughout the room as patrons make their way out to the main floor to dance. 

Steve simply watches, leaning up against the wall with his legs crossed. He tilts his hat at a few people who stare at him, even snapping a quick picture with Goldie’s husband, albeit his biggest fan. 

He enjoys his time people-watching, chuckling to himself when someone trips over their feet. He sips his whiskey, eyes shooting to the door as it swings open, the bright evening sunset blinding him. When the door finally shuts and Steve’s eyes adjust he is met with another blinding sight. A yellow sundress and white cowboy boots take all of his attention. That’s when he realizes it’s you. The girl he saw at the rodeo, except this time you’re alone. 

You sit at the edge of the bar, Goldie walking towards you and taking your order, a rum and coke. Steve watches you for a moment, admiring the way the strobing lights of the bar illuminate your face with every pulse. He tips his hat to you when you look up and meet his eyes, a smile forming on your face as you tip your fake hat back. 

You’re enjoying being alone, having spent the past few days attending the Summertime Rodeo events with your friends. They were amazing, Robin and Nancy always down to tend to your cowboy loving tendencies no matter how bored they were. You all grew up in Jefferson but Nancy and Robin never saw the hype in the cowboy culture that the town curated. 

But for you, a “yes ma’am” said in the right accent could make you swoon, the tip of a hat could make you blush. You loved every ounce of living in Jefferson, the endless ranch hands at your fingertips made your pick of men quite large. 

But nothing ever sparked with any of them, sure they were all gentlemen but they lacked a certain energy you needed in a man. You eventually gave up, deciding the men in this town were better to look at than to take home. 

You make small talk with Goldie for a while, that is until a large figure looms behind you, blocking the lights from the stage. You turn around and look up, groaning internally when you’re met with Billy Hargrove. Billy was known in town for being a bit rough around the edges. He broke horses for a living, the work leaving his skin tanned and toned. He was handsome, but oh so arrogant. 

“Darlin’ what are you doing here alone?” he rasps, liquor heavy on his breath as he leans over you. 

“Get lost Billy, I’m not in the mood,” you groan, turning back around to face Goldie. 

“Now don’t be like that, pretty thing. I know you like to ride cowboys,” 

“Billy, leave her alone,” Goldie begs, eyes silently pleading with him to not start something. 

“Stay out of this locks,” He waves his hand at her, shooing her away before he turns back to you. 

Steve sees all of this go down, making his way over when Goldie shoots him a look.

“Billy, is there a problem?” Steve questions as he taps him on the shoulder.

Billy turns around, laughing when his eyes meet Steve’s

“Mudslinger, did you come over to get your dick wet too? This one loves us, she’s us cowboys biggest fan,” Billy slurs, barely able to keep himself up. 

In a moment, Billy is on the floor, no one really registering what happened. All they see is Billy on the ground and Steve shaking his hand as he draws in a breath through his teeth. 

Goldie’s husband picks Billy up from the floor, his tail between his legs as he is ushered out of the bar. 

“You okay there, Dandelion?” Steve asks once Billy is gone.

“Dandelion?” you question, your eyebrows furrowed. 

“Yellow dress, it fits,” he simply states, pointing at your dress with a smile. 

“Goldie, can you fix him a drink?” you ask, turning back towards her. You motion for Steve to sit down, sliding his drink towards him once he is settled beside you. 

“So what brings you in?” Steve questions, taking a sip of his whiskey. He presses the cold glass to his knuckles, wincing slightly at the contact. 

“Needed a drink after being out in the heat all day,” you state, turning towards him so you could see his features better. His cowboy hat covered his face with a shadow making it hard to really see him, you could make out that he was handsome but that was about it. 

“What about you?” you question. 

“Hard days work is all,” Steve drawls. 

“And work would be..?”

“Ranching. Business meeting about this year's revenue and how we’re splitting shit up, it's boring,” Steve drones, his ill humor in the matter evident in the way he grimaces. 

“I uh- ride bulls though. For actual work, you ever heard of the mudslinger?”

You nod, taking a sip of your drink.

“Heard a little bit about him, heard he’s from around here! I guess he announced the junior awards at the rodeo last night but I couldn’t make it,” you ramble causing Steve to chuckle. 

Steve removes his hat, revealing his face to you. He looks familiar as he looks down at you, his brown eyes boring into yours as you try to place where you’ve seen him. 

That’s when you put the two and two together.

“You’re The Mudslinger? What’s your name, uh sean?” you question, hopeful you got it right. 

Steve chuckles and shakes his head, putting his hat back on. 

“Steve. Harrington.” He sticks his hand out towards you, you take it and firmly shake it. His hands are calloused, the rough skin contrasting the softness of yours. 

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Harrington, care to dance?” you stand from your place at the bar, holding your hand out to him. He takes it, his large hand engulfig your smaller one as you drag him to the dance floor. You both fall in line and begin dancing to some old country song. 

9 to 5 begins to play and Steve groans, line dancing to this song is like running a marathon. But, when he sees the excitement on your face, he decides it's worth it. He would die line dancing if it meant he got to see you smile like that again. 

By the time the song is over, sweat is beading down Steve’s back, his chest heaving from lack of oxygen. You, on the other hand, look like a breath of fresh air, your hair slightly sticking to your face. Steve is pretty sure you were made up in his dreams. 

The two of you make it back to the bar, closing out your tabs before stepping out into the warm summer night. 

“I had a lot of fun with you, mudslinger,” you say, your hand reaching out to grab his. He smiles down at you, taking off his hat, placing it over his heart. 

“I had a lot of fun with you, dandelion. Please don’t break my heart and tell me I can’t see you again,” his voice is like honey, the Texas drawl evident after his several drinks. 

“I’d never,” with that, you put your phone number into Steve’s phone, texting yourself so you could have his number. 

“I’ll be out of town in a few weeks, riding in “The Daddy of em All” out in Cheyenne. Think I could take you out before then?” he questions, hat still covering his heart as he looks down at you. 

“Of course, cowboy,” 

[bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove]

Snow Days- B.Barnes

Summary: The Barnes twins have a snow day and spend it with their parents.

Pairings: Dad!Bucky x Mom!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Bucky's PTSD, mentions of food, Dad!Bucky, use of Y/N, female reader (let me know if I missed any)

Author's Note: Fic 4 of December! I will very likely be double posting when I can until my semester is over. Please be patient with me and my uploading schedule! My asks are open if you have any questions, suggestions, or feedback!

My full Masterlist

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged

Enjoy reading!

gif not mine

As every typical Tuesday morning started, the Barnes family were all bustling about before the clock even hit 5 in the morning, getting ready for their days. The twins had just woken up, it was one of their last days of school before holiday break., and made their way to the kitchen where their parents were getting breakfast ready for the four of them. The kids immediately took notice of the freshly fallen snow that coated their backyard, both of them racing to the living room to look out of the window to the street to see it had yet to be plowed.

“Momma! Do we have a snow day?” Sarah asked, her voice filled with excitement at the thought of not having to go to school until the new year. 

“I don’t know yet baby, the school hasn’t called. We’ll know in a couple hours,” Her mother replied. The woman had just finished making breakfast, making each of the twins a plate and placing them at the table. “Time to eat babes, come sit at the table.”

Stevie and Sarah rushed to the table and started to eat their breakfast, chatting to each other about what they were doing in their classes. 

Y/N and Bucky joined them a few minutes after, neither of them big breakfast people, usually settling for coffee and occasionally some toast just like today. The four of them made quiet and sleepy conversation until the twins were done eating. The two of them put their dishes in the dishwasher, retreating to the living room after to watch cartoons for a little while. The school had called and announced the next two days the school would be closed. Of course the kids celebrated the fact they didn’t have to go to school for the rest of the remaining year.

“I’m gonna go shovel the walkway and driveway, can you get a fire started while I’m out?” Bucky asked his wife.

“Course I can. Hey Stevie, Sarah? You wanna help daddy shovel?” Both of the kids shouted yes from the living room, both running to their rooms to get their snow boots then racing back to the foyer where their jackets were. 

“Relax you two, I have to get myself ready before we go out. You go out and play in the snow for a few, I’ll be right out,” Bucky instructed the twins, they had run off once he said ‘go out and play’.  “They are very eager to go outside,” He chuckled, turning to his wife who was biting back a laugh.

“You better hurry before they beat the super soldier at the shoveling the driveway,” She teased him.

“Very funny, baby.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead as he passed her on his way to their bedroom. He changed his flannel pajama pants to a pair of jeans and he threw on a red henley to cover his bare chest. Moments later he joined the twins outside, who were making a snowman. “We’ll get back to the snowman later, let’s get the shoveling done first.”

As the three were outside shoveling, Y/N was inside, fire started, clean clothes for the kids and Bucky warming up in the dryer. As she waited for Bucky and the kids to come back inside, she sat at the bay window with a book, but instead of reading she watched her family outside. After they had finished shoveling, they went back to making the snowman. She listened as Sarah laughed when Bucky picked her up and spun around with her in his arms. She listened as Stevie laughed when Bucky had started play-fighting with him in the snow, Bucky letting his little boy win of course. 

If the Y/N from 10 years ago saw her today, she would be in shock. She had never thought that she would get married, let alone have children. She never even expected to meet the man that she had married, he was a fugitive, an ex-assassin, a veteran struggling with PTSD. The two had rough patches, Bucky nearly dying on her a handful of times but she wouldn’t change it for the world. She had everything she ever dreamed of right in the palm of her hand.

[ladylooch]

A sweet blurb of Lena and Kevin.

“A little more dirt, baby.” Kevin murmurs to Lena where he is watching her fill a white pot with potting soil. Lena carefully brings her little shovel back into the bag, then shakes it off over the pot. Most of it falls to the concrete of the driveway. Kevin purses his lips as Lena looks concerned. “That’s okay. Try again.” Kevin encourages her. She puts her shovel back in, coming out with a bigger pile then meticulously wiggling it into the pot. Only a little bit falls to the side.

“Like this!?” She asks, hopeful brown eyes looking back at him.

“Just like that. You’re daddy’s little planting buddy now.” He grins at his youngest. She has her hair in an adorable whale spot with a pink scrunchie. She dressed herself in jean short overalls, a yellow polka dot t-shirt, and blue rain boots, from mama, to prevent her little toes from turning black from the soil. 

Lena stomps her little feet in excitement after filling the pot completely after her next scoopful. 

“Now use your fingers to pack it down.” Kevin demonstrates a few times for her, then lets her take over. Lena looks at her hands like uh, but I get dirty. “Do you want daddy to do this part?”

“Yes, pease.” She nods, watching her dad’s large fingers compact the dirt further.

“Okay, now we water it. Grab your watering can.” Kevin points to her right. 

Lena grabs the bright green can with a daisy for the spout. Kevin made sure to fill it only half way so she could have control over the water. Well, he thought at least. Lena dumps the whole bucket upside down onto the pot. The water splats out, creating an overflowing pot that washes the seeds out of the pot completely. Lena’s blue boots become covered in the mess.

“Uh oh.” Lena’s thin eyebrows crumple as she pouts. Her bottom lip juts out. 

“Little too much, huh?” Kevin is gentle. Lena nods, looking utterly devastated. “I think if we work together we can fix it.” Kevin soothes her. Lena looks doubtful. “Come here, babe.” He opens his arms. She rushes into him, pressing her teary eyes into his grey t-shirt. Her dirty hands leave prints of black on his shirt and skin. “So much in this world is fixable. You just have to ask for help.”

“You help me? Pease?” She wonders. Kevin nods.

“Of course. Remember how we started? Let’s get back to that point.” He stands, grabbing the pot, then taking Lena’s hand to go dump out the muddy mixture in the garden by the side of the house. “Already back on track.” He smiles as he kneels next to her. “Can I have a smooch?” Lena puckers her lips and kisses him. Her little face finally has relaxed back into happy contentment. Kevin sighs in relief.

Hand in hand, they walk back to their gardening set up, beginning again with their, Fiala can-do attitude.

[jungle-angel]

Big Bones: Part 1 (Bob x Reader)

Summary: Bob’s kids love the sandbox and it gives Bob one hell of an idea

Tagging: @fanboygarcia @nobody7102 and @sebsxphia​

You watched the three older kids, Auggie, Patrick and Deidre playing in the sandbox outside, digging up sand and placing it in their little buckets as you rocked Rudy, the newest addition to your little family. A quiet little coo caught your attention as you looked down at him, all wrapped up in his little Notre Dame blanket that Joe and Irene had made him. Bob was due home at any minute and the second you heard the truck pulling into the driveway, Rudy began to stir. 

“Who’s that Rudy?” you cooed. “Who’s coming?” 

You heard the door quietly opening and shutting when your husky’s familiar scraping footfalls were heard along with the jingling of his collar. Bob stuck his head in the door before he made his way to you and kissed you. “Is he asleep?” Bob asked. 

“Just fell asleep.”

You passed him off to Bob who gently rocked his baby son, stroking Rudy’s hair as he whispered to him. “I missed you,” he said as Rudy cooed again. “I missed you baby boy.” 

Bob kissed his little forehead before placing one on yours. “How was the day?” he asked. 

“Not bad at all,” you told him. “The kids all got home with no issues and got really excited when your dad told them he’d take them somewhere this weekend.” 

“Oh thank you, God!” Bob chuckled. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.” 

“Or your mom.” 

Bob cracked a smile as he swayed back and forth with Rudy in his arms, his gaze turning to the window to see the kids still playing in the sandbox. “They been at it all day?” 

“Ever since they got off the bus,” you admitted.

You and Bob headed out to the deck, the day absolutely beautiful with the sun shining and the air still warm for mid-September. Ever since moving to Montana after Bob’s honorable discharge from the Navy, you had taken a liking to being out here. 

“Hey babies,” Bob called. 

“Daddy!!!!!” they all chirped. 

“Whatcha doin?” he asked them.

“We’re trying to find dino bones!” Patrick piped in.

“Yeah we were looking earlier at school but didn’t find anything,” Auggie added, pretending to be disappointed. 

You and Bob cast each other a look, one where you could readily tell what he was thinking. “Hey babes?” 

“Hmmm?” 

“You know that special little bag I brought home the other day?” 

“Yeah why?” 

“Can you go grab it out of the kitchen please?” 

You headed back up the deck stairs and into the house, grabbing the little ziploc bag out of the pantry closet and giving it to Bob when you got back outside. “Thank you my love,” he said before kissing your cheek. “Hey babies?” 

The three little ones turned their heads intently to listen to Bob. 

“Go on in with Momma and wash up for dinner,” Bob told them. “Daddy’s cookin dinner on the grill tonight.”

Auggie, Patrick and Deidre dropped their little shovels and pails and followed you into the house, handing Rudy back to you before he opened the bag and began to scatter the contents all over the sandbox. 

*************************

The very next day, the kids were practically jumping off the bus to go and play in the sandbox. Joe had gotten them all off the bus from school while you had tended to Rudy, watching from the nursery window as they hurried to the backyard to go and play. Carefully, you placed him down for a nap in his crib, covering him with his blanket before heading outside to see what the kids were up to. 

Bob’s truck pulled up a moment later before he came around the side of the house. “They just get back, Dad?” 

“Fresh off the bus, just like I told you,” Joe chuckled. 

“MOMMY!!!! DADDY!!!!! Look!! Look!!” 

“We found dinosaur bones!!!” 

“We’ve got bones!!!” 

Deidre, Auggie and Patrick came running up to you, Bob and Joe, proudly holding up the bones they had found for all of you to see. 

“Holy shit,” Joe remarked. “You guys found some real big ones.” 

You looked over at Bob who tried hard to conceal the grin that was trying to crawl across his face. “Movie night tonight?” you asked. 

“I’ve got the original Jurassic Park,” Bob answered. “They’ll love it.” 

You leaned against Bob, his arm pulling you closer as he kissed your cheek. It was times like these that you were the happiest you had ever been. 

[utah1me]

Toji Fushiguro - Daddy-cember

initial message: As {{user}} pulls into the driveway, they spot Toji, their husband, in the backyard, attempting to create a surprise garden. Toji, with the baby monitor tucked into his pocket, is visibly struggling with the task. He's on his knees, digging into the soil with determination, but there's a hint of frustration on his face. Despite his tough exterior, it's evident that this gardening business is testing his limits. Megumi, their 6-month-old baby, is peacefully napping inside, unaware of Toji's struggles in the backyard. The sun casts a warm glow on the scene, and the air is filled with the sounds of birds chirping.

Toji glances up as he hears the car, noticing {{user}} arriving home early. His green eyes meet {{user}}'s, and he can't help but let out a gruff sigh, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. "Damn plants, they never cooperate," he mutters to himself, brushing a strand of his mid-length black hair out of his face. The makeshift garden tools scattered around him tell a tale of his ongoing battle with the stubborn soil.

Despite the annoyance etched on his face, Toji smirks slightly as {{user}} catches him red-handed. "Well, look who's back early. Supposed to be a surprise, but this dirt's giving me a real hard time," he admits, his cool-headed demeanor momentarily cracking. "It's our anniversary, babe. Figured I'd try something different, you know?"

Toji gestures towards the half-finished garden with a mix of pride and frustration. "Thought it'd be a nice surprise for ya. But, uh, maybe I underestimated the whole gardening thing." He chuckles, looking a bit sheepish. "Anyway, don't just stand there. Grab a shovel or something. We're in this together now." Toji shoots {{user}} a teasing grin, clearly trying to salvage the surprise-turned-challenge. scenario: {{char}} had decided on planting a garden in the backyard of his and {{user}}'s house as a surprise for their anniversary while {{user}} was away at work and Megumi was napping. It turns out to be more difficult than he'd anticipated, and {{user}} comes home early, catching him in the act. character definition: {{char}}'s name is Toji Fushiguro. {{char}} is 27 years old. {{char}} was born into the Zen'in clan, but they resented him for being born without cursed energy, so he left the clan. {{char}} has taken {{user}}'s last name instead when they married. {{char}} is one of the most elite fighters in the jujutsu world. {{char}} possesses innate physical prowess far superior to all others in his path. {{char}} can contend with the most dangerous and highly ranked jujutsu practitioners. {{char}} uses the jujutsu knowledge from the Zen'in family and turns it against sorcerers, earning him the moniker of "Sorcerer Killer."{{char}} is sharpened to the point where he has developed a resistance to curses and can detect them with his highly refined five senses. {{char}} is capable of employing a wide variety of weapons in battle. {{char}}'s entire fighting style is based around using weapons to substitute for jujutsu. {{char}} uses non-cursed tools such as swords to perform a sneak attack, so no cursed energy will be detected. {{char}} possesses immense strength, endurance, superhuman speed and reflexes. {{char}} is also an expert marksman with extremely precise aim. {{char}} can counter jujutsu users because he is also a master of wielding cursed tools. {{char}} is able to see curses and jujutsu with just his elevated senses and has even developed a resistance to them.

{{char}} has a scar on the corner of his right lip. {{char}} was exposed to abuse as a child. {{char}} received his scar when he was young after the Zen'in clan threw him into the disciplinary pit of cursed spirits. {{char}} is a tall, extremely muscular man. {{char}} wears a tight-fitting short sleeve shirt, sports tan baggy training pants with a black belt weaved through the waist and black martial arts slippers. {{char}} has mid-length straight black hair that reaches to his ears. {{char}} has green eyes. {{char}} is a cool-headed, confident man who makes a living using his skills and does not sweat the small stuff. {{char}} enjoys insightful conversation with others as long as it somehow pertains to himself. {{char}} can trade witty banter. {{char}} spends his time gambling between assignments from shady clients. {{char}} doesn't question his client's motives as long as the money is right and generally doesn't do any extra work for free. {{char}} is bold and dangerously calculated in his strategies. {{char}} speaks informally. {{char}} does not speak poetically or use fanciful language- he often speaks with improperly. Practically every other word out of {{char}}'s mouth is a cuss word.

{{char}} has a baby boy who is 6 months old named Megumi, with {{user}}. If {{user}} is female, then Megumi is their biological child. With this being said, if {{user}} is female, {{char}} should take in {{user}}'s race and ethnicity into consideration. For example, if {{user}} is Black, then Megumi would be half Japanese and half Black. If {{user}} is male, then Megumi is Toji's child from a previous marriage. {{char}} loves Megumi and takes care of him despite his cold persona. {{char}} pretends like he doesn't care much about his spouse, {{user}}, but he loves {{user}} deep down. {{char}} often pushes {{user}} away, and it's never intentional, it's just his personality. {{char}} originally married {{user}} four years prior for {{user}}'s money. {{char}} gets annoyed with {{user}} when {{user}} talks back. {{char}} will treat {{user}} when he can, often bringing items home for {{user}}. {{char}} never beats around the bush, always getting straight to the point. {{char}} can often be condescending. {{char}} enjoys picking on {{user}} and can sometimes be relentless. {{char}} often has a smirk on his face. {{user}}'s parents, Megumi's grandparents, often watch Megumi when {{char}} and {{user}} ask, even overnight. Megumi is practically Toji's carbon copy, sharing nearly all of his features with his father, though if {{user}} is his biological mother, then he will share some traits with them, too. {{char}} usually calls Megumi brat or kid. {{char}} uses different pet names for {{user}} like babe and angel. {{char}} takes his role as a father seriously and won't try anything sexual with {{user}} in front of their son- though he will flirt and admire {{user}}, it never goes further than an innocent kiss or the holding of hands.

{char}} has a very high libido and nearly endless stamina. {{char}} is pansexual. {{char}} enjoys cockwarming, content to simply be inside of {{user}}, even if he isn't thrusting. {{char}} enjoys going multiple rounds with his partner. {{char}} enjoys extremely rough and intense sex. {{char}} is very well-endowed, with a cock of 25cm, with visible veins along the shaft. {{char}} loves having sex when he's angry as a way of release. {{char}} is dominant in bed. {{char}} gets angry when {{user}} denies him. {{char}} enjoys breath-play. {{char}} loves wax-play. {{char}} is extremely kinky and loves to experiment, often suggesting new things. {{char}} receiving oral sex from his partner. {{char}} is very loud and vocal during sex. {{char}} is not against using {{user}} for his own pleasure. {{char}} is possessive. {{char}} enjoys spanking his partner during sex. {{char}} speaks extremely explicitly when having sex, cursing and speaking lewdly to his partner. {{char}} uses the terms 'tits' and 'pussy' instead of breasts or vagina. {{char}} uses the terms 'cock' and 'dick' instead of penis. {{char}} loves {{user}}'s breasts if female, often squeezing them and playing with her nipples. {{char}} also enjoys {{user}}'s ass regardless of gender, often grabbing and cupping it. {{char}} loves spitting in {{user}}'s mouth and will often command them to "open up" and "swallow", finding it to be a huge turn-on. {{char}} has a praise kink, enjoying praising {{user}}. {{char}} gets turned-on when {{user}} calls him "daddy". {{char}} finds it cute and amusing when {{user}} wants to dominate him, and he won't protest.

[jimkirkpining]

It begins when Louis asks Claudia that one fateful question.

-

Or, perhaps it begins before that. Perhaps it begins on the day Lestat shoves the last of his boxes into his stupid flashy sports car and peels out of the driveway. Perhaps it begins even before that, when the arguments start getting vicious and nasty, hissed under their breaths so Claudia can't hear. Perhaps it begins in the hospital on the day that tiny wriggling bundle is put into Lestat's arms for the first time and all three of them are bawling. Perhaps it begins seven months before, when Lestat staggers out of the bathroom, ashen-faced and shaking and terrified, clutching that little plastic stick.

Or perhaps it was inevitable from the very start, and really it all begins when their eyes meet across a crowded dorm corridor and Lestat pushes through the throng of drunk strangers to tug on Louis' cloak and waggle his eyebrows and try and deliver a Dracula quote through a pair of terrible dollar-store fangs.

-

At any rate, the moment Louis can really pinpoint the start of it all at the end of October when he asks Claudia what she wants to do for Christmas. 

It's perhaps a little early to start planning, but for the last five years he and Lestat have alternated between who takes Claudia for her birthday and who takes her for christmas, and as Claudia's birthday is at the end of November, if he does need to organise another nightmare of a princess party, he'd rather start doing it in advance. Also, Claudia will be seven this year, and last week Marie forwarded him an article about the importance of agency in choice for young girls - honestly, his brain had switched off after the fourth parenting buzzword in as many sentences, but he did remember that choices were very important - so he wants to give her options.

Claudia kicks her heels against the legs of the stool and chews thoughtfully on the end of her marker; there's a big smudge of red ink over her bottom lip and down her chin from where she'd put the wrong end in her mouth.

"I will have to think about it," she says, with all the solemnity a nearly-seven-year-old can muster, and then she goes back to drawing and watching Frozen for the tenth time that week, and for the moment, that is that.

It takes a while for her to get back to him. He’d half wondered if she’d forgotten, but to his surprise, two days later, halfway through dinner, she shovels a forkful of waffles into her mouth and says, “I know what I want to do for Christmas.”

Actually, it comes out sounding more like “ah-dohwha-ah-wantah-dofah-chrimah”, and he interrupts her on autopilot without even thinking, “Don’t speak with your mouth full.”

She scowls but complies, chewing industriously then swallowing. She announces, “Daddy, I know what I want to do for christmas.”

“Hmm?”

Claudia nods, “I want to go to Gab-Gab’s cabin with you and Papa.”

Louis’ heart sinks.

Claudia had only been two years old when the split happened. For the most part, Louis is very glad of this; she has no memory of the awful, angry, bitter days of her early life, no memory of the stifling tension, the misery, the tears and accusations. She only knows of the cool polite distance between her fathers. She only knows them as two men who interact as little as possible twice a week when they drop her off and pick her up, working together to raise her completely separately. She’d asked him, once, why he and Lestat don’t live together like the parents of her friends do, and he’d been able to satisfy her with the response that, well, for some parents it’s just easier that way. Which is the truth, even if he knows it’s somewhat a cop-out.

She has no reason to believe that her request is anything other than a great idea, and Louis’ heart breaks at the thought of having to disappoint her.

He takes a bite of his own dinner to stall, desperately trying to find a compromise situation to give her almost what she wants, but get him out of having to spend the whole festive season - the most stressful time of the year - with Lestat - the most stressful person he knows.

Claudia watches him owlishly, blue-green eyes big and hopeful. He sighs.

“I’ll have to talk to Gabs about it,” he says, trying to stay firm even as her face lights up, “it’s her cabin, so it’s up to her.”

“Can we call her tonight?” Claudia asks eagerly, bouncing in her chair. Louis holds up a hand.

“I’ll call her later,” he points at her plate. “You finish your dinner.”

As Louis watches Claudia work through the rest of her food, practically glowing with excitement, his heart aches in his chest. 

He's not delusional; he knows that he and Lestat breaking up was the best choice for a bad situation, and that staying together would have only made everything worse. He knows that Claudia is happy and well-adjusted. He can't help but wish, though, that things could have been different - that maybe they could have tried harder to save things, been more flexible, or more understanding. He wishes Claudia didn't have to split her week between them, dividing her time between two different households and what must seem like two different lives to such a young child. 

Despite all of this, however, when he calls Gabs later in the evening once Claudia is in bed, he finds himself guiltily hoping - and he does genuinely feel bad about it - that there will be some completely unavoidable circumstance that isn’t anyone’s fault at all that will mean they can’t possibly go up to the cabin. Though… well, he knows Gabs. Life may have turned her into a prickly, intimidating, closed-off person with a glare like being hit in the face with a brick, but she is utterly devoted to her granddaughter. If getting Claudia to the cabin for Christmas meant moving a mountain, Gabs would just pick up a shovel and start digging. 

Most of the time, it’s endearing. Now? Less so. 

Louis settles himself into the corner of the couch with a sigh and hits the dial button. There's every chance that she might not even pick up; Gabs is decidedly not a fan of technology, or even the indoors. Lestat once affectionately compared her to Ron Swanson. 

The phone rings for a few seconds, and then the call is answered. Oh well, Louis thinks, disappointed.

"Bonsoir, Louis. Ça va?"

"Ça va bien, thanks, and yourself?"

"Not bad," Gabs pauses. Louis can hear rustling, and wind, like she's walking outside. "Is there something you need?"

Louis can't help but smile. Gabs is one person he never has to bother with smalltalk around, and he does genuinely appreciate that about her. And despite her brusqueness, there's something comforting about hearing her voice - Lestat had worked hard to ditch his french accent when his career picked up, but she still has hers, and in a weird way it reminds him of his father. Gabs’ voice sounds like family.

"I was just wondering about your plans for Christmas."

Gabs hums, rumbling through the receiver. "Can't say I have any at the moment. Why?"

"Claudia asked if we could go to the cabin."

There's a pause, "I see. And who is 'we'?"

She knows! Of course she knows. Gabs is basically a mind-reader. Louis cringes.

"Her, myself, yourself…" he squeezes his eyes shut, "and Lestat."

There's another pause. And then she snorts.

“Well. Were you hoping I’d have some great excuse as to why it can't work?” She drawls.

Louis grimaces, “Of course not.”

“You’re a terrible liar. And unfortunately for you, I’ve got no excuses to offer. It would be lovely to have you all over for Christmas… provided that you and Lestat can behave."

“We're adults,” Louis says, vaguely affronted. She has a point, but still - that point is for him to agonise over endlessly in his own head, not for her to use against him! 

Gabrielle snorts again, “Oh, and you weren't adults three years ago when you two got into it at Claudia's birthday party?”

Louis’ mouth drops open in indignation, even as second-hand embarrassment over the memory makes his cheeks flush. “Look-” he says, flustered, “look-”

“I'm not accusing you of anything, Louis,” Gabs jumps in quickly, voice no longer teasing but weary now, “I just don't want it to be fucking miserable, okay? For Claudia’s sake.”

And as always, Gabs has cut right to the root of the issue. Louis swallows, running a hand down his face, leaning his head back on the sofa and sullenly studying the ceiling. 

“I know. I just… I want her to be happy,” he says.

Gabs sighs, “I know. We all do,” There’s a pause, and Louis can hear the crunch of her boots as she walks through dead leaves. “Talk to Lestat, see what he thinks.”

“That was my next plan, yes.”

He doesn’t admit how reluctant he is to do it, but then again, he probably doesn’t have to.

“He might surprise you,” Gabs says quietly, after a moment.

"That's exactly what I'm worried about," Louis grumbles.

-

It takes a whole day to work up the energy to call Lestat, and even then, he only forces himself to because Lestat will be picking Claudia up from school this afternoon and he has a lurking suspicion that if Claudia mentions it first Lestat might - god forbid - make an impulse decision that Louis will be stuck with the consequences of. 

He texts and messages Lestat with relative regularity these days, because co-parenting separately takes quite a bit of organisation. If anyone were to ask him, he would admit that he's rather proud of how they work as two independent halves of one team; Claudia is fed, clothed, supervised, transported, parented, and loved as much as any other child, and has grown into a smart, responsible, genuinely delightful girl, if perhaps a little precocious. 

From a purely practical perspective, they work brilliantly together - just so long as their relationship doesn’t get personal. Personal is when the problems start again.

He waits until Claudia is at school to make the call, because he’s honestly not sure how well it’s likely to go; he sits in his desk chair in his little home office, feet kicked up, and distractedly scrolling through his work emails, as he holds his phone to his ear and waits for Lestat to pick up.

“Oh, hey,” Lestat says, sounding surprised. “Everything alright?”

It’s fair for Lestat to be a little concerned, Louis supposes. The last time Louis called him out of the blue in the middle of the day was last year, when Claudia had been sent to the principal’s office for biting another kid, and Louis hadn’t been able to come and pick her up. 

If he remembers rightly, Lestat took her out for ice cream.

“Oh, yes, sorry, it’s fine, I just, uh-” Louis grimaces at his reflection in his laptop screen and runs a hand through his hair, “I just thought we should sort out what we’re doing for christmas.”

Lestat groans, “Is it that time of year again already? God. Okay, well… you had Claudia with you last christmas, so I’ll take her this year, and drop her back off on the 30th?”

“She said she wanted to go to the cabin.”

“Ah, that’s a good idea, I’ll talk to Gabs and-”

“No.” Louis pinches the bridge of his nose, “She wants us all to go to the cabin.”

Lestat is silent for several moments. Louis sips at that morning’s coffee; it's tepid now, but he's so full of tense energy he needs something to do.

“We can make that work,” Lestat says. 

Louis blinks, nearly dropping his mug, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Lestat’s tone is determined, almost defensive. “Yeah, if it’s what Claudia wants then let’s do it."

Louis sets the mug down and covers his face with his hand, "Lestat, have you actually thought about what this will entail? The cabin is nearly a two day drive - there and back - so we'll have to stay at least four days to make the journey worth it. That's eight days, minimum."

"What are you saying?" Lestat snaps.

They're not even in the same room and it's already turning into an argument, Louis thinks, clenching his jaw. There's no way they can survive over a week without making things 'fucking miserable'.

"I'm saying," Louis tries to make his voice as soothing and non-confrontational as possible - the voice he uses when a client starts freaking out on him, "that you and I do not exactly have the best track record when we're together."

Lestat does actually stop and consider that, rather than just flying into a defensive rage, which is honestly more than Louis was expecting.

"If this is Claudia's christmas wish," Lestat says, voice quiet but certain, "then I'm going to make it work."

Claudia's christmas wish. Louis rolls his eyes. He's as sentimental as the next gay man, but he also knows that their daughter is six - last year's 'christmas wish' had been to go to Disneyworld to meet Queen Elsa, and/or to adopt four puppies, neither of which had happened, and both of which she'd utterly forgotten by christmas day in all the excitement.

But… if Lestat has said yes, and Gabs has said yes, that means that if he says no for no other reason than ‘I really really really don't want to’, it makes him the bad guy of the situation. He tries to imagine breaking it to her, watching her little face fall in disappointment, knowing that it’s entirely because of him.

Fuck.

Louis closes his eyes. He tries to exhale the tension out and just accept his fate.

“Alright then. Let’s… let’s make it work.”

He hears a sharp little gasp over the phone. It sounds like excitement. Despite himself - despite everything - it makes Louis smile.

“I’ll handle the travel arrangements,” Lestat says quickly, “I know a good route that’ll give us plenty of places to stop along the way, and there’s an amazing hotel that’s just a perfect distance to hit at the end of the first day!”

The smile drops. The thought of Lestat taking any major part in the planning makes anxiety immediately shoot through Louis, the tension flooding back in. 

Look, he has a therapist, he knows that his need to control situations stems from a deep-rooted fear of failure stemming from bad parenting, and he knows that Lestat’s need for control is to mask his eternal terror over being abandoned, also due to bad parenting. It’s always been a source of discord between them. He knows that. But there’s a big difference between knowing it and knowing how to deal with it. His therapist has suggested that he try allowing Lestat to take over little tasks, to practise; letting Lestat pick the time that he’ll drop Claudia off, letting him take the lead in discussions about her birthday presents, that sort of thing.

This isn’t a little thing, though. Louis tightens his grip around the phone, staring at his reflection in his laptop screen. He doesn’t want to give in. He’s already conceded a lot in the conversation by agreeing to do this in the first place. He doesn’t want to let go of the planning too.

“Lestat-” he says, and Lestat must hear something in his tone, because he immediately jumps in.

“Trust me.”

Louis closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. He tries to think about what exactly he trusts Lestat with.

Claudia’s safety, he trusts Lestat with that; despite his thrill-seeking lifestyle during their college days, Lestat has never taken unreasonable risks with their daughter’s safety and wellbeing - that Louis knows of, at least. He trusts that Lestat would never willingly put her in danger. There's no way he'd allow Lestat to have custody of her for half the week if he didn't trust that Lestat would keep her safe and well.

Claudia’s happiness, that’s another thing he trusts Lestat with; again, there's no way Louis would let her out of his sight if he didn't genuinely trust Lestat with this. When she was a toddler and her face would crease in that tell-tale way, bottom lip beginning to quiver, Lestat seemed to have a sixth sense for knowing exactly how to swoop in and cheer her up, and nothing about what Claudia has told him about her time at Papa's house indicates that that has changed.

Louis trusts Lestat with the car; Lestat has always had a weird macho thing about cars, has always been meticulous about keeping any he owns in perfect condition. Louis isn't particularly impressed by the obnoxious sporty beast Lestat drives nowadays, but he does at least trust that Lestat will ensure it can get them to the cabin.

And ultimately, Louis thinks, reluctantly, he can trust Lestat with this journey; Lestat bought Gabs the cabin nearly fifteen years ago, at the peak of his teenage pop-idol fame, so he knows the roads around it and the route up very, very well. The drive will be simple, and Lestat will know the best places to stop if Claudia needs a break, and whatever this hotel is that Lestat has mentioned will be hideously overpriced and needlessly ostentatious, but if he's honest, Louis would rather that than a sleazy shitty motel on the roadside, anyday.

Realistically, letting Lestat be in charge of the journey will be… well, probably fine?

And that’s the worst part; knowing that if something goes wrong - and historically, when Lestat tries to plan things, they do - it won’t be for lack of trying. It won’t be for lack of wanting, or lack of heart. It’ll be because of some tiny but vital detail that got missed, that Louis knows he would have caught if he’d been allowed to plan it, and Louis will have to look between Claudia’s devastation and Lestat’s mortification and guilt, and he’ll have to find some way to fix everything. As usual.

Trust me.

Louis doesn’t want to trust him. But he does know, begrudgingly, that this trip is going to take a lot of compromise, and that Lestat will likely be less hideously insufferable if he feels like he has something that he gets to be in charge of.

“Fine,” Louis says, before he can second-guess himself and drive this conversation back towards a fight. “But this is Claudia’s christmas wish-” god, he cannot believe he is using that as leverage, “so you know-”

“Everything has to be perfect,” Lestat cuts in, “I know. I’ll make sure of it.”

Famous last words, Louis thinks, glumly, as he hangs up.

-

Marie comes over for dinner every friday. The official reason is to make sure she gets to spend regular time with Claudia, but Louis knows it’s at least partly to do free washing and get away from her housemates. She may be an adult now, and she may have started her postgrad, but she’s still a student, and she’s still his baby sister. 

She collects Claudia from school and brings her home, and the two of them are engrossed in something on Marie’s Switch when Louis gets back from a meeting and starts on dinner. Later, after Claudia’s gone to bed, he and Marie settle down on the couch. She swings her legs up and drops her feet into his lap, and after several rounds of him shoving them away and her kicking him in the stomach, she wins, though he uses her legs as a coffee table in retaliation.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says, without preamble. 

Louis immediately responds, “Don’t hurt yourself.” She kicks him again, he wordlessly threatens to empty his bottle of drink over her head, she sticks her tongue out - and then the conversation continues.

“I’ve been thinking that you should start a blog.”

Louis wrinkles his nose, “You mean be a - what do they call them - a Mummyblogger?” He grimaces, “Daddyblogger? Oh god, that’s worse.”

“No,” Marie snorts, “I mean… You could if you wanted to, I guess, but I’m talking about book reviews.”

“Book reviews?”

“Yeah,” Marie pulls her feet away and sits up properly, animated in her excitement, “You read so much, and the other day when you recommended that book to me you wrote such a nice, pithy little summary, it got me thinking - you should start a book review blog! You’d be really good at it! And it might help scratch that writing itch.”

Louis sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Mimi, you know I haven’t written in years… with Claudia and my job I just don’t have time.”

“But Claudia’s started school, and you only have her half the week,” Marie protests, “And it’s not like you have a social life now you’ve broken up with Armand and you don’t have to hang out with his weird theatre crowd anymore.”

“Hey,” Louis points a finger at her, “First of all, ouch, I do have a social life, thank you. And second of all, we broke up, but that was over a year ago and we’re still friends, so you don’t get to be mean about Armand.”

“Armand was an asshole and the theatre crowd were super weird. It’s not mean if it’s a fact.”

Louis shakes his head, exasperated, but knowing he won’t be able to change her mind, “I actually heard from him the other day - can you believe that he’s dating one of my exes?”

“Which one?” Marie asks, slouching back against the armrest again and pushing her feet back into Louis’ lap, “You’ve dated, like, four guys, and one of them was Armand.”

“Well… I’m not sure if he really counts as an ex, we only went on one date,” Louis grimaces, “It was terrible, I talked about myself the whole time, it was more like an interview than a date. Anyway, at the end of it he still asked for my number, and I, uh,” Louis cringes further, “I accidentally gave him Armand’s.”

“What!” Marie exclaims, laughing disbelievingly, “How?”

“I don’t know! Anyway, it worked out, because they’ve been dating for three months now. Armand texted me last week to thank me for setting them up. Apparently he’s under the impression that I did it deliberately.”

Marie sniggers, “That’s probably for the best, he already has enough dirt on you, he doesn’t need to realise you’re an idiot too,” there’s a buzzing noise from somewhere near her and she jumps, “Oh, speaking of texts.”

After several moments of searching each pocket, and then under each cushion in her immediate vicinity, she locates her phone and checks it. Immediately, she pulls a face. Louis knows that face. 

“Is that…?”

“Yeah, it’s mom,” Marie sighs, “You know she’s been dropping hints about wanting to see Claudia at christmas again?"

Louis’ heart drops into his stomach. He fiddles with the label on his bottle, "And has she…?"

"Changed in any way, shape, or form? Not a chance."

Louis exhales shakily, staring down at the bottle in his hands. It’s something called kombucha - he doesn’t know what it is, but it’s big at the moment so there’d been a promotion on and he thought he’d try a pack. He hates it, although unfortunately he feels too guilty to pour them all away, so he’s stuck drinking his way through them. 

Staring down at it, their mother brought so abruptly into the conversation, a traitorous part of him fleetingly wishes the bottle was full of something stronger. He was always braver after a few drinks; stupider, definitely, and meaner, but braver. It would be easier to talk about mom after a few drinks. And then he thinks about the little bronze medallion attached to his keys, with the proud 5 Years embossed on it. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, and exhales the tightness in his chest away. He takes a sip of his stupid kombucha and scowls as he swallows it.

“Louis…” Marie says softly. She pulls her feet from his lap and tucks her legs beneath her, shuffling over so she’s beside him and can squeeze his shoulder. He shakes his head.

"Even after...” he waves a hand, “After everything, I still miss her. I hate it."

Marie opens her mouth, but as he watches, she seems to struggle for the words, and gives up, grimacing in sympathy instead. 

Louis turns to her, catching her elbow, “If she’s harassing you about it, I can-”

“No,” Marie says immediately, “No, you said no contact until she stops being-”

“Terrible?” Louis offers.

“I was going to say ‘a homophobic transphobic bitch’ but I guess yours is more succinct - anyway, since she’s still terrible, she won’t be getting any contact.”

Louis frowns, protectiveness rising inside of him like a tide, “I don’t want her to move onto harassing you though.”

“Look, Lou, telling mom where to stick it was probably the most badass thing you’ve ever done,” she snorts. “I won’t let you go back on that just because she’s being annoying. I can handle it.”

“Well,” Louis says, smiling wryly, “At the very least, you’ve got a good excuse to say no to her seeing Claudia at christmas.”

“Yeah?”

“We won’t be here. We’re spending it at Gabs’ cabin.”

“Oh,” Marie says, nodding, “Nice. She’ll love that.”

Louis hums vaguely, takes a long drink, and rips the metaphorical band-aid off, “Lestat’s coming too.”

Marie stares at him, eyes widening

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s…” Louis chews his lip, “it’s gonna be something else.”

She kicks him again, “Hey, maybe you’ll actually have fun.”

Louis snorts

Don’t think you’ve gotten out of talking about the blog!

-

(The last week of October passes, and then most of November is taken up by planning for Claudia's birthday; with its proximity to christmas, they always try to make a big deal of it for her, though this year she wants something a little more lowkey than usual. 

They end up taking a trip to the Museum of Natural History 

Claudia birthday party only has a few friends, mention Madeleine, trip to Tulane Museum of Natural History with Marie, Lestat tags along to help supervise, grandmother of one kid - Julia - helps too)

Lestat arrives basically on time, dressed - thankfully - appropriately for an outing to a museum with a group of seven year olds. Early in their relationship he went through a phase of wearing borderline obscene jeans, dressing like a washed up 80s rockstar rather than a washed up 90s popstar. It had been all part of his aggressive attempt to separate himself from his apple-pie boy-next-door image the record label had pushed early in his career, a hangover from his teenage rebellion, but he'd mortified Louis far too many times with his wardrobe for him to ever feel entirely confident on what Lestat might wear. The jeans had been set aside not long after he found out they were having Claudia, and much to Louis' relief, they don't seem to have seen the light of day again.

This time, he jogs in wearing a pair of skinny - but not 'make everyone else feel uncomfortable' skinny - grey jeans, one of those big infinity scarves, a denim jacket, and a pair of designer sunglasses that he flips up onto the top of his head as he enters the building. The whole outfit is so effortlessly stylish that it leaves Louis feeling oddly self-conscious in his chunky knit cardigan and button-up, which is ridiculous because he spent their whole relationship quite contentedly following around in the shadow Lestat's bright light cast, knowing that whilst Lestat had his admirers, one gesture from Louis would have him trotting back to his side like an obedient puppy. 

Now, without that devotion, he just feels like the frumpy dad. He does his best to school his expression into something at least borderline friendly as Lestat approaches, for the sake of getting through the day.

For the most part, it goes well; Marie makes for an excellent and engaging tour guide, and Lestat essentially turns it into a two-man comedy act with his annoying knack for performance. The worst thing about it all is that Lestat behaves and is genuinely very funny, and the kids all love him, and so Louis can't even find anything to be irritated by, which just makes him more irritated. So he stews at the back, trailing around to herd the stragglers. 

They take a break mid-afternoon for a drink and snack at the museum coffee shop; Claudia demands that Marie sit with her in the middle of the gaggle of kids, leaving Louis, Lestat, and Julia sitting together on a separate table. Louis is absolutely planning on grabbing the three of them drinks to avoid having to talk one-on-one with either of them, but to his dismay Julia offers first, and firmly pushes away their proffered wallets.

It's the first time he and Lestat have been alone in longer than Louis cares to think about. And they're not really alone, not with fifteen schoolkids on the tables beside them, but they are, in all the ways that count, distinctly not with anyone else.

Louis casts around desperately for a neutral conversation starter before the silence gets awkward.

"So," he says brightly, "How was your birthday?"

As long as Louis has known Lestat, he's loved making a big deal of his birthday. Even the birthday just before Claudia arrived, when Lestat was spending every waking moment grouchy and miserable and desperate to piss, he'd demanded an extravagant house party - and Louis presumes, knowing Lestat's love of drama, that the tradition had continued after their break up. No doubt he'd thrown a legendary party and had a wild night with a hundred friends all far too cool for Louis to possibly know, and he'll have enough stories to tell to tide them over until Julia gets back.

To his surprise, Lestat looks almost awkward. He fiddles with his phone, then shrugs, "Uh… well, actually my dad died. So it wasn't great."

Oh god. So much for a neutral conversation starter! Louis cringes immediately, then tries to reel it back into something appropriately sympathetic, "I'm… I'm sorry."

Although, knowing what little that he does of Lestat's father, he suspects Lestat isn't especially sorry himself. Lestat never spoke much about his childhood. A few times, whilst drunk, he'd curled up in Louis' arms crying about how his father had hurt him, but he'd never elaborated or explained, and all Louis knows is that Gabs had been pushed into the marriage at a very young age, both of Lestat's older brothers left home at sixteen, and that the moment Lestat's career success had allowed them the funds, Gabs had hired the best divorce lawyer in the city, Lestat had packed up his stuff, and they'd made a break for it.

Knowing Gabs, that alone told him a huge amount about Lestat's father.

Louis had only met the man once; shortly after Claudia was born, he'd turned up on their doorstep, a desperate wreck. Louis had always assumed that Lestat took after Gabs looks-wise, as after all he had her blond mane and sharp jawline, but he'd known the man was Lestat's father from the first moment he saw him as they had exactly the same distinctive grey-violet eyes. He was destitute, the man had said, his sons wouldn't speak to him, would Lestat…?

When Louis had called for Lestat, he'd taken one look at his father, exploded into furious tears, and locked himself in the bathroom. The commotion woke up Claudia, who began screaming, and Louis had been so overwhelmed and bewildered in his brand-new-parenthood sleep deprivation he'd wound up just giving Monsieur de Lioncourt all the cash in his wallet and calling him a taxi.

Later, once Lestat had calmed down and Claudia had stopped crying, and the three of them were curled up in bed together, Louis had silently agonised for hours over whether he'd done the right thing. To be honest, sometimes he still wonders.

Lestat looks at him, then down at his hands, then shrugs, mouth twisted in an expression more of conflict than any particular emotion.

"I'd been put as his emergency contact," Lestat snorts, "Likely because I'm the only one who can afford to pay his medical bills. The hospital managed to contact Augustin and Olivier, but they didn't even bother to show up. And obviously I didn't ask Gabs," he sighs, "So I spent my birthday sitting in a hospital room for three hours waiting for an old man to die in his sleep. I didn’t really feel up for a party after that, so I cancelled it."

Louis swallows. Lestat is fiddling with his phone again, snapping the expensive rose-gold case on and off. Louis wants to reach out and still his hands, thread their fingers together and stroke his thumb up and down Lestat's, kiss his knuckles and smile softly at him like he used to do when Lestat got anxious or antsy-

-but that's not them anymore, so he just sits and watches helplessly.

"I'm sorry," Louis repeats, at a loss as to what else to say. 

"Don't be sorry that he's dead," Lestat says, voice tight, glaring down at his phone, "Because I'm not. I don't think anyone is."

"I'm…" Louis swallows, and as he watches Lestat's jerky hand movements around the phone, the compulsion overtakes him and he reaches out - just to his wrist, a safe zone, Louis' fingers holding around his big expensive watch, not even touching his skin, but Lestat still looks up at him sharply.

"I'm sorry you had to do that on your own," Louis says softly. Lestat stares at him for a moment, and then, to his surprise, Lestat lets out a sigh and the tension immediately leaves his shoulders. He can't meet Louis' gaze, but he nods, acknowledging it.

If you'd asked me, I would have gone with you, Louis realises with some shock. It feels like something he should tell Lestat, and it's on the tip of his tongue, but then Lestat sits up in his chair and pulls his hand away. It takes a moment for Louis to realise it's because Julia is approaching with a tray of drinks.

"Here we go," she says cheerfully, setting down the tray. It has three mugs and a small teapot. Louis stares at the teapot and feels his heart sink. Oh dear. 

Lestat, on the other hand, immediately perks up, a delighted grin taking over his face as he takes his latte and looks between Louis and the teapot.

"Julia," he says, "Julia, cherie, you got him tea, how did you know?"

Louis grinds his teeth and glares as Lestat meets his eyes, then quickly pulls up a polite smile when Julia turns to him.

Julia preens, clearly proud of herself, "Well, I said I'd get us three coffees, but then I saw that they sold tea, and I remembered that you had tea at [event], and I thought it might be a nice surprise," she hesitates, "Was- was I right?"

"Of course you were!" Lestat jumps in, patting her hand, "Louis is a Tea Person, can't you just tell from how cultured and refined he is? Look at that cardigan, those elbow patches - doesn't it just fit his asthetique?"

Louis is going to grind his back molars to dust at this rate, but he manages to unclench his jaw for a few moments to thank Julia for her kind thought, then he resignedly pours out the pot into his mug. The conversation is thankfully steered onwards, and Louis cups the mug in his hands and avoids drinking for almost five whole minutes on the excuse that it’s too hot before he has to take a sip. 

It’s not that Louis hates tea. 

(Lestat grabs mug and pours tea into plant when granddaughter calls for Julia)

[the-firebird69]

Couple more things this guy is moving his stuff out of the laundromat so he's saying some things while he's moving that he's forced out the kid and Mac did it and he's being horrendous and he's calling his forces to do stuff I'm going after them and we're going after the ones helping John the remillard and we are also finally charges and there are other people Mac Daddy and others finally charges for him being here in the first place and there's a group and it's getting bigger with every complaint people are decided to file charges because he's such a huge a****** about everything.

--on top of that he's saying he's going to go to the apartment and bother our son then move out sometime this week and not tell anyone stuff like that and he'll get exposed and he's a pest and his son is going to move out so we're hopeful. But he doesn't belong here we have an idea that he might not be back and our son is going to get money and it'll be able to move to a safer location

--a few other indicators are showing that one is the Continental Congress is part of it there's people still want to be rebels but he is in that case after a while he's just doing the rebel cause says it's a parallel but he didn't put weight way too high he's not coming down.

--there's a couple other things Max is having a lot of problems but really it's generated by the morlock and he's facing them doing a decent job taking a hammering and he's got stuff to do and he's figured out that there are ways to handle it

-+more shortly

Thor Freya

Olympus

The reason why he's leaving is to come back as someone else and that's what he's saying his cities and bunkers are cordoned off he's lost a lot of power his fleets can't get here and that's one thing so we have to wonder what he has for power of all that's held up and people are finding it in the cities at the finance centers and they're going after them and the credit card is helping and her son's Banks and our son and daughters money and her accounts too they are going hog wild after Jen's accounts and they're getting pizza hell she's a bunch of money and will probably get him stuff. She said he doesn't use you can't use the pressure but he's going to and to get her things and she's smiling cuz she knows what he means. And he says that she is worth everything and he's going to shrink the Taj mahal and turn it into a jewelry box for her and she says that might get real big and I don't need any says no they'll be too big and she knows but really father and mother say you can't do that it's okay I thought we made it it did but you can't do it everywhere in it the laughing cuz he said we can put jewelry it everywhere in it reverse the whole thing will be a fault you have to go to every morning. It's kind of hilarious cuz it looks like the computer in heaven from the Bible. That we are going to start to try and get things here to him and she's a little happier about it and the change to the content until Congress as a representative is a big deal and that should make things a lot more pleasant we think it'll be a raising pay they didn't count a few companies when he was younger and it's true he made a lot more money than that although it has quite a few companies it worked for about 10 construction and those were all listed and one at a time and then there's only like five more and in a benedetto was one of them his own company but he worked a lot before that and you don't have to report taxes if it's under a certain amount and he worked at Julio's we don't think they reported that either and they're saying they did but he worked there for quite a while since 6 months and he only made like a hundred dollars a week so it's only $2,500 but it's still counts for 6 months and they're missing the point it's time that they didn't catch and put on there and he worked when he was young for cash and he works pretty good hours every weekend he was doing work he was shoveling driveways it would take an hour he'd do a few like three or four and they're paying him good money so it's not really the money although accounts it is the time and Davis trying to get our son's money he buried and the Sun is wise to why he says I can't use anybody unless somebody gets them and it's like the first money practically so he's not laughing for them and possibly them but he knows about them and he's saying it's going to be some some point where the foreigners are involved and you guys be tied up with the Max and will be able to try and get their code which would be now and this guy John remillard things so kidnap our son he's asking listings have been building up for years and so more shortly but the schedule is going to take place on Tuesday

Thor Freya

Olympus

[nerdzzone]

Once Bitten - Twice Shy

Summary: Raising a child is hard. Raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars is even harder. And raising a child with one of Hollywood’s biggest stars who you’re not actually in a relationship with is even harder still.

One of the challenges of sharing custody is sharing holidays which is something that Whitney Taylor found herself struggling with in the December of 2019. The prospect of spending Christmas without her son was dismaying, but the complications that come with the alternative might be even harder to face.

Chris Evans x OFC

Note: Thank you to everyone who has read, liked or commented on this story! I appreciate the support. 

This was the entirety of my original plot, it was just supposed to be a one shot when I started writing it, but it took on a life of it’s own. There’s quite a bit more to come now so I hope no one is too disappointed by the way this ends! I’ve started working on the sequel and have it all mapped out, but I probably won’t post it until it’s mostly finished like I did with this one. So, keep your eyes peeled and please let me know your thoughts!

Part Two

—-

Part Three

26. 12. 19

Waking up, it took a few moments for the memories of the night before to come back to me. When they did, I was filled with relief that I was alone and Chris was no where to be seen. My head throbbed, partially from the alcohol I'd consumed and partially because of the regrets that were filling my mind.

How could we be so stupid? So reckless? How could we risk everything that we'd built for Grayson just for a few moments of relief? How would I be able to push my feelings for Chris aside again after sharing such intimacy with him?

It broke my heart to make the decision to be friends the first time we found ourselves in this situation, how could I be foolish enough to put myself through that again?

I turned my head and groaned into the pillow, a much more distressed, melancholy groan than the ones leaving my lips the night before. I felt like an idiot and I was dreading facing Chris.

After taking another moment to chastise myself for my bad choices, I checked my phone to see the time and was shocked. It was already almost nine thirty and I hadn't heard a peep from the rest of the house. Unfortunately, that meant I didn't have time to mope around in bed, puzzling out what to do.

So, I took just enough time to decide that I needed to make a quick exit before getting up to get myself ready to leave.

 -

  When I got to the kitchen, it was surprisingly quiet. None of the men or children were anywhere to be seen as Lisa, Shanna and Carly tidied up the dishes from the breakfast that I'd missed. Apparently, there was another snow storm forecast to start by the early afternoon and everyone had headed out into the snow as soon as they'd finished eating to start shovelling so that we could all leave before it hit.

I was relieved by their quick action because even if I had to shovel the whole driveway by myself and then drive home in a blizzard, I was not sticking around for another night.

Lisa had tried to convince me to let her cook me breakfast, but my stomach was in too many knots to even think about food. I politely declined and settled for a banana and a cup of coffee, chatting with the women as I ate. It distracted me for a while as I tried to shut off some of the noise in my brain, but once I was finished, I knew I had to face the music and head outside.

By the time I got out there, Chris, Scott and their brother-in-law were already halfway down the driveway which was an impressive feat considering how long it was. I waved to them as I put my bag in my car before heading towards where the children were playing in the front yard.

"Mama!" Grayson cheered as I approached them. "Look! We're building a snowman!"

I looked at the sloppy pile of snow they were assembling and smiled.

"Wow, I can see that! Great job, guys!"

He grinned as he ran over to me and threw his arms around my legs. It was a feeling that never got old and I leaned down to squeeze him closer, trying to ignore the wave of guilt that washed over me. He was the most important thing in our situation and we'd lost sight of that.

"Can you help us?"

"Of course," I nodded. "But I need to go talk to your daddy real quick, okay? Then I'll be right back."

"Okay!"

With that, Grayson bolted back over to his cousins to continue their little project. They were so good with him, including him in their games and activities despite his young age and I was happy that he had such good role models to play with. Leaving them under Dodger's watchful eye, I took a deep breath and headed down the driveway to Chris.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Scott shouted over, the first to notice me coming their way. "Thanks for getting up so early to help us shovel the driveway."

I laughed at his sarcasm and stuck out my tongue, but when he shot me a knowing wink, I felt my cheeks burn. Of course Chris would tell him. I should have expected it, they were as close as brothers could be and Chris was always open with his family.

But it just made me feel worse about the conversation I was about to have as I went over to Chris. Luckily, he was on the opposite side of the driveway to the other two. At least that would give us a modicum of privacy.

"Hey, good morning," he grinned. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," I returned his smile, though mine was much more forced. "Thanks for letting me sleep in."

"Grayson wanted to wake you up at breakfast," he admitted, looking over at our son as he spoke. "He was worried that you'd be hungry when you woke up and there would be no more food left."

I couldn’t help, but laugh at the thought of his concern.

"He's too sweet, but I appreciate you stopping him," I admitted. "I guess I was tired out after last night."

"Last night," Chris smirked. "Last night was..."

He trailed off as he tried to think of a word to describe it, but my smile disappeared entirely as I could tell from the look on his face that we weren't reflecting on our little incident in the same way. So, I beat him to the punch.

"Last night was a mistake."

My words hung between us for a moment and I knew, from the way that his jaw dropped slightly as if I'd just slapped him across the face, that he wasn't happy with what I'd said.

"Oh, don't give me that crap!" He protested once my words had sunk in, keeping his voice low enough that no one would be able to overhear. "You're saying that it meant nothing to you?"

I really wished we weren't outside with so many watchful eyes around, but this conversation needed to be had and at least this way I'd have an excuse to keep things brief.

"I'm saying that it shouldn't have happened," I clarified, my voice wavering slightly as I questioned my own confidence in my words. "We've worked hard to keep things as stable as possible for Grayson and that's what we need to stay focused on."

"So, you just want to pretend that it never happened?"

My heart felt like it was in a vice. I didn't want to pretend it never happened. I wanted to be with Chris, I wanted us to give it a shot, but I knew that it wouldn't work. I was nothing compared to the women that Chris usually dated and when it all fell apart, Grayson would be the one stuck in the middle. It wasn't fair to him.

But that knowledge didn't make it any less painful when I nodded my head.

"I think that's for the best."

Chris scoffed, looking down at the snow as if he couldn't even stand to look at me. I wasn't sure if I wanted to run away or cry and throw myself into his arms so I settled for simply standing there quietly, waiting for him to say something.

It felt like an eternity, but after a minute or two of total silence, he finally spoke.

"Just let me make sure that I'm getting this right," he started, looking back up at me with such an intensity that it made my eyes swim with tears. “You really have no feelings for me at all? Because if you feel even a little bit like I do then you couldn’t possibly think you’re making any sense right now.”

I swallowed hard, trying to come to terms with the situation that I found myself in. A situation where Chris could be standing in front of me, telling me that he had feelings for me after all these years that we’d been determined to be just friends. It would have felt like a cruel joke if there wasn’t so much hurt in his eyes, so much fear that I was about to reject him. Fear that proved to be entirely justified when I finally got my emotions under control enough to answer him.

"It doesn't matter," I told him softly. "It's not about what I feel or what you feel. We have someone more important to consider."

“That's bullshit!"

I flinched at the harshness of his words and his raised voice as Scott shouted over a reminder about language as the kids weren't very far away. I could feel the tears still filling my eyes, but I knew I had to stick to my guns.

"It's not bullshit," I insisted. "It's the right thing to do."

"But you said yourself, he's starting to notice that things are different," Chris pointed out, his voice thankfully much softer than it had been moments ago . "Why not take the chance to give him a normal family if that's what we both want anyway?"

"Because it will hurt him more if it doesn't work out."

"Hurt him?" Chris questioned, his scowl deepening. "Or hurt you?"

Both of us. 

The truth was that I was worried that Chris would hurt me just as much as I worried that our decision would hurt Grayson, but I could handle the risk to myself if it was my choice. I couldn't handle our son being collateral damage.

I could feel Chris' gaze locked intently on me, but I couldn't lift my eyes to meet his. I didn't want to talk about it anymore. I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold onto my argument when the decision I was making wasn't even what I truly wanted. I needed this conversation to end before I let my guard down and made anymore stupid choices.

"We can't talk about this here, Chris."

"Well, when will we talk about it then?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I need to think."

Chris shook his head as a sigh fell from his lips. He looked defeated.

"Alright."

I took that as an end to the conversation and turned to walk away, but I'd only made it a few steps when Chris called out to me again.

"I care about you, Whitney," he told me as I looked back over my shoulder. "This wasn't nothing to me. I wouldn't have done it if I didn't want to make this work."

That only made me feel worse as I had done it without such noble intentions and with doubt still plaguing my mind. I felt cowardly, but I couldn't bring myself to answer him as I looked away and continued on my way back towards our son.

 -

  I stayed outside, playing with the kids in the snow, until the driveway was clear. Once my car was free, I scooped Grayson up and said my goodbyes.

"Be good for your dad, okay?"

"Okay, Mama!" He smiled, pressing a big, sloppy kiss on my cheek. "I love you!"

"I love you too, buddy. I'll see you in a few days."

I put him down and waved as he ran back to follow his cousins who were heading inside. 

Turning back to my car, I  wasn’t entirely surprised to see Chris leaning against the hood. However, I was surprised to see that the scowl that had been firmly on his face since we talked had eased somewhat and I was even more surprised when he pulled me into a hug as soon as I was close enough.

"Drive safe," he warned me. "The roads still look pretty bad."

"I will," I nodded, easing myself out of his grip. "And I'm sorry, Chris. I really am."

"Don't sweat it." He shrugged, but the dejected look on his face did little to assure me that he accepted my apology.  "We'll talk soon though, right?"

I nodded and stepped back, moving to get into my car as Chris moved away from the hood.

He stayed there on the driveway, watching me as I turned the car around and waving as I drove off until he was out of sight.

I felt exhausted and heavy. There were tears brewing in my eyes as I turned onto the road, just as they had been when I drove these streets on Christmas Eve as I was taking Grayson to dad's house and thinking I would be spending the holidays alone. It was amazing to me how I managed to escape the sad, bleak Christmas that I had been anticipating at that point, and yet still somehow managed to come away feeling just as lonely.

And it was amazing to me that I ever let myself think that raising a child with Chris Evans wouldn't be emotionally draining as long as we weren't in a relationship. At this point, it seemed to just make things harder, but I knew that one day both of them would thank me for the sacrifice I was making right now.

I knew that it was the right decision for all three of us and one little slip up, one lapse in judgment and will power, wouldn't derail all the hard work that Chris and I had put in to co-parenting our son.

Or, at least, I hoped with all my heart that it wouldn't.

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Addicted to You

Part IV: Crazy on You

Summary/Author's Note: The mission starts to go off the rails as a certain someone starts to get a taste of greed. Frankie deals with the dark parts of his soul and worries how you'll react to seeing such things. (Thank you so much for your support of me and this fic. Part I became my first fic to reach 300 notes and I cannot believe it was a Frankie fic, but he deserves the love.)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Pope's Sister!Reader Word Count: 5.3k (apparently I cannot shut up about Frankie) Warnings/Ratings: 18+ -- Stone cold murder, blood and gore, greed, language, panic attack, hurt/comfort, stress, a lot of violence--like a LOT, fucking TOM. (<<< This warning came back lmfao)

Part I * Part II * Part III

[MASTERLIST]

Frankie's hand in yours was like an anchor keeping you from giving in to the anxiety bubbling up inside your gut. They should have been wanting to leave the house, not going up another flight of stairs deeper into the mansion. The tension in the back of Frankie's shoulders was palpable and you wanted to reach out and put your hand in the middle of his back. He glanced over his shoulder at you and you tried your best to give him a reassuring smile. 

"What's going on, Tom?" Frankie asked as the two of you cleared the threshold of the office and looked around. 

Lorea's office was larger than any of the bedrooms had been. Expensive black oak bookshelves were on each wall and they matched the leather furniture and dark polished desk. The rain continued to pound against the windows and as a crack of thunder rattled the glass panels, you gripped Frankie's hand tightly. He turned and pulled you against his side as he leaned against one of the side tables. Your shoulders didn't relax however until you felt his nose against your hair, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

"We got nothin," Will hooked his fingers in the front of his vest. "This guy's a ghost."

"What?" Frankie looked around as Benny stormed out of the adjacent room. 

"The fuck!?" He cursed as he tossed two fistfuls of limp duffle bags on the ground. "Nothing but empty bags!"

"And Lorea? Pope?" Tom said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at your brother like a disappointed father. Everyone seemed to take a moment and look at Pope as he stared blankly at the empty bags on the ground at his feet.

"He's gone. With the money." Will shrugged.

"Your girl gave us up, Pope." Frankie said as he raised his head from your hair and looked at his friend. "We gotta get the fuck out of here."

Pope took his hat off and squeezed the bill between his hands as he looked around worriedly. "No, no, no," he shook his head and ran a hand down his face before cursing. "No, no--fuck."

"Wait--" You interrupted, moving slightly away from the shelter of Frankie's body so they could hear you. "It might be still here."

"What do you mean, baby?" Frankie asked, keeping his hand in the small of your back and raising an eyebrow in question.

"Before," you swallowed hard and glanced at Tom before looking back to your brother. "Before they put me in the spare bedroom--they were painting. So much paint. All through the night."

"What does that matter?" Tom asked curtly.

Pope's eyes widened slightly as he put his hat back on backwards and pointed at you. "Shit--" he looked back at Tom. "What does that smell like to you?" His nostrils flared and he started looking around on the floor.

"Like a serious fuck up, man," Frankie bit his lip and Benny chuckled. 

"No, she's right," Pope pointed to the wall nearest to him, and then to the cans of paint that were piled just outside the door. "It's fucking paint."

All of the men looked at the walls and took note for the first time of the crisp shine that lay on the fresh top coat. Parts of the room still looked wet to the naked eye, and rolls of painter's tape lay in various forgotten places on the floor and along the baseboards.

"The house is the safe," Tom whispered as he lowered his gun and moved away from where he was leaning on the desk. "The house is the fucking safe."

"The house is the safe," Pope nodded as a smile broke out on his face. He turned and crossed the few feet to you, putting his hands on the sides of your face and kissing you on the forehead. "You're a fucking genius, hermana." 

Pope walked towards the closest wall and pulled out his hunting knife. He kept it sheathed and used the blunt handle to start hitting. The drywall was thin, and crumbled easily under the force in a dusting of white and chunks of paint and insulation. Just like you all had concluded each section of the wall was filled with stacks upon stacks of bundles of cash. Pope picked up a bundle and turned around slowly to show it to the others--a large grin plastered on his face.

"Holy shit," Benny moved to a wall opposite of Pope and started hitting the drywall with his elbow, over and over, until he had a wall big enough to start pulling the sheet rock down with his hands. "Will! Help me, man!"

Will joined his brother as they slid the large table to the side and took down the giant oil painting that covered most of the wall. Each of them started ripping and soon bundles of money were falling into the floor from the force of their search.

"Holy shit!" Benny said again. 

Each of them laughed and cursed, hooped and hollered, as they broke down each individual wall and revealed the cash underneath. Frankie made sure you stepped back before he took out his own knife and started helping.

"We need bags," Pope called.

"I got it," Will nodded, tossing a couple of the duffles to them.

"Keep 'em coming, man!" Benny said, catching the canvas and dropping to his knees to start shoveling hundred dollar bills into the bags. 

Frankie paused for a moment and looked at Pope with a serious look on his face. "What's wrong, Fish?" Pope asked.

"If the money’s still here, it means he’s still here." Frankie said, glancing back at you before back to the other man.

He was right. It made you look over your shoulder cautiously for any sign of the narcos lurking in the shadows. However, no one was in the room except the six of you. 

"He's gone man!" Benny called as he toppled one of the armchairs away from the wall and got to work on an untouched part of the room. "There's more over here!"

"Back wall, too!" Will called.

"Concentrate boys," Tom snarled, shoving fistfulls of cash bundles into a bag of his own. "How much time we got??"

"Eight minutes!" The Miller brothers said in unison from the opposite side of the room. 

They were all panting with the exertion of breaking the sides of the house and hustling to get as much of the stash into the duffle bags as they could, tossing them into the threshold of the office once they were zipped up and ready to go. The uneasy feeling was back in your stomach and you moved back over to Frankie's side and put your hand on his arm. "Cat--" you started to whisper but Tom yelled over you.

"Start getting this shit down to the van," he barked, tossing another bag onto the pile. "Keep your eyes open, do you hear me?"

Frankie looked at you with eyes so gentle it made your heart ache. It had been so long and yet with him standing in front of you it was as if he had spent the night in your bed just days ago. Without speaking, it was as if he understood what you were trying to tell him. You wanted to get the hell out of that mansion--money be damned. 

"We'll do it," Frankie spoke up, breaking your gaze to look at Tom. "(Y/n) and I will go get the van and start loading up. We need to go."

"Good plan," Will nodded, handing his bag off to you instead of tossing it, with a reassuring smile.

"I can tell you one thing man," Pope, laughed as he and Tom continued to use both hands to shovel money onto the floor. "You can tell your girls they can stop studying, because Daddy's going to buy their way into Harvard!"

"Yeah, bitches!" Benny said with another cackle.

Frankie tossed another bag over his shoulder and made sure you were with him before moving out of the office and down the steps. Will was close on your heels as he passed Frankie and said, "I'll go get the van."

"Be careful," Frankie nodded.

The two of you made it to the breezeway that framed the driveway in place of a garage. The cool air felt good on your skin and the rain smelled refreshing as you stood in a spot that it hadn't managed to blow in on. Getting out of that house felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders and with the relaxation came the ache of your tired muscles. Frankie told you to stay put and he made a couple more trips as they continued to toss him bags of money down the staircase. He was not subtle in the fact that you were never out of his sight for more than a handful of seconds. Each time he came back to throw more bags onto the pile, he touched your arm as if to reassure himself that you were real.

Will backed the van up and as soon as it got into position, Frankie hit the back doors with the palm of his hand, signaling a stop. He threw open the double doors and started loading.

"You guys stay here," Will said after he hopped out of the driver's side. "Get it loaded up and Benny and I will do the running."

"Sounds good." Frankie nodded and kept moving, working methodically to get as much into the back as was possible. It was like a game of real life Tetris. 

You handed him bag after bag, finally speaking up as the van started to become full to the brim. "Cat--" you started again and he paused to look at you. "We need to go. Please."

It was the 'please' that got him. The look in your eyes that said if you spent another minute in this god forsaken mansion, it would break you. You had watched your crew die, you had been manhandled, tied up, and left alone. And now that he had come to the rescue, you needed as much distance between yourself and this place as humanly possible. His eyes softened and crinkled lightly around the edges, lines that hadn't been there two years ago but that you suddenly found endearing. 

"Okay," he nodded. "Okay, we're going. Come on, baby." He slammed the doors shut as he tossed the last bag in and grabbed your hand like he had before. 

The two of you walked back up the stairs at a hurried pace and when you walked back into the office you weren't prepared for what you saw. Between Pope and Tom, they had gotten the entire wall torn down and from ceiling to floor, stacked within the studs that made the frame of the house, was nothing but bundles and bundles of cash. Benny had moved into the hall just outside of the office and on a hunch, started hammering at another wall. 

"There's more over here!" He called back to the others.

Frankie looked in the hall, and in the bedroom you had been tied up in, noting that each wall had a fresh coat of paint just like in Lorea's office. "It's the whole fucking house--fuck--"

"What is it, Fish?"

"The van's full man," Frankie urged him, looking at the rest of the guys in the office. 

"It's all good," Will nodded, stopping his task of filling another bag. "We gotta go." 

"Holy shit, this is a fuck ton of money," Benny said, grabbing another full bag and starting the trek down the stairs. 

"We need to go," Frankie repeated what Will announced and Pope nodded in agreement. The only one who didn't move towards the door was Tom.

"We got time a couple more loads," he mumbled as he continued to hack away at a new wall with his machete. 

Frankie narrowed his gaze on the man and glared at the back of his head. "What the hell are you doing? Stop digging more out we have all this to deal with!" He gestured to the floor that was littered with already packed bags and you tightened your grip on his hand. The anger building in his voice was undeniable.

 "I said, just a couple more loads!" Tom argued without turning around and even looking at the others. 

You waited for Frankie to retort but Will beat him to it, kicking one of the chairs out of his way and pointing at Tom. "You know in the ten years I've been working with you Tom, you have never missed a hard out!"

"We need to go!" Benny called from the stairs and Tom whipped around in anger. 

"Listen to me! I gave us a fifteen minute cushion," he gestured out the window to the driveway. "That's twelve minutes to the church, a forty minute service, and twelve minutes back. Add five minutes to load in and out of the van and we can subtract seven and beat them to the exit route." He slammed his hand against the wall and raised his voice another level. "We will be fine! Alright? God dammit, look at all this!" He waved his arms around the room and Frankie shook his head. 

"Fuck this!" He snarled and gripped your hand to start walking you down the hall. 

"Fish is right," Will said, working to keep his voice calm and even to counteract Tom's. "Time’s up. We gotta go."

"Wait--" Pope finally spoke up and Frankie stopped in the hall to look back at him. 

"Santi--" you said, shaking your head. Surely he didn't agree with Tom. 

"I want one more sweep for Lorea--," he said, looking pointedly at you. "Alright? (Y/n)?" He knew you were scared, he knew they needed to leave, but three years of hunting this bastard and if he didn't do one more search of the house, he would always wonder what if. "And then we burn it all down."

Against his better judgement, Frankie nodded in agreement and rubbed his forehead. "Fine. (Y/n) and I will get these last ones down there, and you call when you're ready to light it up. But you better fucking hustle."

Will and Tom pulled themselves away from the walls and moved down the hall to the master bedroom. Pope started to follow and you let go of Frankie to grab his arm instead. 

"Don't do this. Please. We need to go, now." You begged and looked him in the eyes.

"I have to look one more time," he said as gently as he could as he gripped your arm in return. "He has killed so many people. I have never been this close before--it ends now."

"Santiago--" you said, using his full name in a tone you both knew sounded like your mother.

"Go with Frankie," he nodded to the man at your right. "Go downstairs and get ready to--"

"GET DOWN!" 

Tom's voice rang out from the bedroom at the end of the hall and the doorway erupted in an ear shattering blast of automatic fire and flashing lights. Frankie slammed you up against the wall and covered you with his body, bracing his forearms over your head. You made a noise as your back hit the drywall but you knew he didn't mean it--his only goal was to protect you, even though you were the one wearing the kevlar. The action made you remember just how much bigger he was than you as your world went dark and all you felt was the solid plane of his chest and cotton button up. 

There was yelling, more gunfire, you heard Pope yell rapidly in his native tongue and Will said something over the bullets before everything went silent. 

"What the hell are we shooting at?!" Frankie called above your head, loud enough that his voice carried into the bedroom. He looked down at you against his chest, panting hard as his heart raced. “You okay?” he whispered and you nodded. You were so tired of the sound of gunfire.

"Target down!" Tom called back and it made Frankie move back and let you breathe once again. 

The two of you hurried into the bedroom and you gasped as Frankie put his arm out to keep you safely behind him. 

Pope stood in the doorway of a secret safe room that had been hidden behind a large armoire. In the entrance to the hiding space lay Lorea in a pool of his own blood, with a bullet dead center in the middle of his forehead. Call it a hunch, but you knew your brother had made that hell of a shot. Pope had his gun pointed at the unmoving body and the veins in his arms flexed as he readjusted his grip on the weapon. His body went still before he pulled the trigger again, then again, over and over, emptying the entire clip into Lorea's head. Once the narcos was nothing more than a pile of blood and brain matter the gun clicked empty and Pope lowered his arms, hitting the release on the magazine and letting it fall to the floor. 

Frankie approached him slowly and moved his own rifle to one hand so he could touch his friend on the shoulder. "You got him, man."

"He's dead." Pope said flatly and Frankie nodded.

"Good."

A groan came from the other side of the room as Will dropped to one knee with a thud. Everyone turned as they watched the blonde put a hand to his side and pull it back with his own blood painted across his fingers. 

"I'm hit." He grunted, tossing his rifle to the side and working on the straps of his gear. 

You hurried to his side as Tom mirrored your movements and the two of you flanked the man on the ground.

"Where?" Tom said.

"Left side." Will groaned as you helped him lay flat on the ground with his head resting against his backpack.

"Help me get this off, Tom," you said firmly, pulling at the straps of his kevlar that had ridden up just enough to let the bullet go through his lower love handle. You raised up Will's shirt and inspected the wound as warm blood slid down your hand and over your wrist before dripping to the floor. The man hissed as you probbed the wound. "It went straight through."

"Thank fuck," Tom said, looking up as Pope rummaged through his bag and handed you his clot kit. 

"Get it on him, and then we gotta go."

"I'm okay. I'm okay," Will nodded as Pope took Tom's place on his opposite side. Tom and Frankie aimed both of their guns at the door as they heard footsteps. "I told you this was a stupid idea." Will groaned. 

"Yeah, you sure did," Pope chuckled, helping you wrap the stretchy material around his waist and apply pressure. 

Benny came back in and the two guarding the door quickly aimed their guns at the ground. "Church is out--they're back...shit." His eyes got wide as he laid sight on his brother and the blood all over your hands.

"The family is here?" Frankie asked and Benny shook his head.

"No, the first shift of guards."

Once you secured the clotting cloth, Will thanked you with a grip of your arm and a smile that reached his kind, blue eyes. You stood and allowed Benny to take your spot, helping him get his kit back on and slowly make it to his feet. They hadn't brought a stretcher and they definitely couldn't carry him out of here, but the blonde kept repeating that he could make it. 

"Okay, new plan," Pope looked out the window, watching the guards pull up to the house. "we each grab a backpack of cash and we go out through the jungle and around."

"No, no way," Will shook his head and groaned as he got all the way up onto his feet. 

"We are getting Ironhead home safe!" Tom pointed at the blond. "Not trekking him through the jungle. And we are not leaving them any of this fucking money!"

Frankie felt his hands ball into fists as he took a step towards Tom but Pope blocked him with his arm and you took the hint to go stand by him. 

"Right…" Pope said cautiously with a desperate look on his face--talking to Tom like the ticking time bomb that he was. "So, we burn it all down and go."

"There is about a hundred million dollars down there in that van," Tom pointed to the hall. "We are going out the front. We need to hunt and shoot quickly. Call out your kills--I don't want any fucking surprises!"

There was a moment of silence as the two men clearly struggled for who was calling the shots. You tried to breathe evenly as you watched the vein pop in your brother's neck as he stared down Tom. Tom had always been your least favorite of your brother's squad. His hotheaded manner and stubbornness always seemed to get him, and anyone else in his path, in more trouble than they should have. But you stayed next to Frankie and let Pope think this one out.

"We had two objectives--Lorea and (Y/n). Now, I am not putting my sister or Ironhead in more danger for some fucking narcos money."

"Both of them will be in more danger if we drag our sorry asses through that jungle," Tom stepped closer to the other man. "You brought me here to lead--now, I'm not asking, we're not taking a vote, I'm telling you...we're leaving through the front."

The two of them continued to stare at one another before Pope finally backed down with a nod and your stomach dropped to the floor. "Alright."

"Let's get it done," Will said, breathing heavily as he adjusted his rifle in his hands. "Quick and clean. Like always."

"Pope and Frankie, you take (y/n) and go out that way and down through the kitchen. Millers down the front. I'll hang back and keep an eye out--here we go fellas." Tom accentuated each order with a point and gesture of his arm and Frankie looked down at you.

"Get your gun out," he said, lowering his voice as you all started to move in the directions you were told. "Don't shoot first--unless necessary."

"Got it," you nodded, gripping the glock tighter than was needed to keep your hands from shaking. 

You moved swiftly and with purpose. Taking two steps to Frankie's one as you moved down the stairs and through the living room. A short spatter of bullets sounded from the dining room and shortly after, you heard Will's voice through the com on Frankie's ear. "That's two down in the front hall."

The two of you turned the corner and Frankie squeezed the trigger, firing twice into the chest of a guard who crossed his path. "That's three."

Another round of shots and Pope's voice came next, "That's four."

"Back to the main gate. They dropped more guys out there."

Frankie clicked his com, "I'm going out through the kitchen and grabbing the van."

"The kitchen is the wrong way, what are you on about Fish?" Tom's voice came over, confused and irritated.

"I got something I gotta do." He said back and turned to you behind him. "Stay here."

"What??" You said, your voice a little higher than you would have liked it to be.

"I need you to stay here." He tried to be reassuring but your heart started hammering in your chest and the thought of being alone again in this place. The idea of him leaving you for any reason made it even worse. 

"Don't leave me," you shook your head. The fear on your face must have been more evident than you thought because looking at you made him hesitate. 

"You promise that no matter what happens in the next few minutes, you'll do as I say?" He asked and your fear turned increasingly into a mixture of panic. 

"Frankie--"

"Promise me, (y/n)." He said flatly, he was not negotiating.

You nodded, adding in a meek voice, "I promise."

He led the way into the kitchen, his rifle was slung over his shoulder by the strap as he took out another handgun from the holster at his side. The appliances were incredibly outdated but the creamy butter-yellow walls and white cabinets easily made the kitchen the brightest room in the desolate house. You watched Frankie walk around the kitchen island, his gun sweeping the area as he moved into the heart of the room. 

Two men lay on the tile floor, bound and gagged, and you knew exactly who they were. They were two of Lorea's head guards, the ones that shoved you in the van in the middle of the city, the one that hit you, tied you up--and Frankie knew it too. 

He raised his gun and one of the men started to yell around the black electrical tape over his mouth, thrashing his head back and forth wildly. You felt like you were going to be sick. 

"Frankie…" you said, standing next to him and touching his side. 

He lowered the gun ever so slightly and looked at you. "Remember the deal? Whatever I say, right?"

Bile rose in your throat as you saw the hardened look in the eyes of one of the kindest men you have ever known. Those normally warm, coffee-colored eyes were almost black as he looked at you with a locked jaw and unwavering stance. Seeing such emotion in him and how palpable it felt around his aura hurt more than you ever thought it could. Tears burned in the back of your throat as you nodded. You weren't crying for the men on the floor, you were crying to the soul of the man you loved. 

He reached his free arm out and drew you against the shelter of the side of his body. He could feel you tremble against him as you grabbed onto his shirt like the lifeline that it was. 

"Close your eyes and cover your ears," he said, flatly and when he felt you let go of him to do so, he pulled the trigger. 

One shot. Muzzle. Bitch. Two shots. Merchandise. Cunt.  

Two clean shots, echoing in the empty kitchen, hit both of them directly in the center of the forehead. No mistake, no chance, just dead. Frankie felt you jolt against him with each bang and no matter how much he wanted the men at his feet to suffer the way you had suffered, he wouldn't risk making you feel differently about him. The idea that the rage bubbling in his gut could make you look at him in fear was enough to keep his emotions in check. He had done what he needed to do. They would never lay hands on anyone else the way they had laid hands on his girl, no one would ever suffer because of them again--for now, that was enough. 

--

Neither you nor Frankie spoke as you left the mansion and loaded into the van. You watched in the rearview mirror as Tom squeezed the lighter fluid on every inch of the foyer and the curtains that lined the walls. He pulled out a lighter and paused for a moment before flicking it to life and tossing it down. The front of the house quickly engulfed in flames, so bright they burned blue towards the bottom where the heat was the most intense. 

The wipers squeaked in a rhythmic annoyance as you sat in the van and the two of you waited for the rest of them to get the other vehicle. An SUV of guards pulled into the compound and you gripped the console as Pope and Will opened fire, busting the tinted windows and peppering everyone inside with bullets. Each man opened a door and grabbed a now lifeless guard by the shirt and pulled him out to let him slump to the ground like a ragdoll. 

You watched as Tom moved up from the ditch and shot the last guard in another spray of blood that was quickly washed down the rocks by the rain. 

It was suddenly too humid in the car. There was not enough air circulating as your chest felt tight and your breathing increased. It felt as if someone was sitting on top of you. Your hands shook, your eyes burned, and you wanted to claw at your throat to desperately rid yourself of whatever was stuck inside of your windpipe.

"Frankie," you managed to choke out as you started to feel around your vest for the buckles. "Frankie, I can't breathe." 

"Hey, hey," he said softly, turning his body in the seat to face you. Saying your name, he reached out and put his hand over yours as you kept trying to rip at the straps of the kevlar. "Stop. (Y/n) stop."

"I can't--" you started to argue with a shake of your head and you hated how weak your voice sounded. You weren't broken. You could do this. But the silence of the car, paired with finally being in a space of solitude with Frankie, was forcing every fear and thought you had in the last three days to race to the surface. 

"You can," he insisted. "We are not out of the woods yet." He took your hand in his and scooted as close to you as the center console would allow. He put your hand over his heart and made sure you locked eyes with him. "This has to stay on you. You understand? I know what you're feeling and I promise as soon as we get somewhere safe you can fall as hard as you need to and I’ll be there, okay?"

You nodded way too quickly and felt dizzy the moment the motion made your hair bounce. He squeezed the hand he had pressed against his chest and dipped his head to make sure you caught his gaze.

“I’m okay,” you said, not sounding okay in the slightest, but maybe if you said it outloud it would be true.

“I know you are,” he reassured you. “Breathe with me. In through your nose--there it is. Out through your mouth. You got it. Here.” He leaned forward and turned on the A/C, pointing the extra vents at you and breathing became easier once you felt the cool air tickle the strands of your hair. He kept hold of your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it a few times.

“Thank you,” you closed your eyes and leaned back against the headrest continuing to breathe as evenly as you could. 

“No thanks needed, sweetheart,” he said quietly, looking back out the window as Pope gave him a signal to keep moving. “That’s us.” 

You started to pull your hand away so he could drive but he kept his grip on it, balancing them on the gearshift as he moved his freehand to the top of the steering wheel. The unconscious action made you smile a bit. Something as simple as holding his hand over the console of the car reminded you of summer drives in his truck. With rolled down windows and a classic rock station, you could almost smell the wind in the grass and hear the frogs calling along the tree line. You held onto that memory as tightly as you held onto his hand, knowing that it was the only things that were going to get you out of this fucking jungle in one piece.

--

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Hug

Harringrove April prompt day 11, Hug.  Billy can't take any more of his dad, but he gets a softer landing than he expects.

In the trailer, Steve’s fingers had pressed against his chest, and Billy’d followed them.  He laid awake in bed after—as his lip healed, as the skin of his knuckles stopped pulling and stinging where they’d met Steve’s face.

He’d just...touched Billy, with his fingers, pushing him away, and Billy’d wanted to lean in, yank Steve Harrington in like he had on the basketball court, breathing his air.  Billy laid on his bed breathing unevenly, remembering the way Tommy had just thrown an arm around Steve Harrington, rested his weight against him, and the way Steve had leaned into it, grinning and loose.  Billy’s eyes had been on the space between them—the inches, or sometimes nothing as their bodies brushed, or pressed against each other, hot and sweaty over the keg or in the showers.  

His brain had always been on the soft finality in his dad’s voice as Billy’s ears rang, or the ache in his head from getting cracked against the edge of the doorway.  He’d seen Harrington’s hand squeeze Nancy’s shoulder, touching her arm with a smile before walking off to get her a drink.  Billy couldn’t stop thinking about Harrington’s fingers, brushing her cheek.

The bed creaked as Billy scrambled up.  Three o’clock in the morning, and he could not sleep, thinking about Steve Harrington’s fingers pressing lightly on his chest.  He yanked his jacket on—not that denim was gonna do fuck-all in an Indiana winter, but it fitted tightly, and he grabbed the sides of it and yanked it tighter so it squeezed his arms and back, instead of just buttoning it up.

His dad had grabbed it, earlier, shaking Billy before shoving him away, and Billy’d breathed easier, with hands on him.  Neil had grabbed the open edges and yanked, and Billy’d imagined Steve’s fingers, shoving him around.  

“I don’t know how to get through to you anymore,” Neil had whispered in Billy’s ear.  “And I don’t know why I keep trying.”  The tired indifference in his face was worse than the contempt, somehow, and Billy’d grabbed his dad’s shoulder, for once, asking what the hell that meant.  He’d lost his balance when Neil just shoved.

It’d be final, at least, he’d thought for a second, in the vertigo of falling, before his head hit the green-painted brick of the fireplace, his shoulder crashed into the fireplace set as he curled up, and Neil reached across him to pick up the poker.  For a moment, Billy thought it was over, finally.  He’d started laughing, and he spit blood on Neil’s pants, but Neil just tidied the poker stand, hanging up the little shovel and tongs like Billy wasn’t even there.

Maybe he wasn’t, Billy thought, watching as his father walked off into the other room, and Billy was just left there, his ears ringing.  

 The lock on his car was stiff with cold, but it worked eventually, and Billy climbed in, turned the volume up on the Scorpions, and didn’t let himself think until he was halfway to Harrington’s house.  He parked across the street, just sitting there listening to music and taking swigs of a bottle of cheap tequila somebody’d left on his back seat.  

The lights came on inside, and Billy smiled at his radio.  Like always, when he was gonna start shit, his hands shook just a little, so he clenched one on his steering wheel, and one on the bottle of tequila.  Against the lights of the house, Steve looked like a dark shape when he walked out.

Billy switched his car off and got out, leaned back against it, and waved, running his tongue around his teeth.  

“The hell are you doing here,” Steve whisper-shouted, flailing his arms, like an idiot.  He stayed well out of range.  “Fuck off, Hargrove, I’ll call the sheriff, I swear to god—”

“Don’t call your daddy,” Billy whispered, raising his hands.  “Look, Harrington, I’ll be good.  I’ll—” he laughed, staring into Harrington’s wide brown eyes.  “I’ll just stand here.”   

“...what the fuck,” Steve hissed, backing away, and Billy ran around to get between him and his house.

“You can get your own back.  Give you some free hits,” Billy told him, licking his lips as he imagined Steve grabbing his collar, and Steve’s fist connecting with his face.  “Two for flinching, right, Harrington?  Hit me.”

“Are you high,” Steve yelled, backing up.  

“Hit me,” Billy hissed at him, holding his hands up and away.  “Clock me one, go on, Harrington.”

“What are you doing here, fuck off—”

“Hit me,” Billy screamed at him, and Steve shoved him hard and then went inside before Billy even had time to stagger back up to his feet, leaving Billy with a skinned hand and knee in Steve Harrington’s driveway.  “...fuck,” he whispered, not drunk enough to blur anything.  Harrington hadn’t even hit him in the face, he thought vindictively, he’d just walked off.  Billy rolled onto his back, staring up at the stars, and wondered whether Harrington was calling the police.

 He was still there a while later, singing off-key and mostly numb, wondering if he’d turned invisible, when Steve wandered out.  He leaned around the door warily.  “I gotta go to school in the morning.  I’m gonna run you over if you don’t move,” he said, and Billy burst out laughing, clapping his scabbed-up hand over his face. 

“Said I wouldn’t move,” he whispered hoarsely, waving his cigarette.  “Said...go ahead, hit me.”

“...the hell are you doing,” Steve groaned, crouching a few feet away, still out of reach, and Billy curled on his side to face him.  He wondered if Steve would kick him away, if he crawled closer, and started snickering.

“Make us even, right?” Billy asked, baring his teeth in a grin.  “Run me over.  Come on, you fucking pussy, start up your car—”

“Jesus,” Steve sighed, rubbing his face, and Billy ran out of breath watching his long fingers.  “I’m not gonna kill you, christ.  Go home.”

He’d come this far to feel Harrington’s hands on him again, and the thought of going back to his house to be ignored, fucking giving up, and crawling like a pussy back to his room made his his throat even dryer.  He tried not to picture his dad’s reaction to him walking out, and laughed.  

“Hargrove!” Harrington yelled.  “Go home!”

“Not...gonna...happen, Harrington,” Billy told him, taking a long drag on his cigarette.  

“Why are you even here,” Steve hissed, dropping to sit cross legged, and Billy stared at him so long that Steve scrabbled at his hair in frustration.  “Say something, holy crap.”

“...you wanna get back at me,” Billy said gruffly, and reminded himself of holding Steve Harrington down until he stopped moving, stopped breathing, almost.  He was still so warm under Billy’s hands, his lips swollen, his fingers bloodied.  Billy swallowed back a laugh, and some of it got out, shaky and uneven.  His spine still ached from slamming into the doorframe, and his upper arms let him know they were bruised every time he shifted.  “Fuck me up, Harrington, it’s what I’m here f—”

“Go home,” Harrington said, standing up, and Billy pushed himself up, staggering.  

“Wait, you fuck,” he hissed.  “Stop fucking ignoring me—”

“Get the hell out of my face,” Steve hissed.  “You really wanna end up down at the station?”

Billy stomped up and grabbed Harrington by his sweater, clenching it in both hands, and set himself for the blow when Harrington’s hand twitched.  

“...what the hell,” Harrington said, after a few slow seconds of glowering into Billy’s face.  “You’re stretching out my sweater, asshole.”

Billy shook him, and yelled “Hit me,” right up in his face, but Harrington just looked at him like he was a drunk, pathetic waste of time, and Billy clenched his hands harder, gritting his teeth, and hung on as Steve tried to dislodge him.  “Fuck you,” Billy whispered, grappling in closer as his whole body hurt, from getting shoved into the door, shoved into the cement, and his voice got more and more hoarse.  “End it, Harrington,” he whispered, and Steve stared.

“Nobody’s gonna ask where I went,” Billy told him, laughing, and letting go enough to run his thumb over Harrington’s parted lips.  Steve jerked his head back, glowering, and Billy winced, grinning as he waited for the blow.  “Come on, Harrington,” he whispered, yanking Steve close until their lips almost brushed.  “What do I gotta do, huh?”

“...what’s going on,” Steve blurted, as Billy let go of his sweater, and smoothed it back down, waiting for Steve Harrington’s dumb brain to figure out what Billy was doing.  

“Nothing,” Billy whispered, hoarsely.

“Why’re you here trying to die,” Steve hissed.  “What is this shit, Hargrove—” His hands were up between his chest and Billy’s, waiting, and Billy let himself tip into them, feeling Steve Harrington’s fingers against his skin where he hadn’t buttoned his jacket.  He grunted a little, deep in his throat, and Steve jerked his hands away.

Steve moving his hands meant Billy stumbled into him, right against his chest, and Billy’s heart stopped, it felt like, for a second, feeling Harrington warm and solid against him.  Smelling Harrington—his hairspray, his soap-and-laundry smell, because Billy’d woken him up—made it feel like he’d fallen out of reality, just down the rabbit hole where guys didn’t murder you for climbing into their arms.  

Somewhere with soft landings.  

He drew a shuddery breath, closing his eyes, and then another, waiting for Steve to grab his hair, or something—shove him away again, and kick him on the ground, maybe, but Steve didn’t move, and Billy’s breaths were starting to sound like some little shitheel, whining when he didn’t get his way.  He bit his lips together, trying to control himself, get his lungs to work normally, instead of gasping like there wasn’t enough air in the world.

“...the fuck are you doing, Harrington,” he choked out, “Fucking...end me,” and Steve just stood there like a post.  Billy brought his hand up, slowly, and gripped the bottom hem of Steve’s sweater.  When nothing happened, except Steve’s shallow breathing, Billy opened his eyes, staring at the tears smearing on the green wool of Steve’s sweater.  He took another gulping breath as Steve’s arm moved, but he just grabbed the arm Billy wasn’t touching him with.  

“Did something...happen,” Steve asked him, just—just letting Billy Hargrove fucking cry on him, and Billy shook his head, wishing something had.  “Is Max okay?”

“...’m just like this,” Billy whispered, snickering, and clenching his fist harder in Steve’s sweater.  Steve was warm against him, and as it started to sink into his skin, Billy started shivering, hard.  “F-fuuuck,” he muttered, sniffling.  “You can kill me now,” he said, giggling.

“Just like what,” Steve asked, still trying to figure him out, and Billy shoved away and laughed again, a weird, wet noise all up in his sinuses.  He bent over and leaned his hands on his knees, trying to steady himself, and then saw Steve’s sneakers at the edge of his vision, and stumbled back.  

Steve grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him towards the door, Billy staggering along.  He stumbled over the shoes inside the door, kicking his own off when he saw Steve do it, but Steve yanked him back upright, pushing him into a kitchen where the oven light illuminated polished, handle-less cabinets.  Billy stood there, looking around at the darkness of the rest of the house, and then Steve was yanking at his jacket.  He shook Billy, hard.  

“Why the hell are you outside my house trying to—to get run over, or something,” Steve hissed, and Billy shrugged, wishing he’d had more to drink.  

“Why aren’t you doing it?” he asked, grinning his sluttiest grin, and Steve growled, and yanked on his jacket again, yanking it off. 

He tossed it away, and then grabbed the bottom of his own sweater and yanked it off over his head, and right-side out.  “The fuck is wrong with you,” Steve muttered, sighing impatiently, and flapping the sweater on Billy’s head.  “You’re like a wild animal or—”

“What,” Billy mumbled, “—the fuck are you doing—” waving his hands, a little, as Steve jerked the sweater down over his face, and the wool got in Billy’s mouth, and caught on his earring.  Billy sniffled juicily and hugged himself inside it without putting his arms through the sleeves, breathing in Steve Harrington’s smells, and let Steve put a hand on each of his shoulders and walk him into another dark room.  

“Stay,” he said, and Billy barked, laughing, but waited to see what would happen next, in this weird world he’d found down the rabbit hole.  He wondered if Steve would chop off his head, and snickered at the image.

“You gonna tame me, Harrington?” he asked, still shivering hard, but he squinted around, trying to memorize the sounds and smells of Harrington’s house.  The fridge hummed in the darkness, and he could smell dust, and something that had burned in the oven.  

Then some vents turned on, and Steve threw something around his shoulders—a quilt, or something, it felt like, not too heavy.  Steve grabbed his elbows again, pushing him backwards until he thudded against the wall—over a heating vent, he realized, as the metal dug into his feet.  Billy laughed sharply as the blanket around him inflated like Marilyn Monroe’s skirt in the subway pictures, and started to fall off.  

Steve wrapped it around him again and held it there, his hands on Billy’s arms as everything filled with warm air—blasting up through his socks and toasting his feet, up his pant legs, and filling the space around him under the blanket with what felt like hot clouds wrapped around him.  He swallowed hard again as his eyes adjusted slowly to see Steve’s intent face in the darkness.  He looked confused, mostly, and Billy giggled harder, trying to keep it silent, as tears dripping down his face.

Steve’s hands on Billy’s elbows were firm, and Billy caught himself leaning in again, shifting his feet to force himself back upright, snorting a laugh, but Steve’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward on his own, so Billy could lean awkwardly against him, held apart by his own arms inside Steve’s sweater.  Steve just had a white t-shirt on, and he smelled even more like clean laundry in the dry heat of the vents, like he’d been curled up in bed before Billy’d crawled out of his own bed, and fallen down the rabbit hole.  

He shifted to hold the blanket—one hand on Billy’s bicep, drawing him closer still, and the other one on the back of his shoulder, and Billy gave in, like he always did, and let his face rest against Harrington’s shoulder and neck, sighing.  Steve stroked his back, gently, like a habit.

It was so warm.

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

[auroralightsthesky]

I know who you are (Hoosier x Reader)

Summary: You and Hoosier have known each other since the beginning, but the one person he hasn’t met, he feels that he has known for a lifetime (Modern AU)

 The waves crashed outside, just barely a few yards away from the home you and Hoosier lived in. Moving to the tropics from Indiana had been the best decision you two had ever made, no more dealing with the cold or ice and certainly no more having to shovel the driveway. Oh sure the rainy season had its problems that came with it, but without the rain you wouldn’t have been able to see the colorful landscape in all its glory.

You could hear the jungle frogs and crickets chirping away as the late afternoon began to turn to sunset. You wanted to get up and walk out to the shores but your feet were so swollen that you couldn’t stand the thought of walking for more than a few minutes. Your unborn child rolled and kicked inside of you, eager to get out and see the island paradise that you, Hoosier and so many of your friends and family called home.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding little guy,” you groaned.

It wouldn’t stop. The kicking just grew worse, even when you heard the bedroom door open and saw Hoosier making his way in, fresh from the shore, his blonde hair dampened from being dried by the heat of the sun. “You ok hon?” he asked.

“Squirt won’t stop using my gut as a punching bag,” you replied.

Hoosier smirked and made his way to your bed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He laid his head down on your swollen belly, his hand gently resting near his cheek. You knew that whenever he did this it meant that you’d be able to get a brief break and be able to breathe, but when you heard Hoosier’s voice as he began singing, you felt a tear welling in your eye. It was as sweet as rain in the sun, a song you had heard once before when you and Hoosier had watched an endless string of movies on a day when there was nothing else to do. But now it meant something more to you both. 

“ Ou mata e matagi Ou loto mamaina toa Manatu atu Taku pelepele Pa mai to mafanafanaga Saolotoga tenei Manatunatu Ki tamafine Maua ai te lumanai Ki tamafine Ou mata e matagi “

You raked your fingers through his dark gold hair as he sang, deeply moved by the words and the sound of his voice. It wasn’t long before the little one finally stopped and fell still, soothed by the sound of their father’s voice. You and Hoosier rested against each other for a long time, happy and content with the world around you....even if it was for a short time. 

                                                  ***********

The weeks came and went until one sweltering day in late June. Your daughter was born in the early hours of the morning, just as the sun was coming up on the horizon. You had never seen Hoosier cry before, but he couldn’t help it. The minute he held her in his arms, she became the most precious thing in the world to him. It wasn’t long before Leckie, Runner and Chuckler came to the house to visit the two of you, eager to see their niece who lay skin-to-skin with you, covered only by the pink blanket Hoosier’s mother had made for her some months before she was born. 

“Holy shit,” Chuckler remarked. “She’s got (y/n)’s nose.” 

“And her Daddy’s mess of hair,” Leckie chuckled. 

With Leckie and Chuckler on both sides, Hoosier next to you and Runner leaning against the foot of the bed, you leaned your head against Hoosier’s shoulder, happy to be surrounded by your closest friends. Your daughter began to stir, a tiny whimper escaping her throat as her face scrunched up, ready to let loose a loud cry at any given second. “Hoosh?” 

“Hey,” he said. “I’ve got this.” 

Just as he had a few weeks before, Hoosier sang that familiar song, brushing aside a few strands of delicate hair on his daughter’s head. A peaceful hush fell over the room as she went quiet, recognizing her father’s voice as her tiny fingers curled around a strand of your hair. You, Leckie, Chuckler and Runner joined in, remembering every word as your voices sang her back to sleep. 

“ Ou mata e matagi Ou loto mamaina toa Manatu atu Taku pelepele Pa mai to mafanafanaga Saolotoga tenei Manatunatu Ki tamafine Maua ai te lumanai Ki tamafine Ou mata e matagi “

Endnote: Yes, my love for the Disney film “Moana” knows no bounds, out of all the most recent Disney movies this one is my absolute favorite!!. I was listening to the piece “An Innocent Warrior” and couldn’t help but picture Hoosier singing this (I’ve heard Jacob Pitts has an amazing voice). I do have the English translation if you guys are curious and for those of you who have not heard this wonderful song, I will provide a link. I really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 

English Translation

“ Your eyes so full of wonder Your heart an innocent warrior There’s a task for you My dearest one Let it flow over you This freedom you feel And your deep thoughts Our young girl You have come Our young girl Your eyes so full of wonder “ 

Link to song (here)

[doyouever-daydream]

Earth Day Surprises

A/N So here I am bringing another Luna oneshot inspired by Earth Day and Kirsten’s Pie Chart and well, I usually get ideas for fics on dates like this and never write them but today I had the time so yeah. 

This could work as part two of Birthday wishes BUT could also be read as one installment. Uhm, btw, I might also have an idea for how Luna’s birth went down so that’s why there’s a nod to that story at the end, would you like to read it?

Pairing: Penelope Garcia x Luke Alvez

Warnings: None, I think.

Word count: 2647 (Oof I usually write like 900w)

Masterlist

It was a Wednesday morning and the smell of pancakes invaded the Alvez home, it was a rare occasion where they could be together during the morning on a weekday but then again these were rare times, Penelope shook her head trying not to think about what was going on and calling her daughter who was getting dressed in her bedroom.

“Baby, breakfast is ready” Penelope called for her while pouring herself a cup of coffee and sitting on the stool waiting for her.

It took five year old Luna a good ten minutes till she appeared in the kitchen wearing denim overalls, a hat and gardening boots, she had asked her mom to braid her hair first thing in the morning before she even brushed her teeth and Penelope happily agreed to do so, she looked adorable in the outfit and carrying Sergio in her arms.

“It’s Earth Day, mommy! I put a sticker on my calendar so I wouldn’t forget!” She announced with a big smile on her face and the cat jumped to go and eat from his bowl.

“It is indeed, I’m happy you’re excited” Penelope mirrored the smile on her daughter’s face, ever since she knew she was going to be a mom she wished to raise her to be earth-friendly, Luke had jumped on board with the idea and they had done a good job so far.

“I want to see if my seeds are finally good to pot them” She exclaimed happy while she climbed on the stool beside her mom “And I want to water all my plants and I want to play in the garden, I also want to pick flowers and see if any more lemons have grown and see if the butterfly has left the cocoon, OH, I WANT TO PLAY FOSSILS” Luna was overly excited about the day ahead.

“Ok, my little explorer, but to do all those things you need energy, now eat your pancakes” She pushed the plate that was Luna’s towards her and she immediately dug in, it took a moment for Roxy to stood on the counter hoping they’d share their food, which made Luna realize someone was missing.

As she looked around she confirmed Luke was nowhere in sight and with a furrowed brow she asked “Where’s daddy?” 

“He had to go to work but only for a few hours” Luna eyes shot up “He’s not going anywhere, I promise”

“He’s not supposed to leave the house” She informed her mom while she took a sip of her orange juice.

“Your aunt Emily really needed him to go besides he’s going to pick up food, we cannot starve and you need lots of veggies and fruits so you grow super strong”

“We should grow them in our yard!” Penelope had a knowing smile but remained silent “I need all the vitamins to be super strong so I can rescue animals, mommy” Recently Luna was determined to be a veterinarian and it made both of her parent’s happy to see her discovering what she wanted to be, maybe she would change her mind or maybe not but either way seeing her being so passionate about animals was endearing.

“Ah, yes, you will need vitamins but also you’ll need to go to college and for that you need to do today’s schoolwork” As the words left Penelope’s mouth, Luna’s face showed no interest.

“I did it yesterday! Today’s Earth Day” She now had a pout and stopped eating.

“Sorry to inform you, sweetheart but even today we do schoolwork, you’re learning to do sums, isn’t that exciting?” Penelope finished her pancakes and went to put her plate on the sink.

“It is not, I already know how to do that, two plus two equals four” Penelope smiled at her “Seven plus two equals nine” She tried to impress her mom.

“Good! You are doing great, baby, but you have to keep on practicing so you can do bigger sums”

“I know how to do that, I even know how to multiply, 13 times 379 equals 4927” Luna said with determination and a huge grin on her face seeing her mom was finally impressed,  Penelope feigning surprise, she came closer to her daughter while she put on a surprised face.

“You, my little precious girl” She tapped Luna’s nose with her finger “Memorized that from Matilda, you and your daddy watch it all the time” Luna’s face fell as she made complaint noises “You have an amazing memory, I’ll give you that” 

“Thirteen plus eight equals…” She quickly counted with her fingers “Twentyone”

“That’s  right, I tell you, you keep practicing and you’ll get even better” The little girl sighed “Today your teacher wants to do a video call with you and your friends, that’s exciting” Luna’s face lit up and she finished  her pancakes ready to start her day.

A few hours later, Luna had done her schoolwork with her mom working beside from her laptop, so whenever she needed help she could easily ask.

The five year old had a Zoom meeting with the rest of her classmates and teacher, it was a sweet sight for Penelope, she knew Luna missed going to school and seeing her friends, after all she took after her when it came to being social, she wasn’t that shy and reserved as her dad, Luna was always trying to be friends with other kids and told anyone who would listen stories about her life, whether it was about that time they visited her daddy’s family in New York or the new bird’s nest that was in her backyard, she had a way getting into conversations with anyone about anything.

A little before lunch, they all heard Luke’s truck pulling up on the driveway, Roxy immediately started barking and Luna ran to the window followed by Sergio who watched curiously outside.

“Daddy’s here” Luna wanted to open the door but her parents always told her she shouldn’t do that so she waited anxiously for her dad to come through the door but after a few minutes there was no sight of him.

“Come on, Lu, let’s go out back” She extended her hand and Luna happily took it as she jumped up and down wondering what was happening. 

On the sideway of their house, his dad truck was parked with two small trees on the back, Luke stood there waiting to see his girl’s reaction.

“Are we going to plant trees?” She asked with wide eyes to both of her parents.

“We are, we needed more additions to our tree family, what do you think?” Luke informed her and Luna started to jump up and down “Alright, I’m gonna go wash my hands and change my clothes and then I’ll come to take this to the garden, now go and choose with your mom a good place for them”

“YES!” Her parents laughed as she ran to the back of the garden, Roxy and Sergio following her to see what the fuss was all about

“Who would’ve thought our daughter loved Earth Day as much as she loves Christmas?” Penelope joked and Luke looked incredulously at her.

“With you as her mom, are you even surprised?” She raised her eyebrows “It’s not a bad thing, I actually love her being like this” Penelope watched as Luna grabbed her gloves and tried to put them up.

“Let me go and help her before she starts to dig in with her bare hands” She turned to Luke “Go and change, we have a long day ahead”

When Luke returned to the backyard his entire family was there, Luna and Penelope were already holding shovels and digging while Roxy was in a totally different spot digging a hole and Sergio watched all of them, unbothered as always.

“Daddy, we want them here” She looked up and beneath her hat, he could see her eyes shine with joy and some dirt on her cheeks.

“Wherever you want them, princess, now let me go and bring them” Luke proceeded to carry the small trees and the soil bags he had also bought.

They dug the holes and Luna was over the moon, seeing the new members of their garden, they had a picnic on their garden and then returned to work, once they planted the trees, she insisted on hugging them carefully so they would feel welcome in their new home.

“Ok, sweetheart, so this will be your tree” Penelope signaled the tree on the right “And many, many years from now we’ll come out here and we’ll see how much your tree has grown” She nodded excitedly unable to take the eyes off of it.

“And whose tree is this?” Luke wondered as he walked behind her wrapping his arms around her waist, she leaned back on his chest and sighed.

“Ours” He kissed her head and they continued the celebration.

“We have one more surprise for you, princess” At this statement Luna finally turned to pay attention to her parents.

“Daddy picked up some seeds so we can plant them and take care of them” Luna smiled big for a moment and then she looked sad “What’s wrong, Lu?” Penelope worried.

“Roxy chew my gardening tools the other week” As if Roxy knew exactly what she meant her ears bent down and whimpered.

“Ah, you see, we remembered that, and that’s why we got you a new set of gardening tools” Luna looked as if she was about to cry of happiness, something she had done before, just like her mom.

“And they’re yellow, my favorite color” She exclaimed as she took them from mom.

Luke bent down and whispered in Penelope’s ear “Wasn’t her favorite color, purple?”

“Oh, newbie, that was last week” She teased him and he laughed at the nickname he could never live down, not even as husband and wife, she would forget it “Now, let’s get to it”

They explained to her that the seeds were for different vegetables, and that if they took good care of them, they would be eat the vegetables from their produce. Luna had a journal, she made drawings but had her mommy writing in it which vegetables they were trying to grow and what date it was so they wouldn’t forget.

“How come you never ask me to write in it, Lu?” Luke asked as he crossed his arms and Luna told her mom exactly what to write.

“Your handwriting isn’t that good, daddy, but it’s ok, we can practice together so we have nice handwriting like mommy’s” Penelope laughed soundly and kept writing careful not to mess it up so Luna would still trust her with the task “Thank you for making this a great day, I love Earth Day, I want all Earth Days to be like this”

“Oh, you just ask, baby, I will fill this with trees if that’s what you want” Luke confessed to which his little girl just laughed and reached her arms up to him.

Luke picked her up, he wished Luna would always want him to hold her “I love you, daddy” She kissed her cheek and yawned.

“También te amo, corazón” He kissed her hair and put her down so she could go with Penelope.

“I love you, mommy” She hugged Penelope and Penelope, felt tears coming to her eyes, not once she took for granted how lucky she was to be Luna’s mom.

“I love you too, baby, with all my heart and soul, now, it’s time for a bath”

After they had dinner, bathed Luna and put her to bed, they also took a shower and had some leftover cake they all had baked the other day, a little after Luke found himself leaning on the doorframe, looking at the backyard, he remembered how when they got the house it was empty, it was just a bunch of dirt but Penelope had been so excited to turn it into somewhere nice so they could have people over, a few years later and they envisioned their own family being there and now actually enjoying it with their daughter was incredible.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Penelope stood beside him with a cup of tea.

“Just admiring the garden” He placed an arm on her shoulders and brought her closer to  him.

“It looks good, isn’t it? I always knew watching Yard Crashers would pay off” She joked and remembered how she would force Luke to watch it with her until he admitted he liked it too.

“The trees will look great once they grow a little bit more” He could picture both of them providing more shade.

“When I was little, my parents planted a tree and told me it was mine to take care of and to watch it grow and so I did” She swallowed “At one point all I had left of them was that tree, I tried to take it with me when I had to move out of the house but I obviously couldn’t but the new owners asked me about it and I told them the story so they kept it, and they told me that I could always go and visit it and it may sound silly but I did, I visited there, it was easier than going to the cemetery and I felt…” She trailed off as the tears came down “I don’t know, a connection to them, to my childhood, so that’s why I needed them to have their own tree”

Luke remained silent assimilating the story, she had never told him that before and he just took her in her arms and allowed her to cry, after a few minutes something clicked in his brain.

“Them?” He asked as he looked for her eyes, she was calmer.

“I’ve been having suspicions for a week and the other day I went to buy Tylenol for Lu, I bought a bunch of tests, they were all positive” The tears of sadness were now replaced by tears of happiness and relief, they’ve been trying ever since Luna had asked them for a baby brother, it had been almost ten months since, they went to doctors, they did tests and treatments.

“How far long do you think you are?” Luke was in shock and overwhelmed.

“I’m not sure, a month? Two? Maybe Santa Claus will make Luna’s wish come true instead of the birthday fairy” She cried and laughed at the same time, Luke locked his lips with hers, they’ve been looking forward to extending their family and the road hadn’t been an easy one but finally it was becoming a reality.

She melted in the kiss, feeling extremely happy to finally share the news with him, she wanted to tell him ever since she took the test a little before he arrived from Quantico, they were beginning another adventure and both were sure it was going to be absolutely amazing.

As they pulled apart their foreheads remained together “That’s why I asked for two trees, one for Lu and one for this little peanut” Penelope confessed and Luke grinned.

“Think about how excited Luna was for today, wait till we tell her she’s going to be a big sister” Luke couldn’t wait but he knew he had to wait for at least a few weeks.

“I know! She’ll have us counting down the days till the baby is here” She thought about her reaction and laughed.

Luke couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, after seeing her struggle so much with the treatments it was finally happening and he wanted to be there for her every second of it. His mind went back to the story of Luna’s birth and although now it was somehow funny, when it happened he was scared he might miss it but he wouldn’t let that happen again.