#damn those dog tags spin off

[horseshoegirl]

Way Down We Go

(Bradley Bradshaw OneShot from Damn Those Dog Tags)

💛 AN: Just a little bonus chapter; you do not have to read it if you do not want to. I hope you do, though, cause I did a thing I had not planned on doing with this (Not the smut). Liz is not written in the second person, as this can be read separately from Damn Those Dog Tags.

Special thank you to @desert-fern and @startrekfangirl2233 for checking this over while I was sick!

THIS IS PURE FILTH. SO WHEN I SAY STAY OUT IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, I MEAN IT!

❗18+ (Minors DNI!!), Strong language, Smut (Oral, Unprotected Sex), Original Female Character, Divorced Female Character, Mentions of Original child character, Bradley working through childhood trauma and the events of Part 13 of DTDT, mentions of name calling.

#8.7 K

📜 Rooster knows he fucked up. Badly. If it wasn't for Sadie kicking him out, the entire team standing with Jake was surely it. With nowhere else to go, Bradley finds himself knocking on the front door of the one person he knows he could confide in. Even if she tells him what he doesn't want to hear.

Sadie's teary-eyed face haunted Bradley the second he pulled out of Liz's driveway.

He couldn't escape it. No matter how much he stomped on the gas pedal or how loud he turned up the radio to blast 80s music, nothing could remove the sheer devasted look on her face as she told him to get out.

He knew he wasn't paying attention as he drove. Cars honked. Yellow stop lights went ignored. He forgot to turn his blinker on as he changed lanes or turned corners without so much as stopping.

It was a miracle no roadside police or highway patrol pulled him over. But Sadie, forgoing calling him her uncle or even by his callsign, hurt him badly. He couldn't have cared less if he obeyed the rules of the road.

It wasn't until he came to a stop sign at a four-way intersection Bradley suddenly slammed his brakes hard, the tires of his Bronco skidding to a halt. He hit his hands off the steering wheel, letting out a guttural roar of pure frustration.

Liz had lied. And the whole team had taken Hangman's side. Did they not get it? Did they not understand that Hangman would leave them out to dry the second he got what he wanted?

He had a tally. And Rooster could only remember the nights he watched every single one of the bartenders before Liz quit because Hangman broke their hearts.

It was only a matter of time before Liz was next. Before Sadie was next.

A broken heart over whatever her relationship was with him would be better than the alternative.

But he couldn't deny he was hurt. Was he angry at them? At Liz? Sadie, concussed and still sassing the hell out of him, because even a ten-year-old saw through his bullshit? Or was he angry at himself? Cause maybe deep down, Sadie doing exactly that made Bradley realize just how badly he had fucked up.

Staying at the intersection for a little while, Bradley rested his head against the top of the steering wheel, trying to control his breathing and fight the ache in his chest. Until he gathered the strength to lift his head and stare out at the roads in front of him, realizing the choice he needed to make.

He could turn back around, even if he shouldn't. He could turn left and go to Maverick. But Mav would call him out on what he said, and Bradley didn't want to relive the same look of utter disappointment that wrecked Sadie's face on Pete's.

Seeing it on one person he cared about was enough.

He could go straight and go home to be alone with his thoughts, with nothing but misery for company.

But looking right, Bradley realized he had a third option, despite only seeing her within the context of Liz and Sadie. An address stood out in the back of his mind. He had dropped Sadie off there enough times to remember the route without having to look it up, and he wasn't sure why he suddenly had the urge to seek her out now. 

Maybe he knew she would listen to him when no one else would. And right now, the last thing Bradley wanted was to be alone.

The impulse was too strong. He decided to turn right.

Bradley found himself on auto-pilot as he drove, maybe a little more numb or spaced out than the road rage he had before. It wasn't until he pulled into the driveway of the little white-panelled house did his emotions suddenly seem to quiet down.

The wind had slightly picked up, rustling the red, white, and blue flag hanging off one of the support beams on the front porch. Bradley fixed his eyes on it as he climbed out of his Bronco and up the walkway, pausing at the first step.

She had a way of making him feel welcome since the first day he came to pick Sadie up from school. She made him laugh as she called him out on his shit or teased him for flirting with the other school moms as the pair waited for Will and Sadie. 

The thought hurt, knowing Liz would probably follow through with her long-standing threat of revoking his Sadie privileges, not that she really needed to.

Sadie had made it clear enough. He was clearly unwanted. 

But New Year’s Eve stood out in Bradley’s mind, the night he found himself thinking about repeatedly. If it wasn’t the quick celebratory pluck on the lips the two of them shared, it was the time they spent together simply talking in the hours afterwards. About everything and anything, no judgment whatsoever. 

Bradley sometimes wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips again.

Properly this time.

The memory of that conversation led him to step up onto her porch and knock his knuckles against the door. But in waiting for her to open the door, he bit his bottom lip hard. What were the chances Liz had called her over the past hour, telling her everything he had done? Everything he had said? There was a good chance she wouldn’t even come to the door.

Pacing back and forth, he started questioning why he had decided to come here, wondering if he had enough time to leave without being caught. Once she found out what he said, there was no question she'd want to add her name to the growing list of people who never wanted to see him again.

But it was too late for him to turn around. Just as he went to take that first step toward the walkway, the door opened.

Alyssa, wrapped in a silky white robe, was shocked to see Bradley standing on the other side of her door. Not that she minded; she had been crushing hard on the piano-playing aviator since he started picking Sadie up from school. But outside of Sadie and Liz, Rooster didn't have very many reasons to seek her out.

The first thing she noticed about him was the pure look of devastation permanently etched across his face as he turned to face her. His eyes were rimmed red, and his hair was a mess like he had raked his fingers through the strains multiple times. Even the confidence she always found to radiate off him was absent, and she wouldn't be surprised to learn he had paced across the deck multiple times before deciding to knock.

It was that one look that told her everything she needed to know.

"What did you fuck up?"

Bradley reared back. "That obvious?"

"You show up on my doorstep close to nine at night with your tail between your legs. You wouldn't be coming to me, of all people, had you not done something to piss off your entire team. Liz included."

He looked past her and into her front hallway. "Where's Will?"

"At his father's," she said unamused, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at him pointedly.

Taking one look at her, Bradley suddenly felt small. Alyssa was Liz’s friend. She would no doubt side with her.

"I can leave," he said, his voice full of resignation. With his hands raised, he stepped backwards, proceeding down the two steps of her front porch.

Alyssa frowned. "I asked you a question, Bradley. That's not me kicking you off my front porch."

Bradley froze, his face crumbling at her words. It made Alyssa pause, wondering if she had been a little too harsh. Whatever happened, it was clear Bradley had nobody else.

He wouldn’t have come to her otherwise.

Without taking her eyes off him, she stepped backwards, leaving her front door open and walked towards her kitchen. "I've got tea on the stove," she called out, voice carrying out the front door. "Or I have something stronger if that suits you better."

Bradley hesitated, watching her retreat back inside. Something about that open door was calling to him, beckoning him to take her up on her offer. He knew he'd have to explain what happened to her, and at one point on his drive over, he knew it was possible she'd react exactly the same way Sadie did.

But instead, she was here, willing to listen.

It was enough.

Stepping back up those front two steps, Bradley found himself walking through her open door, quietly shutting it behind him. Rounding the corner of her hallway, Alyssa had her back to him, taking a bright red kettle off the stove. She reached up to a cupboard above her head, opening the door to pull out a white mug before turning around to greet him.

"Pick your poison."

He eyed her mug. "So long as it's not tea. I can't handle something that weak."

Alyssa scoffed, turning back around to pour the hot water into the mug. She was methodical as she worked, adding her tea bag and unscrewing a jar of honey, taking a spoon through the gooey liquid before adding it to her tea.

"Who said I take this weak?" she remarked, walking over and reaching for the bottle of whiskey she had tucked away in the back corner. "Clearly, you've never had a hot toddy before."

She unscrewed the cap as she walked, pouring a good amount into her drink. If Bradley showed up at her door wanting to talk, she was clearly going to need some liquid courage to help her through whatever problems he brought with him.

Alyssa poured Bradley his own glass, approaching him with her arm outstretched and placing it into his hand.

"Spill Bradshaw," She remarked, picking up her mug and cradling it in between her hands, leaning over her island next to him. "We got all night."

Bradley looked down, sloshing the liquid around in the glass before bringing it up to his lips. He tilted his head back, allowing himself to relish in the burn down the back of his throat.

He told her what happened—all of it. 

The booth on New Year's Eve. Why Hangman was at the Hard Deck on a Friday afternoon when the rest of the Squad was elsewhere. At the hospital. How he hesitated to leave Sadie's hospital room, turning back around only to see Hangman with his arms wrapped tightly around Liz in an intimate manner.  

Alyssa listened the best she could, as much as she wanted to pick up one of her cookbooks and whack him over the head at his stupidity. She, instead, stared down at her tea, biting her lip as she resisted the urge to butt in. It was clear Bradley had nobody to talk to about how he felt about all this.

He had bottled this up for far too long, and she knew if she did anything to make him stop, he'd never come to her or trust her again.

But Alyssa didn't know if it was out of pity or a reaction to his sheer idiocy when she poured him a second drink when he got to the fight—being invited to dinner. Hangman interacting with Liz. Sadie curled so tightly into his side as she slept. It didn't make sense how he suddenly fit in with the two of them. So when Sadie asked to be excused, he saw his opportunity to get the answers he so desperately wanted. He had followed her inside, wanting to find out what she knew.

Only he never made it.

Because the door to Liz's bedroom was left wide open, and the presence of a bag lying open next to the bed was enough. He had seen that bag enough times on deployments to know it was Jake's.

Bradley saw red; its presence confirmed every single lie Liz had told him, every aversion or subject change when answering his questions. She had lied to him, and he felt betrayed. Storming out of her hallway, he saw Jake talking with Nat, Liz's name on his lips. 

Nothing else mattered when he stormed down her hallway, Bradley shouting in Jake's face. Jake had pushed him back. Nat got between the two of them. Then Liz appeared, and her concern for Sadie was more important than the reason why he might be yelling. 

Bradley couldn't stop rambling, recounting each yell, each shout, that echoed in Liz’s front hallway. It was like someone turned on a tap and broke the handle, Bradley hardly stopping to breathe. The whole team had known and defended the relationship. It would have been one thing for Liz to have lied and slept with him; it was another to find Jake’s bag in her room and verbal confirmation it was more than just a tumble in the sheets.

And Liz, so furious, ripping into him. How she backed him into an imaginary corner, opened him up piece by piece, and got him on the edge of admitting his friction with Jake, with his involvement with her, was more than an extension of their professional rivalry. 

Bringing up his father. His mother. 

He couldn't even look Alyssa in the eye when he told her what he said to Liz. The gasp was enough, reminding him of the damage he wrought. And Sadie, who had been watching, who stepped out from behind Bob while clearly in pain, gripping Hangman’s leg and demanding he leave. 

Alyssa couldn't help but smile into her mug when Bradley told her Sadie had kicked him out. By the time he had finished his story, Bradley was out of breath, tipping back the rest of his whiskey in one angry gulp.

"Well, that's fucked up."

"That she choose Hangman?"

"Not her, you, you fucking idiot!" Reaching over her island, she pushed him hard on his shoulder. "Liz isn't like that!

Bradley gripped his glass precariously by the tips of his fingers, dangling it back and forth while staring into the empty glass, preparing himself for the verbal punishment he knew he deserved.

"Seriously, why the hell would you say something like that, Bradley? Heaven forbid we need to change your last name to Bradshit."

He rolled his eyes. "Nice."

"You deserve it! God, you're worse than most of the kids in Will's class!"

"His bag was right there!"

"Because fucking Tyler!" She shouted. "I didn't hear you offering to stay with them! Liz feels the safest when she's with people, you damn well know this!"

He did know it. Liz wouldn’t have survived if he and Nat had not volunteered to go with her when Ridley passed away.

Alyssa was angry at him. Rightly so, in her opinion. She couldn't even look him in the face, turning to walk away and place her mug in her kitchen sink when she spat, "I know you and Jake don't see eye to eye on things, but you're not Liz's keeper. If she wants to date him, let alone fuck him, then stay the hell out of her way."

It’s unusual for Bradley to be this silent, especially when he was the one being discussed, always willing to pitch in and be a storyteller. Or when there was a large crowd, especially at the hard deck, he’d find a way or sit at the piano, turning everyone's heads to be the centre of their attention.

Alyssa thought maybe he was contemplating the consequences of his actions when she added, “Liz might be shit at handling her emotions, but she’d never put Sadie at risk. Why the hell would you compare her to your mom?”

She knows she’s rambling. Raging even. And yet, Bradley hasn’t said a word. She sighs, knowing Bradley would continue with the silent treatment if she continued yelling at him like this.

Turning around, Bradley had his back to her, head hanging low as he leaned against the counter. Then the first jolt racked his body, and Alyssa realized he was crying. 

"Bradley..." she cooed softly. Leaving her mug on the counter, she slid her hand along the cool surface as she walked, settling herself next to Bradley by leaning upon the granite and balancing herself against her hands.

 Standing beside him, she realized just how much bigger he was than her, towering over her with broad shoulders and biceps almost the size of her head. And looking down at both of their hands, side by side, she knew without a doubt his entire hand would engulf hers. However, she's never felt small in her life standing next to a man, let alone next to a complicated one such as Bradley.

"I'm going to tell you something. Something Liz would kill me for, but you need to know."

Bradley turns his head at her voice, still keeping it low, hoping she couldn't see his tears. Alyssa sighs once before admitting, "Liz is a virgin, Bradley. She hasn't slept with anyone. And Jake knows this."

It doesn't come as a surprise to Bradley that she knew. But he still shakes his head. He really was the last to know everything.

"You knew. Like everyone else."

"I'm her friend, Bradley," she rolled her eyes. "Of course, I knew."

She saw it coming a mile away. If it wasn't the night at the Hard Deck, it was Jake picking up Sadie from school. And Sadie's attempts at matchmaking, but Bradley didn't need to know that.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" he asks, voice cumbersome.

"Because you've only seen what you've wanted to see."

“What I’m seeing now after hearing that is Liz being heartbroken when she gives him her first time and he leaves her.”

"Why are you so caught up on the idea that Jake is going to leave her?" she asks heatedly, ignoring his comment. "Don't you think he would have run for the fucking hills by this point, given everything that has happened?"

Her line of questioning was logical, and it only made it worse for Bradley. Because he couldn't come up with any response to counter her that wouldn’t sound childish. Yet, he still couldn't help but recite the words, "He's not good for them."

"And you aren't?" she scoffed. "Cause it's sure as hell not looking that way. Not if Sadie has to kick you out."

Clearly, that had been the wrong thing to say. He sniffled, biting his lip as a fresh wave of tears made their way down his face at the memory. This time, Alyssa does see his face and is suddenly filled with guilt for being so harsh.

"Bradley," she said his name softly, taking him into her arms. He folded into her, glass clinking on the countertop as he turned, letting it go to bracket his arms across her upper back and burying his head into the corner of her neck.

Alyssa slowly rubbed up and down his spine, shushing him similarly to how she'd comforted Will after a nightmare. Bradley's hot tears were trailing under the hem of her rob as he whimpered quietly, and she couldn't help but place a comforting kiss on his cheek.

He had clearly reached his breaking point.

"You can tell me what's wrong," she whispered gently into his ear. "You don't have to go through whatever this is alone, Roo."

His grip on her lessened, but he didn't let her go. Lifting his head, he shuttered out a breath, hand sliding down her back until it rested against her hip. She felt the warm air caressing her face, finding herself tilting her head just a little, her nose rubbing alongside his.

His moustache tickled her upper lip as Bradley opened his mouth slightly as she slid her hand across his side and up to his chest, flat against his pec. The air was thick and hot, and she wasn't sure whether it was tension or anticipation flooding her stomach.

But then Bradley pressed his lips to hers ever so delicately, a light graze of skin upon skin, and Alyssa froze. Her brain was still trying to register the touch of his lips upon hers when he started to deepen the kiss, moving his mouth more firmly against hers. Then it became a desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue, Bradley gripping her tighter as if she'd float away. 

But as soon as she whimpered in the kiss, he pulled back with a harsh pant, shocked at his actions. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice low and hoarse, letting her go. "I shouldn't have."

His back hits the edge of the island as he steps away from her, forcing himself to grip the edge so he doesn’t reach out and touch her. It's not enough distance for Alyssa to lose her grip on his shirt, holding it tight to balance herself.

Yes, maybe he shouldn't have kissed her while he was so strung up on his emotions. But she also knew if Bradley didn't admit to himself what was really bothering him soon, it might be too late the next time something happened like this.

Because if there was one thing she absolutely knew about Bradley, it was that he never understood the weight of his actions, nor did he acknowledge the consequences until it was too late, blinded by the anger and the hurt of his own feelings.

He needed to calm down, and he needed to now. And if that kiss was any indication, she knew just how to do it.

Alyssa slowly let her hand fall from Bradley's chest as she sauntered away, walking toward her bedroom. She had left the door open, intending to return with her cup of tea after her shower and a good book before he had shown up. Bradley's eyes followed her curiously but with worry, thinking she was horrified at his actions.

But she stopped halfway inside her room.

And let her robe drop to the floor.

His breath hitched. She had been wearing absolutely nothing underneath, and Bradley's knuckles whitened on the counter as he took in the curve of her naked back.

Alyssa slyly looked over her shoulder, eyes inciting him to join her. Bradley's never left her as he pushed himself away from the island, each step slow and steady. She watched him stalk forward out of the corner of her eye, anticipation and pure want starting to build in the pit of her stomach.

Calloused hands lightly grabbed her hips, fingers sliding across her stomach. Alyssa hummed as Bradley's breath warmed her neck, smelling the remnants of his whisky as her hand gently held his wrist.

He breathed against the shell of her ear hotly. "Can I fuck you?"

She leaned back against him, head turning to rasp against his mouth, "Why the hell did I drop my robe for you?"

Bradley is on her instantly, desperately moulding his lips to hers, moaning against her mouth. His hand tightened across her stomach as Alyssa reached behind his head, carting her fingers through his hair. She's still gripping his wrist, nails biting into his skin as he starts sliding his hand downwards, cupping her core.

He tastes whiskey and honey on his tongue, tracing it along the inside of her mouth. Alyssa moans against his lips when Bradley’s fingers slide down and spread her open, clit burning with the exposure to the cool air. She pulls away but hover’s her mouth over his, harsh pants echoing in the space between them. 

There’s some quick retort forming in her mind, ready to egg him on into following through. But it dies before she even manages to voice it.

His pointer finger is rubbing tight, firm circles against her clit, and she gasps, mouth falling away from Bradley’s as she wobbles, legs on the verge of giving out. He doesn’t stop, encouraged by her reaction to keep going, even sliding down to gather some of her wetness on the pad of his finger before returning to his previous task. 

Suddenly, his other hand slides up from her hip and across her torso to grip one of her breasts. His hold is tight, almost rough, as he pulls her against his front.

She feels like she is on display this way, Bradley caressing and groping her body as if she was being made into one of those marble Greek statues featured at a museum. An artist watching how each flick of his hand and accompanying pant twisted her body, or how a particular twist of his hand caused her hips to clash backwards into his.

It was too much. In a second, Alyssa turned in Bradley's tight hold, reaching up to hold either side of his neck to press a desperate kiss to his lips. Bradley matches her with the same intensity, working his tongue into her mouth as he takes hold of the skin at her hip.

His chest is being racked with harsh pants as he walks her backwards, a single hand on her neck. Her knees hit the edge of her bed, and she falters. Bradley tilts them both forward, making them fall into the bed. Alyssa lands with a single bounce, Bradley slotting his thigh between her legs with the movement and catching himself above her with each hand on either side of her head.

Staring up at him, she can see the pure want in his eyes. The desperation as he takes her in lying underneath him. Slowly, he lowers himself down, grinding his denim-covered thigh purposely into her bare cunt. Panting at the feeling, she slid her hands across his abs under his shirt, feeling the sculpted muscles ripple under her touch before she felt him press his forehead to hers, hot breath filling the space between their mouths.

He doesn't kiss her. Bradley purposely avoids her lips, his hot breath warming her skin as he makes his way down her body, deliberately pausing whenever he exhales. Each is long, heavy, and lewd - at the curve of her neck, above her breast, around her nipple. The further down he went, the greater Alyssa tugged at her comforter, both hands gripping the fabric as if she'd float away.

And then he pauses when he reaches her cunt, grasping the bend of her knees and pushing them open. She parts her legs willingly, slightly unsure of his intentions but hoping to god it involved an orgasm or two.

When his fingers move to part her folds, Alyssa's eyes widen. Holding her open, Bradley dove in, licking firm strips up her folds before his mouth enclosed her clit, hands holding her hips still and keeping her against his mouth as he sucked.

He's relentless, moaning into her with deep rumbles that vibrate against her clit, a wanton cry of his name crawling deep from within her chest at the sensations it caused. Bradley lets her go with a wet sound, only to hook two fingers and ease them into her, his tongue following in kind.

Alyssa tightens around his fingers and whimpers at the roughness of his tongue and how he's frantically lapping at her. Like he was in a desert, and she was the only source of water.

She can’t help but slide her hand into his hair, gripping the short strands in a vice grip to tug him closer. But instead, he manages to pull back a few inches only to breathe out, “You taste so fucking sweet.”

Her body jolts at the praise, Bradley back to licking at her with long broad strokes, tongue darting up every so often to nudge at her clit. His fingers press hard against her g-spot while the other brackets across her stomach, holding her hips down as she buckles them into his mouth. Till she feels the tightening in her stomach, and she knows she’s close.

“Fuck Bradley, I’m so close,’ she sobs.

“Cum for me,” he snarls in one breath. “Prove how much you want me.”

Alyssa never knew she needed to know the answer to the question of whether or not someone could orgasm from hearing someone’s voice. If it hadn’t been for how he was working her, she was damn sure he would have confirmed it by saying those words to her alone. 

Because she was shaking, sparks flying across her body and her legs clamping down around Bradley’s head as she reached her peak. His fingers eased in their rhythm, working her through the aftermath as he took her in. 

Back arched. Head gasping into her pillow and her hands gripping the sheets. Chest heaving. All because of him. And it caused desperation to grow within his chest as he sat back, placing his hand on her thigh in silent comfort. 

When her pleasure finally levelled out, Alyssa looked down at Bradley between her thighs, his eyes blown wide and desperate, staring up at her.

It’s the tiniest of nods from Alyssa that makes him move. He stands, the sound of a zipper and a buckle being undone, of heavy fabric hitting the floor, and a rhythmic clink of his dog tags as he removes his shirt. Then he's crawling on the bed over her, pressing kisses up her stomach, sucking her breast into his mouth and licking a path up from the centre of her chest to her collarbone.

There’s a quick brush of his hand against the inside of her thigh before he’s reaching for his cock, rubbing the tip against her entrance. She tilts her head back into her pillow, moaning at the feeling. Bradley follows her, panting as he seeks out her mouth.

"Do you want this?" he gasps around her lips. "Do you want me?"

She smiles. "Me letting you eat me out wasn't enough consent for you?"

Bradley doesn't laugh at her quip. Instead, he presses forward just a bit, the head of his cock just barely slipping inside. She whimpers, fingernails digging into his back.

"I said," he grunts out a little more firmly. "Do you want me?"

She doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her give in. Turning her head, she gasps into his mouth, "Just shut up and fuck me, Brad-shit."

In two seconds, Bradley growls, pushing his cock the rest of the way in, making Alyssa mewl.

He's big. Bigger than anything she's ever had before, and it takes her a moment to adjust. She's grateful Bradley is giving her that chance. He looks unhinged, holding himself above her, his face red, an angry vein protruding from his forehead.

Yet, despite the wrecked look on his face, he starts thrusting slowly when she grips his shoulder, small shifts of his hips that have her whimpering at the feel of his cock sliding in and out of her.

She cannot help but think he is going too slow.

“More,” she whines, wriggling underneath him.  

“More?” he asked through a rough gasp. “More of what?”

Bowing his head, Bradley kisses a path down between her breasts, hand bunching one in his grasp before taking the nipple into his mouth. He sucks, tongue darting around the peak before letting it go with a loud pop.

“More of this?” he accentuates with a hard thrust that has her gasping into his mouth, and he cannot help but kiss her once. Twice.

"More of my lips on yours?" he uttered throatily, trailing his lips down the outline of her jaw to the soft skin behind her ear. "More of my teeth marking you up?"

All of that, she thinks to herself as the fire builds in her stomach and the sounds of wet slaps fill the room.

"No," he grunts thickly. "It's not any of those things. It's me, isn't it?"

Bradley doesn't give her the option of replying, suddenly sitting back on his haunches and seizing her hips. She fell further down the bed as he tugged, arms dropping beside her head as he started to pick up the pace.

"It's me you want," he growls. "Me thrusting into you. Me making you feel this way. Me making you feel wanted. Me fucking you. Isn't it?"

She doesn't answer him, too enthralled by the feeling of him to manage to voice a single word. So he stops, letting go of one hip to lean forward on the bed and roar, "Isn't it!?"

“Yes, you,” she whimpers, finally allowing herself to give in to him. “All of you. I want all of you, Bradley.”

A growl escapes Bradley’s body, his eyes turning feral. His thrusts lose any semblance of rhythm as he begins to rock into her with wild abandon.

There is nothing slow or gentle to Bradley's movements, dragging out each reaction he could from her. He's gripping her tightly as he sets his pace with harsh, fast strokes, her breath catching in her throat. She's sure she is going on a hunt for several interestingly shaped bruises across her body in the morning. But she didn't care.

Not when Bradley was pounding into her like it was his last night alive.

Not when he was holding her wrists down on to the bed.

Not when he was suddenly over her, biting up her neck, only to take her ear lobe into his mouth and suck, when his hands were grabbing at her skin, and his cock was hitting all the right places.

Where?" he grunts, the sound vibrating in her ear. It's then she realizes the two of them were so caught up in the pleasure that neither one of them stopped to consider protection. It doesn't change her answer, though.

"Inside," she turns to gasp into his mouth. "Safe."

Her words trigger something in Bradley's mind. His pace increases in a desperate need to finish. His hand lets go of her wrist in favour of sliding down between their bodies, going straight for her clit and drawing figure eights as he thrusts, and Alssya digs her nails into his back at the added pleasure. 

Bradley collapses, shuttering out a chat of fucks and digging his head into her collarbone as he drops his entire weight onto her. Alyssa curled her legs up, locking them around his waist, hands digging into his shoulder blades as she wailed at the intensity.

Then, he's cumming, hands gripping the underside of her shoulders, pulling her even further onto his length as he fills her with a groan, mouth hanging open by the side of her neck. Alyssa squeals, the sound muffled by her teeth biting down on his shoulder, legs tightening around his waist as she follows him over the edge, clamping down on him hard and milking him for all he's worth.

It's quiet in her bedroom, save for their shared gasps of breath and her wall clock ticking away the seconds. There’s a haze filling the room, making everything and anything impossible. Bradley hasn't let her go, sagging his weight down into her, keeping her pinned to the bed.

She should feel suffocated. Maybe even a little gross. The both of them are covered in slick, and sweat, and she’s sure both of their releases are smearing the insides of her thighs, leaking onto her sheets as she uncurls them from around his waist.

But it's in the haze she finally sees her chance. Bradley’s mind would be calm enough now, maybe less resistant to finally admitting the reason he was so upset. Because while Jake, Liz and Sadie were at the root of the issue, they were only the scapegoat for something much deeper.

"She had every right to kick you out, Bradley," she panted, stroking the back of his head. "Sadie was right. You were being a bully."

Bradley rolls off of her as soon as she finishes her sentence, Alyssa hissing as he pulls out. She’s sore, her core aching at the absence of his cock, but it doesn’t stop her from following him, laying a hand on his chest as he rests on his back.

She was done with the harsh remarks over glasses of whiskey. Bradley needed nothing but the truth.

"I know Liz hurt your feelings, Bradley, but there's more to this than not liking the fact Liz is dating Hangman."

He went to get out of bed, but Alyssa managed to swing her leg over, trapping him under. Groaning with the ache in her cunt, she placed her hands firmly on his chest. "Nope. You're not running from this."

"Lyssa..." he protests, halting at her weight, hands gripping the sheets on either side of her bare legs. A part of him realizes she did this on purpose, making him fall into bed with her so he'd be more compliant, more vulnerable. But another part wants to give in to her, a smaller part desperately crying out to be heard.

It's why he stops, his back collapsing into her headboard as she settles herself on top of him. Because right now, he's at the center of her attention, and she's fighting for him to stay.

“Hush,” she chimes back.

"Hangman is not a good guy. He's arrogant, selfish, and reckless... He's.."

"None of those things to Liz and Sadie," she interrupted him. "Would you call what he did for Sadie leaving her out to dry? How he listened to Liz, handcuffed to the floor, telling him to leave her?" 

Bradley knows she's right. But it doesn't stop him from biting his lip and avoiding her eyes. It makes Alyssa grab the side of his face, pulling his head up. Bradley lets her but closes his eyes, not ready for the words he knows she's about to say. 

"Look at me, Bradley." 

He makes a noise of protest, his face scrunching up in a last-ditch attempt at refusal. But Alyssa's grip on his face remains firm, gentle and absolute. 

"Roo, look at me," she tries again, this time softer.  “What is the real reason you are upset?”

He opens his eyes, confusion written across his face. "I told you."

She shook her head. "You told me the what and the how. You didn't tell me the why."

Bradley didn't say anything, choosing to stare at the clock behind her head. It encouraged her to continue with her point. "Jake hangs people out to dry. Liz is too good-hearted. Sadie and her will be hurt. We know all this. But it's more than that with you, Roo."

She knows Bradley has given up on escaping when he lets her gently stroke her fingers across his brow in a comforting manner. “I think this has less to do with Liz dating or sleeping with Jake and more about Sadie. But not in the way you've been making us believe.”

As her fingers slid down the side of his face, she pressed on. "I also think Liz was right when she said this has to do with your mom."

Her acknowledgement of his mom is softer than Liz's outburst. And unlike that time, it doesn't hurt as much when she brings it up. But it doesn't stop him from flexing his grip on her bare legs, subconsciously knowing she's getting closer and closer to uncovering the truth.

"Because if it were any other person who Liz decided to date, you wouldn't be reacting as hard as you are right now. Because with every reason you've given me for being upset, they all have one thing in common, "She pauses, a pensive look on her face, before she asks," What is it about the Navy that's making you act this way?"

Bradley knows he's finally been caught.

Whether he wanted to or not, Alyssa wasn’t going to let this go. He could easily get up, push her off, and walk out the door. Continue to bury the weight of the fear that's haunted him all of his life.

But he doesn't want to.

Alyssa looks at him in a way that tells him nothing he would say would change her opinion of him. That, for every fault and bad decision he's ever made, his fear wouldn't make her run away. And unlike the Daggers, who stood with Hangman in the aftermath of his outburst, he gets the feeling Alyssa would be the one to stand with him, even if she disagreed with his actions.

So for the first time since Jake was invited to that first Saturday Night, Bradley decides to be honest.

Maybe even to himself.

Sighing once, Bradley reaches for the Dog Tags lying in the middle of his chest. Hooking his thumb around the balled chain, he slid it down till the three thin pieces of metal sat in the palm of his hand. He’s staring down at them, and Alyssa follows his gaze. 

It takes her a second, but she realizes he added the third tag. She’s seen enough of the military men gracing the beach, let alone divorcing one, to know there were only supposed to be two. 

“Do you know why they give us dog tags?” he asks her without looking up. Alyssa nods with a sallow, cupping the underside of Bradley’s hand holding the precious metal. “If something happens, they can identify you.”

“Do you know why they give us two?” 

She does—two dog tags, one to take and one to leave. 

And suddenly, everything about Bradley’s reaction to his fight with Liz makes sense. Bradley was protecting Sadie from the circumstances of Jake's very possible someday. Protecting Liz from suffering through the grief of losing another person she loved dearly.

Because there’s no question whose name graced that third tag hanging around Bradley’s neck. 

She reaches with her free hand, picking up the tag not connected to the others. The metal is old, withered and roughed up. But she can still make out the name imprinted on one side as she flips it over.  

Nick "Goose" Bradshaw. 

Bradley’s father.  

“Mav was flying when my dad hit the canopy of their plane. They didn’t need to identify him but took the tag anyway,” he sniffed, tears making their way down his face. “Mav didn’t give two shits about rules back then when he swiped it. Still doesn’t.” 

Unhooking his thumb from the chain, Bradley twisted his hand, gently taking hold of Alyssa’s wrist as she held his father’s tag. “It’s all we have left when we burn in. All that remains.”

He lets her wrist go in favour of grasping the tag, Alyssa delicately letting it go when she realizes he wants to hold it. Holding the tag between his two fingers, he held it up in front of his face.

"I grew up watching my mom cry over this dog tag, whether it was around her neck or hanging on the mirror of her vanity. And I tried to help her. But her grief was just too much."

He lets the tag fall back to his chest, watching it go, keeping his gaze downward.

"When Liz's sister passed away, she shut down. Sadie knew it too," his eyes glaze over as he remembers finding Sadie pulling at strains of grass. "I found her in Liz's backyard a few weeks after we brought her home. She was trying to hide away because she didn't want Liz to know she was struggling to accept her mom was gone - because Liz had been trying her damn hardest not to cave, and Sadie knew, so she felt she had to do the same."

He shakes his head, trying to remove the memory from his head. Alyssa reached up to stroke along his shoulder and up and down his arm, hoping he would find the strength to continue.

"Jake flies like he has nothing to lose," he states through a harsh pant. "He's reckless and doesn't think about anyone else but himself. And in our line of work?" he scoffs. "He doesn't realize he has everything to lose now. At first, it was about trying to protect Liz and Sadie from him. From his reputation and cause, well, he's an asshole."

Bradley chuckles to himself softly, thinking back to the day on the soccer field. "Liz had no idea what was coming for her when Hangman returned from Texas. He went through every single female bartender Penny hired, and within a week, they were gone. I wasn't going to see Liz fall to the same fate. Even though she said she could handle it, I needed to be there for her."

Alyssa sees her chance to speak amongst his reminiscing, stating something she desperately knows to be true. "Because she cares. More than any average person."

Bradley closes his eyes and smiles softly, nodding once.

And Sadie?" he laughed. "I wasn't expecting her to invite him to own of our Saturday nights, to her hike, which none of unless had the privilege of. And it dawned on me it wasn't just Liz who needed I needed to protect."

His tears are back, tracking down the outside of his face, and Alssya doesn't resist the urge to wipe them away, cradling his cheek.

"I see so much of myself in her, Lyssa," he whimpers. "She has the whole world on her shoulders." He still has his eyes closed, tilting his head back to her ceiling, knocking his head against the headboard.

"But being in the Navy? It's a fucking death sentence. A promise." Bradley opens his eyes but doesn't look at her face, fixating on the tattoo on her collarbone, the small cursive font spelling out her Son's name. "When I say I'm mad at Liz, Mad at the fact they are together, I'm scared for the future Sade will have to bare. Because one day, it will be Sadie trying to pick Liz up from the bathroom floor, dealing with her own grief, wondering if she is enough."

Alyssa cannot help her silent tears hearing Bradley's story. She cannot imagine the weight he had to carry growing up or how fast he had to grow up. She's not surprised he would be drawing comparisons between himself and Sadie, both of them being dealt almost the same shitty hand in life.

She often thought about Will and what he might go through should Bradley's description of a possible someday happen to her ex-husband.

But in projecting his own emotional trauma, Bradley is missing something. He usually always does, too caught up in his initial hurt to see the bigger picture. Because never once in his explanation did he mention where he fits into all this.

She has a good idea why.

There are no scathing remarks, unkind words or judgments when Bradley finally decides to look at her. Instead, Alyssa looks sad, biting her lip as she gently reaches out to stroke his brow.

"Whose to say Sadie won't mourn you too?"

Her question guts him. So much so that Bradley breaks, his chin dropping to his chest as the first sob worked its way up his throat. Because the image is being painted so vividly in his mind.

It's not Ridley Sadie's crying over in that backyard, and it's not his hand she's holding while standing over her mother's grave. He can see her looking down at him, trembling lip as she grips Liz's hand.

It's not Ridley's death she's grieving. Or even Hangman's.

It's his.

"It's too late for that now," he manages to say through tears. "What I said, what I implied..."

Alssya smiles sadly, brushing away some of his tears, knowing Bradley would still harbour feelings of hatred towards Jake. "The both of them are going to forgive you. They just need time."

"Who is to say they won't?"

He says it so dejectedly that Alyssa feels she can't do anything else but take his face between her hands and place her forehead to his.

"Sadie doesn't pick favourites. She loves everyone equally," she explained, and Bradley knew she meant he was never a risk of losing Sadie's love. "And Liz... Well, you're family, Bradley. They are always going to need you."

Bradley shook his head, urging Alyssa to say something that cracked and glued his heart back together within the same sentence.

"You're never going to be unwanted, Bradley Bradshaw."

A weight, buried so deep, lifted from Bradley's chest. A burden he knew he'd been carrying since childhood but hadn't acknowledged until the aftermath of Mav pulling his papers. Because Maverick was one of the very few people Bradley had in his life supporting him when his mother passed away. And in one second, his support system was gone.

Once Bradley did get into the Navy, he spent the better half of his Naval career burying his feelings under the hatred he felt for Pete. He avoided every instance or mention of the man if he could help it. Then he was called back to Top Gun. Forced to confront every single thing he had spent years ignoring.

The aftermath of the Urainium mission brought back his support system. It brought him Liz, who showed up at the bar one day with a friendly smile and an interest in hearing everyone's stories as she poured them a drink from behind Penny's bar, never once treating them any differently because they were in the Navy, flirting with death each time they went up in the air.

Bradley couldn’t remember the last time someone had treated him like that. He was worth her time; he was worth being her friend.

It also brought him Sadie, who took one look within seconds of meeting him and decided he was someone she wanted in her life. Her struggle with grief led him to believe that maybe everything he went through could be used to help this ten-year-old girl and her aunt get through it. It gave him purpose.

And his burden lessened.

Then Hangman returned from Texas, waltzing in months after Liz's sister passed away and Sadie had firmly cemented herself into all their lives. Suddenly, the progress he had made meant nothing.

Because Sadie inviting Hangman to that Saturday night triggered Bradley in ways he didn't know he could be, bringing him back to the days and nights, he'd sit with his mom as she tried to process her grief, wondering if he could help her. If he was doing enough or if his presence only reminded her of his father.

But Bradley cannot deny the truth behind Alyssa's words. He was so caught up in worrying, projecting his fears onto Liz and Sadie, he had failed to recognize it for what it was.

When the day came that Hangman did leave them out to dry or his someday came where he burned in, Bradley swore he would try to be there for them. In the way he was there when Liz's Sister passed away. 

Because Bradley was no longer haunted by the ghosts of his past, wondering if he had done enough. If he tried hard enough.

Alyssa reminded him that he was wanted.

Worth it.

And in some ways, even loved.

Reaching up, he grasped one of her wrists gently, turning his head to place a soft kiss on her skin. "I should have come to you sooner, Lyssa."

"Yeah, well, when you have to compete against Urusula on the blacktop for your attention," she shrugged, playing off the hidden meaning behind her words. But Bradley caught on, smirking as he rolled them over, trapping Alyssa underneath him and going straight for her neck.

"She's got nothing on you," he murmured, kissing the soft spot below her ear. Alyssa smiled coyly, stroking her free hand up the bare skin of his arm. "Oh really? Your tendency to gravitate towards her whenever you pick Sadie up says otherwise, full of Brad-shit."

"Have you seen those nails?" he remarked, grazing his moschate up the side of her neck. Alyssa threw her head back, nails scratching down his back. 

"A fighter pilot, risking his life and daring greatly in the face of danger, brought to his knees by the head of the P.T.A. and her manicured nails," she laughed, feeling the bristles tickle her skin. "How terrifying."

"Terrified," he remarked, pressing kiss after kiss down her neck. "Utterly terrifying."

Trailing down to her chest, Bradley took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking hard and letting it go with a pop before whispering huskily, "But you? I think I'll take my chances."

Wrapping her legs around Bradley's waist, Alyssa pressed herself up against his hardening length, lifting her mouth to his ear to remark teasingly, "Why don't you prove it, Lieutenant Bradshaw?"

He did.

Many times over that night.

Are you all going to be mad at me because Rooster got some after what he did? 😬👀 It's not all sunshine and rainbows about his opinion regarding Jake, though.

Part 14 of DTDT might be a little bit longer. I've been battling a really bad stomach bug, and the weather where I live has been great for producing migraines. So that's the reason for the delay.

Hopefully, soon!

Wickett ;)

Tag List for DTDT:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @seitmai

For those who found this and are interested in checking out the story this one shot is based on, check out the below:

Masterlist For Damn Those Dog Tags

[captain-mj]

Og ghost and soap getting transferred to the rebooted timeline (2022) Meeting this timelines 141.

Og Soap getting jealous of Reboot Ghostsoaps relationship (Reboot Ghostsoap is already established) Because he can't get the courage and is scared to confess his feelings for his Ghost. He asked reboot soap on who confessed first, he said "It was ghost" So he seeks out reboot Ghost and asks him on how he got the courage to confess, and reboot Ghost just slowly and softly guides him, because he went through that feeling as well (and well, because Johnny is still Johnny and he wants the best for him, different timeline or not)

Sorry if this is a very specific request, I'm a sucker for rebootxoriginal timeline crossovers, also smut pls :'D

fI got so excited for this ask, thank you so much I love timeline cross over so much! Also, og Ghost had such bottom energy, I love that feral little man

~~~~

Soap landed on the soil, feeling a bit off. He wished he could remember how exactly he got to... 

“Los almas? Fuck is that?” He noticed a base and looked around, realizing with a sinking feeling that he couldn’t see Ghost anywhere. It wasn’t smart, but he immediately started yelling for him, enemy territory be damned. “Ghost. Ghost!” He shouted as loud as he could, spinning around. He was alone. Not wearing shoes. He was pretty sure this wasn’t the shirt he had been in last night.

Okay, think. He remembered talking a pretty lassie. Ghost had been staring at him which was awkward, but he had been determined and then she had... She’d said something. 

“Ghost!” Soap screamed, feeling the world start to spin. Had he been drugged? Ghost wouldn’t have let him get dragged away, so he must’ve been attacked to. But they were in Russia and this looked like fucking Mexico.

“Soap!” He didn’t recognize that voice. Sounded like they were from Manchester. Ghost wasn’t from fucking Manchester. He started backing up when the guy came into view. The man was... large. Soap didn’t like that at all. Instinctively, he tried to grab his gun, only to come up empty. 

The man wore a skull mask, but no sunglasses. His mask also looked... different. 

“Johnny?” The man sounded unsure of himself, looking at him oddly. 

Soap would recognize those eyes anywhere. “Ghost?”

They stared at each other. Both taking in the... wrongness of the other. Ghost made a motion over his head, as if comparing their height. Soap was a solid 6′2 and this guy seemed to be about two inches taller. His Ghost was only half an inch. 

This was giving him a migraine. 

He reached under his shirt and slowly held up his dog tag. Ghost did the same. 

“Something is very wrong here.” 

“You can say that again.”

----

It took a few hours to sort everything out. So Soap and Ghost were staring at... Soap and... 

“Okay, we gotta fix the name situation. Which one of us is going to go by John?”

“Why would I go by John?” Other Soap frowned at him.

“That’s our first fucking name?”

“Mine is just Johnny. Not John, just Johnny.” 

“Can I go by John?”

Price spoke up, looking back and forth between them all. “Couple here call me John. Might get confusing.”

Soap took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’ll just go by Captain or something.”

“You’re a captain??” 

Soap grabbed his Ghost’s arm and pinched his nose. “I hate it here. I’m short and a sergeant again.” 

Ghost was laughing, but he hadn’t talked yet. Soap wished he would. He could feel Ghost’s hand on his back, trying to provide some comfort in this strange situation. He felt bad for him. Ghost had been stripped of his weapons as well and although whoever did this was nice enough to leave the majority of his clothes on, they had put him in a ski mask and had taken his sunglasses and gloves. Soap could see the anxiety hanging around him like a storm. He’d be lying if the warm of his bare hand wasn’t nice though. 

“Alright, we have Johnny and Captain.” Other Ghost spoke. Soap didn’t like that he had to look up to him. He didn’t like it at all. “I’m a lieutenant.”

“Also, a lieutenant... Maybe one of us could go by Riley for the time being?” Ghost finally spoke and he could see several of the bystanders stare at him. He wanted to be snarky and say he sounds like an actual person and not a movie villian, but he thought that might be rude. Whatever, he liked his Ghost’s voice. 

Other Ghost, Riley, nodded. “Reluctantly, I’ll take it.” His Ghost relaxed a little. 

“Thank you. Don’t really want strangers calling me by my name.”

“Understood.” They looked at each other and Soap swore he could hear the telepathic conversation they must be having.

“Does Roach exist here?” Ghost asked and Soap tried not to feel irritated. He didn’t get why Ghost needed him.

“Who?”

“Understood. Means he probably didn’t get taken with us. He was the only one at the bar, right Captain?” He turned his eyes on Soap, who felt a little stupid for not thinking of that. 

“Yeah. Just us and Roach. So, let’s do some basic questions. What year is it?”

“2022.”

“We’re in 2009. Explains why our ages are weird.”

“Did 9/11 happen?” Ghost looked at Riley who nodded. 

“I was like 7 when it happened though.”

“Weird...” 

One of the guys who ran the base, Alejandro, interrupted. “So this is... really weird and all, but what are we going to do about this? How do we get you guys back?”

Ghost nodded. “Oh, we have to learn something.”

Everyone looked at him before Soap just sighed. “And what the fuck do you mean by that Simon?”

“Don’t use my name like that. And the lady last night told me we needed to learn something and she thought this could help. Then I woke up in the middle of the goddamn desert. Thought I was back with Roba.”

“Oh that happened to you too?” Riley leaned in, looking almost excited.

“Yeah! You get experimented on and buried alive?”

“Yeah, I had to dig myself out with a-”

“Jawbone.” They said at the same time. 

Soap laughed, not noticing most of the strangers looked horrified. “Is that where you got the nickname Jawbone? I thought it was just because of the mask.”

“Nope, accidentally told someone the story and they thought it was funny.” Ghost was smiling. 

Johnny grabbed Riley’s arm. It felt like all the air in the room was gone. That wasn’t good, you didn’t just tou-

Riley moved so they were holding hands. There was a ringing in Soap’s ears and he only faintly realized he was staring. 

Maybe this was normal in their universe? Did friends just do that? 

Ghost snapped in front of him. “Captain. You okay? Still drugged up?”

“Fuck off, Ghost.” Soap crossed his arms. “Just... thinking of how to get out of this mess.” He noted Ghost’s posture. Perfect like always, only just a little bit taller than him. Soft eyes. No makeup. He wore sunglasses so he never wore it when they were out casually. 

He preferred this Ghost. Preferred what they had right now. Friends. 

Oh, who the fuck was he kidding. He wanted that. Wanted that so damn bad. Did Johnny trace Ghost’s scars like he wanted to do? Did they look more similar under all the clothing? I mean he and Johnny looked really similar if you looked past the height difference. 

Did Johnny know what he looked like under all those clothes? Under the mask? The very thought made him feel green with envy. 

Soap straightened. “Do you have somewhere we can stay? I’d offer to shack up in a hotel but... Damn thing robbed us while tossing us around.” 

“Yeah. We have a room you two can stay in.” Rodolfo nodded. “It has a bathroom attached.” He looked at Ghost when he said that part who just nodded. Soap followed Alejandro, Ghost right behind him. This whole place was... odd. He’d noticed little things that were just... off and he couldn’t tell if its because its Mexico or the different dimension thing. 

The two twin beds sat next to each other in the room and he groaned. His whole body had started aching at some point. Alejandro left them and he started to pull off his clothes.

“Planning on showering?” He looked over at Ghost, with his shirt pulled off and in his hands, loving the way Ghost would glance over at his chest before looking away. 

“No. Maybe later. I’m going to have to borrow a mask from... Riley.” Soap frowned.

“Sorry. I know this probably really uncomfortable for you. There’s this... whole other version of you an-”

“Respectfully, Captain, that’s not a problem for me.” Was Ghost mad? Why the fuck was he mad?

“Alright. Then what’s your damn problem?” Soap left his dog tags on and took off his pants, very happy to see his underwear still on. Ghost was staring again. At his thighs and down his body before quickly looking away. 

His fucking sunglasses. Usually Soap couldn’t see where he was looking. The bastard probably ogled him all the damn time.

“I’m just tired, Captain. And I’m stuck sharing a room and don’t get me wrong, glad its you, but its... I like my privacy. And they’re going to ask me questions.”

“Didn’t seem to mind answering Riley’s.”

“Different.” It was probably the only explanation he was gonna get so he dropped it. Soap went to shower, scrubbing himself clean. He knew Ghost had blond hair under there. Knew he had brown eyes. He had a strong jaw. A glasgow smile was carved into his cheeks. Whenever he got Ghost to drink with him, he’d lift it to just his nose. He had a cut across his nose too. 

Does this Johnny sketch too? Soap wished he had one of them. Sounded like nice way to relax right now. 

When he got out, Ghost had already went to sleep. It was unusual, but after the day they had... 

According to Johnny, he had found Ghost frantically searching. Said he had almost grabbed him before registering he was too short. 

What would he have done if it was him? When he grabbed him, would he have held on to him? Would Soap have let him? 

Soap sank into his bed. It was comfortable. Made his back ache. He kept glancing over at Ghost, feeling restless. That man could sleep anywhere, but Soap’s body was a little pickier. 

He eventually just sighed and got up. This was pointless. He was also starving. The base was eerily silent, though he could see some people on watch. 

Johnny and Riley were in the kitchen. Riley had a cup of tea and Johnny was eating cereal. They were so close to each other. Casually touching. 

Johnny jumped. “Jesus, you’re just as bad as Ghost.”

“Picked it up from him. He needed to be shown how fucking creepy it is.” He stalked past them, stealing some of the water from the kettle to make his own cup. 

“You drink it?”

“Not usually, but...” He shrugged. “Don’t know. I think I have the most extreme version of jetlag possible.”

Johnny nodded. “So how long have you two been dating?”

Soap felt something hot and angry sink its teeth directly into his stomach. “I’m not dating Ghost. It would be inappropriate. I’m his Captain.” 

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh.” Riley spoke this time.

“Your accent. Manchester, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t fucking like it. Prefer my Ghost’s.” Soap took a sip of the tea. It was just as bad as he remembered. Maybe Ghost would like it. “You guys have anything to eat?” He turned around and they were talking with just their eyes and... He looked away again.

“Yeah, help yourself.” Johnny smiled and Soap took what he wanted and left, hiding in their room again. He noticed Ghost twitching and shook him. Screaming in the middle of the night didn’t seem like a good idea. 

Ghost whined and glared up at him. He sat up immediately. “Did you make me tea?”

Soap forgot he even had it in his hand. “Yeah.” He handed it to him, trying not to stare when he raised his mask. 

He sat next to him, eating in companionable silence.

“Was I making noise?” 

“No, but you were twitching. Remember what you were dreaming?”

“Nothing I want to burden you with Captain.” Ghost smiled. “I’m fine. Stop worrying about me.” 

“Is it true you were looking for me?”

Ghost blushed. With the mask lifted up, Soap could see it. “I was looking for my team.”

That’s not what Johnny had said. He said he had been looking for him. Just him. He didn’t push. 

“Alright, I’m going to try to sleep. You should probably try to go back to sleep.” Soap lightly hit his shoulder, thinking of the way the other versions of them touched. Ghost flinched and he grimaced as he watched him yank his mask back down. 

“Course, Captain.”

In the morning, Soap looked for Johnny. He cornered him down a hallway and stood over him. 

Johnny looked at him, half smirking. “Listen, I’ve joked that if I had a clone, I’d fuck them, but I am very committed relationship to my Ghost.”  Another thing they had in common. Ghost was mine or yours. Not just Ghost.

“How did you do it?”

“Do what?” 

“Get with him. Who confessed first.” 

Johnny softened a little around the edges. “Oh. So you do like your Ghost.”

“I want to do terrible, terrible things to that man. So who confessed first?” 

“Ghost did.” 

“...Fuck.” Soap sighed. “I know mine. He won’t do that.” He leaned into the wall and slid down.

“Well, why not?” Johnny slid down the wall across from them. They sat the same way, legs splayed and backs straight. Fucking creepy.

“He’s... different than yours.” Soap stared above his head. “I’m sure yours went through something similar, but I don’t know. It seems to have affected them differently. He’s... I don’t know how to explain. But I don’t think he’d confess first if he has feelings for me at all.” 

“Does he stare at you?”

“All the time. He usually wears sunglasses, but I swear he’s always looking at me.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Ghost. He’s into you. I saw him stare at your ass the entire time we were walking you guys to your room.”

“Ah, your Ghost an ass man?” 

Johnny laughed. “Thighs actually. His exact words were ‘you could crush my head like a watermelon’. It did make me feel more confident.” 

Soap smiled. “It’s so weird. Seeing myself younger again.”

“Good to know I do not age at all though. Worried I’d go gray and wrinkly due to stress.” 

They sat for a minute, Ghost on both their minds.

“You should talk to my Ghost. Ask him for advice.” Johnny smiled at him. “He should be in his room right now. He took the night watch. Doesn’t sleep much.”

“You find anything that helps with those? I try to help mine out.’

“Being next to someone helps.” 

Soap’s heart ached. God he hoped he wasn’t misreading this situation. He wanted to help him so much. 

“What does he look like under there?” 

Johnny straightened up. “You haven’t seen him???”

“No.”

“Okay, I’m not going to spoil the surprise, but if he’s anything like mine, he’s fucking gorgeous. Has a couple of scars, but we’re into that.”

“Yeah, we fucking are.” Soap mumbled, thinking of the one along Ghost’s ribs. He wanted to cover it with hickeys and make him squirm. “i love that man.” 

Johnny didn’t seem shocked. He got up. “Oh, while you’re there, apologize for the comment you made about his accent.”

“Oh, did I hurt his feelings?”

“No. But you’re going to apologize.” Johnny looked down at Soap and Soap understood why his recruits look scared.

“I’ll apologize.”

So now he needed to talk to Riley. Alright. He was willing to do this for Ghost. To have Ghost. 

He knocked and waited. 

Riley opened the door with no hesitation, freezing. He had no shirt on. Luckily he had his mask, but Christ, Soap felt like he was going to have a nosebleed.

“You knock exactly like Johnny.” Riley seemed frozen. He had scars of course but also hickeys and scratches and.... Soap quickly turned around. 

“Put your shirt on soldier.” Soap waited until he heard the door reopening. He turned back. “Glad you’re decent.” He went right in his room, all the confidence of a Captain.

“Need something?” Riley sounded strained, probably not liking that a stranger was in his room. 

“How did you... confess your feelings to Soap?” He didn’t look at him. 

“Oh. You came here for advice on getting with other me?”

“Yes. Also to apologize for the mean comment about your accent. It was uncalled for.” He turned around, standing straight. “How did you... do it? I want to... I want Ghost.”

“Well... for one, do you just want Ghost or do you want Simon too?”

Soap blinked. Odd question. “Yes.” 

Riley seemed amused. Soap wanted to kick him. Giant motherfucker. But he needed his help so he stayed complacent. “And what do you want? A one night stand? A relationship?”

“Anything he’d give me honestly.” 

“Yeah, it’ll work then. You have to be a bit blunt. He’s not going to believe it if you’re not explicit. Also, the mask isn’t going to go away. It’s part of the package deal. If that’s going to be a problem...”

“No. I don’t like it, but I’ve more than accepted that its part of him. So be blunt. Accept him as he is.”

“Also, bite him. He’s going to love that.”

“What is wrong with you?” Soap whisper shouted at him, appalled.

Riley laughed. It sounded exactly like Ghost’s. “It really is that easy. I’d try talking first, just because touch is... touchy.”

“Thank you. You two have been really helpful.”

“Regardless of what universe you’re from, you’re still Soap MacTavish. I’ll always want the best for you.” Riley sounded so sincere. It stung. It was a sting Soap could live with.

“Thank you. So I’m assuming just kissing him is out. Though with the mask he’s been wearing, I wouldn’t even have to lift it up.” Soap smiled softly. Kissing Ghost. What a fucking thought. 

“Yeah, unexpected touch is not good... Has he... mentioned...”

“I know.” Soap sighed. “I know about what happened with Roba. Its one of the reasons I’m so nervous. I’m his Captain. It is inappropriate.”

“I’m Johnny’s LT. As long as you’re clear he doesn’t have to be with you, its okay. We’re a little different in the 141.”

Soap nodded. Oh God. This just left talking to him.

“What color is your hair?”

“What?”

“I’ve been wanting to know a long time. Just curious.”

“Blond.” 

“Blond...” Soap repeated, taking a deep breath. “Thank you.” He pulled away to try to find Ghost. 

Ghost had went out with Price apparently. They were going to be back later. 

Soap groaned and sat with Gaz and Alex. He finally found some paper and took a moment to sketch what his crew looked like. The two of them nodded and started talking about what missions they had went on, comparing their stories. 

Ghost still hadn’t gotten back. Soap missed him. He was bored and he wanted his LT. 

He found more paper and sat in their shared room, sketching. He sketched Ghost’s mask for a bit before moving to his body. If this went well, he was going to ask him to pose for him. 

Ghost came back late. Soap looked at him. “Why were you gone so long?”

Ghost shrugged, avoiding his eye. “I think I’m going to go shower.” He was covered in red dust from the desert. 

“Simon.’ Soap said softly, watching him turn around, those eyes of his on him again. Always on him. 

“John.” 

Soap moved closer. Words. He needed to use words here right now. 

“Simon, I...” Soap choked. Just staring at him. Their height difference was pretty much nonexistent. He liked that they were always eye to eye. He liked that Ghost was mysterious and liked the crazy spark in his eye when they tortured someone together and he liked that he knew Soap sketched him in his mask but never said anything about it. 

But how the fuck do you put that into words?

“You’re a great Lt.” 

Ghost’s shoulders visibly slumped. He looked down at Soap’s shoes. “Thank you, sir.” 

Fuck. 

That was bad. 

“Ghost, I think you’re great.”  Soap tried again. “I like being around you.”

“John, please. Whatever you’re doing...” Ghost sounded hoarse, pleading. 

Soap shook his head. “No. I... Fuck, Ghost I want....”

What did he tell Johnny?

“I want you.” Soap said softly. “In a romantic sense. I want to do stupid things like feed ducks in parks and make you Simon MacTavish because you hate that you have your father’s last name and I want to know what you look like under those layers and I want... I want to make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again but I can’t promise that so... I want to be with you when it does.” He stared at Ghost, those dark eyes of his. 

Ghost leaned forward, pressing their lips together. The fabric pressed against Soap’s skin exactly as he managed.

“Okay.” Ghost sounded dazed. “I... God I want that with you.” He moved closer and it was just like they were on the field, both understanding what to do.

“Simon, I want to. I really, really want to, but promise me you want this too.” 

“Soap, I promise. I promise.” Soap pulled him into the bed immediately, getting on top of him. Ghost lifted the mask up just a little and Soap got to kiss him properly and he finally understood the phrase about fireworks. He didn’t want to pull away. He probably wouldn’t have if Ghost hadn’t let out a needy sound. 

Soap kissed along the Glasgow scars, undoing Ghost’s shirt. Ghost melted into his touch. 

“Just tell me if its too much, okay?”

“John, I swear to God if you interrupt one more time. I am fine! I’m not broken.” Ghost yanked him closer to slip Soap’s shirt off of him. 

“You’re so attractive.” Ghost blushed and Soap resumed kissing along those scars. He pulled back just long enough to get lube, ordering Ghost to finish undressing while he did. Soap got between his legs and admired him for a moment. 

Ghost yanked the mask off and tossed it with the rest of his clothes. He didn’t look at Soap and Soap didn’t comment. They could always talk about it later. For now, he wanted to enjoy the moment. And God, he was gorgeous. It felt like a puzzle had clicked together and he could finally see him. 

Finally, he got to suck marks around that scar, Ghost’s shaking hands in his hair. Soap’s fingers slowly pushed into Ghost, making him whine. 

“Hurt?”

“A little, but I like it.” Ghost pushed him down so he’d keep marking his skin. “I hated that lady. Not for doing this, but for keeping your attention. Always hate when you’d drag us drinking. Hated seeing you with those women.” The hand in his hair tightened. “You’re mine, MacTavish. Just didn’t know how to tell you that.”

Soap had never been more turned on in his goddamn life. “I’m yours. You’re mine.” He fit another finger into him, hearing Ghost’s breath hitch. 

Soap slowly pulled up from. His handiwork spanned over his chest and stomach, covering some of the scars and outline the curves of his muscles. 

He took his pants off, seeing Ghost stare at him. 

“I’m going to mark you up later, Captain. Gotta make sure everyone else knows too.” Ghost almost whined when Soap got his underwear off. “Knew you had a nice ass underneath those stupid tactical pants. I don’t get why ours are so baggy.”

Soap laughed and moved back to him, kissing him again. Ghost wrapped his arms around him. Soap could feel him start to tense when his cock started to press into him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Ghost. You have to relax.” Soap ran his hands through his hair. It was so far out of regulation. 

“I know.” Ghost grumbled, holding on tight. 

“Simon.” Soap said softly, gently kissing him. “I got you. Let me take care of ya.” He started to push in as soon as Ghost relaxed. Ghost dug his fingers into his shoulders, panting softly. Soap should’ve known that he’d be pretty quiet in bed, but that simply was not going to stand. He was going to fix that. 

Ghost felt divine. If he admitted now that he was a demon to tempt him to hell, Soap would follow him. Burn himself alive to keep doing exactly this. He bottomed out and managed to get a soft keening sound from Ghost.

“Fuck.” Ghost gritted. 

“Bigger than you were expecting?” Soap teased.

“A lot bigger.” Ghost admitted, kissing along his jaw. “Burns but I like it. Fuck, I like you.” Soap couldn’t help the laughter and Ghost followed after him. Their lips met again and Soap experimentally rolled his hips. Ghost gasped softly. His legs moved, ending up hooked over Soap’s hips as he slowly thrust in. 

Soap tried to memorize everything about this moment. He wanted to draw it later. Draw Simon as he came undone underneath him. 

Simon looked up at him, the picture of decadence. He suddenly arched, letting out a soft, breathy moan. Soap had to take a deep breath to keep from coming right then. 

“Right there, John. Please.” Soap copied what he just did and got another moan for his efforts. He adjusted their positions and hit the spot every time, watching the muscles in his abdomen jump and twitch at the feeling. 

Biting. Right. He leaned down and sank his teeth into his shoulder, holding him close so he could press deeper inside him as he did. 

Simon let out a quiet wail as he ran his nails down Soap’s back. His legs started to shake from where they were around Soap. 

“Close, mo chridhe?”

“English?”

“It means my heart.” Soap spoke softly against him. Ghost blushed hard before burying his face in his shoulder. He whimpered as Soap thrust in harder, still barely audible but fuck Soap would take it.

“Do you like that? I could use more. I could use them in front of the team and they’d never know.” 

“But I want them to know.” Ghost was right against Soap’s ear. “Want them to know I’m yours, sir.” 

Once again, Soap had to focus on his breathing. He reached down, stroking Ghost since he wasn’t going to last much longer.

Ghost kissed along his throat, gasping and digging his fingers into him. He barely let Soap move enough to thrust into him. He came with a soft moan and fell almost boneless to the bed. 

Soap pulled out and finished on his chest. Maybe he wanted to draw this. Fuck it, he’d learn animation and just recreate the entire goddamn night. 

Ghost swallowed. “Thanks for not... in me. Should’ve asked.” 

“I didn’t have a condom. Thought it was more polite.” Yes. That was it. Definitely not seeing Ghost covered in his cum. “Let me get you cleaned up, mo chridhe.” 

Ghost whined. “Soap, don’t talk to me like that.” 

Soap laughed. “Why not?”

“Because I cannot go another round right now. I’m out of practice.” Ghost sat up, grimacing. 

“Hurt?”

“Nothing a shower won’t fix, love.”

Soap nodded and took his sweetheart to the bathroom. He turned the water on and pulled Ghost in with him. He was careful with him, admiring him even more. Once Ghost was cleaned up, he dried him off. Yes, Ghost could easily do this part, but Soap was willing and wanting. 

Ghost stepped away to get dressed, not letting Soap help because he took too long.

They walked out of the bathroom and it was different. 

They were in Soap’s quarters at home. All of the sketches he had made, along with any belongings they had taken off or went missing, all sat on his bed. 

“Huh.”

“We’re home.” 

“Damn. Wish I could’ve said thank you to those guys. They kinda talked me through asking you out.”

Ghost stared at him. “Price was actually encouraging me to go for you. I think he and Riley are close. He could see straight through me... So, what do we do now?”

Soap intertwined their fingers. “Guess we... keep working. You could start coming to my bedroom at night.”

“I’d like that.” 

[sailing-through-hawkins]

wanting, chasing

✧ written for 'suck' ✧ word count: 480 ✧ rated: T ✧ cw: none ✧ tags: cowboy au (set in the same universe as previous cowboy entry), deputy eddie, flirty steve ✧ @steddiemicrofic o( >ω<)o✧

"Gettin' real sick of these games, Harrington." Eddie glares, arms crossed. His cheeks burn and his face is red, but it's purely because all the blood is rushing down to his head because, guess fucking what? He got caught by a damn trap and now he's hanging upside down from a tree like a damn dog's tongue hanging from it's maw.

"Really?" Steve laughs, leaning against the tree all casual-like, all confident, all cocky. "I don't think I can get enough."

"You say that now," Eddie squints as he rotates towards the sun, the sound of Steve's laughter so close behind him. "But wait 'til I get my hands on ya -"

"Oh but deputy -"

Eddie spins and faces the tree again but now Steve's there, his face right in front of Eddie's. His hand gently holds Eddie's upper arm, stopping him from twirling away from those hazel eyes, sharp and mischievous.

"I think we both know," Steve murmurs, his eyes glancing up at Eddie's mouth with a smirk. "I've got you in the palm of my hand already."

He should feel anger, indignation, some kinda threatened by that. But all Eddie can think about is how Steve's still wearing the bandana, the one he stole from him that night at the saloon, around his neck. How it looks like it belongs there on him, Eddie's signature black tucked into the collar of his tan shirt.

"Eyes up here, Munson."

His eyes do flick up and he stares at the golden glow of Steve's smile, soft and sweet. Without a single thought in his damn head, he uncrosses his arms and reaches out, fingers ghosting over his lips. Steve inhales and before Eddie can blink, he's somehow pulled Eddie's glove off with his own damn teeth and ah fuck.

"Yer a terrible man," Eddie grumbles half-heartedly, as Steve spits out his glove onto the ground.

With a chuckle, Steve presses a kiss to Eddie's fingers. "And you just can't get enough."

"Maybe I have," Eddie says weakly (they both know he'd never). "Maybe I've decided I've had enough, 'n it's time to start chasin' other -"

He hisses when teeth almost pierce his thumb, low-lidded eyes staring him down, warning his running tongue.

"You ain't chasin' nobody else, deputy," Steve gently sucks at the skin where he bit Eddie, something of an apology, but his eyes, dark in the shade of the tree, tell Eddie it's more of a promise. "'S you 'n me, end of the line."

"Ha," Eddie clears his throat. "Anyone would think you had somethin' to claim here."

"Somethin'," Steve pulls Eddie's hand out and just barely grazes the air Eddie breathes with his lips. "Someone."

And with that, Eddie's on the ground, a throbbing echoing in his skull, staring up at the man above him, who winks and runs out of his sight, out of his grasp.

[ashtronomyys]

Our Future Days

Chapter 1 - *Pt2*

SoapGhost TheLastofUsAu OFD Masterpost (Includes further Tag Warnings) Chpt1 Masterpost

~1.7k Words

**********

"NOO-!"

Simon's body jolts forward in the bed. He thrashes around in his sheets, his body fighting back against an unknown force until his mind begins to clear up. His cries of terror begin to die down as his bloodshot eyes start to register his surroundings. They take in the cracked, floral wallpaper peeling off the walls of the room, the tattered, linen bedsheets obscuring the moonlight outside, and the chipped, hardwood flooring of the bedroom.

Simon grinds his palms against his temple, falling back into the mattress and trying to rub away the throbbing pulsing in his head. His body is coated in a layer of sweat, and short blond tufts cling to his forehead. His throat feels rubbed raw from the screaming he did in his sleep, and it takes him a considerable amount of time to calm the labored heaving his chest keeps up.

Fucking hell. It’s gonna be another one of those days for him then, isn’t it?

There’s no sense in trying to fall back asleep now. Simon knows from experience that he'll be unable to close his eyes long enough to get any more rest. Not on a rough night like this. Not with the images of his friends and family falling victim to the surrounding horrors playing on a loop.

It's the cruelest form of torment, his head making him relive every bit of trauma, his mind making him think he's still stuck on that damn bridge, fighting day by day just to scrape by in the QZ, or worse still, those years living out in the open country. The worst of it is when visions of Tommy jump to the forefront, memories of hanging on by a thread until everything went up in flames causing him to feel a nauseating pang of guilt.

It’s like his mind fucking relishes on the mental abuse it puts him through, almost like it makes a game of it. He could see it now, set up like one of those old-time game shows, big flashing letters spelling out, "How much further can we push Simon Riley before he breaks today?”, his next form of torment coming from a big spinning wheel with all of his worst memories, crowd cheering with each bout of pain it can unearth. 

Huh, it’s actually almost a little more humorous imagining it playing out that way…

Rather than going back to sleep, Simon spends the remainder of the night staring at the ceiling. His eyes rake over every bump and groove in the paint until he can see the soft rays of morning light seep through the curtains. Eventually, the faint sound of a rooster crowing far-off in the distance signals the start of another day.

It’s about time for Simon to finally sit up and shamble into the bathroom, letting the water heat up to a near scalding temperature before hopping in. A long shower helps wash away some of the tenseness in his body, but does nothing to help lighten his mood. He dons on his usual dark sweatshirt and jeans before he steps out into the street ahead, taking in a deep breath of the crisp morning air as he begins his trek into town.

The walk to the inner city takes him along the winding suburbs and houses with long-neglected lawns. Nature reclaims most of the area, with the tall summer grass overtaking pavements and roads. Vibrant flora blooms in large patches throughout the landscape, and rotted, derelict cars lay abandoned in driveways.

He leisurely strolls past the dozens of cul-de-sacs that rise and fall along the hills they are nestled onto. Slim, craftsman bungalows ranging from neutral whites and tans, to vibrant blues and yellows, the buildings themselves used to house hundreds of families in the area.

In the eerie quiet on mornings like this, Simon can almost picture the way things used to be; cars pulling out of the driveways and running their owners to work, children piling into the school buses in the morning, a dog or two barking at all the commotion. He can almost imagine what it must’ve been like, white picket fences, neatly trimmed gardens and all, the quaint, bunched together houses still teeming with some semblance of life.

Twenty years later, and it'd be a miracle if even a third of those same people are still among the living.

A strong breeze of brisk, cool air finds its way up Simon’s shirt, sending a chill up his spine. He sighs, shoving his hands into his jacket pocket in irritation, the thought of turning around and crawling back under the covers definitely crossing his mind.

He really ought to, he knows, especially after the rough night he’s had. Price, too, has been on his ass lately about going out when he’s not at his best, giving Simon his hundredth lecture about getting himself or somebody else killed on the job.

But fuck it, he’s managed just fine through plenty worse conditions before. And he’d much rather have something to occupy his day that doesn’t include rotting away in his little hovel.

Yeah, a bit of fresh air ought to do him a whole world of good better than that.

Besides, it’s not like his aim has gone to complete shit. He’s still the same man he was yesterday, only difference is he may have to put in the extra effort to not bite anyone's head off today. So not much change at all really.

Simon rounds another corner and comes up to the outer wall. The wall, a domineering presence that stands in stark contrast to the broken-down houses, consists of bolted sheets of metal, piled-up cars, shipping containers, and all kinds of scrap all rusted together. It runs along the remaining exterior walls of some of the structures nearby, and forms a barrier that rises nearly ten feet in the air.

Simon takes a detour into one of the houses on the right, passing through an open hole that exposes the kitchen to the elements outside. He brushes some of the bramble aside and pulls a steel ladder out from the growing ivy. Simon props it up against the wall, the ladder reaching just below the edge of a semi-truck nestled into the structure, and drops it onto the other side once he’s over, but not before taking a moment to watch the sun rise higher into the sky.

From here, beyond another mile or so of the district, he can see the fields of farmland spreading throughout the encampment. Fields of grains and produce sit atop what used to be parks, golf courses, and a few torn down shopping centers. Decaying buildings were stripped down for more material, and the grounds burned and uprooted to make the land fertile enough for crops to grow.

Further beyond that, the townhouses and bungalows start to become broken up by wider main streets; retail stores, supermarkets, corner stores, and condominiums dotting the landscape.

Simon spies the first other signs of life along these streets as lights start to flicker on in shops and residents make their way out towards the fields. He watches various groups start their rotations on the farm, some with the company of their little ones, who follow in their parents’ footsteps around the farm. One of them dons on a pair of oversized rain boots and a sun hat that threatens to fall off his head every two seconds. He’s taught how to hand out feed to the chickens under his mom's guidance, his beaten up overalls acquiring another layer of dirt to them.

Simon lets out a slow huff of air as he overlooks the growing community of survivors he's somehow found himself a part of.

A lot of people would say what they’ve been doing here is nothing short of a miracle, somehow creating some sort of semblance of the peace and normality of the old world.

To Simon, it’s been his own form of repentance, his own way of giving back to the world to make up for all the shit he’s done wrong. Maybe through that, doing his part to help even out the playing field for the people still left, he can in some way make amends with the universe.

He hopes, at least.

Either way, it does feel good to contribute towards something positive for a change. And it’s the least he could do to give back to the place that’s given him a little bit of solace. 

Simon pulls the hood over his head and makes the descent onto the other side, just in time to see the cattle and sheep released from enclosures. A lamb hobbles its way over to the end of the fence, bellowing at the tall British bloke passing by the wooden barrier. Simon snorts at the petite little being shadowing him, the lamb bounding on uncoordinated legs behind him, trying to follow him all the way to his next destination if it can.

He turns in time to see a boy, the same one feeding the chickens earlier, corral the mischievous young sheep back to the rest of its herd. Simon’s steps falter for a moment, watching the child stomp around the field and raise his arms above his head, yelling and blowing raspberries at the animals. The hat hangs loosely off of his head, revealing a messy mop of mousy brown hair, about the same shade of muted color his mother and brother were graced with. And his boots, tattered bits of plastic at this point, the frog decal along the top trim still visible underneath all the mud.

Simon chuckles to himself. Seems no matter how much he tries to do better, the universe still has its way of reminding him that there is no making amends with this life for men like him.

He tugs the hoodie tighter over his scalp, eyes trailing back to the several stretches of roads he still has to walk past. Along the way, he passes by the remnants of a city limit sign, the faded and missing text adding a somber feeling to the once cheerful, welcoming message the sign used to convey.

“N-w Entering th- Bright Side -f the Bay!

Oakland, Calif-rn--

Pop-lation:" The rest is a scratched out mess of chipped wood, save for a 7 and a 3.

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

"MacTavish, wake uuup! Last warning before I dunk a bucket of water on you again..."

***To be continued in Pt.3***

[remyfire]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

I was tagged by @quordleona03! Thank you so much for the tag I know lots of people have already been tagged, so consider this a formal request that if you have NOT been tagged, you please come play! But off the top of my head, @onekisstotakewithme @cuddleswinchester @dreamingofspring :D

How many works do you have on Ao3?

40.

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

I think we might officially be leaving 2023 with 300,842 words. Not a bad count for only publishing since April! That's a novella a month right there.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

MASH. :D

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Scratching The Itch, Can't Take My Eyes Off You, To Have and To Hold, Anything You Say Can and Will Be Held Against You, and Tear Out All Your Tenderness. Good morning beejhawk nation I see you all hkdfds

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! Sometimes they pile up and I get overwhelmed and just click that "Mark All As Read" button while hiding behind my hand. But I really try to circle through nowadays even just for a "Thanks for reading!!" because I really appreciate every single one!!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I feel like ...With Too Many Miles Between Us was a pretty rough one. There's maybe optimism that you can read through the cracks, but it was a damn agonizing prompt fill (affectionate) all around. The Good Ones Always Seem to Break is another. Sorry that I keep putting you in situations, Beej.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oughhhh, just about anything that suggests they don't end here, so to speak. I think To Have and To Hold probably tops the list, but I Intend to Hold You For the Longest Time and Soft Place to Land also come in hot just by nature of being established postwar situations.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet! I've had a couple of people not understand what I was going for and who were not afraid of saying so, but it wasn't outright hate. They were probably just not the intended audience.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Ahh yes. 65% of my current fics are rated E for a reason, and the 5 M ones are flirting with that line.

I categorize myself as an erotic romance writer, meaning that typically if you remove my sex scenes from my fics, you are losing integral information or character/relationship development that would otherwise make the fic not stand on its own. I also have a handful that are just pure erotica—sex for titillation's sake rather than development. I adore writing smut!! It's a lot of fun, it's exciting when you know you've landed it exactly like you wanted to, and it's a way for me to reclaim all those years I spent being forcibly repressed due to my religious upbringing. I love every minute of it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I do not!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

The Famous 4077 Dog Tag Party certainly counts! Many of us authors randomized a list of pairings for both eras of the show, and then we were responsible for picking a pairing, writing the characters going on a date (platonic or romantic), and seeing what happened. Extremely fun way to get some rare pairs we might not have expected. For example, I got to write Margie/Klinger for it!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Hey now I am too fucking polyam to answer this and you know it. Mcpunnihawk probably tops the list, warring with margbeej and sidbeejhawk.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I am not taking this defeatist energy into 2024, how dare you. One day, my pretties, I'm coming back for all of you and we are crossing that finish line OR ELSE.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Smut, capturing character voices accurately, physicality, spinning relational scenarios on the fly.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Genres like mystery or sci-fi or horror, repetition of comfort words/phrases, putting my characters through significant levels of pain (I am too empathetic, I can and will cry over my own fics).

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Things that I do not feel comfortable doing myself because I am not familiar enough with any other language to know I'm doing it accurately.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The kid wizard one.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

How dare you make me pick from my children. Scratching The Itch, Anything You Say Can and Will Be Held Against You, I'd Give Up Forever to Touch You, and Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures. Notably this could all change by this time tomorrow. I'm very fond of my fics.

[sparkedblaze]

PART 3 LET'S GOOOOO

*sigh*

Parts 1 and 2

@raggedy-albert tagging you bc you yelled at me ;-;

T/W cursing, talk of violence

"WHERE DOES IT SAY A GUY CAN'T CATCH A BREAK WHY SHOULD YOU ONLY TAKE WHAT YOU'RE GIVEN WHY SHOULD YOU SPEND YOUR WHOLE LIFE LIVIN' TRAPPED WHERE THERE AIN'T NO FUTURE EVEN AT SEVENTEEN BREAKIN' YOUR BACK FOR SOMEONE ELSE'S SAKE"

THOSE LYRICS HIT SO FUCKING HARD MY DUDES

JEREMY JORDAN'S VOCALS HOLY SHIT

HIS FACIAL EXPRESSIONS

MOVEMENTS

HIS A C T I N G

"I'll be there"

"Just be real is all I'm askin'."

"I GOT NOTHIN IF I AIN'T GOT SAAAAANTAAAAAAAAA FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

That's the end of act 1. I only just finished act 1. I pause it too much to type everything out. And also I napped earlier and it felt g r e a t

Finch laying across the table

"Just ask a fish in the desert"

LES SITTING UNDER THE TABLE

"Why do old people talk?" "To prove they's still alive"

Mush's eyeroll

Squeeze Elmer's shoulder

FRONT PAGE?!

IAIN'S SMILE FUCK HIS SMILE IS SO DAMN CUTE

"WOULD YA LOOKIT THAT'S ME!"

"WHERE'S ME?! WHERE'S ME?!"

"I WON'T BE LAST IN LINE FOR THE TUB TONIIIGHT"

Tommy snatching the pape from Davey

"There's a headline even Elmer could sell"

HENRY'S LAUGH/REACTION TO ^

"JACK DON'T RUN FROM NO FIGHT"

"Take it down shortstop"

"FOR JUMPIN' JACKS SAKE CAN YOU STOW THE SERIOSITY LONG ENOUGH TO JUST DRINK IN THE MOMENT"

HIS LIL PUNCHIES

Albert's look of disgust at being touched without permission

"I'M FAYHMUS"

Henry: So?

"When ya fayhmus tha woild is ya erster."

😕 Wot?

????

"Ya erster"

"What are you saying???"

"EY YAKNOW YA FANCY CLAM WIT THA POIL INSIDE"

"O Y S T E R"

"HOW MUCH DOES BEIN' FAYHMUS P A Y?!"

"U DON'T🚫 NEED MONEY 💲 WHEN UR FAYHMUS😎 THEY GIVES YA WHATEVA YA WANT G R A T I S"

HEARING THE FIRST LIKE CHORDS (?) OF KONY IS THE BEST BC KONY IS THE BEST SONG IF YOU CAN'T TELL BY HOW LONG THIS POST ALREADY IS P MUCH ONLY WITH KONY THINGS

RACE AND KATH DOING THE PLAYFUL HIT THINGS

WHY DID THEY CHANGE RACE'S LINE?! IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE FOR ROMEO TO WANT A PERMANENT BOX AT THE SHEEPSHEAD RACES

"Oh no"

*tucks emotional support stick under arm* "knOBBin WIt AlL DA MuCKeTY MuCks I'M BLowIN MY doUGH AND gOIN dELuxE"

Statue of Liberty

The obscene amount of times Racer sticks his tongue out

Raver ruffling Mush's hair

"AMSCRAY PUNK"

"BUNCHA WET NOODLES" "PULITZER'S POODLES"

Davey and Ike playing dogs even after everyone else drops it

EVERY SINGLE FACE IN THE POODLES SCENE

Lemme just (bad quality but I can’t clip it ;-;)

LIKE ALBERT WTF ARE YOU DOING???

JOJO MY MAIN MAN WHY

RACER THAT SMILE CREEPY AS HELL STOP

DAVEY AND IKE, AS STATED ABOVE

MIKE WTF

ELMER LOOKING ABSOLUTELY DONE

"LET'S GET DRUNK" 😃 Y E A H "NOT WITH LIQUOR" 😧

Clap

Hop

TAPPITY TAPPITY TAPPITY TAP MAKE ME STIM SO HARD ILY

FINCH AND HIS SUSPENDERS

EVERYONE GETTING OFFENDED AT GETTING ONE UPPED

TAPPITY TAP TAPPITY TAP TAPPITY TAP TAPPITY TAP

KICK

SPIN

BUMP BUMP

BUTTONS'S BROOM

EVERYONE GETTING SPOONS

"A L R I G H T RED"

SMALLS

ILY

SPOON FIGHT

EVERYONE JOINING IN

"GOT EM"

CHCHCHCHCHCHCHCHCCCKCKCKCCH

TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP

*shoving Kath out of chair*

*cleans off ground with hat*

BOOOOOOOOOOOOO

THE WAY THEIR LITTLE ARM THING TICKLES MY BRAIN

Albert: Ehhhh Albert: Oh shit that's actually p good

THE CHOREOGRAPHY IS SO GOOD

"LOOK AT ME I'M THE KING OF NEW YORK"

"THIS IS GONNA MAKE BOTH THE DELANCEYS PEE IN THEIR PANTSIES"

ELMER'S FACE

FINCH'S LIL FACE BANDAGE

THE SHOT WHEN THEY SING "GUTS AND GLORY"

SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN

TKTKTKTKTKTKTTKTTKTKTTKTKTKTKT

"OF NEW YORK!!!"

SEEING THEM ALL OUT OF BREATH AND GRINNING AND IK THEY HAD SO MUCH FUN

SMALLS

Point

Clapclap clap

ROMEO AND FINCH HAVING SO MUCH FUN

FUCK WAIT NOW IT'S LETTER FROM THE REFUGE

"Dear Jack..."

I paused it.

I don't wanna watch anymore ;-;

I wanna pretend they're all still happy and tappin' around Jacobi's

"Guess I wasn't much help yest'aday"

"Oh, yeah, Jack This is Crutchie by the way"

Andrew Keenan Bolger is just so fuckin good

"So far they ain't brung us no fooood..." lol

"Maybe though... heh heh... Not tonight..."

"We miiiight just go..."

Definitely NOT Ike sleeping next to him SHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"Damn this place."

"Your friend Your best friend Your brother Crutchiiiieeeee"

Albert Some other redheaded newsie: "Enough already!"

Everyone looking for Jack

MISS MEDDA I FUCKING LOVE YOU

Jack pretending to not be crying

"You're a gem"

"Does it matta?"

"If you're running away, nowhere is ever the right place"

"How about lettin' a pal know you're alive?!" Jack: Ffs 🙄

"Why don't I leave you with your boyfriend?"

"YaevathinkIdidntwannabefound"

"A B O V E THE FOLD"

Bap

Smack

They're so close just lean forward a lil and give him a lil smooch

Poke

:|

"JUST LIKE I SAID"

"We're inevitable"

"Fame is one intoxicating potion"

"Yes he did and then he died :)"

Kath's lil supportive nod

"Smart enough to get you committed to a padded room"

JACK'S ART

"Lighten up, no one died."

LES'S LIL WORRIED FACE WHEN JACK TELLS THEM ABOUT CRUTCHIE

"If I wanted a sermon I would show up for church."😠

"Tell me how quitting does Crutchie any good."

"Exactly."

"Here's how it goes-"

T E E T H

"Jackie think about it"

JACK HOW WERE YOU EXPECTING TO MAKE IT IN SANTA FE WITHOUT KNOWING WHY A SNAKE RATTLES

"poor GUYS head IS SPINNING"

"Whywouldhesendforthegoonsanentirearmydozensofgoonsplusthecopsand-"

Kath’s amazement at Jack admitting being wrong

ETHAN’S DUMB FACE 😭😭😭

“Stay on track”

“AND WEVE GOT JACK”

Spit shake

Davey being disgusted

“And I’ve got a date!!!”

Kath being nervous asf to confront her dad

“The newsies are striking against… me”

Kath trying to melt into her chair

I’m gonna kick Snyder

*WHACK* “WHAT GOOD WOULD QUIET DO ME”

Kath’s panic when Jack shows up

“Ask and ye shall be received”

S i t

“Good aftanoon bois”

“Aaand which Jack Kelly is this? The charismatic union organizer? Or the petty thief, and escaped convict?”

“Which one gives us more in common? Eh?” *wiggles finger*

“Crowwlin”

“Want i should save ya a spot on the bill?”

B o y

“When New York wakes up to-“ 😗🧐 “-front page photos of our rally”

“Even some reporters”

THE BIG REVEAL

JACKS FACE

KATHS FACE

“Yeeeeeessss”

Why does Pulitzer hit his desk so much? Take a Xan and calm down my guy

I’m gonna kick Snyder pt 2

THE DELANCEYS CATCHING AND HOLDING JACK SO HE CANT GET OUT DHSGWHMFKE

Morris looking 100% done with Pulitzers shit

“They know I don’t care” 🙂

“Tossed 🫴🏼➰ to the rats🐀 Will they ever be able to thank you enough?💅🏻”

BOTTOM LINE REPRISE

I like that he calls Jack ‘Cowboy’ in this song as a little homage to the original, but (bc I saw Livesies first) I was so confused when I watched it at first.

So ik they only use the newsies to move sets bc they can go fairly unnoticed by the audience when they’re going on and off stage. But just the idea that even if they aren’t actually there with him, them still do everything for Pulitzer is a statement to me

Morris hopp of stairrrrrrs

*bonk bonk bonk* “That there… is firm”

Jacks lil tantrum

“NEWSIES NEED OUR HELP TODAYYY”

HELLO SPOT LOML

TOMMY BRACCO 😍😍😍 (congrutalions on his engagement 😭😭)

THE LIL GAP IN HIS TEETH IS EVERYTHING TO ME

Reasons I love Brooklyn (from left to right:

Graves

Myron

Spot

Hotshot

Bart

Ty for coming to my Ted Talk

“We’ll getcha payback with some PAY BACK”

Speepy Jack

Spot’s dramatic ass taking his hat off

“BOROUGH WHAT GAVE ME BOITH”

Everyone else hurriedly taking off their hats

“FRIENDLIEST PLACE ON OITH”

“PAYUS A VISIT AND SEE WHAT WE MEANS”

“AND WHEN YA DOOOOOO”

“WE’LL KICK YA HALFWAY TO QUEENS”

Definitely totally Jack Kelly on that printing press and definitely NOT Devin Lewis

The entirety of the boroughs introducing themselves

PFFPTTHHH

“WE IS HEEEEEERRRREEEE”

Davey’s first spit shake without wiping it off 🥹

MISS

MEDDA

LARKIN

Bart’s lil hops 🥺🥺

THE CROWD CONTROL

Eyebrows

Jack Jack Jack Jack

Everyone smacking signs against the ground

“Youwannabetalkedtolikeanadultstartactinlikeone”

Racer’s smile 😭😭😭

“That’s was a lousy thing to do” Everyone else: HELL YEAH IT WAS

Elmer’s Graves’ smile

Pulitzer

S H O V E

“He’s a sellout”

JACK RAISING HIS HAND AT LES

“YOU'RE A TRAITOR JACK”

DAVEY'S DEVASTATION

“HESAIDYOUCOULDGOTHROUGHMYSTUFF?!”

Kath plz be more considerate

THE

FUCKING

PROJECTIONS

"A little different from where you were raised?" s n a t c h

"I DO NOT THINK YOU ARE ONE TO TALK ABOUT TURNIN' ON FOLKS"

"Ya ffffffffADDA"

"a ffffffist in ya mouth"

Finger wiggle

Paper wiggle

"good for you"

"The children's crusade..."

"Oh no"

"Ya just gonna take back lAta"

Gotta be honest, Something to Believe In makes me so irrationally angry. Their whole relationship feels forced and only there for the romance grab :)

I feel like they could've done a lot with Kath's character without making her fall for Jack

Like it makes sense that Jack would feel things for her. She represents this freedom he's never gotten to have. She helped get the newsies a better hand in life. Granted it isn't perfect, but it's a hell of a lot better. Not to mention all the newsies have the emotional range of a speck of dust.

Kath, on the other hand, seems very in tune with her emotions. She knows how she feels about Jack during Watch What Happens, and I personally don't think much changed between them between that and StBI.

I think it would've been far better to have Jack, this emotionally ignorant artist pining after Kath, the 'sure of herself' journalist helping make a better life for his family, despite the repercussions of going against her father, who was originally in it just to further her career but has grown to care for and love all of these kids.

Have I mentioned the projections?

I also haven't mentioned this at all, but I love the newsies that push in Jack's 'penthouse' and just sit at the bottom of the set pieces.

Bump

SHOVE

Also seeing Kath deck Jack right here (bc she doesn't know how to respond to him trying to kiss her) would be so much better than a kiss

Don't ask me why, just trust me

Their hug at the end of it though

IS IT NORMAL TO KNOW WHICH NEWSIE IS GOING UP THE STAIRS BY THEIR SILHOUETTE?

"We could hold a hoedown in here and no one would be the wiser"

"Hey!" "Hm?" "It's good to have you back again"🥰 "Shaddup."

BillDarcy

Y'ALL THEY TRADED VESTS AND THEY WANT US TO BELIEVE EITHER OF THESE BOYS ARE STRAIGHT???

Darcy's disgust

"B B Bill. So I suppose you're the son of William Randolph Hearst." "And proud to be a part of your revolution"😃

Nicholas Masson rolling his sleeves up-

Can we talk about how perfect a Javey first kiss would've been at "we ain't come this far to lose" without Kath being there

"HEEEEERRRREEE THEY COOOOMMMMEEE"

Tommy Bracco

Albert's lil nod

Smalls doing nothing but wiggling that bolt

look look

"BLEED EEEEM"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FREEDOM"

Spot doing nothing but standing and looking intimidating

WHACK

HENRY HELP SMALLS

Ty 🥰

ALL THE ANGLES THROWING PAPES

"TEN THOUSAND FISTS"

LAYERS

LAYERING VOCALS IS MY KRYPTONITE

A;SLDKFHAPSHGPAIUSFGP

BAM "THERE'S CHANGE COMIN ONCE AND FOR ALL"

THE FUCKING KEY CHANGE A;LSDGHPAOUSFGPANS I SCREAM. I CRY. I FOAM AT THE MOUTH. I LOVE THIS SHOW

Stomp

"WELL I'M SORRY-I AM-"

"Sorry"

"Such language"

"MORNIN GENTS"

hat

I didn't know you could throw money in an inherently queer-coded way but here we are

The way Jack sits in the chair and gets confy

"Oh, we're your loyal employees"

"Oooohhhh"

"WHAT'S THAT MAKE YOU"

Ben Fankhauser

The chorus starting up again and Jack just 👀

Spot taking off his hat again

wavey wavey wavey

Race 'cheers'ing with his cigar

"So what's your next move"

MISS

MEDDA

"Joseph Joseph Joseph"

Hummy hummy hummy

"Bully"

Shakes hand "My god"

"I'd do it with a SMILE"

"A soft head"

"He doesn't do happiness does he?"

HANNAH

HANNAH ILY

"I'm young. I ain't stupid"

"I GOT CONTITUENTS WITH A LEGITIMATE GRIPE"

Wiggle finger

"iT's a CoMprOMIse WE cAn All LiVE WiTH"

Spit shake

"andtheWorldwillknow"

TOMMY

FINCH

RACE BUTTONS ALBERT ROMEO I LOVE ALL OF YOU

THEIR SIGNS

HUGS FOR EVERYONE

Why does every actor who plays Roosevelt look exactly the same????

"Ya miss me?!" YES😭

Davey swallowing his laugh when Crutchie calls Roosevelt 'your highness'

"Don't sweat it, gov"

"tarantulas?"

"And we're family" YEAH YOU ARE BABY

"show me that backseat I been hearing so much about"

Albert's gimme gimme gimme motion

"G U Y S"

Race's lil hop

"I been I been BUSY"

smacksmacksmack

"CARRYIN THE BANNER MAN TO MAN"

"HERE'S THE HEADLINE"

Jeremy Jordan counting his steps

"WHOO"

"OF NEW YORK"

*incoherent shouting* "NEWSIES OF NEW YOOOORK AYOOOOO"

Tommy being slightly off

Kick

Spin

Flip

Clap clap

CHAZ WOLCOTT IS SO FKING TALENTED

shrug

BART

slide

I DON'T REMEMBER HIS NAME BUT THE GUY WHO PLAYS DARCY DOING FLIPS WITH NICK MASSON (WHO PLAYS BILL)

Specs falling when they do the lil cartwheels

All their lil hops and bows

THE DELANCEYS HANDSHAKE

AKB

Kara Lindsay being a lil early

JJ almost eating it

HYPEHYPEHYPEHYPE- Race, Mike, Ike, and Spot

JJ boogeyin

Kara and Ethan boogeyin

Kara and Jordan hugging

Nick swinging from the set

Ben and Sky doing a handshake and Ben almost knocking Sky over going for a chest bump when Sky wanted a hug

I DID IT

I FINISHED IT WITH ENOUGH ROOM

I HONESTLY THOUGHT KONY WOULD MAKE ME NEED AT LEAST ONE MORE, BUT I THINK STBI COUNTERED IT

[myenemystolvrs]

April 2021

completed fics that i read this month.

~read the tags~

▶ more than 1 chapter

Sasunaru

1. Left in the Past (Rewrite the Future) by Lohrendrell [T, 20K, 2ch]

“By pure chance, Naruto comes across a little book. It has no title, no author, not even a signature, but it does contain long lost memories of a romance that could have been. He can’t help being drawn to the story on those pages, neither could he imagine how much finding the journal would influence his own life.“

2. Idioms and Idiots by cyberflamingo  [E, 53K, 10ch]

“The transfer student is a country hick—which is just a nice way of saying he doesn’t belong in the private boarding school where Sasuke has calculated his life’s trajectory. It’s fine if the idiot steals all his friends, it's absolutely bearable if he’s forced to partner up with him in gym class, and it's definitely not a problem at all that his dorm room is right next door.

But joining the soccer team where Sasuke is team captain? That’s where he draws the line.

And if Naruto could stop calling him a pussy, that would be great.”

3.  A World of Truth by luchia  [E, 23K, 10ch]

“The world is trapped in an illusion which removes anger, hate, and death. It's paradise, giving everyone everything they've ever wanted and reviving anyone they've ever lost. Nearly two years into the illusion, Sasuke snaps back to his senses and must decide whether to keep the world in false bliss, or return it to war-torn reality.”

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

▶ one shots

1. Almost, Not Quite, Us by xxjinchuurikixx [E, 34K]

“Sasuke gets an unexpected heat, and his oldest rival and once best friend Naruto is there for him.

“I promise I won’t… make things awkward.”

“It’s already kinda awkward, admit it.”

He relinquishes his hold on Naruto’s hand and sighs. “Alright, well then, I promise to be a very good omega and not claw your dick off.”

“Do omegas do that?”

“This one will.”

2. A Night of Poor Choices by KinomiAkai [E, 13K]

“Sasuke is sober, tired, and bitterly regretting letting his friends drag him out to a bar. At least he can pet this dog, though.”

3. Underwater by Dae [E, 12K]

“Sasuke didn't really need therapy, but he figured he'd give it a try. It wouldn't have been so bad if the annoying blonde didn't keep showing up with his damn crosswords and magazines and stupidly attractive smile and bright blue eyes.

Whatever.”

4. Adoption by Defenestration; or, A Family Can Be A Fox Demon, Its Jinchuuriki, and Three Dozen Highly-Trained Assassins by elumish [T, 4K]

“He will not be the ANBU who let the jinchuuriki plummet to his death out a fourth story window. Let that be another ANBU’s legacy.”

5. How Naruto and Sasuke Became Friends by prettypriestess [T, 5K]

“The heavens have chosen the accidental kiss as their running gag.”

6. head spinning thinking about this boy by sausegay [T, 10K]

“Sasuke continues, “it’s different when it’s your best friend you’re trying to ask out.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

Sasuke takes a moment to respond, gaze shifting to a spot over Naruto’s shoulder then back to his eyes. “Just casual observation.”

or where sasuke has a really bad crush on naruto and he thinks it's unrequited until he finds out it isn't. featuring soccer practices, cheer stunts, a shared bento, and other events taking place over the course of a school term.”

7. on the verge of things like truth, things like love by PurpleClouds_001 [M, 16K]

"Whatever I've done Hinata, I assure you I'm sorry"

She laughed again, bitterly "You must say that a lot" then she caught her cruel tone and blushed "I'm sorry, I mean, you don't even know what you're apologizing for"

"I've done a lot of things I need to be sorry for, I've learned not to ask"

or... Naruto has died, so Hinata and Sasuke talk for the first time.”

8. Funny Way to Fall by Atanih88 [E, 9K]

“Naruto's favourite late night customer has a set of wings. Yeah. Big ones.”

[jackrrabbit]

open season thirsts [3/?] /// Dabi x f!Reader (18+)

Request: my darling sara dm’d me this request for halloween-themed dabi creeping on poor innocent reader <3

@printhes ily for getting me to make a halloween playlist in fucking september. your mind unparalleled. this is just a drabble but i’ll consider continuing it for real halloween…

Tags/warnings: stalking, mentions of alcohol/drinking, drugging, angel costume ok ok

everything seems a little more spooky on halloween.

your mouth tastes like cranberry juice and white rum and bacardi breezers and you wonder if it stained your lips red. the halloween party you were at was fun, but you shouldn’t’ve had that fourth drink…and you shouldn’t’ve said you’d walk home alone. it’s cold. you didn’t bring a jacket because you thought it would ‘ruin the outfit’, or something—and hey, 5-hours-ago-you has a point. this year you decided you were going to be an angel for halloween, and you don’t own anything that fits over the wings.

still. damn it, why didn’t you bring something to change into? sure, you’re probably not the only pretty girl stumbling down the sidewalk in a too-short costume and too-high heels past midnight on october 31st, but the stretch of pavement you’re walking down is weirdly deserted. no fellow post-party walk-of-shamers, no random teens in ribcage t-shirts smoking in huddles, not even the perpetual annoying men who seem to think yelling about your tits as you pass by should be taken as a compliment.

you don’t know this area of the city well—you took the bus here, and by the time you left the party the buses weren’t running anymore. according to google maps your place is less than a mile away, but everything around here looks unfamiliar. chain link fences, brick walls, rows of iron grating covering closed storefronts. you pass a club you’ve never heard of and hear a snatch of the music pumping from inside—‘this is halloween’, the marilyn manson version. so stereotypical...the clubs have to stick to the theme, right? they played this song at your friend’s party too, and now it’s going to be stuck in your head for weeks.

but the music’s fading into the background now, and the only thing you can hear is the clickclickclick of your shoes against the concrete and the buzzing of the streetlights overhead. mist is hanging low and thick in the air, seeping through the thin satin of your slip and lifting cold sweat onto your skin. the dark feels darker than usual. you check your phone for the dozenth time since you started walking…

no signal.

that’s weird, isn’t it? the neighborhood you’re passing through has gotten steadily more residential than urban, but it’s not like you’re in the middle of nowhere. you stop dead, hold up your phone and turn in a tight circle, trying to coax out a few bars of data.

nothing. damn it. well, you know you have to keep walking in this direction for a while. hopefully if you go far enough, you’ll get somewhere you recognize. you take a step forward, making for the next orange halo from the streetlight at the end of the block.

god, it’s so quiet. shouldn’t there be—like, a dog barking or something? a couple yelling at each other, crappy teen music from a house party, some kids snickering to each other while they TP their principal’s house—something. it’s halloween, for fuck’s sake. it shouldn’t be this quiet. it’s making you imagine things…

…like another set of footsteps behind yours.

click. the heel of your strappy white pump hits the sidewalk. click. you take another step. thud.

you’re imagining things. you stop in your tracks again and twist around to look behind you. there’s no one there, just the blue-black expanse of sidewalk disappearing between the trees. you’re just imagining it.

you start humming. just to have something to listen to that isn’t your shoes and your own nervous breath. as predicted, that fucking song is stuck in your head, so you start murmuring the lyrics quietly.

“come with us and you will see—“

keep going. keep walking. the house next to you is decorated like a 9-year-old’s halloween fantasy—big inflatable jack-o-lanterns lit from the inside, plastic bats hung on strings over the stairs, cotton batting stretched out to look like cobwebs. there’s even a hunched-over witch mannequin sitting on the porch swing with an empty bowl in its hands, the kind of thing you’re sure would bust out a terrifying animatronic cackle if a kid got too close. the next house has foam gravestones sticking out of the yard. the next house has gigantic purple-striped stuffed spiders twined into the trees near the entrance, and the next house—

“—scream in the dead of night—“

the light overhead flickers.

someone’s behind you.

you heard it for sure this time. footsteps, not yours. and the sound of someone flicking a lighter on. you’re not sure why that knowledge makes you shiver—weren’t you wondering why the hell no one else was on this street just a few minutes ago?—but you pick up the pace, almost skipping in the direction of the next light down the block.

don’t look back, you think. maybe you’re still imagining it, maybe the atmosphere is getting to you and you’re nervous for no reason. keep singing. “—everybody’s—everybody’s waiting for the next surprise—“

someone laughs—low, a man, mocking—but don’t think about that. your heart is beating like crazy, fuck, you’re an idiot, who walks home alone on halloween while dressed like the sluttiest angel since lucifer? damn it—your little white slip is riding up on your thighs and you smooth it down with cold damp palms. you can’t run in these shoes, not really, but you want to. he’s probably just passing by. he probably thinks you’re an idiot for running away. you’re being really rude, it’s really—you’re panting—

you hit the circle of light and the rush of adrenaline from being able to see around you makes you pause, turn involuntarily behind you to look for him. but once again, there’s nothing there. maybe you really were dreaming it up. maybe you’re too tired or you’re drunk or maybe you’re losing it.

either way, it’s time to call a damn uber. no more walking in the dark in a nightdress and fluffy white wings. you shrug your phone back out of your purse to check if you have signal yet—one bar, but the map isn’t loading. it feels quiet again and you realized you must’ve stopped singing so you pick up where you left off while you twist around again seeking a better connection. “something’s coming…no, what is it? something’s waiting now to pounce and how you’ll—“

“scream?”

weight on your shoulders. you whip toward the yellow streetlight and he’s in front of it. he’s dressed up, you think dazedly, he’s dressed up for halloween—dark eyes dark hair all those piercings and his face—but then your brain catches up and you try, you try to scream, except a hand is folding something over your mouth and pinching your nose shut and he’s squeezing around the grip you have on your phone until the pain is unbearable and you have to drop it—

you hear it hit the ground. your phone. it probably cracked. but you can’t look, can’t check, can’t bend down. how are you supposed to? a man, a man has you, he has you. the cigarette hanging out of his mouth glows blue and then a cloud of bitter smoke hisses out into your eyes.

his face. god, that has to be a costume, it has to. you need to breathe but he’s holding a damp rag over your mouth like some movie villain but you need to breathe. you shove a fist into the hard muscle of his torso and nothing happens. could you kick him? your legs feel shaky.

you make a whimpering sound and the corner of his mouth curls up into a smile. “are you trying to fight?”

your lungs are screaming. you need oxygen, your head is starting to spin. air rushes into your lungs before you even realize you’ve taken a breath and it tastes wet and warm and sickly sweet. he adjusts his grip so he’s holding you more securely, ready to lift you up when you fall. feels warm against him. you’re already getting dizzy but you shake your head, push weakly against the dark fabric of his shirt.

“save your strength, angel,” he laughs softly. one of those horribly scarred hands cups the side of your face where you’re staring up at him and he pinches your cheek. “…you’re gonna need it.”

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Mo Shíorghrá - Chapter Six.

I probably could have split this chapter into two, but decided to leave it intact. Just one more now until we reach the end, thanks so much to those who have enjoyed this series, I think this will likely be where I end it, although I might do a spin off for Happy and... well, read on for that little nugget to be revealed ;) 

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

Words - 7,550

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

“Hi, sweetheart. How you doing?” Clay asked, kissing Abi on the forehead as he greeted her, Abi squeezing his big arm affectionately before she was greeted similarly by Jax. As soon as she’d revealed she knew who her attacker was, Chibs had called in with Clay, he and Jax riding out to their home to receive whatever information they could.  

“I’ve been better, but less broken as the days go by,” she revealed, Clay smiling with a wink as he sat down. She was made of damned tough stuff; she’d be fine with adequate rest in order to continue healing. “So, Ivan.”

“Yeah, darlin’. What do you know of him?” Jax asked, sitting down beside Chibs on the other couch, his hand reaching for Jimi’s ears as the dog came to sit on his feet.  

“Well, obviously he’s bratva, but not entrenched within any of their stateside franchises. Leo Lenkov wasn’t lying to you there. He’s done time, which you can tell from the number of domes upon his chest tattoo, I think about eight years. He was newly released when I met him, Vlad took me up to Saint Petersburg to meet his family, and he was there. What I learned of him was that he’s ex-military, as so many of them often are, is an active member of the bratva in the position of a brigadier, or more commonly known amongst them as an avtoritet, meaning he’s a captain of designated groups.  

“He’s elusive and ruthless, he was only locked up as part of a deal, nominating himself to serve in order to save such befalling any further members of his organisation, took one for the team, so to speak. I would more than likely think that right now, he’s lying low, planning on when exactly he’s gonna come and finish me off, waiting for an opportunity to present itself. Until that moment of his choosing, he’ll likely be completely untraceable. These guys, they move in the shadows. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s out of state somewhere, biding his time, lulling me into a false sense of security before he strikes again.”  

“So, what you’re essentially saying is that finding him will be like searching for a needle in a haystack?” Jax asked, looking incredulous.

“Aye,” she nodded, blowing her cheeks out. “When these guys go to ground, they burrow deep.”

“And any leverage we could hold over him resides over five thousand miles away,” Clay lamented, pressing his fingertips together, his mind turning quickly. There had to be some way to flush him out again. Enemies. “What of his adversaries?”

“I didn’t know him well enough to know if he had any,” she shrugged, “besides, if he does then they’re all likely back in the motherland as well.”  

“But you can’t vouch for the fact that he’s gone into hiding, no?” Jax then questioned, Abi frowning slightly.  

“No, but logic tells me that he likely has. He isn’t going to leave until the job is done.”

“Right, and when better to do the job than at a point in time where you’re still incapacitated? Why would he wait for you to recover? If he’s gonna strike, I think it’s gonna be soon, before you’re primed to put up the fight he’d know he has coming to him if he did wait for you to recover. He's gonna be watching both you and us closely for a time where he’s certain help ain’t coming for you, so we gotta flush him out.”

“Continue.” Clay spoke with interest.  

“We stage a phony run, one where the whole crew leaves down for a couple of days. I doubt he’d strike on the first night, but just in case, we have some of our Tacoma guys positioned in hiding, watching this house for any activity. For all intents and purposes, Abi is a sitting duck with no one there to come to her aid. Once he’s sure we’re not about to come back, it’ll give him the perfect opportunity to strike. If that don’t flush him out, then I’m out of ideas,” Jax proposed, Chibs nodding.

“Aye, that might just work. How’d you feel about that, darlin?’”

Abi smiled. “Me and a gun will be waiting for him. Thank fuck I didn’t damage my right side; I’ll still be able to fire on him if needs be. I’ll lock the dogs away in the spare room, save any harm befalling them, and lie in wait.” She was contemplative for a few moments, her doubt beginning to play upon her face. “I’m dubious, though, that it could really be so simple. We’re pinning a lot on second guesses that we cannot confirm. No disrespect, Jax, but... I don’t know.”

He understood her concerns and quite agreed with her. His theory did indeed hinge upon what was mostly guesswork into the modus operandi of a man they knew virtually nothing about. “We have to see if there’s some way to flush him out, because you can’t live in perpetual wondering over when he’s gonna strike again, it ain’t possible. You know that. I doubt he’d attempt another hit and run; it was a risky play in the first place, not to get caught, which leaves nothing but more clandestine methods of dispatch,” he explained grimly, sighing.

“And we know your fortitude, Abi, and respect it, but imagine if he came after you while it was just you and the twins out someplace. I don’t even wanna think of anything happening to those babies, but it’s a reality. Once they’re home, they’re an extra vulnerability a son of a bitch like that wouldn’t think twice in using against you,” Clay added, his frown deepening. He wasn’t a particularly ethical man, but he drew the line at children. “And Chibs, in light of this, if you wanna remain back from duty and be here with Abi, we can make that happen. We’ll take it to the table; I’m proposing we act upon it this weekend.”  

Chibs agreed that he would, not wanting his wife out of his sight in light of what had been learned. As soon as they’d left, Abi made her displeasure over the whole situation known.  

“I feel fucking useless. He’s coming for me and I need to rely on others to protect me. I don’t want that to sound like I’m being ungrateful either, I just... god!” she fumed, her hands flexing with fury. He got it. Of course, he did.

“I know, hen. You’ve always done a good enough job of looking after yourself where being a force to be reckoned with is considered, but this time, you’ve got to lean on your family, and those guys, they’re your family now. And you’ll get your chance to carve out a nice pound of flesh from him, this I promise. His death won’t be quick, and we’ll see to that together, alright?”  

“For all the use I’ll be, one handed and virtually one legged as well,” she snorted, Chibs taking her hand and kissing her.

“You only need one hand to hold a knife, a set of pliers or a blow torch.” His reminder evoked a sinister grin to spread across her face. “I thought that’d make you happy.” Trying to keep her in good spirits and not succumb to her own feelings of helplessness was his primary focus, even though within, he felt weighed down by it, as if he was trying to remain afloat with large sandbags attached to his legs, the constant struggle to fight against the descent and keep his head above water.  

Somewhere, he was out there. Not knowing where drove him to the edges of his usual level headed demeanour, hoping with everything he had that Jax’s plan would work in flushing him out. If it didn’t, he had no idea what on earth would. Jax’s needle in a haystack analogy summed up the situation perfectly, much to his aggravation. Although life was tense, it wasn’t without its little moments of sparkle here and there, such as waking up next to her the following morning.

Being able to feel her breath at his back when he woke was something he already knew not to ever take for granted, even more so after missing it for three weeks while she’d been in hospital. He turned, stroking a few strands of hair from her face, leaning to kiss her forehead. There she was again, returned to his side, his greatest love.  

“If there is ever a day that goes by where I don’t fucking tell you just how lucky I am to have you, or let you know how much I bloody love you, you have permission to shoot me.”  

Arching one eyebrow significantly, she reached for him, stroking his chest. “And deny myself the best orgasms I’ve ever had? Hardly.”

His eyes widened in comic astoundment. “Oh, that’s just lovely, isn’t it? I try and have a tender moment with my ole’ lady, and she reminds me it’s my cock she loves the most. Fucking charming, Abigail.”  

“Your tongue’s pretty good, too.”  

“Shut up, you wee shite.” Her loud laughter filled the room, moving her head to his chest, wrapping herself around him. He hugged her eventually, kissing her hair. “You’re such a beastie.”  

She hummed, lifting her head to kiss his jaw. “I know. I wouldn’t shoot you, though, to answer your earlier statement. I might as well kill myself, because I couldn’t live without you.”  

“See? Was that so difficult for you?”  

She snickered with laughter, kissing him again. “Now who’s being a beastie?”  

“Provoked beastie.” Her look of entertained incredulity had him laughing quietly, reaching to gently stroke her hip. “How’s it feeling?”

“Much better, actually. I’ve laid here doing a few exercises while you were sleeping. It’s still sore, but I think my main issue now is just re-strengthening the muscles. I just wish my damn collarbone would catch up. Sleeping with my arm propped is helping, though, keeping is still without having to wear the fucking sling. It needs to heal in time for me to be able to hold my boys when they reach four pounds.”

Tara had revealed that to be the optimum weight they needed to reach in order to leave their incubator, estimating that time to likely be a further week, going by their progress so far. She could barely wait. Cradling her babies was something she’d been looking forward to since waking to hear the heartbreaking news that she was no longer carrying them, feeling empty inside without them there.  

“I’ll help you. Anything to see you holding our boys.” Chibs vouched, kissing her head, Abi enjoying basking in his affections before she became too sore, turning onto her back to prop her arm on the pillows once more. They lay talking for a short while before getting up, Chibs helping her shower and dress before going to make them breakfast, heading over to the hospital shortly after. Although plans had changed in so much that Venus wasn’t collecting her, Abi had insisted she still meet them there, wanting to introduce her babies to the lady whom had a hand in saving their lives.  

“My little chickadee, to see you up and walking. What a joy this brings to my heart,” Venus greeted her with warmly, Abi opening her arm as they embraced outside of the hospital. “How is the pesky clavicle?”

“Still pesky,” Abi sighed, Venus looking sympathetic. “My hip is pretty good this morning, though. I managed to go from the bathroom to the bedroom and then the kitchen without using my crutch, so that’s something positive. They’ve told me to use it less as a begin to feel stronger, but I still can’t manage without it for more than a few minutes.”  

“Well, that certainly is progress. You’ll be bouncing around voraciously upon your husband again soon enough. A prospect I think it would be safe to say he anticipates with much eagerness,” she revealed, her mouth twisting into a grin.  

Chibs looked nothing short of welcoming to such. “Oh aye, Vee. Of that you can count on.” In that particular moment, though, all his eagerness was directed towards seeing his boys again, but he held back, telling Venus she could go in with Abi firstly, smiling through the glass as he watched her look a little overcome.  

“Oh, my lord in heaven! They are about the most perfect little things I have ever seen! Those tiny feet and hands, and their little eyes. Abi, my sweet. They’re simply precious,” she gushed, placing her arm around Abi before sanitising her hands, sitting down to reach in and stroke Riley’s hand. “Well hello, young Mister Telford. I’m your aunt Venus, and I shall be the lady who will spoil you and your brother utterly rotten while your mama and papa aren’t watching, oh yes, I shall! Oh, such a big yawn for someone so small!” she cooed softly, Riley having a little stretch as he yawned. “He’s very true to his in utero days, isn’t he? A very sleepy little gentleman, yes you are.”

“My spine is glad he’s no longer using it as a recliner, that’s for sure,” Abi chuckled, reaching in to lovingly stroke Henry’s hand, his fingers gently closing around her fingertip. “Oh my god, that’s the first time he’s done that!” her exclamation came with a few happy tears, one of the nurses dutifully moving in to dry her face with a tissue since she was bound in her sling.  

“That’s him telling his mama he loves her.” Venus spoke, smiling with a little wink through the Perspex. “Oh, regardless of my previous stance on offspring, if I had ovaries, I would be feeling them dancing right now! They are simply too adorable.” Once she’d had her time to coo over them, Venus moved out so that the twin's daddy could come and say hello, Chibs smiling at them fondly, thrilled with how much they were progressing. Seeing them the first time, he’d honestly wondered how they were even alive, but now, although still very small at just over three and a half pounds, they didn’t look quite as scarily frail as they once had.

Looking over at his wife, he could read her like a book. Her lips curled fully into an adoring smile, but her eyes told the pain, the rage, the emotion burden of knowing someone could have taken their lives. “Stop thinking about him.” he instructed softly, Abi gently stroking Riley’s tiny toes, taking a deep breath.

“It’s hard not to, whenever I see them, knowing, living with what his actions caused us all. He nearly murdered my babies. The anger I hold burns brightly.”

“I know, love,” he was quick to sympathise with. “Four more days, though, and you get to take that out on him with a bit of luck. For now, though, look at our lads, how well they’re doing, and don’t let it stress you.”

Tara entered shortly after, greeting them both, standing beside Abi with an affectionate hand on her shoulder. “They both responded well with their checks this morning, meaning that we can likely rule out both blindness and deafness in them. Their lungs are strengthening as well, which is a very good sign. They are making fantastic progress all round.”  

It was indeed fantastic progress, the kind of news the boys’ parents truly needed after a near month of utter hell. Staying with their babies for a further hour, Abi gave Venus a big hug goodbye, the women making plans to see one another again as soon as the whole Russian mess was sorted, Abi suggesting they get all the women together, Lyla, Tara and Gemma too, since it had been a while since the five of them had all met up.

Once back in the car, Abi looked dejected as she started out of the window, Chibs naturally picking up on it. “What’s up, hen?”

She sighed, adjusting her sling. “Leaving the hospital without our sons safely fastened into the back of the car. It’s wearing on me, only being able to visit, not being able to hold them. I’m sorry, I know I sound like a broken record.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he began, reaching to squeeze her thigh. “I’m your husband, the one you’re allowed to pour all of this out to without question, so don’t apologise for it, alright? Secondly, you’re their mother; of course you’re yearning to have your little ones in your arms and with you all the time, that’s completely understandable. You’re too hard on yourself sometimes, Abi.”  

She always had been, too. Abi was often in the habit of chastising herself when she became soft and emotional, because she’d always had to be hardened. She was raised to always be hardened too, after all. Sighing, she tried a smile for size, thinking just how much worse it could have been. All three of them could have been dead, and she had to count her blessings from god that they weren’t. “Aye, you’re right. At least they’re here at all.”

“Pretty soon, they’ll be home with us, and you’ll be missing the peace with them keeping us up all night.” He was right there, too, she didn’t doubt. One newborn baby was hard work, but two? She knew they’d definitely have their work cut out for them.

As soon as they arrived home, they tended to the other two boys in their life, Abi accompanying Chibs on a dog walk, taking them to a local grassland area and letting them off their leashes to run, since she couldn’t manage to walk much further than the journey to get there without her hip hurting. She noted how much better she seemed on it, though, counting it as a plus as she sat on a rock and did her stretching exercises, Chibs laughing as the dogs made friends with a large Great Dane, the three hurtling around the wide-open space having a wonderful time playing chase.  

Whenever he glanced at her, he didn’t see the same ease that he felt, though. It was there at the forefront of her mind, her anger, her rage concerning the man who had done this to her and their sons, and as the days began to tick closer to his departure on Friday afternoon, he knew well what was brewing within her. He knew his wife better than anyone, after all.  

“One of us needs to stay behind on Friday,” he began, taking his concerns to the table with his brothers. “It’s gonna look too obvious if it’s me, so that’s out of the question.”

“Why?” Clay began, turning his chair slightly as he viewed Chibs curiously. “She’s gonna be fine, Chibs. We’ve got Kozik, Lorca and Donut watching the house, ready to make their move if and when he makes his. Even with a limp and only one functioning arm, I still don’t fancy the Russian’s odds against your ole’ lady, either.”

“It isn’t that.” He paused, lighting a cigarette. “I don’t trust that she ain’t gonna be a loose cannon and blow it all to shit, unless she has someone there to keep her in check. Obviously, I cannae mention that to her or she’d have my hide for not trusting her, but I know my wife. I know she’s volatile when her emotions are involved. She’s already spent fifteen years of her life repressing a rage that she couldn’t go and exact; I don’t trust that she isn’t gonna be a ticking bomb, because she is. I can see it in her face. She won’t be able to remain calm and before we know it, we’ll have a fiasco on our hands we can’t cover quietly. I don’t want that for her, nor for any of us, either.”

Clay lifted his chin, thoughtful, his eyebrows twitching as he inclined his head slightly. “That’s valid. Alright, who’s staying behind to keep the gadyuka calm?”

“Dare you to call her that to her face,” Jax joked, Clay eyeing him in a way that roused immediate chuckles around the table.  

“Me. I will,” Happy spoke immediately. “Other than Chibs, I know her best. She’s my buddy, I’ll keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t get all unhinged. I’ll even say it was my idea, to keep her company.”

Opie snorted, shaking his head. “Two psychos together. What could go wrong?” 

“I resent that,” Happy told him calmly. “You’re right about Abi, though.”

“Oi! You’s wanna stop labelling my woman as a psychopath, over there?”  

“Truth hurts, huh?” Juice chimed in with, Chibs raising his middle finger.

“You’re just jealous because you’re not the one I’m bending over any longer, Juicy.”  

He took it, his brothers guffawing. “It is. I’m jealous and lonely, man. You got me.”

“Nah, to be serious, I appreciate it, Hap. Thanks, brother. You’re right, too. I think because you two are friends, she’ll stand to listen to you more than she would anyone else.” Happy nodded earnestly, their business at the table continuing. After that, he headed to the TM office, where Abi had been catching up with Gemma, leaving to go and visit their boys before going home. As Chibs predicted, Abi didn’t take well to the news when he finally delivered it.  

“I don’t need a babysitter!”

“Hen, he’s not babysitting you. He said he wants to keep you company,” he tried to reason, Abi huffing as she attempted to fold laundry one handed.  

“Shitting bastard t shirt!” The clean garment was flung in a fit of annoyance, Chibs leaning to catch it mid-air. “Don’t you think it’ll look suss, if he is watching the house and tracking our movements, to have all six three of Happy coming into the house?”

Chibs grinned. “Happy has his methods for being discreet.” Indeed he did, too. Friday came and went without incident, as predicted, the three guys from Tacoma all waiting back in their positions come Saturday evening, and the fourth, the former of their charter almost giving Abi a heart attack when he knocked on the sliding glass door just as Abi was exiting the kitchen.  

“For the love of Jesus in a side car, Hap! I nearly pee’d myself!” she hissed, ushering him inside, Happy pausing to kiss her cheek.  

“Dude, don’t tell me that. I’ll get all aroused.”  

Abi stared incredulously. “Really? You enjoy water sports?”

“Oh yes, I do. Fucking hot as hell.” He grinned at her face, taking his rucksack off his shoulder and pulling out the bag of Chinese takeout he carried within. “Plate it, bro. All spicy, too. Our version of spicy.”  

“You’ve been spending way too much time with Tig, but I appreciate the fact you brought food with you.” She turned and headed back to the kitchen, pulling plates out, Happy assisting with opening the boxes and fetching cutlery between making a fuss of the dogs, pointing at the carton Abi was about to open.

“That’s plain chicken and beef in there, for them.” if Happy Lowman’s heart beat for one thing, it was his love of dogs, always thoughtful with her two, like saving them turkey when he got a sub, or in this case, requesting a special order of plain, cooked meat for them as a treat. He took out a few strips of beef.  

“Sit.”

Both backsides hit the tiles with a thud. “Oh, that’s a good sit. Good boys.” He enthused, feeding them each the pieces, wiping his hands on his jeans and taking the plate Abi passed him.  

“Beer?” she asked, Happy shaking his head.  

“Nah, I’ll get me a soda. I gotta be alert, and it ain’t fair since you can’t drink with your painkillers.” He went to the fridge and pulled out two cans of 7up, picking up the bowl of wantons as well as the chopsticks, walking through to the lounge, opening Abi’s can for her and plonking himself down at her side. “So, what are we watching?”  

“I might torture you and make you watch Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.” Her joke went down like a led balloon.  

“You watch that crap? Aw, hell no. No. No chick TV. I’ve been made to watch far too much of that lately, to the point where I can actually identify those bitches by name.”

“Your ma? And no, I don’t. I was just winding you up.” Abi replied softly. His poor mother, it was all she could really do now, sit and watch TV in the hospice while waiting for the inevitable.  

“Mmhm.” Happy Lowman was not the kind of man to answer in sounds and not words, and Abi saw through it a mile off.  

“Lies. What’s her name, Hap?”

He widened his eye a fraction. “No idea what you’re talking about.” Shoving a mouthful of noodles in so he didn’t have to answer, he picked up the TV remote, commandeering it before she could make him suffer bad choices. He could feel her eyes boring into the side of his skull. “Oh, man! We gotta watch this! Creepy as fuck, you’ll love it.”

“I already watched American Horror Story. Now, give me the bloody remote and tell me the name of the girl.”  

He pressed his lips together thinly, his eyes darting between his food, the TV and Abi. “You’re an asshole!”

“Happy, just tell me.”  

He sighed, defeated. “Celeste.”  

“Okay, that’s good. Now, tell me about Celeste.”

“No.” His reaction was so visceral, Abi truly had to wonder about why he was being so cagey. She’d usually get all the details of the women he was banging, whether she wanted a blow by (literally) blow account of his sexual escapades or not, such was their friendship. Unless...

“You’re not telling me because you have a little soft spot for this Celeste, aren’t you?”

His silence spoke volumes. “Aren’t you?”

“Quit it! She’s just a girl, just some chick I’ve been hanging out with, big deal.” As she lived and breathed, she never, ever imagined she’d witness Happy Lowman become flustered. Especially over a girl.

“And you’re really going a long way to prove that with your reactions so far!” Her sarcasm was gentle, entertained as she was by his discomfort. “Happy, this is me you’re talking to, not the guys. You can open up, you know.”

His frown deepened so much, she was surprised he didn’t see the forehead creases reach the back of his shaven head. “It’s perfectly okay to like a girl.”  

He crunched down on a wonton aggressively, brow still furrowed. “She’s an asshole too.”

Abi couldn’t help it, snorting with laughter through a mouthful of Singapore noodles, taking the remote from him and switching the TV off, placing it down and lifting the CD player remote from the table beside her, switching it on, the sounds of Screaming Trees filtering out from the speakers.

“Why?”

“Because she’s fucking perfect! So damn cute, long, purple dreads, button nose, beautiful, green eyes, she’s tall, too, I like tall girls, she grows weed and shrooms, lives on a converted bus out in the middle of nowhere, has a really cool perspective on life, although she’s really kooky and it’s a bit weird to get used to, and she’s just... a fucking babe. She’s so different to the kind of chicks I usually go for. She’s soft, serene and quiet, off in her own little world humming a lot, and she says she can hear dead people, which is really bizarre. And she’s made me lose all interest in other women. She’s an asshole, turning me into someone I don’t even fucking know any more, damn her,” her fumed, Abi entertained massively by how he brightened and darkened all the way through his little tirade about the girl Celeste.  

She was a little befuddled, picking up a wonton and loading it with sweet chilli dip. “You’re still you. That doesn’t change because you found someone you like enough to want to be with exclusively.”  

“I’m a proud man whore, though. I like the never-ending parade of booty.”

“Yeah, but you like Celeste even more, don’t you?”

He was thoughtful for a moment, shovelling in a mouthful of Szechuan beef. “There’s more to it than that.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And I sense I’m going to need a winch and a four by four to drag it out of you.”

Again, there was a pause. Abi was beginning to think ad companies could have sold premium advertisements in the space between Happy’s explanations. ”So, she’s into chicks too, right?”

“Okay.”

“And we’ve had threeways on a few occasions.”

“Right, more power to you if that’s how you get off. If I was into girls, I’d likely do them, too.”

“So, I enjoy ‘em and shit, I mean, what guy wouldn’t? But I never enjoy fucking the other girl as much as I do Celeste. There’s something wrong with me. She’s some kind of witch. I’ll be there, banging away on this other girl, usually watching her playing with Celeste somehow, fucking her with a big assed dildo or eating her out or whatever, and all I want is for the other girl to fuck off so I can have her all to myself.”

Everything she’d heard, his general demeanour, his mannerisms during his revelations, it all spelled out one thing loud and clear to her. “You know what this means, don’t you? You lo...”

“Don’t you say it!”

“But,”

“Abi, no!”

“Happy, you’re...”

“No! Enough, don’t you dare say that word!”

“You’re in love with her!” Abi finally shouted, smacking his shoulder, Happy visibly agitated. “Just own it, you big fucking fool. There’s no shame in loving your girlfriend, you know.”

“It’s not me. I don’t do the love thing. Not since Lou.” Lou was Happy’s ex-wife, the woman whom he’d had such a disastrous marriage to for four years in his early twenties, he’d been scared off emotional investment ever since.  

“Celeste doesn’t sound anything like the fire breathing dragon that was Louise Lowman, from what you’ve told me about your ex,” she observed, sipping her soda.  

He snorted, his face an utter picture. She found it amusing, when a man who could be as taciturn as Happy was so expressive. “She ain’t anything like her at all!”

“I’m still failing to see your issue here. You’re a big, tough outlaw. You can be brave enough to be in love with your girl.”

“They guys’ll think she’s weird.”

“Do you think she’s weird?”

“Yes, but it’s why I love her.” Immediately, he winced. “You tricked me into saying that!”

Abi was in soft fits at him, reaching to stroke his arm. “Stop making excuses. Just be content that you met someone you love. It ain’t always as easy as it sounds like it is for you and Celeste. You’re sitting next to a prime example of that. I lost my love for fifteen fucking years, so I did, as you well know. Stop being a pussy and just let yourself be as your own name suggests. Happy.”  

He side eyed her, taking a large bite from a spring roll. “Fuckin’ women. You’re all awful.” The way he smiled and winked at her betrayed his statement greatly, Abi knowing that was Happy’s silent language for ‘thanks for letting me unload, buddy.’ Once they were too stuffed to move, they decided on something to watch, a show about unsolved mysteries they both attempted to solve themselves, having playful arguments over their differing opinions, this taking them up to midnight, Abi beginning to feel tired.  

“Go to bed. Obviously, I’m staying awake. Take the pups with you, too, just in case,” Happy suggested, nodding at the door.  

“I doubt I’ll sleep, even though I am knackered,” she spoke dismissively. She lasted all of twenty minutes, Happy getting up and gently moving her feet so she was lying down, placing some cushions under her sling arm to keep it rested properly, moving to the armchair and switching the TV to mute, turning on the subtitles. The curtains were blackout, so no one would see the flickering from the TV screen from the outside, but they’d perhaps hear it, Happy wanting the element of surprise if and when Ivan decided to make an appearance.  

Snorting a small bump of speed made him feel zippy enough to remain awake, but not so much that he was impaired, Happy waiting patiently, his gun on the arm of the chair, waiting, waiting...  

At not long after 2am, he heard a noise come from the back door, the dogs going on high alert, two low, rumbling growls. “Shhhh, boys. Stay.” He instructed in whisper, getting up and sliding from the room, closing the door softly behind him. A curtain covered the sliding door the lock of which was being picked, Happy ducking quickly into the kitchen, concealed behind the wall.  

He prepared himself for a fight, silencer-adorned gun primed, ready to fire a non-fatal shot before tying him with the rope he’d brought in his rucksack, but one thing Happy hadn’t prepared for was a knockout gas cannister to roll through the opened sliding door, Happy taking a big breath of clean air and then striking, shooting at the knee of the man who entered donned in a full head gas mask, but sadly for him, missing, Ivan advancing on him, hitting him in the stomach to make him take a breath, Happy holding onto it as he surged back and aim a boot for his crotch, Ivan grasping his gun arm and slamming it into the kitchen wall until he released, continuing to punch him in the stomach.  

Hardened as he was, Happy did not go down without a fight, but eventually, the lack of breath, the repeated hits to his stomach, and the fact he couldn’t see to find his gun outnumbered him, falling to the kitchen floor and submitting to the gas as he was rendered unconscious, leaving just Abi on her own, whom had heard it all, opening the door a fraction to see her house becoming clouded in gas, shutting it again and racing quietly to the window. She had to get her pups out of there.  

“Up, go, go!” she urged, the dogs jumping up and through the open window, whining at being told to leave when they knew something was going on. “Stay!” she instructed them, turning back, picking up her gun and then taking a deep breath, deliberately kicking the metal litter bin over so it clattered on the floor, alerting Ivan to exactly where she was. She then jumped, her thigh burning, but the sound loud enough to trick him into thinking she’d collapsed. It worked.  

The door opened, the black clad figure of Ivan inching in, Abi aiming an immediate shot to his arm, the large Russian swiftly disappearing back behind the door once he realised her rouse, waiting. He knew what she was doing, and knew she couldn’t hold her breath forever. That was when Abi realised she’d had to disadvantage herself for real, thanking her mother there and then for insisting upon her swimming lessons that her father had admonished as a waste of time, meaning she could hold her breath fairly easily for around a minute and a half.  

Dropping down, she feigned collapse, her lungs starting to tingle from the lack of air, the footsteps of Ivan alerting her to his entry, her one eye fluttered open enough to see him stand over her, taking aim. She swung her gun up, shooting him in the calf muscle, her other arm grasping his wrist, yanking him down between her legs, her thighs wrapping around his ribcage and squeezing hard, her hip a raging fire of pain for such sudden, strenuous use, but nothing compared to the rage that burned through her that this time, he would not get away with trying to come and kill her, taking the risk of releasing his gun holding wrist, grasping her large, stone ashtray from the table, and bringing it down upon the back of his head hard enough to knock him out.  

She felt dizzy, sick from lack of air, her lungs on fire as they trembled with the desperation to take in a breath, Abi hauling his body off of hers and clawing her way to her feet, throwing herself towards the window and taking the urgent breath she needed, hearing another thud coming from the hallway. Another breath was taken, rubbing her dog’s heads for their obedience, ducking back into the room and pulling the mask off of Ivan, clipping it on around her own head, flinging both lounge windows open before staggering out to the hallway, finding a now present Kozik unconscious on the floor, Happy slumped just by the side of the kitchen entrance.

Moving through each room, she opened every window and door, checked their pulses and then took the rope she knew Happy had brought with him, going back to Ivan, binding his legs first to prevent escape, lashing his wrists together behind his back before taking her phone, calling Donut and telling him not to follow where Kozik had, that the house needed to air because of the gas. She then called the most important person.  

“Baby, you alright?” Chibs asked, from his location at a motel just outside of Charming where he and the others had been holed up, awaiting the call with nerves eating away at him.

“I’m good, I think. A little sore, he didn’t go down easily. The sneaky fuck used knockout gas, so Hap copped the brunt of it, and I had to hold my breath and fight him into submission. My hip and poor little left lung aren’t pleased, but at least my collarbone held out okay.”

He breathed the biggest sigh of relief. “We’re on our way, alright? We’ll be there in about half an hour.” Most of the guys split off to head to TM, him and Jax heading to the house, Abi watching them pull up, Phil with them in the van, while a conscious Happy sat atop the back of a very pissed off Ivan, his mouth stuffed with a pair of socks, Kozik keeping a lookout at the front door.  

The guys hauled him into the van discreetly, Kozik jumping in with him, Abi closing all the windows once more and giving her dogs a treat each for how impeccably they’d behaved in her efforts to keep them safe, while all the time they would have fought hard against their natural instincts to protect her, before locking up the house and joining Chibs on the back of his bike. Twenty-five minutes later and they were walking into the garage of TM, Ivan chained in the middle, bleeding, his face furious.  

That fury, however, was nothing compared to Chibs, who moved to him at speed, swinging his arm back and punching him straight in the nose, the bone breaking with a sickening crack, his fist striking him again, and again, and again.  

“Try and murder my fucking wife, my sons? You piece of fucking shit!” More punches followed, Ivan’s face cracking, bones fracturing, a husband and father’s vengeance executed with painful, merciless delivery. He ceased after a few minutes, standing back, Clay nudging him before handing over a bottle of tequila, gripping his shoulder supportively.  

“This all you have, eh?” Ivan sneered, spitting blood and teeth on the floor.  

“Oh no, laddie. I’ve plenty left, but see, there’s something else much more formidable than I who deserves to take a few pieces of you. There’s no greater wrath in the world than that of a lioness whose cubs you tried to kill.” Turning to Abi, he kissed her head, watching her nod as her eyes snapped onto Ivan with all the menace of a predator about to stalk down its prey. She walked to him slowly, standing right in front of him, a smile tilting her lips.  

“Not quite as easy to kill as you thought, am I?”  

He snarled, spitting in her face. “Rotten gadyuka.” sniffed, wiping the blood and spit from her face on her sleeve, laughing a burst.  

“I know what that means, Ivan. Yes, I am. And you’re about to feel my fucking fangs.” Without further words, she surged at him, teeth biting onto his nose, crushing his skin, tearing the flesh as he howled in pain, her hands securing his throat before hauling her mouth away, taking his nose with her and spitting it onto the ground. All the guys present raised their eyebrows, impressed at her savagery. They hadn’t seen anything yet. “Can one of you fellas lend me a knife.”  

Happy moved from his space by the tool chest, taking his blade from its holder and handing it to her, Abi then walking to her husband and gesturing for the bottle of tequila in his hand. He hesitated for a second. “I didn’t take my 10pm painkillers, I’ll be fine.” Handing over the bottle of Jose Cuervo, he winked at her, Abi swilling her mouth first, spitting blood swirled tequila onto the concrete beneath her feet, drinking the next mouthful before passing the bottle back.

She then browsed the shelves, taking a tub of caustic soda down, placing it onto the small table she guessed had been set up by Happy, where pliers, a blowtorch, a hammer and other such instruments for evoking pain were laid out. Ivan was still grunting in agony as she walked back to him, lifting the knife and making a deep cut across his chest from clavicle to clavicle, digging the knife in until the bones were exposed, going back to the table and picking up the pliers with a bladed edge, rather than the ones used for grasping, taking them and pinching his clavicle bone in their blade before using all her strength to go straight through the bone.

“Fucking hurts like bitch, doesn’t it?” She roared, laughing at his pain as Ivan continued to growl, thrashing against his chain restraints, cursing her in Russian as she levered her weight against the bone before relenting, picking up the caustic granules, undoing the lid and pouring them straight into the open wound. That really made him howl. A couple of the guys winced, surprised by the brutality of Abi’s retribution, but not by much. She was, after all, her father’s daughter, and Michael Maguire had been unhinged when touched by rage.

On she continued, ripping out the teeth he had left from Chibs punching most of them out onto the floor, burning him with heated screwdrivers, inflicting all manner of pain upon him, until she felt her rage beginning to subside. Walking back to Chibs, she nodded. “Go. Go do what you said you needed to. I’m finished.” He nodded, pulling his gun out and walking to Ivan, shooting him straight between the eyes without a flicker of remorse. Finally, the man who almost took the lives of the three most precious people to him was no more.

“Juice, take the prospects and get rid of him.” Clay ordered, Juice nodding, Happy assisting him in unchaining the body while Chibs stood back, swigging tequila, wrapping his arm around Abi. They walked outside arm in arm, over to the clubhouse, going and washing themselves of his blood before sitting outside on the tables, Abi thankful for the cigarette he offered her.  

“You shouldn’t really be smoking yet, but I think you need it after that,” he told her, offering the flame from his lighter, Abi nodding.  

“If my chest hurts, I’ll stop. My hip is more of an issue right now, I think I strained myself putting him in a body lock,” she confessed, Chibs nodding.

“Well, don’t wear yourself out too much, because I very much intend on being squeezed between those gorgeous thighs soon, now I’m getting over my fear of breaking you any further. Besides, if you can ruck with a Russian and take the cunt down, you can ruck with me. You’ll be the one getting taken down, though.” His wink made her snort with laughter, feeling a hand on her shoulder, turning to see Opie, who passed her a joint. She put her cigarette into her other hand and took a few puffs, deciding it was a little too harsh on her chest and handing it back. That little bit of very strong weed did certainly help, though.  

“That was some next level torturous shit,” he observed, Abi grinning.

“And he deserved every last bit of it. Try and kill my bloody kids, the fuck.”  

“You’re awesome.” His fond words were followed by a kiss to her forehead, Opie, squeezing Chibs’ arm before he left them be, Juice and the prospects leaving the compound with the body in tow, Abi feeling a large sense of relief descend her even more as the van went past. It was over.  

The only cloud in her sky now was wondering when she’d be able to bring her babies home. She was good with that, she realised, leaning her head against her husband's shoulder, Chibs leaning to lay a kiss on her forehead.

[horseshoegirl]

I hope all you guys like part 18 then 👀😂💛

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 17 - Come a Little Bit Closer

📖 One of my friends who beta-read this for me pointed out there is a scene in here that is very similar to one in Ted Lasso (I've never seen it, though there are a lot of people in my life telling me I should now); so I'm just mentioning there might be a similarity.

There is also something in here that people have been waiting for. Albeit, it's probably not the one scene everyone wants, given recent events. But someone(s) gets karma'd 👀

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, mentions of an original child character, angst, mentions of shitty family dynamics, physical fights, Ruthless Dagger Squad, violence, verbal fights, and mentions of blood.

#7k words

Part 16 | Masterlist | Part 18

“Are you a fucking idiot, Bradley?!”

You slapped Rooster hard on the back of his head, the thwack anything but satisfying.

“He is, indeed, a fucking idiot,” Nat quipped next to you. Bradley frowned at you, rubbing the back of his head. “I thought you would be happy I got to him!”

“You do not invert over another pilot on your team, catch them in a fucking corkscrew, and make them hit the fucking hard deck! Regardless if they are my ex or an asshole!”

It was hopeless to think you could ever stop swearing in Penny’s bar, not when Bradley was still pulling stupid shit like that. Therapy was a big step, but you knew deep down it would take a little more than a few sessions to make him less impulsive.

Maybe even more so from behind the joystick of his jet.

Rooster threw his hands up defensively. "I was just trying to teach him a lesson. You know what he did to you!"

You shot him a look.

Bob rolled his eyes and leaned against the bar, crossing his arms. "And what exactly did you accomplish, Rooster? Besides nearly killing yourself and him?"

Bradley gave him a death glare.

“I don’t care why you did it!” You snapped, tapping the end of the bottle opener hard on the top of the bar as you made your point. “You put yourself and a teammate in danger! You’re lucky Maverick stepped in before you got kicked out!”

You spun the tool in your hand while rolling your eyes, quickly popping the caps off the row of beer bottles lined up in front of you in frustration. Placing one in front of Nat, you handed Bob’s to him with a stern look.

“One, Robert,” You said, holding up your finger. “One, and then I am cutting you off.”

He grabbed the neck of the bottle, nodding and throwing his hand back in what seemed to be a 'yeah, I get it' kind of way. You held back on Roosters, holding it out of his reach, engaging him in a staring contest.

"Promise me."

"Liz."

You shook your head.

"This is not something I'm being funny about, Bradley. Promise me you will not pull that shit again."

"You're being unfair; it was just a dogfight."

You raised your eyebrow, purposely glancing over at the barbell for a split second. "I'll ring the bell on you."

Bradley cocked his eyebrow at you. The bell was something he prided on, never happening to him before. "I'll tell your manager you've been providing bad customer service."

You shrugged. "Go ahead."

Penny would legitimately not care. She'd do more damage to Bradley by chewing him out than you ever could.

"You should see the Yelp reviews when they mention me when I ring the bell on assholes. I don't care. Promise me you won't put yourself in danger anymore just to prove a fucking point."

Rooster made no effort to tear his eyes away from you. 

"Bradley Bradshaw, do you promise me?!" you tried again. When he didn't reply for the second time, you raised your voice, "Lieutenant Bradshaw! Do you promise not to risk your fucking life over proving a point?!"

Bradley blinked.

"Yes, Ma'am."

You thumped the glass bottle to the top of the bar, sliding it towards him with a huff.

“Liz!” Jimmy called out. You turned in his direction with a smile, though you were anything but happy right now.

“The Jukebox is doing that thing again. Can you see what’s wrong?”

“Did you try hitting it?” you called back.

“Several times!”

You sighed. Walking to the other side of the bar, you stopped in front of Bradley, pointing your finger into his chest.

“You pull that shit again, therapy or not, I swear to god, Bradley..." You couldn't even formulate the rest of your sentence, throwing your hands up in frustration and letting out a garbled yell as you walked away.

You approached the Juxebox with a huff, grabbing the sides as you peered into the glass. The machine was turned on, but the needle hadn't touched the spinning disc.

Someone slung their arm over the top of the machine, startling you with an almost empty beer bottle in their hand. 

"First, it was the keg, now it's the jukebox. What else is on your hit list, darlin'?"

You stiffened.

You hadn't seen Jake since that night. The minute you managed to get the courage to leave Rooster's Bronco, you cleared out your house of anything to do with him, his overnight bag sitting on your porch when you went to pick up Sadie.

It was gone when you came back home.

And It was suddenly like he hadn’t existed. You hadn’t found yourself going through what you assumed was the traditional aftermath of breaking up with someone. You hadn’t eaten a tub of ice cream, binged rom-coms or cried your eyes out except on the drive home. 

And that had been it.

No calls. No texts. No apologies. 

Without turning to face him, you remarked sarcastically, "Your over-inflated ego, but something tells me I'm going to need something bigger than a broken jukebox to take down."

Jake glanced at the machine, knocking it hard with the side of his boot.

You don't know what was worse, that the machine came to life or that it started up in the middle of the song, 'Come a Little Bit Closer' by Jay and the Americans, started up in the most ironic part.

Come a little bit closer. You're my kind of man, so big and so strong.

The quip fell easy from your lips. “Oh, what do you know, a knight in shining armour, solving all my problems.”

You don't know what you were trying to achieve by being like this. You just wanted him gone. But Jake didn't leave. Instead, he smiled at you. "You always have a way with words, don't you?"

You rolled your eyes. Snatching the bottle from his grip, you turned on your heel.

"What are you doing here, Jake?" you called out, knowing he would follow you.

"I just want to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you."

He quicked his pace, jogging up and interrupting your path. You stopped, gritting your teeth and twisting your hand away from him in frustration.

"Liz, please."

You huffed. You finally met his eyes, your gaze hard. “What is there to say, Jake? What could you say to me other than I was another bartender on your list? I just wish you had the common decency not to involve my niece in this, you asshole.” 

He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a shout across the bar. 

"Jake!"

George had called out to his brother, surrounded by a group of women. When Jake turned at the mention of his name, George was already waving him over.

You couldn't blame the women shooting him flirty glances, eyeing him up and down like a piece of meat. You just wished the pang in your chest didn't hurt as much as it did.

"Go ahead," you offered with a tense smile. "You made your intentions known. You are free to do whatever the hell you want now."

Jake faced you, his expression faltering as the edges of his mouth twitched, failing miserably to hold on to some semblance of confidence.

"You don't think I know that?" he remarked. "I think about it all the time."

“You should've thought of a lot of things before, Jake," you sighed, stepping backwards and away from him. "Don’t start on my account now.”

---

Why George had decided to stick around, Jake had no idea why. Maybe it was insurance that the damage he had done was permanent. 

Jake just wanted him to get the hell out of dodge. 

He wasn’t even paying attention to the conversation he’d been roped into when you walked away from him. He had no other choice but to walk over and let George introduce him to the two ladies he had been flirty with. 

Jake knew what George was doing. He was trying to entice him back into his old ways. It was clear as day to anyone George would be going home with this woman tonight. 

The other one, he thought her name was Bree or something along those lines, was trying to engage him in a conversation, batter her eyes or flirt. But he hadn’t so much as blinked, too caught up in how you shot him down and walked away from him. 

It wasn’t until George opened his mouth to answer a question that Jake snapped out of his trance and caught the last end of his sentence. 

“I guess having played football in high school makes it easier. My throwing hand is awesome when playing darts, though.”

That pipped his interest.

"Since when have you played darts?" he finally spoke up. 

"Since we hired a few new ranch hands,” George shrugged. “All they want to do is drink, sleep, and play darts. It's great for introducing yourself to other ranch owners. I practically win them over each time," he remarked, trying to throw in a bit of modesty.

The gears started to grind in Jake's head. And slowly but surely, the cocky-ass Mona Lisa smile came back. 

He nodded towards the dartboard. "Wanna play a game?"

George raised his eyebrow, taking a swing of his beer, "Want something else to lose your dignity to?"

Jake's grin didn't lessen. In fact, there was a certain glint in his eyes when he replied, "Something like that."

---

A crowd had gathered around the dart board while they had been playing. Practically, the whole bar was suddenly invested in this little game.

And you, leaning up against a pillar next to Bob, who had ushered you away from your post for a few seconds to watch the end of the game. Your arms were crossed, and you had a slight frown, watching him with sad eyes.

It was clear you wanted to be back behind the bar, not standing here, watching the person responsible for your broken heart play a fucking game of darts.

It wasn't even really a game. Jake could land a bullseye with his eyes literally closed. The regulars knew it, too. So, why was he purposely throwing darts with his non-dominant hand? You had no idea.

From what you could tell from when you were behind the bar, he still played well enough. They went for the long haul, starting at 501 points and slowly working their way down. Coyote and Rooster had decided to keep track, using the chalkboard on the side. George had led throughout the game and was still leading, but Jake was always close by enough to make it interesting.

Then George landed enough points that if Jake didn't get exactly what he needed to on his turn, George would win the game with his next. You didn't know why Bob pulled you over here; maybe it was to see Jake lose. Or to see George fail.

You have yet to determine which would be the better option at this point. And yet, you still couldn't bring yourself to step away.

You leaned over to Bob to ask, "What does he need to win?"

Bob sighed. "Two triples in the 20 slot and a bullseye. The bullseye needs to be last."

"What are the stakes?" you frowned.

Bob only shook his head next to you. "Nothing, from what I know."

George spun from his position, smiling at everyone cheering for him. He came to stand next to Jake, patting him hard on the back a few times.

"I don't know if you were trying to prove something, brother," he laughed, "But good game. We should do this again sometime."

Jake did the one thing he wanted to do his whole life.

He laughed at his brother.  

"George, I never understood why you've had this grudge against me for my entire life," he said, stepping out of George’s grip on his shoulder. 

Jake twirled the dart between two of his fingers, shaking his head. With a little sleight of hand, you watched as he switched his grip, the dart now in his dominant hand. You stood from leaning against the pillar and uncrossed your arms.

"You had it all. Dad's approval, the football career. All the girls flocking to your side in high school. You’ve spent your entire life under his thumb, chasing approval.”

He cut his eyes to you, seeing the frown on your face, and knew he had to continue. Stepping up to the mark, he squared his shoulders, eyeing the board.

“Trust me when I say this - you might've been the chosen one in Dad's eyes, but out here, in the real world? That doesn't mean shit."

Jake threw his first dart, the spike landing within the safety of the triple twenty. Everyone watching caught their breath in surprise.

Jake's smirk grew bolder, the fiery confidence he was known for blazing in his eyes as he looked back at his brother.  "Do you want to know what I would have said to you the day you were talking shit about Liz and Sadie?"

A quiet gasp escaped your lips.

George's mouth twitched.

“I agreed with you for one thing and one thing only. I know I won’t be welcomed back,” he stated. “I couldn’t give a damn if I am.” 

Something burned deep inside Jake’s chest as he pushed on, needing George to hear what he was saying desperately. 

" Sadie? She sees right through your bullshit. But she will not hesitate to stand up for someone if she thinks they are being mistreated. She’s so mature for her age, and I am damn proud to be her uncle.” 

He knew he shouldn’t have called himself that but was too caught up to care. 

“And Liz? The world throws so much bullshit at her, and she still chooses to be kind, even when she still buries her grief, because she doesn’t want her niece to see her cry.” 

Jake shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “I found people who, despite knowing my flaws, chose to stand by me. Not hold them against me.”

Jake threw the second dart, hitting the board next to his previous dart within the rim. 

"I remember all the nights you came home, mirroring Dad's words, telling me how worthless I was.” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “Now I just realize you were literally copying everything he had to say to you from that day. Making yourself feel better.”

He'd never admit Rooster forcing the both of them in a Corkscrew is what made him realize it. He had been regurgitating every diminishing word and sentence his father had screamed at him growing up back at Rooster's face, hoping it would make him feel better.

He picked at the tail end of his dart, the weight of it familiar and comforting, before glancing at George's face.

"You ever heard of Roosevelt?" he asked nonchalantly. George eyed him carefully, "What does a dead president have to do with a game of darts?'

Jake had a conceited grin on his lips. "Well, he had this quote, and I'm probably butchering this, but he said critics don't count. Or the person who points out how we stumble or how someone could have done something better." 

Jake twisted from his mark on the ground, standing square in front of George as he continued to explain his point.

"Because the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly... and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly."

Jake's voice was steady, but his eyes bore into George's with a fire. "All my life, George, I've been in that arena. I've stumbled and failed, but I didn't listen to someone from the sidelines telling me how to live my life."

Jake lifted his hand, never taking his eyes once off George.

"It's time I remembered that," he said, thinking about Sadie. "You shouldn't have to either."

He flicked his wrist forward, letting his dart fly.

Bullseye.

He heard the thump of the dart hitting the board, and cheers erupted throughout the Hard Deck. Jake had thrown a dart enough times to know whether or not it had hit its mark; he didn't need to look. Even Rooster was laughing at the utter shock and disbelief across George's face.

"I'm living my life, George," he said, patting him on his shoulder, leaving his hand there. "It's about time you did the same."

For once in his life, Jake had managed to stand up to his brother. But the moment wasn't as satisfactory as he might have imagined - He found himself thinking it didn't matter.

Because as he stepped away from George to look back to where you had been, he realized you hadn't been there to see it.

---

Your shift came and went in a blur after Jake and George’s dart game. The squad still hung back well past closing hours, watching and even helping as you closed up the bar, except Rooster, who was messing around on the piano.

Jake was still here. And George. 

They had been out on the patio for over an hour now, simply talking. You tried not to pay them much mind as you tried to get through your remaining tasks quickly, but you couldn’t help but look out the back windows occasionally, unable to take your eyes off the Seresin brothers for long.

George approached Jake soon after he escaped the crowds. There had been no fights, no punches thrown or someone storming out. In fact, every time you looked up, the two seemed to be inching closer to each other.

Damn him and that cocky grin. Why'd he have to be so... Jake?

You didn’t want to be a spectator to Jake’s theatrics during that display during their dart game. Leaving before he threw that last dart, you were now questioning yourself… if you walked away to shield yourself or to punish him. 

While he stood up for himself against George, in the back of your mind, there was an insistent voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, that display was also for you too. 

Some of you ached at the idea of him seeking validation and needing to prove himself. And that's what hurt the most: that deep down, under layers of stubbornness and hurt, you still cared for him.

If it was, you weren’t ready. Not for this. Not for answers or explanations. You deserved more than whatever that was. 

But you still heard him. Heard everything he said to George.  

You really didn’t know what to make of it. 

The sound of the front door slamming up against the wall, rattling some of the portrait frames, startled you from your thoughts. There was a momentary thought of remembering you really needed to lock the front door when you were closing, but it was washed away just as quickly as it came.

You couldn’t take your eyes off Tyler’s body as he charged forward, finger pointed towards you with a seething glare. “You fucking bitch!”

You stepped backwards, the sharp edge of the sink hitting your spine hard. A few glasses jolted from the force of it, sliding off the ledge and shattering to the ground. Rooster’s playing stopped immediately, and the piano bench toppled to the ground.

Was it anger? Shock? Disbelief the past few weeks of not seeing him coursing through your veins responsible for your reaction? You knew Tyler was dangerous, but deep down, you hated how easily you cowered at his appearance.

Tyler didn't get very far in his effort to get to you. Bradley came out of nowhere, something out of a comic, with his fist flying, punching Tyler square in the jaw.

“That was for Sadie, you bastard!”

Unfortunately for Bradley, Tyler only keeled over briefly before taking a swing. Rooster had not been prepared for him to retaliate, thinking his punch would have been enough to put the asshole on the ground.

Tyler had taken more punches and hits to the face as a football player than the average person would in their life. While Jake had managed to get him on the ground when he tried to kidnap Sadie, and Rooster was fitter than the average person, it would take much more than Jake and Bradley combined to keep Tyler there.

The uppercut to Bradley’s jaw could be heard from miles away, and you could only stand there, watching helplessly, as Bradley crashed backwards into a wooden table, his name a cry on your lips as the pieces scattered.

Whether or not they heard your cry or the commotion, the rest of the Daggers swarmed the island bar as Tyler watched Bradley roll on the ground amongst the splinters in some twisted sense of pride.

Whether you could realize it at the time or not, that would be his biggest mistake.

Nat was the first one there, the first one to put herself between you and Tyler, readying herself in case he tried to leap over the bar to get to you. Javy, Fanboy and Payback had run from opposite sides of the room to surround Rooster and Tyler, Bradley finally rolling himself off the broken table on the ground and pulling himself up.

And Jake, almost breaking the sliding door as he bolted inside to get to you, George on his heels. Rooster was too happy to stand beside him as Jake placed himself before everyone else, this hand twitching in anticipation of a fight.

"This is the one who did all that?"

Jake side-eyed George as he came up from the back to flank him on his other side.

"What?" he remarked, puffing out his chest and not once taking his eyes off Tyler. "I'm not that much of an asshole to know that's not how we treat women. Or children. We should drag his ass back to Texas and show him some southern hospitality."

Nat cocked her head at Tyler, speaking up from her spot next to the bar. "You must be a complete idiot to walk back in here after what you did to them."

Tyler shrugged, a sickening smile on his face. "I've got nothing left to lose. Literally."

"What, Daddy cut you off and kicked you out?" Rooster asked, spitting out the blood pooling in his mouth.

With the presence of your friends, you managed to calm down a little bit. You were still scared, which would never change as long as you could see his face, but you could take in Tyler's state more clearly.

Dark circles under his eyes. Blonde hair, greasy. He was still wearing that same freaking white sweater, only it looked like it hadn't been washed in days.

Rooster was right. Tyler had been cut off, indeed.

Fanboy and Payback, having realized what was going on, went to either exit to stand guard. You weren't sure whether to keep people out or keep someone in. But Tyler hadn’t noticed. He was too preoccupied to remove his eyes from Jake.

You watched as Tyler glanced at everyone around the bar, obviously bothered by Rooster's remark but not addressing it. "Seeing a lot of protectors here. Must be that 'Navy bravado,' huh? All show, no substance. We've all seen how they fail when it matters most.”

Ironically, it was George who intervened first. “This isn’t your place, man. Walk away before you get hurt.” 

Tyler flicked his eyes between Jake and George, a smirk playing on his lips, “This is interesting. Another misguided soul ready to join this little squad over here?” 

George smiled at him, nodding at Tyler, cracking his knuckles, “Just somebody who doesn’t like your face.” 

Your voice was hoarse, vocal cords feeling like they were being dragged over jagged rocks, when you asked, “What the hell are you doing here, Tyler?” 

He didn’t even give you the courtesy of looking at you when he replied, “Respect! What else? 

Jake scoffed with amusement, "By wearing that dirty sweater and showing up here drunk and messed up? You're doing a great job, really. I applaud you."

Tyler doubled back with that all-too-familiar smug smirk, " Alright, saw through that one, did you,” He chuckled before he teased. “I came to see how Sadie's holding up. It must be hard, having her favourite play-hero away. Unless you've moved up from being her 'uncle' to something more."

Jake's face immediately paled, his entire demeanour changing from cocky to pure rage in a fraction of a second. The atmosphere in the room grew dense with tension. "You say her name again, and I'll make sure it's the last word you ever speak."

Still grinning but with an undercurrent of faux uncertainty, Tyler raised his hands in mock surrender, "Just stating facts, Jake."

George, sensing the danger in his brother, whispered a warning, "Easy, Jake."

But Jake's voice came out as a dangerous whisper, all restraint seemingly gone, "You wanna dance? Let's fucking dance."

Jake charged, tackling Tyler to the ground as you stood there wide-eyed and in shock. Rooster and Coyote flanked the grappling pair while George kneeled, calling out to Jake all the spots Tyler was leaving himself open. The sound of flesh hitting flesh accompanied Jake’s punches, and you couldn't bring yourself to look away.

A startled cry escaped your lips as you felt someone put their hands on your cheeks, turning you away from the fight and wiping away your tears. Bob had somehow found his way into the bar with you and was currently forcing you to stare at his face.

“Nope, you don’t need to witness any of this.”

"How much trouble are they going to get into because of this?" you asked, scared out of your mind. Bar fights were a thing that could get you kicked out of the Navy.

Bob glanced over to the fight. Nat was walking towards the back door, her phone pressed to her ear, no doubt calling the police. As his eyes tracked back to Tyler, George and Javy had now joined the fight, the elder Seresin brother grabbing Tyler by the back of his neck and his belt, tossing him like a bale of hay onto the top of a nearby table as Rooster surprisingly helped Jake up from the floor.

The legs splintered under the force with a sickening crack. It wasn’t until you shuttered at the sound and let out a soft whimper between his hands he remembered you asked him a question.

"None," his voice was firm. "As far as anyone knows, he walked in here like that."

"Bob..." you whimpered. He stroked a piece of hair away from your face soothingly. "I'm not going to be the one that says he doesn't deserve what's coming to him. Tyler’s not walking out of here now. He literally signed his own death sentence."

Deep down, you knew that. Tyler against not one, but three navy pilots and Jake’s brother? There was no way he was walking away from that.

The sound of glass shattering caused you to jolt again.

"Penny's so going to fire me after this," you managed to say through tears. Bob gave you an affectionate smile. "No way, you're the best bartender she's had in years. You put up with so much shit, and Sadie would no doubt give her two cents. She seems to be doing that a lot lately."

"Bobby..." you huffed through a sob. "You've never heard you swear before."

He shrugged, wiping away one of your tears. "I guess there's a first time for everything."

Bob hadn't covered your ears. He was only keeping your eyes off the ongoing violence. So you could hear everything going on. There were no more crashes, glass breaking, or wood splitting in two. You could only hear the rhythmic sound of flesh hitting hard flesh.

The next cry out of Tyler's mouth made you stiffen.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth!" he gave an almost whine as Bradley laid a punch to his stomach. "I'm sorry for all of it!"

Oh.

Fuck.

No.

Where you were once scared, pure anger builds in your stomach. You pull Bob’s hands away from your face, swatting away his feeble attempts to reach for you. You marched towards the exit doors of the bar, rounding the corner to get to the group.

Jake saw you approaching first with a sharp lift of his head, tapping George on the shoulder, who looked up at his brother before his eyes landed on you, catching on instantly. He grabbed Tyler by the back of his sweater, hoisting him up onto his knees before changing his grip to the middle of his back. Jake gritted his teeth as he tugged Tyler's head back with a vice grip on his hair.

You kneeled down in front of him, taking in his face.

Even bruised and bloody, Tyler looked nothing like the egotistical sociopath you knew him to be. Nothing like the villain that stalked you months before this or when he walked into the bar all those weeks ago.

This version of Tyler looked desperate, unhinged, but on the verge of a last straw. You couldn't say seeing that white hoodie stained red was unpleasurable. To say he had nothing left to lose was one thing, but seeing it across his battered face was another.

“You’re sorry?” you snarked. “You’re sorry you abused my sister? Are you sorry you killed her? Sorry, you tried to kidnap my niece?!”

You wanted to nail him across the face. You wanted to know the absolute pain and heartache and suffering he had put you through. He took Ridley from you. He hurt Sadie. He hurt you.

But then you took in the room, Jake and George kneeling behind him. Bradley and Javy standing by, ready to pounce the second he might try to escape. And the state of the bar, the damage sobering your thoughts.

No questions asked.

You noticed the ties of his sweater were out of place. Lifting your hand, you fixed one back into place, smoothing the string down before looking him dead in the eye.

"I could fucking care less."

Approaching sirens could be heard outside the bar, making everyone hold their punches. You stood, turning your back on the display to rejoin Bob, who had followed you out from the relative safety of the bar.

You wouldn't give Tyler the satisfaction. Ultimately, he was still a narcissist, wanting a reaction.

"Tie him up," you heard Jake command. Despite Bob urging you not to look once again, you couldn't help yourself. You needed to see this. To see Tyler caught and unable to do anything but accept his fate.

You needed to know you and Sadie were safe.

Coyote was handing George a sailor's rope he had torn off the wall, having pulled the twisted pieces apart. Jake pressed his knee down onto Tyler's back, pinning him to the floor as George quickly hog-tied his hands together, not that he'd be going anywhere. The group of men had done enough damage. Tyler wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

Everything happened so quickly in the moments after. The police burst through the front door. George was holding up some sort of badge, and you were suddenly rushed out into the parking lot by Bob and Nat.

Penny was already there, greeting you outside with extreme worry in her eyes, sweeping you up into a hug the second she saw you. She was trying to console you, tell you Sadie was safe with Mav and that you would be alright. You didn’t realize you started shaking until she pulled back in concern to ask what had happened.

Your breath hitched as you shakily joked, “I promise I’m not purposely wrecking your bar. I don't know where these assholes come from."

Penny huffed out a laugh and a sad smile. Biting her lip, she reached out and stroked your hair at the side of your face as only a mother could. She tugged you into her hold, refusing to let you go.

You don't know how long you stood there until Nat tapped you on the shoulder. She pulled you into her side and looped her arm around Penny's, holding you upright as the front door of the Hard Deck opened. A pair of Police officers were dragging Tyler out, still hog-tied and a mess. George was behind them, following them while speaking to another officer.

When you watched the police car containing Tyler in the back seat roll off into the distance, and a tow truck rolled that stupid white piece of machinery away, you finally felt like you could breathe.

Tyler's frightening hold over both you and Sadie was over.

And yet, it wasn’t as much of a relief as it should have been.

---

You wanted to stay away from the Choas unfolding in and around the Hard Deck. 

Taking the first chance you could, you escaped when nobody was looking, eventually finding yourself sitting in Penny's chair on the beach. 

Less than a year ago, you were sitting in the chair, unaware of what was about to happen to you. You who were desperately trying to get through a book by reading the same page twice. Gawking at a pilot playing Dog fight football who you knew was off limits, trying to get by till the following Saturday night. 

Then Ridley's ex came for you and Sadie. You had fallen in love with said pilot. Learned your sister was murdered. Your best friend hurt your feelings. You had gotten your heart broken by said pilot. 

You didn't know what was worse, the fact you had seen and experienced all this trauma, or that Ridley's death and abscene were still triumphing over all that. 

You jolted when someone placed a blanket around your shoulders.

George Seresin retracted his hands just as quickly as he placed the blanket around you, holding them up in surrender. 

You didn't have anything to say to him, choosing to remain stoic as he lowered himself into the sand, sitting with his back in front of the armrest of your chair. 

It was a full minute before he finally spoke. 

"I need to apologize, Liz."

You scoffed, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. "Apologize for the derogatory display of how you treat women? Or what you said to Jake to make him act the way he did?" 

At least this time, George had the decency to look shameful. 

"If his words at the dart game weren't any indication, I know you egged him on. He was trying to get you to back off, in his own twisted away.” 

"I still need to apologize. For all of it," he sighed, rubbing his temples. "It wasn't my place to do that to the two of you." 

"Yours is not the one I need right now," you spat, lifting your feet off the ground and curling into the depths of the chair. 

Either one of you spoke for a few minutes after that. George seemed to ponder his thoughts, scanning the horizon but not finding anything. The waves were both loud and quiet, making the world smaller than it actually was.

You couldn't handle it. 

"Do you realize the gravity of what you did, George?" you said heatedly, uncurling yourself from the chair and submerging your feet into the sand. "You weren't just egging him on. You were meddling in someone's relationship because your father asked you to."  

"Yes, I know." 

"Do you know how fucked up that is?" 

"Jake doing that grand display with the darts painted a pretty clear picture in my head." 

You rolled your eyes. "When was the last time you asked yourself if you were truly happy, George?"

George thought about it for a second before he replied, "When I became the livestock official back home."

"And let me guess, you made that decision all on your own, without any influence from your father?"

He looked down at the sand, grabbing a handful before watching it fall back to the ground. "Kind of. When I got the ranch, it wasn't by choice. But this felt like the first one I could make by myself."

"You just proved everything that Jake said, right." 

You huffed, frustration evident. "How do you plan on making up to him?"

George took a deep breath, steadying himself. "By supporting Jake genuinely in whatever he chooses. And by ensuring our father doesn't come between you two again."

Your eyes searched his for any sign of deceit, but all you saw was raw honesty. 

"Jake loves you. It's clear as day. Don't let this get between the two of you." 

You spat out a laugh, a high-pitchy sound you hoped would tell him you saw right through his bullshit. "Right."

"Liz, he didn't agree with the BS I was spilling to agree with me. Don't hold it against him."

 "But he went through with it," you countered. "Even if it was some twisted idea of dealing with all the bullshit you and the rest of your family throw at him save Janet, he still said those things. He still hurt me."

You threw yourself back into your chair instead. "I don't know anymore, George. I don't know what to think anymore." 

George dropped his head to his chest, furrowing his brow. "You know, you didn't allow him to explain that day. Or today even." 

That made you sit up. "Are you saying I should have?"

"I'm saying," he replied, "Whatever happened to giving someone a chance to know that people care? Even when other people think they don't deserve it?"

"That's different."

Maybe," he nodded. "But something is missing. I think that's only rooted in what other people think, not when they've done something to you." 

George's words made your voice catch in your throat.

"Give him a chance to explain, Liz. Just listen to what he has to say. Then make your decision." 

Suddenly you were wishing for the asshole from a week ago. Because, deep down, you knew he was right. 

"George, I mean this in the nicest way possible. You have potential. Listen to what your brother told you. You can't have your father tell you what to do for the rest of your life." 

He glanced down to the sand but tilted his head towards you so you knew he was still listening to what you had to say. 

"Ridley and I... My sister... We went through the same thing with our father. And I was so young, I didn't know any better. But she got us out before any more damage could be done. You still can get out. You don't need him in your life." 

"Is it wrong for me to want his approval?" 

You bit your lip, surprised at his question. "No. He's your father. It's natural you'd want that. But you shouldn't have to change who you are. You shouldn't have to seek his approval when he hasn't been someone worthy of giving it." 

George nodded, more to himself than to you, finally managing to mumble, "Jake is lucky to have you in his life. Sadie, too."

Even after everything that happened today, you still gave him a soft smile. "You're not that bad, George,” you said before adding, “When you want to be.”

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning upward slightly. "Don't let it get to my head. I might end up like Jake."

You reached over and patted his shoulder. "That wouldn't be a bad thing."

---

George left you a little while ago when an officer sought him out to take a statement. The night air was nipping at your skin, even with the blanket around your shoulders, and yet, you didn’t know how you would sleep after this, the adrenaline spike still showing no signs of slowing down. 

You didn’t know what to feel, the myriad of emotions thrown at you over the past week, month, and even year - any one of them would have sufficed. But you couldn’t bring yourself to figure it out. To live through any of them.

You just wanted to get through the rest of the day.

Dragging your feet through the sand, you made your way up the back steps of the Hard Deck’s back patio, shutting the door behind you. Shrugging the blanket off your shoulders, you gently placed it on the pool table, readying yourself to take in the true extent of the damage Tyler had wrought on the place.

The bar was dimly lit, save for the neon flashes of red and blue pulsing through the windows. There were splintered pieces of wood from the broken tables still littering the room, chairs overturned and scattered menus. With shards of glass and the thick smell of alcohol, you hated seeing the bar in such a state.

And in the middle of it all, Jake, sitting on a barstool with his head bowed and his hands resting on his knees. It was a stark image, seeing Jake’s knuckles bloody and bruised, his hair dishevelled. Looking less than himself. Utterly defeated.

It was a moment you weren’t supposed to see. A moment nobody was supposed to see.

And yet…

He didn’t hear your footsteps as you went behind the bar to grab a clean cloth, nor did he hear you take a metal bowl from under the sink and fill it with water. Or the ruckus as you fought with the first aid box.

It was only when you reached for one of his hands, having come to stand in front of him to run that cloth over his skin, that he jolted out of whatever stupor he had found himself in.

“Liz, I…”

You shook your head, shushing him. “Not now, Jake. Not tonight.”

He let you clean the blood from his hands. Let you dab at the split skin surrounding his knuckles. He was stiff as you worked, eyes tracking your every movement, from how you delicately held the bottom of his hand to watching you ring the cloth over the bowl. The water had already turned red by the second time you’d cleaned the fabric.

You reached for some antiseptic from the first aid kit, tilting the bottle forward as your finger held the cotton swab in place. Jake hissed when you placed the soaked cotton swab on his raw skin, his other hand shooting out quickly to grip your wrist tight.

His touch did feel like Sandpaper. But it wasn't as coarse, not as rough as you made yourself believe. You halted your fingers, the cotton swab falling to the floor at the shock of his touch.

“Sorry,” a quiet murmur on your lips. Jake eye’s darkened, a flicker of something passing through. He loosened his grip on your wrist but didn’t let go, letting his fingers slide loosely down to your wrist. You followed his touch, watching as careful fingers caressed the palm of your hand.

"You don't have to do this, Liz," he stated, his voice rough.

"Yes, I do," you replied softly, keeping your eyes fixated on his hand. "Someone has to. You certainly won’t."

"You're always caring for me."

You reached with your free hand for another cotton swab, but Jake stopped you, meeting your hand with his. He brought it down, and you let him pull you gently into the space between his legs. 

"Do I deserve it?" He whispered, playing with your fingers. "Especially from you."

You swallowed hard. "That's up to you. But I can’t stand by and watch you be hurt."

You finally gathered the courage to look up at his face. It was a miracle Tyler didn’t do much damage other than a slight bruise along his forehead.

“Otherwise, you’ll go crazy,” he remarked, recalling when Sadie was in the hospital. "Even when I've hurt you."

"Jake..." his name a quiet plead on your lips.

He let his hands glide up your wrists to your forearms, the air between the two of you heated as he leaned forward, hooded gaze intent on your lips.

"If not tonight, when?" he whispered.

Your foreheads met, you more than him, allowing yourself to press your weight against his skin. The two of you came together like this, a series of almost kisses and burning moments that left the two of you wanting more. 

Except that was when you thought you couldn't have him when everyone was screaming at you not to get involved with him.

You're not sure what it is now. Because the person who swore so long ago never to let Jake be in a position where he could break your heart was crawling out from the depths, insisting you push him away and run for the hills.

But Jake's breath, mixing with yours, lulled you into his gentle pull, hands tugging you into him as you felt him lightly graze your lips with his.

What would it be like to memorize the touch of his lips one last time?

Penny’s voice startled the two of you, making the both of you jolt back and away from each other.

"Come on, all this wait till tomorrow."

Whether she was referring to the mess in the bar or your relationship, you couldn't tell. 

You cleaned up the first aid supplies as Jake switched holding an ice bag you gave him between his hands and face. Penny locked up the bar behind the pair of you once you finished, always standing between you and Jake.

He followed the both of you hesitantly into the parking lot, unsure what he could say or do.

At the last second, you turned. You looked up at him, really looked at him for the first time since you yelled at him that day in the Hard Deck, a quiet mummer and a sad smile on your lips as you said, "Thank you, Jake."

Then, with Penny guiding you with a hand around your shoulders, you left towards your car, keys in her hand.

He could only watch every step you took, watching as the distance between the pair of you grew, left wondering if there was still hope for him to make things up to you after all. 

Tag list: (I think I'm missing a few people, so if you want to be tagged, please let me know!)

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky @

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook @taestrwbrry

-Wickett ;)

Part 18 - Sapling is in-process

[gaiuswrites]

Ashore

Part one | Open Waters

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Frankie leave the beach with only one thing on your minds.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.6k~

Warnings/tags: smut, ✨butt stuff✨, oral (f receiving), some lovey-dovey shit

Notes: Here we are friends. You don’t necessarily have to read Open Waters to understand the contents of this chapter (considering it’s mostly just booty bumpin’). You can thank heathens @javierpcna and @whataperfectwasteoftime for the debauchery to follow. It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m genuinely nervous to post this lol but alas. We have arrived. Is it shit? Is it pure filth? Who’s to say hehehe. Cheers bebes x

Masterlist | read it on ao3!

The worst part was, you had to get gas.

Frankie drives. You sit beside him.

The return trip is hushed with anticipation—with sullied stain-glass imagery occupying the void. You've said next to nothing since you packed into the car; the only noise comes from the radio—the preset station phasing in and out as you wind along the backroads leading away from the shore—Journey, Jimi, Led Zep and the like all crackling dry through the speakers.

Everything, each micro-movement, feels stifling— like burning ants under a magnifying glass— each gesture riddled with intention, Frankie’s words echoing clear in the caverns of your mind.

He glances left right at an intersection.

‘Anything?’

He flips on the turn signal, blinking one two one two one two.

‘You gonna let me have your tight little ass?’

He steers the wheel with the heel of his palm.

‘When I cum, it’s gonna be here—filling you up.’

The engine rumbles as you idle at a red light—stalling. Dawdling. The sun spills lazily from the horizon, draining the last of the afternoon’s light with it, bleeding the sky scarlet—emboldening the horizon— and you watch as the setting glow catches the hair on his arm—there, resting on the console between you. His hand fists over the gear, knuckles creasing as they tense around the worn, leathered head. You’re playing a game—a silent, ruleless game. You know he can sense you observing him, can feel the heat of your gaze weigh on the flex of his fingers—the same fingers that had ripped an orgasm out of you not two hours before.

You almost unbuckle your damn seatbelt and fly out of your chair. You nearly break with it, with the unspoken tension filling the car like gas and fuck, how you crave him; how you yearn to put those fingers in your mouth and suck—lave the summer clean off his digits and bob around the long width and—

The light turns green.

Frankie resumes his hand to the wheel, your lewd fantasy dissipating along with it.

It’s minuscule. You would have missed it save the fact that you’re so acutely aware of every fucking breath you two share in the aluminum confines of your old Jeep. It’s a subtle thing: Frankie adjusts his hips— innocent enough— but your eyes flicker over to find the groin of his drying swim trunks tented.

You’re not ashamed to say it— your mouth fucking waters, you salivate— and as if on cue, he squirms again, seeking relief from both the blood rushing south and the blister of your stare. His lips part— the rasp of an inhale as he prepares to speak—before his focus is torn down to the dashboard, an orange symbol popping up in the gauge stealing his attention.

“Shit,” Frankie mumbles under his breath. Looking around, he scans for a nearby station and groans at the realization that he’s just passed one, spotting it in the rearview mirror. “Shit.”

You swivel towards the passenger side window, attempting to hide the I told you so expression pulling wry at your mouth. Not that you’ll hang it over him, but you did inform Frankie that the tank was empty on the way to the beach. You hear another muffled curse come from the man beside you, and the world goes topsy-turvy and reverses itself— the act of Frankie making a grumbled U-turn.

He puts the gear into park with a huff, Van Halen’s solo abruptly cut short mid chord.

The car door opens with a rusty squeal and Frankie clambers out, fishing his wallet from his back pocket and swiping his card through the reader at the pump—but not before he squeezes a palm into the plush of your thigh, thumb searing like a brand into your skin. I’ll be quick.

Fuck, you could have cum right then.

Your gaze follows his movements, dogging after him as he waits on the gas to fill— arms folded across his chest, strong build leaning on the frame of your car.

It’s not a novel concept to you, but God is that man broad. The ratty t-shirt he wears clings to him, pulled taut between the plane of his shoulders, the cut of his tricep apparent even from your vantage point; the corded muscle running up his neck flashing as he watches the digital numbers on the screen tick higher.

Shit, you’re aching for him— you can feel yourself throb into the crotch of your swimsuit. You’d have him right here—in the backseat, steaming up the glass— if it weren’t for the overencumbered bags and rickety beach chairs crowding the space.

With herculean effort, you wrench your eyes off him in search of a distraction, letting them drift to the dark flooring of the car. It’s been dirtied—white flecks speckling the interior—and you won’t be able to get the sand out of the matted carpets for weeks. It’s a nuisance, to be sure, but you have to admit that you’re sort of fond of it; little memories, vestiges in the grains, lingering long after the season ends.

Hello, remember me? each granule chirped, remember when we laughed giddy for hours, maddened by the grace of the sun? Remember when we burned red that time we forgot sunscreen? Remember when we bought soft serve from the surf shack and it globbed sticky down our wrists? Remember when we when we when when when…

Frankie, ever practical, hates it. It’s a pain in the ass, he’s told you, regaling you with the woes only a mechanic would care to know. It ruins the upholstery.

You’ve had your exchanges about the topic—your faux-squabbled back and forths—and yet despite himself, he can’t help but like that you like it. Conceptually, he gets it—it annoys him to kingdom fucking come and he’ll almost certainly take the vacuum to the mats first thing tomorrow, but he understands. He understands it.

He understands you.

You’re like that, you and him. You’re different. You are made of different things, a compository of fractures and fragments. Mosaic tiles. You don’t quite fit—not all of you—but you never force the pieces into any sort of place. You admire each other’s mismatched bits, those sweetly quilted jigsaws, and you hold each one up to the light and point at the unique curves, the notches and swoops there, and say I love you, I love this, I love this too.

When Frankie keys up the ignition and puts the car in drive, he keeps his hand on your lap. Arm resting over the median dividing you, calloused palm sealing over your quad, his fingertips knead a pulse into the meat of your leg with each bump in the poorly paved road— a reminder. A vow. Almost home.

You think he does it just to torture you.

It fucking works.

/

The sound of laughter parts the front door as you enter— Frankie had made some colorful comment about your absolute favorite neighbors, the ones who always leave their damn garbage bins in front of your driveway— and your key ring clatters as it hits the bowl on the side table.

You discard the bags, plopping the sandy things down in the entryway, and kick off your sandals— bare soles padding along lacquered wood paneling as you head to the kitchen for some much needed water.

The sound of the tap running camouflages Frankie’s movement, you don’t hear him behind you. He’s got stealth in him, harbored there from before. He’s light on his feet when he chooses to be—nimble-like, bordering on feline—and you startle with a bubbly chuckle when you spin around to discover him far closer than you anticipated.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping us hydrated,” you grin, as if it were obvious. You’re welcome.

He hums, the note rumbling against the cage of his ribs, and lessens the distance between you with a single stride. “That can wait.”

He rids you of the glasses, hurriedly placing them on the counter, and meets you in a kiss—and fuck can that man kiss. Frankie, like with all things, is responsive—attentive. His lips are fever-laced and wanton, and he roves against yours like they’re designed to— fated for no one else’s but your own— nipping and tonguing at your honeyed whines, orphaned there in the well of your mouth.

His hands vine up your body, so deprived of the luxury of your form - of touch - and he grabs at anything he can— your hips, your waist, your breasts through the cotton of your shirt— their half moon curves sitting ripe in his palms.

After ushering you up to the countertop, he strips you of your jean shorts, your bikini bottom sloughing down your calves along with them, and hoists your feet onto the fake granite, prying your legs wide for him.

When he gets an eyeful of your gleaming pussy, pearled with arousal, the wind gets punched straight out of him.

“Jesus honey,” he groans, “you been like this the whole ride home?”

Your brain is numb, lagging with lust. You don’t trust your voice to speak—all you can do is nod.

“Poor thing,” he simpers. “Poor pretty thing, all wound up for me—all wet.”

You whimper at his tone—graveled, just shy of condescending—and your knees weaken shut before he snatches them apart.

“Sit still.”

It’s a command, there’s no room for disobedience; he orders it with a soldier's voice—that dead thing he wears like dog tags around his neck. Vice grip widening your legs, Frankie sinks down onto his shins, head leveled with your core, engrossed with the sight of your damp sex quivering.

Blotchy warmth creeps up your neck, like ivy crawling over brick.

He’s staring at you— hungry and possessed and simply staring at your open cunt and you begin to fidget once more—riling under his umbered appraisal.

“Sit still baby girl,” he murmurs, softer now and desperate too—intoxicated with the heady perfume of your heat. “Lemme just— fuck, I gotta taste you…”

When he swipes the deft muscle of his tongue through your slit, your head careens back onto the cabinets, plates and bowls rattling behind the wood.

Oh god, Frankie.

He’s got a talent for this— an excruciating, body wracking talent. He thirsts for you something dangerous, something unquenchable; he tugs at your labia, forming his lips around your clit, lapping at your essence— the ocean musk, that sea foam wet.

You fumble through his hair, mussing the saline woven strands with urgent fingers as you grind grind grind, rolling your hips to meet him in a covetous show of want and he purrs into your pussy as you fuck his face, the scratch of his stubble chafing at your legs.

It doesn’t take long, not with the fervor of how he’s claiming your cunt with his mouth. You soak Frankie’s chin— you nearly fucking drown him with it—and he’s glistening with you when he finally emerges for air, pulling you to him to slant his lips against yours, letting you savor your own taste on his hot tongue.

“Bedroom. Now,” he husks, breath hitching as his nose grazes along your ear, and with two hands under your armpits, he gathers you off the countertop. Frankie lands a swat at the plump of your backside, sending you scurrying through the living room with a shriek—completely bypassing the abandoned pile of laundry left lying on the couch.

He smirks—delirious and ramrod stiff—sauntering behind you, enamored with the pendulum sway of your hips as you lead him to the bed.

/

You’ve never been here. You’ve never gone this far. You both have tiptoed this narrow line for months; he’s fingered your ass plenty—you have even gone so far as to don a butt plug. You’ve discussed anal—toyed with the idea, flirted in circles around it like tittering birds.

But you’ve never taken Frankie’s cock. Not yet.

He’s been working you loose and limber for the better part of fifteen minutes, delving himself knuckle deep into your slicked hole until you’re sputtering for more— until you’re downright sopping and fucking shaking— and not with trepidation but with desire. Frankie’s made you gluttonous. Frankie’s made you voracious.

You’re starving for him.

“You gonna let me have this now?” He presses a digit over your ass, kissing his thumb into the knot there.

You tremble, nodding frantic.

“Think this pretty little ass can take me, baby?”

He serves you a slap, plush skin jiggling and pricking pink under his palm. You keen into him, in search of the promise he’s been baiting you with and you arch your hips, gyrating back onto fucking nothing.

“Yes. Yes—” You twist, chin corkscrewed around to see him. You want to watch. You want to watch as he disappears inside you— as you swallow him.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly gone gentle around the lines fraying from his eyes—those wrinkles he’s hard-earned and won, like badges, like medals—from all his years spent under an unforgiving sun, all of that which he has seen and endured. Survived. Your Frankie, always thoughtful, always checking. A goddamn gentleman, even now—even as his dick brays hard and angry against the soft of his tawny stomach. “Because really, we don’t have to—”

You cut him off with a whimper, splaying your pelvis up to him—spreading yourself, letting him see the filth dripping from your seam, dappling your inner thighs. “Fuck me,” you whine, both holes puckering for him. “Fill me up, like you said you would— please.”

Something shifts across his features like a shadow and his expression morphs until it steels— his pupils dilating to a predatorial onyx— and he spits into his palm, coating his shaft, jerking himself with it.

He hisses as he guides himself into you, as you accommodate around him, as you envelop him entirely— inch by veritable inch. He has to station a hand to the base of your lumbar, struggling to maintain his composure—air rattling in and out his lungs as he attempts to breathe.

“Shit,” he gasps, “t-this okay?”

You fist the comforter, coiling the fabric into a ball. It’s a stretch— it’s a real goddamn stretch— and briefly you consider that he might, in fact, snap you in two...

Francisco Morales is going to split you clean in half—and God, if you don’t you love it.

“Yes - yes baby - keep going. D-Don’t stop.”

He pitches into you, setting a legato tempo— transfixed by the lurid juncture where you converge into one. “You- you’re so tight. Shit, you’re—”

He silences himself with a delicious moan, biting at his lower lip until the vessels there burst and it purples, and deals a particularly aggressive thrust— one you respond to with an ugly wail of your own, eyes somersaulting in their sockets.

You’re both impatient, verging on rabid, and it doesn’t take long for him to set a rougher pace and fuck you faster - harder - hammering into your ass until you see stars, popping and fizzing in front of your retinas, a symphony of guttural grunts and carnal praise fogging up the bedroom.

Your pussy feels so empty you could cry—weeping and gaping and fluttering for him as he takes your tight ring of muscle, fucking himself to the hilt. It’s like he’s behind your brain—like he’s carved his way up your spine and nudging at the nape of your neck with how deep he’s driving into you—restless. Ceaseless. His balls slap slap slap against your puffy cunt and you pant— girlish and buoyant with the dulled smacks to your sore clit.

“Please,” you sob, “Please, I need—”

You can barely push the words out—your mind is of no help and your tongue lolls useless, languid in your mouth. Your motor functions have all but puttered to a halt, every scrap of you fighting to stay above the sensation that’s threatening to drag you under its current. The rip tide of it all, of Frankie’s cock, coursing through your ass, tempting to hurdle you out into the dark, wet blue.

“Tell me,” Frankie rasps, scraping through his throat. “Tell me, pretty baby.”

Your response is pathetic—you can hardly dignify it as a response at all. Your temple is pressed into the mattress, hair knotted with brine and sand, and all you can do is coo.

Frankie folds over you, angling himself to graze his teeth over your shoulder—savoring the salt and sex tang bathing your skin, all those pheromones and velveteen chemicals anointing you—baptizing you anew for him. He’s gruff when he murmurs, his beard grating your freshly tanned skin.

“C’mon sweetheart - hng, fuck - what do you need?”

“My clit,” you rush out, needy. “My clit. Please, oh my god Frankie I-I need you to, I need – oh fuck—” And your pleas are mummed by a rapturous moan as he trails his hand from the hollow of your hip to the apex of your cleft and flicks.

Fuck. Fuck, oh Christ—

There’s a ringing in your ears, buzzing you deaf, making you dumb—or maybe it’s just your heart, beating loud and errant against your skull—you can’t say. You don’t feel human. Frankie’s pounding into that cinched channel and playing with your clit—swiveling eddies into your swollen nub—and you feel like an animal. You feel debased. You feel disgusting and perfect and you’re fucking drooling; cheek squished and mouth agape, saliva pools from your wagging maw, darkening the white linen you’re being driven into.

“You need me in your pussy, too?”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer him— he already knows what you need, how you need to have every part of you gorged on him— and Frankie dips his fingertips into your entrance, hooking them up and up and in, fucking in time to the cant of his hips.

He’s in you. Everywhere, everywhere—every possible neuron and synapse consumed with him.

“You need me like this—fucking you this deep? Fucking both your pretty holes?” he growls, weaving his hand lower to grab a fistful of your hair, rucking your head up. Throat stretched bare for him, your mewls muddle to cock-drunk cries as he spears you on himself again and again and again.

Yes yes yes fuck harder please please Frankie

You're pleading with him—you’ve been reduced to meager begging— and a chorus of slurs sings your release as you contract around him and cum, the cradle of your hips bucking reflexively.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he seethes, “you’re so good for me baby, Jesus fuck—”

He’s close now—his blissed finish drawing nearer and nearer with each sharp snap of his hips. Frankly, he’s shocked he’s managed to last as long as he has; it’s a small miracle he hadn’t cum the instant he slotted himself inside you with that very first stroke.

“Baby,” he warns, losing his rhythm. You saddle your spine, hollowing out the valley of your back and arch pretty and supple for him— preening under his weight. He moans at that, and through your fucked out haze you have the wherewithal to smirk at him, devious and prideful, a wild look owning your eye.

Frankie has to brace himself on your hips, untangling from your locks to bruise into the pillow of your skin— gripping on for dear fucking life as he plows you. You’re strangling him. You’re strangling the thick of his cock until he’s dizzy with it—until he’s feral and blind and he can’t hold on, can’t keep fighting this fucking monsoon that’s raging in his core.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—fuck me, oh shit—” He shouts, spurting inside you thrust for thrust, painting your virgin walls with his seed. It’s too much— after all that, and you’re still too tight— and he’s overstimulated to the point of delirium. Frankie roots himself still, cum dribbling out your stuffed hole while he rides out the high of his orgasm—his vision, his senses, his goddamn soul, slowly oozing back into him. When he slides free from you, he does so with a pained heave, leaving you yawning with his absence.

You feel shredded. Vacant. You’ve been sent to another fucking dimension all together.

Without wasting another second, Frankie claws you up. You’re easy and malleable, bones and muscles too strung out to protest, and he whirls you around to bar you to his chest—crushing your sweaty body to his with bullet marred arms— the same arms that have taken lives, that have spared them, too. The same arms that link around you, delicate and daisy-chained, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

And you are.

You are.

Frankie kisses you breathless, drinking rich from your cup— tongue greedy and reverent as he kneels there at your altar, praying his sins into your mouth.

So gorgeous, he croons, peppering your face—your flushed cheeks, your perspired brow—with his lips as he tells you over and over and over again.

So good for me, pretty baby

Was that okay?

Fuck, you’re a dream

You’re my best girl—you’re my only girl

Was that okay?

God, you’re my whole fucking world

Was that okay? Was I okay?

Are you okay?

You swoon, helpless to the contented sigh that seeps out from you like mist. You’ve gone limp against the breadth of him. He has reduced you to rubber, left wobbling in his grasp, and you’re so damn full—your heart and your body—all of it. You feel unequivocally complete. You feel safe, you feel home.

You are home. Francisco is home.

He’s flattening out the nest of your hair, taming the damage he previously delivered to it, earning from you a sleepy grin into the muggy crook of his neck. And with the last of your waning strength you hold his pieces up to the light—the light you left on in the hall as the night grew dark around you, the one who’s yellow glow your naked bodies bask in now, and you say

I love you

I love this

I love this too

tags:

@krissology @heartsofbeskar @madhattervanessa @andiesturgss @sharkbait77 @tenderwhat @javier-pena @pedros-mustache @frannyzooey @chasingdreamer @djarinsbeskar @thosewickedlovelies @juletheghoul @not-the-droids @filthybookworm @pilothusband @letterfromvienna @keeper0fthestars @greatcircle79 @day-off-inkyoto @mermaidxatxheart @lawfulgranola @heatherbel @quica-quica-quica @stuckonthefiction @janesbrontes

[bokunosimpfiction]

Yandere!Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Synopsis: Heisenberg kidnaps the reader. And she’s pissed about it. And so is he. Turns out there’s a lot more to it than it seems, tw: kidnapping I’m not tagging for violence because it’s less graphic than even the mild stuff in canon. Like reader gets a concussion and a dislocated arm, that’s it.

A/N: first time ever writing for Resident Evil. I haven’t even played the games, only watched a play-through and immediately fell in love with this hobo. Honestly, there’s a lot of room to make a sequel or some more from this but I have commitment issues and it probably won’t happen.

Oh and one last thing! Do you think I should add resident evil: village to my fandoms I write for or no. Let me know please!

             It’s dark in your small cottage, claustrophobic with the way you stumble to the front door as fast as you can. You try to take deep breaths, but you can’t, not with someone chasing you. You cut through the kitchen, and when he reaches out to grab you, you slam the door to a cabinet as hard as you can. You can hear his pained yell.

             “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, (y/n),” he says.

             “I’ll make it as hard as I damn please!” You put your hand on the handle to the front door, twist and right before you manage to open it, a body slams into yours and you hear your arm pop. Loudly. And it burns at the elbow like someone poured gasoline on it and set it on fire.

             You can hear his heavy breathing and feel the warm air on the crown of your head. “You put up a good fight, I’ll give you that much.” He presses his body further into yours, and you feel everything. The toned muscle under a layer of fat, the harsh fabric of his shirt and jacket, and the bulge that presses into the small of your back.

             “You’re so small,” he coos, like he’s talking to a dog, “I can’t wait to break you.”

             You manage to wiggle one arm free and jab him in the side as hard as you can with your elbow. You hear him say oof under his breath, and you take this as the opportunity to press your foot into the door and push back into him as hard as you can, to at least get him to stumble back.

             It doesn’t work, he just leans his whole-body weight on you and uses one hand to smash your head into the door. He could have done it harder, you reckon, but it still hurts like a mother fucker. “Shut the fuck up before I do something I regret.”

             “Like you don’t already regret breaking into my house and trying to kidnap me? Like you don’t regret slamming me into my door and dislocating my elbow? What are you going to do to me that you’ll regret? Huh?”

             He looks down at you through those yellow glasses of his, light from the glass peephole reflecting off of them but his hat shading the rest of his face. “I said shut the fuck up!” He presses your head even further into the door, and your temple digs into the frame. It hurts, and your eyes water from the pain.

             “Who even are you?!” You end up shouting. His grip loosens a little bit, just enough for you to move your head off the door frame and onto the actual door. “I’ve never met you in my goddamn life and you break into my house, say you love me, and try to kidnap me!”

             Something in him breaks, you can tell, the outline of his features look crestfallen. “You don’t know who I am?”

             “No… I don’t. And here you are in my house, chasing me around like I’m some goddamn animal you’re hunting.” Your eyes water. “I know you don’t mean a damn word you said this entire time.”

             “Shut your goddamn trap woman!” His grip on your hair tightens. “I love you and we both know it; I know everything about you.”

             “So, you’re a stalker? Huh, didn’t think I was pretty enough to have one.”

             “I knew you had a mouth on you, and it was attractive till it was pointed in my direction.” His voice is low and gravelly at this point, like a thin string that’s pulled taut and about to snap.

             “Well get used to it you fu-” You don’t get to finish your sentence, because a piece of metal from his hammer slams you hard in the face, knocking you out cold.

             When you wake up, it’s hard to open your eyes. It’s too bright and the room is spinning when you move your head up. That must be one hell of a bump on your forehead. You go to feel it, only to find you hands chained up to a metal pipe on the wall. Your feet are too, but that chain is a lot slacker.

             You’re lying down on the floor, a cheap scratchy blanket separating you from rough, worn down cement. It’s still hard and cold, but it didn’t scratch up your skin, so that’s something to be grateful for. You look around the room, only to find an old tv, that’s on, and playing static. That’s what was so bright, you realize.

             Suddenly the noise from the t.v. stops, and you hear a voice. It’s still sounds like static, but it’s audible enough to understand the words and recognize the voice. It’s the same guy who kidnapped you. You don’t really process what he’s saying, it’s just noise to you, and you close your eyes and curl up as best as you can. Maybe you’ll wake up, and everything will be okay.

             “Quit ignoring me girlie.”

             You snap out of your daydreaming. The days of that warm bed and leaky bathroom faucet are over, and this cruel situation is your reality for the time being.

             “Okay. Okay. But just quiet down my head hurts.”

             “I’d be sorry, but you brought that upon yourself,” he says.

             You can’t help but be snarky, you’re tired and already sick of this shit. “I’m sorry you don’t have the self-control to not kidnap people and knock them unconscious via flying pieces of metal.”

             “Touché.” You hear back.

             “Can you at least get me some Tylenol for my head or something.”

             “Why should I? After all the attitude you’ve given me, I should just leave you in there to starve.” Looks like he knows how to be snarky too.

             “Because you were the one who hit me in the head and locked me in here?”

             “Apologize and I’ll consider it.”

             You go back to your curled up position. “I guess I’ll just starve down here then.”

             The t.v. cuts off again, or you just tune him out, just run your hands along the chains to try and find a lock. You find the one attached to your left ankle and begin to plot your escape. Maybe you could pick the lock with a bobby pin? You run your hands through your hair, not only to find that it was down, but all of them were removed.

             You run your hands down your pajama pants. Maybe you have something in your pockets? They also turn up empty.

               “Are you looking for something to pick the lock with?” You hear from the t.v. You turn back to look at it, only to see his face. He’s not wearing his glasses, and he’s taken off his worn-out bucket hat, so you can see his untamed salt and pepper hair. “I took the liberty of searching your person while you were knocked out. I highly doubt you’ll find something to pick the lock with.”

             “You’re an asshole, you know that.” You find yourself saying. To be fair, you probably shouldn’t, considering that he: is holding you hostage, threatening to leave you to starve, and is clearly a psychopath, despite his claims that he loves you.

             “Calm down, you know it makes me upset to see you mad.”

             You can’t help but raise your voice at him. “Quit fucking taunting me! You won this stupid ass game. You kidnapped me! You can come down here and kill me now!”

             “You think I wanna kill you?” He asks, you can tell he’s just as furious as you are. He chuckles lightly. “You know I love you. I did this for your own good! There are people out there. People who want to taint you and your innocence! People who want to hurt you!”

             “I can handle myself just fine! I had before your psycho ass came along and kidnapped me!” Your furious, desperately searching for a weak point on the pipe with your hands while you yell at the t.v.

             “And what would have happened if I didn’t?” He asks you, “lady supersized bitch in the castle would have gotten to you first… I can’t have that.”

             “I’m sorry who?” You ask. Suddenly things have gotten more confusing.

             “I’m not the only one who’s after you,” he clarifies. “You think I’m the one who’s a psychopath, there’s a woman out there who wants to drink your blood and eat your flesh! And monster that wants to drown you and swallow you whole-”

             “Slow down! I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!”

             “Don’t interrupt me! I want what’s best for you!” You can hear him take a deep breath. “I’m going to bring you upstairs and explain everything. And you’re going to behave, am I clear?”

             You just nod your head.

             “Good. Now stop trying to find a weak point on that pipe to get loose before I get down there. It has carbon monoxide in there, you’ll poison yourself before you get to that door.”

             You immediately stop twisting the connector and drop your hands to your sides.

             “Good girl…” His praise makes you want to vomit. “Now stay still while I come get you.”

             When he comes down and opens that iron door and unceremoniously tosses you over his shoulder, you can’t help but comment on it. “Am I a bag of potatoes to you?”

             “Don’t complain, I could be like that Dimitrescu bitch and turn you into wine.”

             You shut up immediately and grasp the back of his coat for balance. You don’t know why, but his empty threats scare you immensely. You watch the hallways blur into one another, trying to see if you can find a window, or an escape rout of some sort, hell, even a vent he couldn’t fit in but you could would work well.

             He smacks your thigh. Not hard, but enough for a slight sting and to get your attention. “We’re in the center of the factory, there’s no need for you to be tracking an escape route, especially because you won’t be leaving any time soon.”

             Eventually, you end up in a small office like space, with a desk, a cork board with several pictures of people on it, and a large grate that leads to a tunnel downwards. He pulls the metal chair out of the corner with his powers and places you in the chair. “Stay.”

             “So…” He turns towards the cork board. “Since your out of town, I’ll explain the run-down-“

             “I don’t really care for the details.” You stand up from the chair and go to walk towards him, but he crosses the room in a second and slams you back down.

             “I told you to stay in that goddamn chair!” He opens his mouth to explain but a whirring noise starts out of nowhere. It’s loud, obnoxious, and coming from the vent. He opens it. “Shut your goddamn trap!”

             “Anyhow, (Y/N),” he starts, “the other three lords decided that they’re interested in you, for whatever their reasons are. I’m assuming they want to kill you.”

             “That’s a veeeeeery extreme assumption.” You roll your eyes, and prop your head on your hands.

             “Well two of them are well know for turning people into dolls and drinking their blood,” he says casually, “it’s only a fair assumption they want to do the same with you.”

             “I’m sorry they what?”

             He turns to you, surprised for a moment that you don’t know what he’s talking about. “Super-sized bitch over here,” a sharp piece of metal lands on the photo of a pale, middle aged woman with bold red lipstick and a black hat, “is one of the other three lords, known for drinking the blood of girls like yourself. Wouldn’t suggest meeting her, she’s not that pleasant.”

             “Known for?”

             “Sort of, most of the towns people don’t know,” he turns to you and leans on the table by the cork board, “they’re too busy worshipping Mother Miranda.”

             “I’ve heard her name before,” you say, “doesn’t she protect the town?”

             You can sense the anger you caused before you can take it back.

             “That Miranda bitch doesn’t protect anybody from shit. She’s the one causing all the issues, kidnapping people and mutating them, killing them and throwing their lives away like table scraps.” You slams his hand on the table and you visibly flinch. He quickly apologizes.

             “You keep mentioning ‘the other three lords’ how many are there, and who’s the one your excluding in that statement?” You question as soon as you get the chance. He’s talking, loudly, quickly and it’s filling up the space in the room with an anxious sort of white noise.

             “Pardon me,” he says, and waltzes over, almost over-dramatically. He brings your hand to his lips and places a light kiss. You can feel his stubble and chapped lips on the top of your hand. He desperately needs to use chap-stick. “I’m Heisenberg, one of the four lords, but you can call me Karl.”

             “Okay… Karl.” You test the name out on your tongue. “What are you going to do with me, now that I’m here?”

             He gets down on one knee in front of you, still holding your hand. “Oh (Y/N), I’m going to treat you how you deserve, like a princess.”

[wicked-mind]

Fast and Slow

Summary: Falling in love with Bucky was fast for both of you. Losing you, however, made time stop for him until he found you again. Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: Swearing. Mentions of torture. Sad stuff. Russian translated through google translate.

Note: Wrote this pretty quickly so any mistakes are my own and parts that don’t make sense we can blame on 3 hours of sleep for the past two days. Contains a line from Clone Wars.

All Writings Masterlist

All likes, comments, and/or reblogs are deeply appreciated! I love that shit (:

*gifs not mine

Falling in love is fast. It feels like the whole world is spinning faster than it should and the only thing holding you there in place is the person you love. Without them, you’d be flying off the world with how fast everything seemed to move. And when you’re in their arms, that’s when the world finally just stops and fades away. It’s just you and them.

That’s how Bucky felt when he found you. His world suddenly went from moving too slow to spinning out of control. He fell fast and hard with the way your lips moved when you spoke, the way they’d curve into that wondrous smile just at the sight of him entering a room. It was like gravity no longer held him, you did. Like the whole universe had a meeting with all of the galaxies and decided it was his time for happiness.

The first time Bucky told you he loved you was when you were reading to him late at night. The sound of your voice always calmed him into sleep and kept the nightmares away. He had his arms wrapped around your waist, head resting on your stomach as you read the words aloud to him. He suddenly tilted his head up to look at you, reaching his vibranium arm to take the book away from your hands which made you smile down at him and complain you weren’t done with the chapter yet. Bucky just simply smiled up to you, crawling up your body until he could cup your face in his hands, “Sweetheart…” He whispered out to you before leaving a kiss on your forehead, “I think…” A kiss to your left cheek, “Maybe… possibly…” A kiss to your right cheek before he leaned his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes with a smile that had pure bliss, “I’m in love with you.”

You had smiled and tilted your head forward to press your lips to his, hands moving up his arms until your fingers tangled in his hair, “Just think?” You whisper against his lips as you pulled away, meeting those gorgeous blue eyes that were your world, “Because I know I’m completely in love with you, James Buchanan Barnes.”

The day Bucky asked you to marry him was the second best day of his life. He had asked Natasha and Wanda to set everything up because, let’s be honest, those two know how to get shit done. It was night time but candles and rose petals led you down a path to where Bucky was standing, waiting for you with that signature grin on his lips, as the rest of the team released glowing paper lanterns into the air from behind him. You walked up to him and he took your hand in his, “My love…” He began, the other hand going up to stroke some hair from your face, “I never thought I would find you, let alone deserve you. I tried to stay away from you thinking that you deserved better. But you turned that all around. Hell, you turned my whole world upside down. When I’m with you it feels like the whole world has stopped just for you and I. I love you with every piece of me and you taught me that even the broken pieces of me deserve love.” He slowly dropped to one knee, keeping your hand in his right while his other dug into his pocket until he held out a ring in front of you with a diamond in the center and rubies around the band, “I’ve waited for you for what feels like a century.” That comment made Sam snort but both of you ignored him, “Will you marry me?”

You bit your lip with a smile, trying to stop the tears that had mercilessly rolled down your cheeks at the proposal. You nodded and managed to squeak out a soft ‘yes’ before watching him slide the ring onto your left hand gently and as soon as it was secured, you flew into his arms leaving kisses all over your face.

When the day came for you to marry Bucky, Tony had gone all out with decorations in the garden. He was the biggest wedding diva out of everybody and you kept making jokes it was like he was getting married. He kept stomping around outside while you and Bucky got ready, making sure everything was absolutely perfect. It wasn’t often that two members of the Avengers got married so Tony was going all out to make this look good. When the music started and everybody was in their seats, Bucky stood up at the front with Steve at his side. You walked down the aisle after Natasha, Wanda behind you to make sure your train and veil looked perfect. Bucky could’ve swore his heart stopped when he saw you, not knowing he was holding his breath until a soft gasp escaped his lips as well as the tears that flowed freely down his face. This was it. His forever happiness he had been searching for was walking towards him to officially become forever his and him forever hers.

For three years, you and Bucky were happy. You two had your own apartment suite at the facility filled with pictures and reminders of how much you two loved each other. Not only was home life great, but the mission success record you two had was the one to beat. Every night you would read to him with one exception. On nights before missions you two would lay and stare at each other as if it was the last time you’d see each other, memorizing every feature on each other’s bodies and face. Bucky ran his fingers through your hair slowly, studying every expression that came across your face, “I love you.” He whispers out towards you, his voice breaking slightly.

You smiled gently over to him, your fingers brushing down his face to trace his lips, “Stop saying it like it’s the last time you’ll see me. I love you too, James, and I promise I won’t let them take you.” You whisper back to him. Bucky always had nightmares of Hydra taking him again, taking him away from you. Every time you two had a mission that involved Hydra, Bucky would always get lost thinking they were going to get him. That the night before the mission would be the last time he would remember you. It’s the reason why he would sit and trace every feature on your skin, trying to memorize every bit of you deep in his mind so if something were to happen, maybe deep down he would remember the way you smiled or how your lips looked when you told him you love him.

The mission came much too soon the next day. You gave your wedding ring to Bucky to put on his chain that held his dog-tags as well as his own ring as you always did, telling him to give it back to you after with a smile. Your mission was to capture one of the scientists of a Hydra facility, figure out exactly what they were working on. However, you, Bucky, and Steve were, not expecting the Hydra based to be so packed with agents. You and Bucky got separated from Steve while fighting off enemy agents but the plan was to just get out of the base as quick as possible and call it a failed mission. After fighting off enemy agents, Bucky had his arm around your waist helping you run down the hallway. You had hurt your ankle fighting off some enemy agents and couldn’t run very well and Bucky had his share of bruises and wounds across his face and body as well. You were almost to the door when a shot rang out and your body lurched forward, a gasp leaving your lips.

Bucky’s eyes widened as he looked behind the both of you to the swarm of agents chasing after the two of you. Then he heard the shot and your gasp. He stopped in his tracks for a slight moment and looked over at you, feeling your body going half-limp against him, “Baby?” He asks you in a shake voice before his eyes wondered down to your left shoulder. There was blood leaking down your tactical suite from a hole, splattering against the floor, “No no no, baby.” He says, pulling you firmly to his side as he resumed towards the exit.

“James…” You whisper out, swallowing hard. You could taste the tinge of copper in your mouth, realizing you must’ve bitten your tongue when the bullet entered your body, “Go, James. I won’t let them take you…You need to go now.” You tell him, trying to stop in your tracks to hold the agents off so he could escape. You could feel your body starting to get cold, knowing that wasn’t a good sign and the pain slowly subsiding, another bad sign. The door at the end of the hallway had an emergency shut button but one of you would have to stay on the other side to close it.

“Shut up, I’m not leaving you.” Bucky growled down to you, keeping a steady pace towards the door, keeping you upright and pulling you towards the exit. He was so focused on taking care of you that he hadn’t noticed he had been shot in the back as well, his super soldier serum not allowing him to stop. It’s not like this is the first time he had been shot before but he was damn determined not to let it slow him down from getting you to safety.

The Hydra agents were right on your heels, one grabbing your arm and pulling you from Bucky as another went to grab him. You grab the agent that attempted to grab ahold of Bucky, pulling him down to the floor. You thanked god you couldn’t feel the pain as you stood back to your feet, walking towards Bucky and shoving him out the exit before hitting the red button, causing a door to come slamming between the two of you, the only thing you could see through the small window was Bucky staring at you with wide eyes, pain across his features at you two being separated with you on the wrong side of the door with dozens of Hydra agents. You smile slightly at him, one hand on the wound to your shoulder while the other touched the glass, smearing some blood on the small window, “I promised you.” You whisper out, not knowing if he could hear you through the door, “I love you, James.”

“NO!” Bucky yelled, punching the door with his vibranium fist and barely leaving a dent, “Baby, open the door now!”

You took one last look at him before turning to look at the Hydra agents, lifting your hand to the earpiece, “Steve… Bucky needs immediate extraction and medical attention… Get him out of here.” You say into the coms before pulling the earpiece out and dropping it to the floor. You winced as you pulled out one of knives from the sheath on your thigh, ready to attempt to fight off the dozen agents approaching you slowly.

Steve ran up behind Bucky, looking through the window. He tried to help Bucky pry the door open, then both of them froze when another shot rang out and everything seemed to move in slow motion. Your body lurched again, Bucky watching as a bullet went through the right of your ribcage. He let out a loud, deep scream at the sight of your body stilling for a moment before you fell to your knees then you fell flush to the floor. Steve grabbed onto Bucky, watching the Hydra agents move around you to get to the door. Steve pulled the screaming and fighting Bucky away from the door with all his strength, eventually making it back to the quinjet they arrived on and sedating him so he wouldn’t go fight his way to recover your body.

The team went back to the Hydra base a few days later, wanting to recover your body but the base had been cleaned out and empty with all that was left of you was the blood. Bucky’s world had stopped. Every day he felt like he woke up from a bad dream of losing you just to enter the reality that he did. The empty space in the bed was haunting to go to sleep next to as well as wake up but Bucky couldn’t bring himself to switch rooms or beds. He needed you and you were gone. He tried to accept that but how could he when you were the love of his life. His person. You were supposed to be with him forever and instead he was left alone.

Losing love is slow. It feels like your world just decides to stop spinning around you. Everything seems wrong and different in a way you don’t want. It feels like a piece has been forcefully torn from your heart with no hope of it being replaced. It isn’t just a star that is taken, it feels like the whole damn sky has been ripped away from above you and you aren’t quite sure if the ground beneath your feet is holding you anymore.

Two Years Later

The team sat at the table, called in by Natasha. She was the acting head of the Avengers, an honor given to her by Nick Fury. He had told her that they needed to be lead by someone who understood and was apart of what they were, but also had a solid mind not to sway. Natasha sat, staring at the table. Obvious lost in her thoughts about this latest mission she was going to debrief the team about. It had been a while since they were all here together meaning it had to be a dangerous one.

The team took their seats, Steve watching Natasha closely in confusion of what may be bothering her. Only Steve, Bucky, and Clint were called to this meeting.

“Okay, let’s get started.” She spoke finally after a sigh, standing up and turning on the hologram to show video footage. “We have sent four teams of agents in to take down a threat we believe may be loyal to Hydra. Every time we send a team in, we lose transmissions and footage from an unknown attacker. It’s something that has never happened to us. Usually we find some sort of trace. We had no information. Until last night. Brace yourselves..” She promptly pushed play so the rest of the team could see what she meant.

The video was taken from a quiet drone, following the team of four field agents. Everything on the video was normal for the agents, clearing rooms in a building trying to find their target. But quickly, everything changed. Something came into the room, knocking the agents to the floor with ease. Then, whatever it was, paused, looking at one of the standing agents in the face. The person wore a black leather jacket, dark jeans, and combat boots. The agent pulled out his pistol, telling the person to stand down. But the person didn’t move, not even flinch at the sight of a gun pointed at them. They quickly pulled out a knife and threw it, landing right in the neck of the agent and watching him fall to the floor before turning to the drone. The person wore a mask blocking the features and the hair, unable to get recognition. The person picked up the dead agent’s gun and fired it at the drone, cutting the feed.

Steve looked at Natasha, confused, “What was that?”

Natasha sighed and turned to look at him from the screen, “I don’t know.”

“Can’t see her face.” Bucky muttered out.

“Every time we see whoever that is, they’re masked and they don’t speak. We can’t identify them.” Nat responded, placing her hands on the table, “The only thing we do know is that they have killed four teams, a total of 13 agents.” She paused for a brief moment, “I’m thinking it’s a super soldier. We have intel on a Hydra base in Russia.”

Steve looked over to Bucky, “Are you up for this mission?” He asks softly, knowing Bucky had been specifically staying away from missions to do with Hydra since he lost you. It was just too much of a reminder for him of what Hydra had managed to take away.

Bucky swallowed hard and sat back in his chair, staring down at his hands, “Yeah.” Was all he could manage to get out. It was time for him to face his demons, figure out what had happened to you. Maybe he could now finally figure out what happened to your body and bring you home where you belong, burry you so he would have a place to actually mourn. He would go through every Hydra agent until he got answers.

One Week Later

When the team arrived, they did a lot of recon. The bunker was so thick that Sam couldn’t get an accurate reading even with RedWing’s help. It was an obvious Hydra base, sometimes they would see agents coming out and going in, sealing the large doors behind them. Natasha and Steve quickly hatched a plan that when agents would leave, they would attack them and steal their gear and keycards used to enter the base.

That is how the team of Steve, Natasha, and Bucky ended up walking down the corridors of the bunker disguised as Hydra goons. It took everything in Bucky not to just kill the first agent he saw but he was here for answers and needed to complete the mission first before he could interrogate the enemy. Once they got the layout of the facility and a good idea of numbers, that was when they started their attack. The trio started at one end of the bunker, going through and eliminating agents while Sam and Clint came through the front of the bunker.

Bucky and Steve broke off once they met up with Sam and Clint, going on the search for the scientist they were looking for. They walked into a room to find the scientist, Arvloski, by himself and attempting to burn files. Steve threw his shield at Arvloski, knocking him back into the wall and this was when Bucky finally snapped. Bucky crossed the room, gripping onto the scientist’s throat with his vibranium arm and pushing him against the wall, “Two years ago you killed my wife.” He growled out, his eyes darkening near black.

“Buck.” Steve’s voice came from across the room.

“What did Hydra do with her body?!” Bucky growled out again, ignoring Steve completely. He was consumed with white hot rage, only seeing the images of you saying you loved him one last time before dropping to your knees.

Steve approached Bucky and pulled him away from Arvloski, the scientist hitting the ground gasping for air, “Buck, stop!” He said, snapping his friend back to reality, “Look!” He yelled, pointing over at a computer monitor.

Bucky frowned, looking over at the scientist before making his way over to the computer monitor Steve had pointed him to. He squints a little at the screen, it was recordings and the dates started at a year and a half ago. Bucky felt his blood run cold at the view of the monitor, his jaw dropping slightly. There you were, alive, strapped into the same type of machine they would use to wipe his memories. He watched as you were sat back up after screaming, the mouth guard falling from your mouth as you stared blankly ahead with sweat dripping down your skin.

Arvloski came into view of the screen, “Do you know who you are?”

You kept staring for a moment, a look of confusion on your face before you whispered out one word, “James…”

Arvloski shook his head, “This isn’t working. We keep running her through this her brain will melt. We’ll try something else."

Bucky’s fists clenched as the recording ended then started replaying again. He stood silent for a moment, trying to control his anger because if he didn’t then Arvloski would be ripped to shreds by Bucky’s own hands. His nostrils flared with anger as he took in deep, shaky breaths, “Where is she?” He demanded, not looking over at Arvloski.

Steve had positioned himself between the scientist and Bucky just in case things got more violent than they should be. He watched Arvloski get to his feet, brushing the dirt from his pants, “I’d answer him.” Steve said over to the scientist.

Arvloski raised an eyebrow at the two before holding up his arms as if to say he gives up, “I’ll take you to her.” He said, keeping his hands up and leading them out of the room and down some metal stairs to what looked like a containment area. He motioned down the hallway, “Third cell on the right.”

Bucky glared over at Arvloski, pushing him up against the wall and pointing a finger at him, “I’m not done with you.” He hissed out, throwing him over to Steve who secured him in an iron grasp on the arm. He took a deep breath before starting to walk down the hallway, looking at the empty cells until he reached yours. He paused, squinting in the dark of the cell to see a figure curled up in the corner. Bucky gripped onto the large padlock not he cell doors, ripping it off easily with his vibranium arm and strength before pulling the door open slowly with a soft creek, “Baby?” He whispered out towards you as he stepped into the cell. He watched your head turn slightly as if you were going to look at him but you didn’t turn enough to meet his gaze or let you see his face.

Arvloski reached into his pocket with his free hand while his other arm stayed in Steve’s grasp. He dug in his pocket until he found the small remote he was looking for, clicking the large button before speaking in Russian throughout the cell block, “солдат, атака (Soldier, Attack).”

Bucky heard the Russian words, looking over his shoulder for a moment before back to you. You seemed to flinch at first but then he watched as you slowly stood from the corner, cracking your neck on each side as you turned to face him, “Sweetheart you don’t want to do this.” He pleaded, watching you take steps closer to him. He wouldn’t fight you but he wouldn’t exactly just let you beat the shit out of him either. Bucky was caught off guard by the strength of your punch to his stomach before you landed a kick to his jaw, causing him to fly backwards into one of the stone walls. His eyes widened as he looked up at you, realizing they hadn’t just tried to brain wash you. They had done the same thing to you as they did to him. Give you some sort of super soldier serum that gave you extra strength and somehow controlled you without needed trigger words.

You walk past him out of the cell, eyes looking to the smirking scientist for a moment before up to Steve. Within moment, you moved from standing in front of him to advancing at a quick pace, throwing punches that Steve was trying his best to block. Arvloski took this chance to run up the stairs in an attempt to escape.

Steve managed to wrap his arms around you, vaulting your attacks for a moment, “Buck! Get the thing from Arvloski!” He yelled before you swung your head back into his nose, causing him to let go and stumble.

Bucky came flying out of the cell, watching you fight Steve, “What thing?!” He yelled, advancing from behind you and trying to get ahold of you through the punches and kicks you threw at the two of them, “Fuck that, you get the thing! I got her!” He growled out to Steve, gripping onto your arms and slamming you back against the wall. He could hear Steve scurrying up the stairs after Arvloski to get the remote that controlled you. Bucky stares into your emotionless eyes as you flailed against his grasp, “Baby, stop! This isn’t you!” He said to you, searching your eyes for any remembrance of him.

You frown at him, licking your lips before speaking, “хорошие солдаты следуют приказам (good soldiers follow their orders).” You tell him before lifting a knee and thrusting it not his stomach, causing him to release you from his grasp. You ran after Steve, watching him hold the remote to control you in his hands with Arvloski knocked out on the floor Your gaze darkened on him and you advanced once against the blonde super soldier, trying your best to knock him to the ground. You were able to wrap a hand around his throat, shoving him against a wall and lifting him slightly from the ground.

Steve gasped against the hold on his neck, one hand trying to pry your grasp from him while the other held the remote. He looked over to see Bucky coming up from behind you, “Buck!” Steve spat out between breaths, throwing the remote to him, “Say something in Russian!”

Bucky looked at the remote in his hand before clicking the button and watching you flinch again, releasing Steve as your hands went up to grip the sides of your head, “останавливаться (stop).” He said, watching you freeze and look over to him as if waiting for another command. Just as Bucky was about to talk to you again, he heard two shots and two needles went into your neck. You narrowed your eyes at Bucky before falling to the ground unconscious. Bucky stares at you on the floor before looking down the hallway to see Natasha, Sam, and Clint staring at the ordeal.

“What? You two weren’t going to knock her out.” Natasha said, putting the tranquilizer gun back in her holster, “Someone had to do it.”

Three Weeks Later

Much to Bucky’s dismay, you were kept in the detention center for two weeks upon your return while the team tried to figure out how exactly the remote controlled you. They had isolated you, Natasha bringing you meals and clothes. She was the only one allowed to visit you because of her ability to separate her emotions from the mission at hand. Once they figured out how the remote controlled you through a chip that had been implanted into your brain, Dr. Strange was called in to perform neurosurgery on you to remove the chip and threat you posed.

Bucky had to be physically stopped multiple times from entering the detention cell by Sam and Natasha which earned the two to feel the wrath and creative curse words that fell from Bucky’s lips. He needed to be there for you. He needed to know if you still remembered him. After the surgery to remove the chip and another week of observation, you were deemed no longer a threat but chose to stay in the detention cell as you pieced together bits of your memories. You sat in the open cell on the bed, flipping through some photos that Natasha had given you to help piece things together. The presence of Bucky made your head tilt up to meet his gaze. Your brow furrowed… You knew him. Knew everything about him- He was the one thing you couldn’t forget, “Hi.” You said softly to him before looking back down.

Bucky’s lips twitched into a smile at your greeting. It’d been so long since he heard your voice and he thought he never would again. He slowly entered the cell, leaving the door open, and taking a seat on the metal chair across the room from you, “You doing okay?”

You shrug slightly, looking over at him from the corner of your eyes, “I guess. Still trying to figure things out.” You said with a sigh, tossing the photos at the end of the bed and pulling your knees to your chest in frustration, “Everything’s all jumbled and lost. Can’t put the pieces together.”

Bucky stared sadly at you, wishing he could take you into his arms but he didn’t know if you remembered what he meant to you. Or what you meant to him. You two were each other’s worlds and now it seemed like you were worlds apart. He swallowed hard before speaking, “We were pretty close before.” He said, smiling slightly at the memories, “I can help you.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, focusing on the wall in front of you with a confused look on your face still, “I don’t remember much. Everybody has been calling me Y/N so I’m assuming that’s my name.” You pause, chewing again on your bottom lip. Your eyes slowly moved to look at Bucky, remembering everything about him. He was the only person you hung onto through the brainwashing sessions and once Arvloski figured out the device in your brain, you didn’t need the brain washing treatments anymore. You were completely complicit with the click of a button and words spoken in Russian when your chip was activated. Your eyes scanned over Bucky’s face. He looked sad, a tinge of guilt and pain behind those blue eyes you adored, “I remember you, James. I remember everything about you.”

Bucky’s lips part slightly in shock. He didn’t know what to say. You remembered him, and not just who he was, but everything about him. He quickly stood, going to cross the room but stops in his tracks when he saw you tense up and curl slightly away from him. That hurt deep in his core but he understood. More than anybody he could understand some of what you went through and how damaged it could leave you. Bucky moved to sit back in the chair, keeping the space he wanted to cross so badly but couldn’t for you, “I’m here for you.”

It took one month for you to finally agree to Bucky to move out of the detention block and back up to the apartment suite with him. The detention cell wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Bucky and Wanda tried to make it as ‘homey’ as possible, bringing down blankets, pictures, flowers and even a laptop to watch movies on when you got bored. You walked into the apartment suite and looked around, hovering around the door as you took everything in like it was all brand new.

Bucky wanted more than anything just to reach out to touch you but he still knew better. Every time he would try, you would tense up and suddenly your eyes would flash to a guarded state and he would back off and try his best to give you a half-hearted smile. He watched as you slowly walked around, looking at the pictures on the wall and all of the decorations that you assumed you had done because Bucky didn’t seem like the decorating type. He watched you walk down the small hallway and pause outside the bedroom door, staring at the doorknob, “You can go in if you’d like. It’s your room too.” He said softly from behind you.

You swallow hard at his words, your eyes still glued on the doorknob as the war in your head silently raged on to whether you should go in or not. Then you just got the courage to grab the doorknob and twist, pushing it open and stepping inside before your body decided you couldn’t. You took in a sharp breath as you looked around the room slowly. The dresser was littered with pictures of you and Bucky as well as fancy perfume bottles. Your eyes floated over to the bed, it was messy and looked like it hadn’t been made in a while. The red sheets made you blink and wipe small tears away from your eyes as memories of you reading to Bucky and laying in his arms promising you’d never let Hydra take him flood your mind. You slowly turned to face Bucky who stood in the doorway, the tears free falling from your cheeks.

Bucky slowly started walking towards you when you turned to him, seeing you cry. He hadn’t seen you cry since they brought you back, you’d usually just be staring off or have this look of frustration on your face but now it looked as if the floodgates had opened and you were about to break. He paused right in front of you, staring down into your eyes, “Sweetheart…” He whispers out, “Can I touch you?” He waited until you slowly nod to take another step towards you, one hand gently touching your arm while his flesh hand went up to brush along your cheek for a moment, wiping tears away before pulling you close into his chest with his right hand brushing through your hair softly, “I’m here, doll.” He said, pressing his face into your hair, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

It took another month for Bucky to have to stop asking for permission to touch you and eventually you found herself melting into his arms, searching for his touch. You almost felt panicked without him there to ground you now. But just because you craved for his touch didn’t mean you had your limits also. You wouldn’t let him see you undress and get dressed. You’d sneak out of his arms in the middle of the night once he had fallen asleep to go sit by yourself on the couch and stare out the windows until the sun came up and Bucky came to find you.

A few months after that, you attended your first Sunday movie night with the rest of the team. Bucky made sure you two sat in a corner close to the exit in case you wanted to leave early but to his surprise you sat next to him on the small couch gripping onto his hand tightly through the entire thing until the credits rolled and you smiled and thanked everybody for the fun night before heading back up the stairs with Bucky to head to bed. You slowly laid down the bed, watching him pull off his shirt followed by his pants leaving his chest bare. You looked at the dog-tags around his neck, noticing his wedding ring tangling on the chain as well as yours. You watch him crawl in beside you, laying his head down on the pillow next to yours so you could stare into his eyes. You could see the guilt behind his half smile towards you, causing you to lift your hand to run along his stubbled cheek softly, “James… It’s not your fault.” You whisper over to him.

Bucky turned into your touch, a smile set on his lips before turning to a soft frown at your words. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh before opening them to meet your gaze again, “It is. I always made you promise to not let them get me.” He whispers back to you.

You shook your head slightly at him, “No, it’s not. I promised I wouldn’t let them get you and I kept that promise, James.” You whisper back to him, “I made the decision to close the door. Anything that happened was my fault.” You swallowed hard before continuing, “Besides, I should’ve died but Arvloski had other plans. I’m sorry I’m not the same person you loved. I’m sorry I’m broken.”

Bucky crumbled at your words, “No!” He hissed out then sighs, “Don’t say that, baby.” He replies back to you in a softer tone, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against him, “Don’t ever say that. When I thought you were gone it was like my world stopped spinning. I don’t know how I made it without you.” He cries out into your hair, “I’m so happy you’re here. I’m so sorry for everything that happened to you, and I will be here everyday to help you, but I’m happy you’re here with me now because I couldn’t go on much longer without you, Y/N. You’re my whole life.” He sat up, bringing you up with him and adjusting you to sit between his legs so your back was pressed to his chest. Bucky pulled the dog tags from his neck, unclasping it to slide your wedding ring off slowly before putting the chain around his neck again. He brought the ring out in front of you to look at, “You are and always will be my everything. I will always be here for you. I know what you’re going through, doll, and I’m here with you every step of the way because you’re my wife and I vowed to be with you through everything. You and I can be broken together and we will put ourselves back together, okay?”

You stared at the ring in front o you for a moment as you listened to his words. Through the months, things from your life had started to come back in more clear images and the one thing that you knew for sure that was never taken from you was Bucky. The way he would smile at the sight of you. The way lanterns floated through the air when he proposed to you. The way he would seem to savor every touch with you like he was memorizing every part of your body or the way when you two trained together he would pin you down and leave a soft kiss on your cheek with a chuckle before climbing off of you to go again. You slowly lifted your left hand up for him, watching him slide the ring slowly onto your left finger before wrapping his arms around you and leaning his forehead on your shoulder with a sigh of relief, “I love you, James.” You whisper out to him, “You’re the only thing I held onto for two years.”

Bucky tightened his arms around you, pulling you down to lay beside him so he could look into your eyes again, “I love you.” He says softly to you, “You’re the only thing I held onto for two years too.” He murmurs out before gently kissing your forehead, “And now that I have you back I’m never letting you go.”

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Permanent Taglist: @buckypops @bibliophilewednesday @buckys2thicc @stcrryslibrary @princessnnylzays @redhairedfeistynerd

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Dog fight! Dee vs B (part 1)

Oki so me and the wonderful @what-a-whump had our two baby’s B and Dee meet each other at the dog-fights. Thank you so so much for proposing this idea, it was so much fun to write this with you <3

I love our boys together. :3

B and Scott are her baby's and Dee and Sam mine :3

taglist: @ashintheairlikesnow @vickytokio @thefancydoughnut @outofangband

CW: boxboy universe; institutionalized slavery; illegal fighting rings; brief mention of heavy injuries; pet whump

B is dragged up cold metal stairs by multiple handlers. They hold him at a safe distance by catchpoles, thick cords wind around his neck and press into his throat. He bares his teeth at them, bristling with fury as they force him into the kennel blocks

They’d taken his collar and replaced it with a flimsy strip of plastic with a numbered tag attached to it.

“Put it next to the other one.” The order is snapped, a sharp jab of a baton in his spine to keep him moving. He wants his bonded back. He wants Scott. His owner promised he wouldn’t separate them.

Liar, liar, LIAR!

B snarls and lunges at the nearest handler, snapping titanium canines at the air.

“Stupid fucking dog! Get in there!” It takes all of them to shove him into the small kennel run, his feet hitting smooth cold concrete as he stumbles into it. The catch poles are yanked off him. He whirls around to attack and the chain link gate slams in his face.

He roars with frustration, kicking the gate.

“Bring him back!” He growls, pacing back and forth.

Dee pauses mid stretch, watching the newcomer lunge at the gate in a blind fury. That guy will be spent before his fight even begins if he keeps raging like that.

The chain fence’s sharp rattle grates at Dee’s already fraying nerves. Abandoning his warm up, he stands to his full height, all 2 meter 18 of heavy bones and hard muscle.

“First time?” he rumbles, keeping his voice low, almost soft. “Your master will get you after the fight. No need to panic.”

B startles at the voice, jerking his head in its direction. Another guard dog like him. He narrows his eyes, uttering a warning rumble from the back of his throat.

“Who… who are you? I don’t want this… I was being good!”

A wistful sigh escapes Dee’s lips. “It’s not about that here. You fight. You win. Or- “ He pauses, unwilling to think about the consequences of his failure. Of the punishment his bonded would have to endure for his shortcoming. Dee shakes his head, knocking the thought loose. “Just make sure to win. It’s what I’m gonna do.”

B reaches up to push his fingers through the chain link and looks inquiringly at the other guard dog.

“You’ve been here before…” He murmurs. “I… I just want to get my… my bonded back.” He presses his head against the fence. He couldn’t be away from Scott for so long. He needed him close.

“How do I win?”

“Is your bonded gonna watch? Mine is. Master makes him every time. Has him patch me back up, after.” Dee turned to the other man, catching wild frightened eyes with his. “If you're down there, you have to forget that he’s close. Forget all the things you don’t want him to see. Don’t want to be. Just fight. It’s the only thing that counts.”

After a moment's hesitation Dee grabs his shirt hem and pulls it up, revealing a long twisted scar roping up his torso. Countless scars wind their ways through his skin, twisting him into a grotesque caricature of the man he once was. He still feels shy about every single one of them. Even after all this time, they’ve never stopped aching. “Got pushed against a broken fence my first time. Down there is no place for hesitation. Or mercy.”

B blinks, horrified at the sight. He had defended his master, he had been loyal to him and he had protected Scott, just like he wanted. So why had he put him here?

He didn’t want Scott to see him like this.

“I don’t know…” He murmurs, restless panicked energy burning through him. He pushes off the fence and starts to pace up and down again.

“Gotta fight… and win… Then I can see Scott again…” He looks up at the other guard dog.

“You… said you have a bonded too?”

“Yeah.” Dee’s voice grows soft, warmth tinging his vowels and shining from behind his mismatched eyes. A spider spins its delicate web between the fence links and Dee's eyes linger without truly seeing her. Not really. Not when all he can think about is his bonded. His sparkling green eyes, only ever truly tender when looking at him, wild blond locks shining under the warm sun, the dimples appearing on soft round cheeks whenever he smiles. It was Dee’s sole purpose to protect that smile. “His name’s Sam.”

Dee’s eyes flit back to B. “What’s your bonded’s name?”

B watches the faraway look in the other guard dog’s eyes. He could almost smile, knowing that feeling. He thought the world of Scott too.

“He’s… well the master calls him Pet… But… But his name is Scott.” B’s voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s his true name, I keep it safe for him.”

Breath halting Dee steps closer to the fence, lifting his hand to touch it but thinking better of it at the last moment, he had seen other guard dogs maim one another before the official fights had even begun. His voice drops into a whisper: “What do you mean? Like, his name from... from before?”

The thought is dizzying and Dee takes another step forward. Drawn in by the irresistible pull of the longing for his own name, his past, his truth. Dee’s whole attention zeroed in on B. “He can remember? How?”

B pauses for a moment, wondering whether he had said too much. He should be more careful… Guard Scott’s name like the treasure it was.

“We… he knows my name too. We remembered our names together during training… We know…” He leans closer to the fence, eying the other one. He had never met another guard dog like him before.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

A gentle smile splits Dee’s lips. He shakes his head. “I won’t. You have my word.”

The smile widens into a conspiratory grin. “Nothing compared to remembering, but my bonded gave me a name. Said I needed a proper one. Other than dog.”

He grimaces as the memories of training flood in. Cold white cells and never ending beatings. Shaking that thought off too, he sticks his hand out in imitation of a greeting while keeping the distance of safety between them. “I’m Dean. Or Dee, for short. And you?”

“Dean.” B repeats, his lips twitching into a smile and warmth rising up through his chest. In the low light of the kennels, he watches Dee extend a hand. He imitates them, holding a hand out too but noting the distance between them.

“I like your name… My owner calls me B… I can’t say my real name or my head will hurt.” He says, wincing at the thought of it. “They found us out during training… tried to make us forget. We only forgot our names, not the other’s.”

Dee winces in sympathy but his eye lights up with pride at B’s praise. Sam had picked a wonderful name, he already knows that but hearing it from somebody else sends a warm flutter through his chest. He wonders if Scott was just as precious to B as Sam was to him.

“Like holding the heart of the other.” Dee murmurs. “Take good care of that.”

The crunch of heavy footsteps over concrete cuts B off just as he opens his mouth to reply. Both guard dogs whirl around, eyes fixed on the handlers entering the kennel room. Dee’s eyes snap to the empty catchpoles in their hands. They didn’t come to bring another guard dog in, but to take one of them away.

“230.” One handler barks. “Time to get you ready. Now let’s do this nice and easy, hands behind your back and head down.”

B immediately falls into a defensive posture, bristling and growling at the sight of those damn catchpoles.

The other handler snorts, drawing their baton to slam against B’s kennel. The guard dog lunges forward, slamming against the gate.

“Hey! No baiting the dogs, Marcus!”

“Whatever.”

Dee moves into position without complaint. It was easier to just obey, get this over with and save his energy for the upcoming fight.

Hinges screeching softly, his kennel opens. The handlers storm in and the catchpole's snare draws tight around his neck a second later.

Glancing down at B, Dee wheezes out: “Good luck.”

B utters a low whine, clutching the chain link and shaking it furiously. But it’s useless, they’ve left him alone.

He resumes his restless pacing, up and down the fence line. 5 tiles up, 5 tiles down. Just as he used to during his training. In the cold white room where all he had was Scott.

Voices travel up from the stairwell and B immediately turns to face them, fists raised and posed with the weight through the balls of his feet.

The handlers size him up.

“Get on your knees, hands behind your back like a good dog.”

B doesn’t move, the sound of his snarls reverberating around the walls. He holds his fists up higher. He’s not going without a fight.

“The hard way, then.”

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Hot-shot, Hot-head | Clint Barton

Hey lovelies! Here's another one for Dinner at Dizzy's! I actually really like this one. Clint Barton is super close to my heart. I remember watching the avengers for the first time when it first came out (and Thor before that) and just falling in love lol. Treat him well lovelies and please do enjoy.

Appetizers (Tags): Fluff / Angst (more so fluff)

Entres (Pairing): Clint Barton x F!Reader (third person)

Sides (Prompts): 7: “Teach me.”

Notes: None, requested by an anon

Word Count: 2.9k (lol I don't even have an excuse anymore)

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

“God damnit!” She hisses as the bow string snaps back against her fingers, the sting making her fumble the bow.

She catches it— like she always does— but not without another curse. She resists the urge to slam the hunk of metal against the grass, her muscles squeezing so tight she could scream. He makes it look so fucking easy. It’s not— it’s impossible. She wants her pistol back and glass of water. Water or wine. Same thing. Screw Barton and how ridiculously nimble he is— she thought she was supposed to be the agile one.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. She bites back a groan when she hears footsteps sound from behind her, rolling her eyes before spinning on the brunette, scowling at the gleeful squint of his bright blue eyes. He’s always so smug. In all of her years of knowing him that has never changed.

“Told you it’s not as simple as it looks.” He simpers, his smile so wide she wants to throw him to the ground right here, right now, and slap it off.

Slap, kiss— same thing.

“If you came out here to mock me, Barton, feel free to not.” She scrunches her nose— it’s the only thing she can do to keep the smile off her face.

Why does his grin always have to be so infectious? She wants to be annoyed still— she was annoyed before she turned around so why can’t she still be annoyed now? It’s infuriating and awful and so damn endearing. God, if she could go back to training and strangle Fury she honestly just might. What was he thinking, pairing her for fucking life with Clint Barton. She glances at the man and the smirk in his eyes and she presses her lips together.

He notices— of course he notices, they trained together, their reflexes are the same. It’s what makes them such good partners— they were created to be a team. Fucking Fury. Well, a team in one sense at least. The other not so much. She shoves the thought to the back of her head, finally letting the smile break out on her face.

“Someone has to, hot-shot.” He settles against the tree behind him, muscled arms crossing over his chest, puppy dog smile still just as wide.

God where the fuck is she supposed to look? There’s nowhere left— not the corded veins along his arms, not the golden skin peeking out of the collar of his t-shirt, not the the glint in his icy eyes that she can’t tell whether it’s from the sun or is just always there— she’s being attacked on all sides and all she has is this stupid bow— his stupid bow.

She drops her shoulders, rolling her eyes again and caving to his larkish voice— she always does. “I guess it’s fair. Shouldn’t rag on you so much for your terrible shot—”

“I don’t have a terrible—” He begins to protest, pushing from the tree and stepping closer to her.

She presses her fingers to his chest when he gets a few inches away, trying to keep her breathing in check. “With a pistol. Ten years later and he still interrupts. Good to know some things never change, hot-head.”

She beams up at him, palms flat against his broad chest, forcing herself to ignore the heat seeping from the thin material. It feels like at any moment he’s going to burn her, much too hot for his own good. Being this close to him she can smell his woodsy, citrus scent— like the damn sun— and she takes a step back. Co-workers. Partners. Best friends.

Nothing more.

“Ten years later and she still does everything in her power to make me interrupt. Terrible shot. Who taught you to fight so dirty, huh?” He peers down at her as he pushes past her, fingers flicking at her jaw, and she bites her tongue because it’s starting to feel like he’s asking her to say something she’ll regret.

“Uhm you? You did— weren’t you the one who kicked my knees in on the first day of training?”

He’s a good few feet in front of her now— stupid long legs— and she sucks in a breath of fresh air, her skin tingling as her body cycles him out of her blood. There’s no point, he’ll be back in a moment. He’s always back— always annoying and around and warm.

He glances back over his shoulder— “You mean right after you broke my nose, right darlin’?”

She lets her gaze flick to his nose and the faint bump on the ridge where she had jutted her palm into it all those years ago. The academy nurses are good— she can only see the blemish when she’s looking for it. Too bad her jab is better. It suits him at least— everything does.

“I did do that, didn’t I?” She hums, meeting him once more and standing on her tiptoes to get a better look. He leans down, staring at her from over the crook. “Maybe I was marking you Barton— I made ya’ pretty.”

He hands her the arrows, fingers clasping over her own for a moment, encasing her in that warmth again. “Couldn’t have found any other way, huh?”

She has to force herself to meet his banter, suddenly breathless and woozy, still wobbling on her tiptoes. “Thought you liked the violence— you did back then.”

He holds her gaze, fingers tightening so minutely that she’s sure if she were anyone else she wouldn’t have noticed. She wouldn’t notice how his eyes skim over her face before flicking over her head quickly, how his shoulders square defensively, how even when there’s no one around he’s always watching her back. But she isn’t anyone else— she’s her and she notices everything he does.

He meets her gaze again, muscles easing slightly, and her lungs scream at her because all she can taste is lemons and juniper.“Oh I love the violence.”

She tugs the arrows— and by default her hand— from his hold, searching desperately for an escape in the open air in front of her. The targets taunt her from across the field, the little pin prick holes in the middle of the red bullseye leering. She wants to throw the bow again— where the fuck is her gun?

“Why am I doing this again?” She groans and he laughs, his hand curling around her neck, thumb digging into the knots in her shoulder blade.

“‘Cause one day you won’t have bullets.” He supplies, voice too close to her ear for her to make much sense of the words. They’re like honey— too sweet, too slow.

Still she shrugs. “Won’t I have you, though? You planning on ditching me, Barton?”

Beyond the teasing she can hear the insecurity laced in her words and she wants to slap herself for potentially ruining the sunny afternoon. She can practically feel the switch in the atmosphere. The lighthearted banter fading into cold seriousness. She swallows, closing her eyes. Even after ten years she’s still terrified that one day she’s going to wake up and he won’t be in the kitchen pouring the sugar into her coffee and burning the toast. Joining the academy was her chance— at freedom, at family— and Clint was— is— the payoff of those hard years. She would be utterly lost if one day he just wasn’t there.

His hand stills, thumb still pressing into her skin, chest tensing where it just barely brushes her back. For a moment they just stand there, the only noise being the soft thud of the bow landing in the grass. A few seconds later the arrows join. She doesn’t drop them on purpose— she would never carelessly throw his things around— she just can’t feel her hands anymore. When she brings them together, wringing them together, she isn’t surprised to find them trembling. She can feel him start to shake his head, hair brushing against her temple before the words are even out of his mouth.

“Don’t even say that. Don’t. Or think about it. Ever again— you hear me? I thought I was the dumb one.” He tries to say it like a joke— she can hear him forcing his tone to stay light— but his voice is too gravelly, his words spiking too low.

She presses her lips together again, nodding. “Sorry—” she mumbles, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead, sinking back slightly to knock her shoulder into his chest— “was just— just over thinking, I guess. Stressed myself out.”

He wraps his arms around her shoulders, squeezing her against his chest. She tips her head back, putting her weight on him. It’s not unusual— it would be more unusual if she didn’t cuddle into him. That’s why she does it despite how terribly she wants to pull away. She can’t stay in his citrus arms— in this fever dream. She needs to break the spell. Maybe spend some days in the woods soon, alone, resetting her brain. She’s had to do that a few times.

“Not going anywhere.” He mumbles, hands closing around her arms, his jaw— scratchy and rough from stubble— rubbing against her shoulder. “You know that. Not now, definitely not in a fuckin’ appocalypse—” she laughs at that and he rocks on his heels, letting out a soft hum— “We’re in this together. Where the hell would I even go?”

He whispers that last part, probably hoping she wouldn’t hear, but his mouth is right there and she’s tuned into everything him. She can hear the worry, feel the rumble against her back. Shit. They’re both spiraling now and she’ll be damned if she brings her down with him. She has to do something.

“Teach me.”

He freezes behind her, hands softening their grip. When he speaks his voice is a little tighter than normal— hesitant, maybe. “What was that, darlin’?”

She goes to pull out of his arms again, bending to retrieve the bow, but she only ends up pulling him with her, the giant man curling around her easily. Too easily. She clenches her jaw, fighting the sudden urge to whirl around and push him to the ground.

Push him to the ground and climb on top of him.

“Teach me how to use this stupid thing, Barton. Can’t do it— you were right.”

Apparently she doesn’t have whirl around— he does it for her, spinning her so quickly that the heavy metal almost whacks him. He pries it gently from her fingers, releasing it back onto the grass. She almost protests— what the hell was she so afraid of dropping it for when he practically just threw it? — but before she can he’s pulling her off her toes and spinning her around.

“Clint what are you doing—”

“Ten years— it’s taken ten years for you to say those words.” He laughs and she swats the nape of his neck, rolling her eyes, feet dangling off the ground. It’s all she can do to not curl them around his hips. “And you tell me my ego is big.”

She scrunches her nose at the man, eyes dipping over his crinkled eyes and triumphant smile, once again fighting the curve of her own lips. “You’ve been waiting for me to ask for help?”

He snorts, dropping her on her toes before slumping onto the grass, sprawling out on his back— clearly not about to actually do as she asked. “No— if you wanted to learn that badly you would have by now. You’re not stupid, just stubborn.”

Clint leans up, warm hand curling around her ankle and yanking, pulling her feet out from under her and sending her flying. Before she has time to scream— hell, to even think about screaming— his arm is hooking around her stomach, catching her midair and lowering her easily to his chest. Ten years and she’s still never ready for that. She goes to drive her elbow back against his ribs but he catches her, grabbing her arm and instead pulling her to rest across his stomach.

She grumbles but turns anyway, cheek pressing against hard, warm muscle, meeting his gaze from where his head rests on his folded arms. “Then what?”

He flashes her another toothy grin— that can’t be good. “Was waiting for you to tell me I was right about something. Took you long enough.”

She scowls. “Shut up, will you?”

“Awe, is someone angry that I won?” He teases, his voice warmer than the sunshine on the bits of her exposed face.

“Barton, I said shut up.”

His laugh is too easy. Too musical. It rumbles against the parts of her that are pressed against him and makes the rest of her ache, wanting to be pressed against him as well.

“Geez, someone’s touchy today.”

As if to enhance his point he runs a gentle finger over the top of her spine, right where her tank top stops, and she has to clench her jaw against the heat that pools in the pit of her stomach and the shiver that races down her back. It’s the final straw. Ten years is a lot of straws— maybe she’s a hoarder of said straws— but finally her last one has broken. She can’t take it anymore. She bolts upright.

“Shit—” he mutters lowly, probably not intending for it to reach her ears, before speaking louder— “c’mon darlin’ I was just messing with you—”

She swings her leg over his stomach, knees caging him underneath her, thighs spreading deliciously over his warm abdomen, and his mouth snaps shut. He’s up on his elbows, no doubt because he had been worried and was on his way up to check on her, but now it only serves to bring them closer together. For a moment all she does is look at him, chest heaving, palms pressed against his chest and anticipation laced in every muscle. Each breath he takes tortures her— what’s he thinking?

She’s never thought Clint Barton to be a mind reader but maybe anything is possible at this point because as soon as she thinks it his crystal eyes narrow, his pink lips quirking up. “Are you going to make the first move or do I have to?”

Butterflies erupt in her stomach— wait, no, that’s just her gut twisting as he flips her over so fast that she doesn’t have time to blink. Dammit he’s quick. She’s quick too, though, legs finally curling around his hips to keep her back from crashing against the ground. She doesn’t remember wrapping her arms around his shoulders but when her head stops spinning she can feel her fingers digging at his arms. Her back eases against the ground, one of his arms slipping under her head, his other hooking around her thigh and pressing her that much closer to him.

His nose bumps against hers, breath hot on her lips, and she doesn’t try to fight the smile this time. “You didn’t give me a chance.”

His lips brush against hers, just a wisp— a promise— of what’s to come, and she squeezes her thighs tighter, pulling a raspy groan from his mouth. “Gave you ten years, didn’t I?”

She hums, lips pressing against the corner of his mouth. “You did— what on earth is wrong with you Barton?”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re really something, you know that?”

She kisses the other corner, just barely brushing her mouth against his as she passes, reveling in the way his hips push her harder into the grass. “Someone’s touchy today—”

The rest of her words are cut off— they’re swallowed— by two warmer-than-sin lips. He tastes like candy. Like red licorice and lemon drops. That’s all it takes for her to kiss him back, hands slipping into his hair and yanking— maybe she should be gentler but she can’t help it. She’s been patient, she’s paid her dues. Besides, if the moan that rips from his lungs and passes over her tongue— all needy and wild and lemon tinted— is anything to go by then she would say he doesn’t mind it. His tongue slips into her mouth, caressing hers, and she returns his moan with one of her own.

“Why— he mumbles into her open mouth, pausing momentarily to tug her bottom lip between his teeth and groan— “why didn’t we do this earlier? Like—” his lips skim over her cheek, up to her ear, tugging on her earlobe next— “like ten-years-ago sooner?”

She turns her face towards him, following him as he moves down her neck, lips pressing against his cheek. She doesn’t want to detach from him now. She doesn’t think she’ll ever want to. Her mouth slants against him, teeth nipping at his jaw, and he hikes her higher up his body. Her fingers are still tangled in his silky hair, raking through the strands and trying to memorize the feeling.

“I don’t know.” she mumbles against him— she can’t bring herself to find a witty remark, she just wants more.

He pulls back, ducking his head, lips swollen and eyes sparkling. “That was passive of you, hot-shot.”

“Barton.”

For once he doesn’t need to be told twice, leaning back down, nose bumping against her with another brain melting chuckle. She arches up, impatient for his touch. Before his lips skim hers he says something else, though. It’s like he can’t help but annoy her every chance he gets.

“Maybe you’re the hot-head after all.”

[wormstacheangel]

Day 2 of @spnprideweek and part 2 of sobrenatural fic

Dean ended up coming home a little sooner than he should have, but he didn’t want to lose the shower to Sam. He didn’t want to be sweaty and cochino for his not date with Cas.

Maybe he should have cooled it with the cumbia, making it too obvious that Dean was in a good mood because as soon as he was heading out the door—smelling great, he may add—su Tio called him over to the kitchen.

“¡Oye! ¿A dónde vas tan cambiado?” Tio Bobby was by the stove, smashing the beans for dinner, as he raised his eyebrows at Dean. Sam was standing by the sink peeling tomatillos as he cranes his neck to look over at Dean.

“Dude, what did you do? Break the damn cologne bottle?”

“Es mucho?” Dean lifted his arm to smell himself. “It’s fine!”

“¿Me vas a contestar?” Bobby threw in some whole chiles into the beans and let them simmer away. “¿Quieres que te hable en inglés? Where are you going, niño feo?”

“Estas siego, viejo!” Dean walked over to the small mirror that hung on the wall. You can barely see yourself in it because of the Jesus painting on it, but it still worked. “I’m just going out with some friends.”

“Mmm.” Bobby hummed in reply, going back to turn off the beans once they looked how he wanted it. “Llévate a tu hermano.”

“Tio!” Dean turns around, wide-eyed and heart racing. “I can’t take Sam!”

“I’ll go get my coat!” Sam rinsed off his sticky hands and started to walk out of the kitchen, but Dean grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him in close. Pinning him down against his chest, which was difficult considering the kid is a damn giant.

“You aren’t coming with,” Dean mutters to him before begging Bobby again. “Tio, I’ll take Sammy with me tomorrow! Nomas hoy no.”

“¿Y porque no?”

Dean looks between curious eyes, not knowing how to explain himself. He can’t say he’s going out with a friend cause then there would be no reason why Sam couldn’t tag along. But he didn’t want to come out to his Tio and brother now! Fuck that shit; he’ll just lie.

[continue reading under the tab or on ao3]

“I’m going to meet up with Cassie.” Technically true.

Bobby’s eyes widened, and Sam’s grin grew while he wiggled himself free from Dean’s grip. They both liked Cassie and were mad at Dean for breaking things up between them. However, it wasn’t tough when Cassie rarely gave him any attention, always busy with work and school. She had to know Dean was holding her back, so he broke it off. She was mad at him for a while but ultimately thanked him for doing something she didn’t have the courage to do. Rumors still spread, though, because of course, they do, about Dean cheating, but he didn’t care much about those.

Su Tio, though, cared a lot. Dean has to constantly remind him that Dean didn’t cheat on her, and he just broke it off cause Cassie was too smart for him.

Cas is probably too smart for him too.

“Okay, pues, have fun! Bring her home to say hi.” Bobby practically pushed him out the door with Sam happily towering behind him with the same annoying grin.

Dean wondered how disappointed they would be if they found out he was going out with a guy instead.

Dean drove to Cas’s house, waiting outside a few minutes before seven. He wasn’t sure what he should do. Does he honk the horn, or is that too rude? Should he park and get out of the car to knock? That seemed too much like a date thing. And he still wasn’t sure if this was a date or two not-strangers hanging out.

He stayed in the middle of the street, unsure of what to do until finally, the front door opened, and Cas stepped out with a jacked hanging on his arm. He stood outside and squinted at the car before tilting his body down to check if that was Dean.

Dean’s panic from before melted away while he nervously waved at Cas. He saw Cas’s eyes widen with a slow-growing grin before he practically ran over to Dean.

As soon as Cas opened the door, Dean felt so sure that there was nothing more right than having Cas sitting in his passenger side.

“You ready to go, Angelito?” Dean looked Cas over; he’s dressed in dark jeans and a grey long sleeve. He has never seen Cas in anything but that rumpled old suit. He never minded the suit, but now he wished he could burn it because all that suit did was hide Cas’s muscled body. Dean couldn’t stop the whistle that escaped his lips as he said, “Mira! You look good, Cas.”

The compliment was shocking to them both, for Dean especially. He awkwardly cleared his throat while trying to think of an excuse. Maybe even use the whole English as a second language excuse, but Cas quietly responded with a, “Thanks, Dean. You look pretty good yourself.”

And maybe those words broke him. He knew he was attractive but having Cas say that made his head spin.

“Your car is beautiful, by the way. I wasn’t sure if that was you in here.”

“Did you expect me to come in that bike?” Dean jokes before slowly driving away from the house, Los Angeles Azules playing softly on the radio did not make things any less awkward.

“I don’t know what I expected. I’m just glad you came, Dean.”

Dean stopped at the end of the block and turned towards the guy sitting beside him. Cas was already looking at him with puppy dog eyes and a beautiful, hopeful smile. His breath catches in his throat as his mind gets overwhelmed with wanting to reach out and touch Cas. Just to make sure the beautiful boy in his passenger seat was real and make sure que su corazon isn’t just playing games with him.

Instead, he tightened his hold on the steering wheel, fingers burning in protest, as he melts into Cas’s smile. Wanting to relax and just be with him for tonight, not caring que alguien lo va mirar. Enjoy this non-date that looks like it has the chance to become an actual one.

But is that what Dean actually wanted?

“Dean,” Cas reached over to gently touch his arm as if knowing that Dean’s mind had wandered off. He looked hesitant, as if not sure if he was allowed to. “Do you want to go eat? We can if you want.”

Dean looked down at the hand that was burning him through his clothes, knowing damn well that Cas was giving him the chance to make this into something more. Algo que se sentía que iba a ser cósmico en su vida. Y Dean quería eso en su vida.

“Yeah,” Dean answered both questions. His hand loosened on the wheel before he reached over to take Cas’s hand in his. Hearing Cas’s breath catch in a gasp, but he didn’t look up at him; instead, Dean twined their fingers together before letting them sit in the seat between them. Dean focused back on the road before turning left to his side of town. “I got the perfect place. Te va gustar! You’re not like vegan or anything, right?”

“No.” Dean turned to catch Cas looking at him still and knew they were both feeling the same excited electricity that clouded the car just by the giddiness in his voice. “Where are you taking me on our, oh um…Oh! primero! Primero date, Dean?”

Ahi esta! La confirmación que necesitaba. This is an actual date! Pero, las palabras no le dieron pánico. No. Instead, Dean squeezed Cas’s hand as he laughed, feeling like he would just fly away if he didn’t hold on.

“You passed high school Spanish, Cas?”

“I did, but google translate did most of the work.”

When Dean parked outside the familiar food truck, he squeezed Cas’s hand once before they got out. They walked together, bumping shoulders while their hands stayed buried in their pockets. Cas didn’t question their lack of touch; instead, he smiled up at Dean as he listened to him rave about his friend Victor’s food.

“Not as good as mine, but it’s good,” Dean adds as they make it to the front of the window, where Victor can hear him.

“Cabron!” Victor said with no fire in his tone but a growing grin across his face. He held his hand out for Dean to take for a handshake. “Nice to see you, primo. Where’s Sam?”

“Lo deje en la casa!” When Dean took a step back, he put his arm around Cas’s shoulder to squeeze him close. “Pero, I brought a new customer.”

“Hi.” Cas looked a little shaken up, and Dean just wanted to lean closer to leave a kiss on his cheek, but he restrained. No necesita mas chisme circling around about him. “I’m Cas.”

“Victor.” Victor raised an eyebrow at him but reached over to shake Cas’s hand in response. “What can I get you and the pendejo around you?”

“Oh. Dean isn’t-” Cas frowned over at Dean, but Dean just shook his head, letting him know that it was okay. Cas squinted at him before he gave a small smile, not understanding but accepting. “You order for me?”

“Sure, Angelito. Anything you don’t like?”

“As long as it’s not so spicy, I don’t mind anything.”

Cas stayed stiff under Dean’s arm as they ordered and waited for their food. Eventually, Dean couldn’t help himself; the street light and the neon sign were the only things keeping this place lit, but it was still pretty dark, so he turned his face to press his nose against Cas’s temple.

“¿Qué pasa, Angelito? What’s wrong?”

“Dean.” Cas sounded shocked as he started to move back, but Dean held him a little tighter. “Someone is gonna see you.”

“Que miran. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Cas sighed but relaxed back into Dean. “I just didn’t like him calling you that. You aren’t stupid, Dean.” Dean chuckled, and Cas turned to look at him, glaring. “I don’t see how this is funny.”

“Ay, mi Angelito, he didn’t say it in a mean way. It’s just the way we talk to each other. He’s my friend.”

Cas blinked at him a few times before he fell back against Dean, his arms crossed over his chest. “Well, I don’t like it.”

“Trust me, Cas, it’s fine. Quedate conmigo long enough, and you’ll be calling me the same thing.”

Cas didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Dean wondered if he said the wrong thing again, but then Cas clicked his tongue before turning to Dean. “I don’t know what…um, that word you said means. Que..que-?”

“Quedate?” Cas nodded, looking back at Dean, waiting for him to explain. It brought warmth to Dean’s chest, knowing he’ll have to repeat it in English when before it came out as a joke. He swallowed hard as he looked back at those baby blues. The words barely came out in a quiet whisper, “Quedate. Stay. Conmigo. With me. I said, stay with me.”

“Oh.” Cas looked down at Dean’s lips as he talked. “I can-I can do that.”

Dean hummed a response as his eyes traveled down to Cas’s tongue poking out to lick at his lips. His heart was hammering in his chest until it came to a stop when he heard, “Dean! Oye, cabron! I ain’t calling your name again!”

They pulled apart, and Dean jogged over alone to grab their bag of food. Dean decided to get a few of his favorites and drinks.

“Victor,” Dean called his friend over again. “No le digas a nadie que estaba aquí. Okay? Or I’m gonna steal all your customers otra vez.”

Victor’s eyes traveled from Dean to Cas, who was waiting where Dean left him looking angelic under the streetlamp, before falling back to Dean. He wondered what could be going through Victor’s mind right that moment, but then he heard his friend let out a heavy sigh.

“Whatever you say, primo.”

“Thanks. Call me tomorrow, and I’ll work for you this weekend!” Dean starts walking backward, back to Cas.

“Shit! Really? ¡No juegues conmigo, Dean!”

“Llámame mañana!”

Dean makes it back to Cas, who automatically reaches for the drinks to help, and motions for him to walk back to the car.

“Come on. I wanna take you somewhere else.”

Dean drove them somewhere nicer, more private, but still a parking lot.

As soon as Dean parks the car, he opens his door, “Come on; we can sit on the hood. You might wanna put that jacket on.”

Cas looks excited when he opens the car door and walks out into the parking lot that faces the beach. “Dean! Won’t we get a ticket?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just bring the drinks.”

They sat on the hood of the impala, eating and talking, as the sounds of the waves crashing to the shore mixed with la musica norteña coming from inside the car. Dean soon finds out that Cas doesn’t know how to dance, so he puts on one of his favorite mixtapes, and cumbia plays loudly through the speaker.

They danced in front of the headlights, if you can call it dancing. They always ended up bursting into fits of laughter as they fell into each other because Cas did have two left feet. Eventually, Dean just took Cas from around the waist, and they just spun around in circles.

Feeling Cas wrap his arms around Dean’s neck to hold him as their grins were so close together made Dean’s heart leap. Eventually, Cas’s forehead fell against Dean’s, and the dancing slowed to a nice sway even though the beat was only getting quicker.

“Cas?” He answered Dean with a soft hum. “Me estas gustando mas cada segundo.”

“I don’t know-”

“I like you.” Dean’s eyes closed as he leaned in to brush their noses together. “Mi Angelito.”

Dean never thought he would be here in this situation with a guy, but he has never wanted anything more in his life. Feeling strong hands run through his hair as a strong and firm body pressed against him. He loved the intoxicating smell of Cas’s woodsy shampoo that he would have never smelled on a girl. The stubble of beard rubbed against his chin as Cas turned his head until finally, fucking finally, he had those pink lips on his.

He should be scared. Esto no es algo que debería hacer con El pinche Sonidito playing in the background. He shouldn’t have one hand behind Cas’s neck to deepen the kiss, and his toes shouldn’t curl up when he feels Cas’s heavy sigh inside his mouth. He shouldn’t become so quickly addicted to Cas’s hands reaching under Dean’s shirt to press firmly at his back, feeling the familiar slight burn become a damn forest fire in him.

Esto no es algo que debería querer. Cas no es alguien que debería querer pero aqui esta. Queriendo a nadie más pero a Cas. Cas. Cas.

Cas pulled away just enough only to have their noses touching, their breaths still mixing, as he whispered. “I like you too, Dean.”

And yeah. That was it. That was all it took.

Las cadenas del maldito miedo that held him back from even thinking of wanting Cas this way, se rompieron. Dean ya pertenece completamente a Cas.

Cas grinned as he looked back at Dean, his hand reaching to cradle his face gently. His thumb was caressing Dean’s freckles on his cheek before he happily announced. “¡Me gustas mucho!”

Dean laughed, his arms reaching down to wrap around Cas’s waist and spin him around. Both of them laughing as they continued dancing and kissing until it was late enough that they had to go home.