#i have a weighing machine under my bed

[snixx]

I am simultaneously one of the physically healthiest and unhealthiest people i know lmfao

[xothatnerdykid]

guilty as sin

You're a dedicated nurse who loves their job even when it means taking care of stubborn, battle-worn pro-heroes (or maybe especially then). Aizawa Shouta x gn!reader. Set between S6 & S7. Fluff, slight angst with comfort. SFW, 2k words.

The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the air as you walk down the pristine white hallways of Central Hospital. The raid against the Paranormal Liberation Front had left the medical facility overcrowded, understaffed, and bustling with activity. You yourself had been working tirelessly for the last 24 hours straight to care for the numerous injured heroes and civilians. 

Exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders, your feet dragging slightly with each step. Your shift was supposed to have ended hours ago, and you were more than ready to clock out and get some much-needed rest. However, there was just one patient left to see.

You knock at the door. 

"Good morning," you greet the man lying down on the bed. You don't have the strength to muster a smile, but that's okay. He doesn't seem to either. 

Instead, he gives you a familiar nod. "Good morning."

He was a brooding, reserved man of a few words. With dark hair and even darker eyes - well, eye, the other being wrapped in bandages - he looked more tired than you some days. You can't fault him for that though. You knew he had been at the front lines of the battle that day and had paid a heavy price for it. 

He sits up as you come closer, approaching his bedside. The room is quiet, save for the soft beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals.

"How are you feeling today?"

He shrugs. "I've been better. I've been worse."

"I can see that," you nod, noting the way his complexion is less pale and his hair less unruly today compared to the past week. You open the blinds for him, warm light streaming into the dim room. “More sunlight ought to be good for you.”

“Mhm,” is all he says, blinking up at the bright, blue sky out the window. 

You take that as your cue to go about your usual tasks silently, adjusting his IV, checking his bandages, writing down his vitals. 

Then, out of the blue, he says, “You’ve been working long hours lately. You should get some rest.” 

"Believe me, I will. Just as soon as you're taken care of first."

"I'm fine,” he responds in a clipped, dismissive tone of voice.

“Fine or not, it's my job to make sure you’re comfortable and healing properly. You went through a lot, losing an eye and a leg. Frankly, I’m not sure we should go through with discharging you tomorrow.”

He heaves a tired sigh, “Like I said, I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse, too.” 

Frowning, you sit down on the bedside chair and take a moment to look at him. Despite his stoic facade, you can see the toll all those years of being a hero have taken on him, especially the past few weeks. The dark circles under his remaining eye, the weary lines and scars etched into his face. The worried, pained look that lingers even when he's trying to relax. 

"You know, it's okay to admit that you're not feeling great. From what I've been told, it seems like you've been through hell and back."

He shrugs again, leaning back against the pillows with a wince that he tries to hide. "It comes with the job. If anyone deserves your concern, it's my students."

“It must be hard, seeing them fight in a war. They’re just children, after all.”

He nods grimly, his mouth a tight line. "And because of this—" he touches the bandages covering his eye "—my quirk is pretty much useless now, especially on the villains we’re up against.”

He doesn't say it, but you can hear it in the tightness of his voice, his clenched jaw, his hands fisting the bedsheet. You know what he really means: “I'm useless now."

You want to reach out to touch him, maybe place your hand atop his, but you're not sure if he'd welcome such a gesture, especially from someone he's only known for a short time. You settle for a few sympathetic words instead, folding your hands in your lap. 

"Aizawa-san, do you honestly think your quirk is the only thing that makes you a hero? You've done so much for your students, for so many people. You're a mentor and a role model to these kids. I'm sure they trust and look up to you more because of this, not less.”

He looks at you for a long moment, that same unreadable expression on his face.

"I appreciate that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t protect them the way I used to."

"Maybe not, but even without your quirk, you have your experience, your wisdom, and a heart that cares deeply for them. That's more than enough."

Instead of responding, he stares silently up at the ceiling. You don't push him, resigning to let the moment simply stretch out. After all, this is the most you've ever talked to him the whole week.

As he gets lost in his thoughts, you find yourself mentally tracing the contours of his face, where the sunlight bathes his skin in a soft, warm glow. It accentuates the strong lines of his jaw, his nose. Softens the look in his dark eyes. 

You take a quiet breath, surprised by the fluttering sensation in your chest. It's an odd time and place to notice something like this, but you can’t deny there's a certain rugged handsomeness to him.

You shift your weight, feeling a little self-conscious about your own thoughts. It’s unprofessional, you chide yourself, to think of a patient this way. But the inexplicable attraction you feel for the man before you is unmistakeable.

Aizawa turns slightly, catching you off guard as his eyes meet yours. When he finally speaks again, his voice is softer, almost contemplative. 

“It's strange. There was a time in my life when I wouldn't have cared what happened to me in the line of duty, whether I lived or died. But now...I want to live for those kids. My kids.”

You manage a wobbly smile even as your heart aches at his words. "Your students are lucky to have someone who cares about them so much."

“You remind me of them a little bit.” He lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling softly in the quiet room. “Determined, stubborn, always insisting on helping.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

The corner of his lips quirk up, and the realization that he might actually be teasing you sends your heart aflutter. 

“Mostly good,” he murmurs. “A little bit troublesome for me though.”

“Yeah?” You bite back a smirk. “You’ve been a bit troublesome for me, too, you know.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the pillows. “Is that so? And how do you propose I make it up to you, then?”

Maybe it’s the huskiness of his voice, the quiet intensity of his gaze, or the faint smile tugging at his lips, but something about him in this moment makes your stomach freefall. And you’re suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss him, passionately and spontaneously, as if afraid to see sense. 

You know you shouldn't indulge this, should put a stop to this train of thought before it gains too much momentum. You’re thankful you manage to keep your voice steady despite the rush of blood pounding in your ears. 

“Well, Aizawa-san, you could start by taking me out to dinner. Dealing with a patient as stubborn as you has its price, you know.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake. But then his gaze flickers down to your lips before meeting your eyes again, and you feel your breath hitch. He tilts his head, his expression thoughtful yet guarded, as if trying to read between the lines of your playfulness.

“I suppose,” he concedes softly. “But you might find that I’m not as interesting as you think, Y/N. I’m just a man who cares about the people in his life and does what he can to protect them.”

"That's exactly what I like about you.” Your voice drops to a whisper, your hand lightly brushing against his.

He groans softly, and you feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the sound. He rubs his hand down his face, seemingly weighing his options. 

It’s not too late, you assure yourself in a rush of anxious thoughts. You haven’t crossed any lines you can’t go back on, haven’t overstepped the delicate boundary between patient and nurse, between flirtation and something more. 

“Will you let me kiss you at the end of the date?”

Oh.

The line is a dot now.

You swallow hard and — heart pounding in your chest, everything else spinning dizzyingly out of focus — you rush forward to close the distance between you, pressing your lips urgently against his. 

The spark you felt before intensifies into an electrifying current now, racing down your spine as he tangles one hand in your hair and another holds you by the nape. He tilts your head back to kiss you deeper, his lips hungrily exploring yours, and you feel drunk on the pleasure of his touch, the intoxicating scent of his skin and his aftershave.

The softness of his lips contrasts with the roughness of his stubble, sending shivers of delight coursing through you. His mouth is warm and inviting, and you lose yourself in the sensation of his kiss, the way he breathes you in, the quiet sighs of pleasure that escape both of you. 

Your mind spins with the realization of how much you’ve wanted this and how many ill-advised daydreams you’ve had of him these past few weeks. When you finally break apart for air, you keep your forehead pressed against his, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. The sound of your blood rushing in your ears drowns out the rhythmic beeping of the machines around you, and for a moment, the world feels narrowed down to just the two of you.

“I-I’m sorry,” Your breath comes in ragged gasps. Your fingers gingerly touch your lips, which are pursed in surprise. “That was reckless of me. I shouldn’t have.”

Aizawa blinks at you, his dark eyes wide and dazed, like he’s trying to process what just happened. He licks his lips, a gesture that sends a fresh wave of warmth through your body.

“Do you…” His voice is husky, tinged with uncertainty. “Do you regret it?”

“No, of course not,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “I only regret not doing it at a better time.”

His eyes widen slightly in surprise before softening, the tension in his shoulders seemingly melting away. 

"Good," he murmurs, reaching for you, his thumb cradling your jaw and tracing small, soothing circles on your skin. “Because I’d like to do it again—”

He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek.

“And again—”

He brushes his lips teasingly against yours, feather-light and promising of more.

“And again.”

The admission sends a thrill through you, a rush of joy and excitement that makes your pulse quicken. "All the more reason to look forward to dinner, I suppose. After you get better, that is."

He chuckles softly. "Shouldn't be a problem, seeing as how I have an excellent nurse taking care of me."

"Mmmhm. Speaking of, is there anything else I can do to make you…more comfortable before I leave?” You can't help but ask, a playful lilt in your voice.

He captures your lips in a delicate kiss, so sweet and tender, like a dream barely skimming the surface of reality. You've finally calmed down enough to hear the sound of his heart rising, betrayed by the loudening beep of the machine. His hand trails down your arm and he laces his fingers with yours, smiling against your lips. 

“I can think of a few things.”

[loucifersbitch]

He feels like he’s being weighed down. Like he’s under water or a heavy blanket. His limbs are heavy, and he can’t get his eyes to open. There’s muffled sound nearby, but he can’t make out anything coherent. He’s also really warm. Uncomfortably so.

Is this what death is like? Is he in Hell? Or something Hell-adjacent? Were all the fire and brimstone idiots he refused to give the time of day actually right about something?

But then the heat is gone and there’s a cool breeze that skims across his skin.

Does he have skin? Do people feel their skin once they’re dead?

He’s still debating with himself as he gets pulled further under.

~***~

What is that annoying, repetitive sound? Did he change his alarm? Why the fuck can’t he turn it off?

~***~

It hurts.

Why does it hurt?

He can’t even tell what hurts, but something fucking hurts.

If he could just open his eyes and get up to take some ibuprofen.

Also his nose itches. Why can’t he fucking scra-

~***~

“Fucking bees.”

~***~

He’s warm again, but it’s not uncomfortable this time. 

He feels safe. And alive. 

He doesn’t feel as weighed down anymore.

It’s difficult, but he cracks his eyes open. He’s - in the hospital? That’s definitely a hospital ceiling and hospital lights and hospital machines beeping.

He turns his head to the left - slowly - and sees his arm is in a giant cast. That explains why he can’t lift it.

He turns his head to the right just as slowly. He’s surprised to see a head of curly hair lying next to his hip, a large hand in his own. 

When he flexes his hand, the curly head pops up immediately.

The man looks at him with bloodshot eyes that clearly haven’t seen sleep in days. He’s young - not alarmingly so but certainly younger than Tommy. The stubble on his jaw has gone far past 5 o’clock shadow and has entered the realm of beard, making him look slightly older. But who -?

“Tommy?” the man asks. His voice is low and raspy, possibly unused.

“Uh,” Tommy says. His own voice sounds even worse.

Without hesitation, the man turns - without letting go of Tommy’s hand - and pours a cup of water from the pitcher on the table next to the bed. Then he brings the cup up to Tommy’s mouth, a bendy straw pointing toward him.

Tommy drinks slowly, his mouth feeling like parchment that’s been left out in the sun too long. 

“Thanks,” he says.

The man sets the cup down and says, “Yeah, so um, h-how do you feel?”

He thinks for a bit, taking stock of himself.

“Sore. Numb in places. I assume they’ve got me on the good stuff?” The man nods, a cute smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “But there’s also the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen sitting next to me, holding my hand. So all told, I’m doing pretty well.”

The tips of the man’s ears turn pink, and a cute blush spreads across his cheeks. Adorable.

“You don’t have to flirt so hard, Tommy. You should know by now, I’m a sure thing.”

Ah, so -

“So we’re,” Tommy gestures vaguely with his head, “together?”

“Uh,” the man laughs uncertainly, “for about six months now, yeah.”

“Oh.” Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up. “But you’re so…” He trails off, not really knowing where he was going with that.

“So…what?” the man prods.

“Take your pick,” Tommy says. “Young? Pretty? Out of my league?”

“Sweetheart.” The man says it like they’ve had this discussion before, but he’s smiling. “Don’t try to amnesia your way out of being with me. I called dibs forever after our second date.”

Tommy smiles lazily. “Dibs forever, huh?”

“Yep. You’re stuck with me.”

Humming as if he’s considering the pros and cons, Tommy finally says, “I guess I can live with that.”

The man’s smile is blinding. “Evan,” he says. “Evan Buckley. In case you forgot.”

It comes back to him then - a cruise ship rescue in the middle of a hurricane, a basketball game, a kiss, a first date that ended terribly, more dates that ended perfectly, slow dancing in the kitchen, long nights together that ended too soon. A call during a bad storm, total engine failure, glass and fear and rain and acceptance and trees and blue eyes and a smile like warm sunshine.

“Evan,” Tommy says, pulling him closer. “Baby.” He kisses him softly. “I love you more than anything. How could I forget?”

Evan has tears in his eyes and leans their foreheads together when he says, “Don’t ever do that again. I thought I lost you.”

“I’m so sorry, baby. I thought so, too. I thought I’d never get to see you again. I’m so sorry.”

The next kiss is wet with tears - Evan’s or his own, it doesn’t matter. They’re here, and they’re both okay, and they’re together. That’s all that matters.

“I love you, too, by the way,” Evan says once they pull apart. “Can’t believe you waited to tell me until after you almost died, but I’ll take it.”

“I’ll say it every day until I actually die, okay?” he says. He gets a smack to his good shoulder for his effort, but they’re smiling too hard for it to have any weight.

There’s a long road ahead with recovery and therapy and stubbornness and frustration, but they’ve got this. They’ll get through it all. 

Together.

part 1

part 2

part 3

also now on ao3!

[w3bgrl]

chan and his 1st child/yt.com

creator. [subtitles/translations.]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 intro: hello my fellow smoothbrained friends. welcome or welcome back! today we will be taking a look at some bangju moments over the past (almost) 6 years with stray kids that never fail to warm my heart <3 if you like these kinds of posts consider interacting or sharing your favorite moment! thank you! now to what we’re really here for :)

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 stray kids survival show

splayed under the blue light from his computer screen, chan’s dexterity over the mouse begins to slow followed by heavy eyes fighting against the cozy weight of gravity lulling him to sleep, his loss against this force signified by his slowed, deep breaths.

[using the track as a lullaby, he goes straight to dreamland]

speeding up the footage reveals a better understanding as to how long he really sat asleep in his chair until a cut transitions to his new position leaned against the back, somewhat sitting up still with the room light shining bright as ever above his head.

[but, it sounds like someone’s at the door!]

soft shuffling footsteps reveal a squinting juyeon with major bed-head. [it’s the members�� mother hen!] carefully she reaches across the sleeping boy to his mouse, sliding it around on his track pad a bit clicking here and there, and then the screen goes black. [taking care of the leader making sure his work was saved. but…] she then turns and waddles out of view again. [what is she doing?]

the audible flip of a light switch shrouds the room in darkness, and from within this darkness, juyeon’s whispered coos could be heard.

[JY: oppa. come on,]

[BC: hm?]

[JY: to bed. everything is saved, just get under the covers.]

[~hardworking leader chan gets tucked in bed by angel juyeon, who looks after the member responsible for the rest. as long as he’s got her by his side, chan’s well taken care of.~]

[JY: sleep well, channie~]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 finding skz running man

stopping near the carousel in the center of the mall chan sighs heavily with his hands on his hips, catching his breath as he scanned over the layout once more. “ah — i really don’t know. i haven’t seen her at all.”

after pausing to listen for any movement within the building - and only hearing the commotion from the other boys - chan turns with a mischievous smile toward the camera man “do you know where she is? have you seen her?”

[meanwhile…]

cut to juyeon narrowly avoiding seungmin as he came down the hall, crouching to duck behind one of the arcade machines just in time for him to pass by without noticing the older girl. the second she decided he was far enough was when she took off in the opposite direction with the cameramen racing to keep up with her.

juyeon comes to a stop once she reaches the main room, the lights from the carousel twinkling in her wide eyes once she spots the blonde boy across the room.

[like a deer in the headlights, billie appears!]

chan is already looking in her direction as he throws his hands up mousily. “wait,” he says, masking the ulterior motives apparent to everyone but juyeon “will you help me?”

“help you?” she repeats, still as a statue whilst chan ambles over to bridge the gap between them. [will she fall for the leader's trick?]

“have you seen felix?”

a suspicious smile grows on juyeon's lips as he draws closer and her own palms raise defensively, taking half a step back from the boy whose mask of innocence had begun to slip the closer he got. "oppa." she says like an accusation. a bright smile dawns on chan's face.

"i'm not after you."

juyeon is now fully backpedaling. [she doesn't believe him] "oppa, have mercy."

there is a brief pause as chan seemingly weighs his options with his eyes still locked on hers, his jolly grin becoming more and more pixy with each passing millisecond before he abruptly lunges forward for her with outstretched hands to grab her nametag. juyeon nearly threw herself into one of the pillars behind her to protect the name on her back.

"please! you're my favorite member!"

chan now stops just before her with eyebrows knitting together before he laughs at her interesting tactic. "i'm your favorite?"

"totally," juyeon giggles "especially when you give me a five second head start."

"more than changbin?" he adds, prodding at her will to bargain. she simply tilts her head.

"who?"

[and with that, the deal is sealed]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 2 kids room

“honestly,” chan starts, removing the lollipop stuffed in his cheek as he sat criss-cross on the blue corduroy couch “i love this hair color on you.”

“really?” asked juyeon with a surprised smile, whose fiery red hair had become a hot topic recently. he hummed.

“i think red suits you well. of course you’re always pretty but the red really catches peoples eye.”

now giggling bashfully, juyeon subconsciously tucked an aforementioned red strand behind her ear to reveal her peachy cheeks, eyes sparkling with appreciation despite her response. "you've been suspiciously supportive recently — i feel like i need to look out for blackmail or something.”

“what is that supposed to mean?!” the leader shrilled, almost pouting, arms flying to fold across his chest teasingly at her insinuation. however, this feigned offense was quickly replaced by the smile accompanying his laughter at her mirroring of his demeanor.

“you know i can’t accept compliments!!”

“well! —” he began with the same chaotic energy before abruptly halting himself to instead dial it back with a nonchalant shrug “that’s okay, at least you know.”

juyeon, peeling open her eyes squeezed shut to hide from the embarrassment, now dropped the arms crossed tight against her chest and subsequently her guard. she spoke in a soft hum to mutter, “it is nice to know, though. i do appreciate it…”

“good. you should know how precious you are.”

“ew!”

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 chan’s room phone call

“hmm…was it a different name?” chan mumbles, more to himself than the stay watching his livestream as he searched for that particular day6 song he wanted to talk about, eyes quickly scanning over the titles in hopes of finding ‘the one.’

“oh! here it is.”

he begins playing ‘i loved you’ before sitting back in his chair to intently listen along with stay. it begins with the buzzing of crickets before jumping right into the members’ gorgeous and clear voices, and after only half a minute or so of nodding his head along with their labelmates past masterpiece, the discernible buzz of his phone against the table quickly catches his attention.

“oh!” he pauses the music to pick up his phone “it’s bibiya! let’s see what chu’s up to.”

chan answers her call below stay’s view, indicating that she’d actually facetimed him, made glaringly apparent by the bloop! as it connected. if that wasn’t evidence enough then surely juyeon’s squeaky voice coming through the speaker did, the leaders face lighting up prior to his laugh.

“sorry!! i just remembered about your live!”

chan quickly turned the volume down as he chuckled “it’s okay! the more the merrier. do you want to say hi?”

“yeah! can stay hear me?”

he nodded, eyes flicking up to filter through the live comments now buzzing with her name.

“helloooo stayyy! is channie entertaining you well? don’t forget about his weekly sunday live like i did. uh…make sure to eat well and get lots of rest!!”

chan would giggle before pulling his eyes from the comments and back to the screen out of view. “do you want me to call you back?” he asked quietly, wary of the audience listening in on the reason why she called “i’ll be done in 30.”

“oh — that’s okay — i just wanted to know if you still wanted to watch that movie with me tonight.”

the leaders eyebrows raised high, eyes panning up to the live almost like a scene from the office before looking back down at the girl on his screen.

“did you forget?”

“no! i remember!” he blatantly lied with a giggle “we’ll sit down to watch it as soon i get home, okay?”

there was an exasperated sigh before her response. “okayyyy. have fun with the rest of your live. bye bye stay!”

chan would mutter his own goodbyes to his bandmate before she hung up, and then his focus would immediately shift back up to the audience before him, a bashful blush dusting his cheeks as he laughed once more.

“i definitely forgot about the movie tonight. don’t tell joong.”

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 dinner w/ billie live

“okay, next!” juyeon turns from the pot of noodles boiling on the stovetop to then grab the jar of alfredo sauce on the counter “this is my favorite pasta of all time — after jjajangmyeon — so we’re gonna use a lot of it.”

the pajama-clad girl then attempts to open the lid using both hands, her face screwing together with pursed lips as she visibly uses all her might to twist the top off. “oh, man,” she wheezes, resting to glance up at the comments before trying again “it’s really on there!”

juyeon now readjusts her grip to get as much of her hand on the lid as possible, her other holding the jar tight as to not drop it before taking another shot at opening the precious sauce, nearly folding into herself at the waist as she once again fails to unscrew the lid.

“jeez! did they glue it on there or something?” she huffs “why is it so difficult? that’s so rude.”

for a moment she stands there in front of the camera, dumbfounded and red-faced as she looks over the jar like there was another method hidden underneath, before holding her index up to the audience now laughing at her struggles.

“hold on,” she says while backing toward one of the bedroom doors she’d banished the boys to while she was on live “don’t go anywhere! i’ll be back!”

thankfully, due to the positioning of the camera she’d set up in the kitchen, stay were still able to see juyeon as she waddled over to knock on one of the wooden doors with mumbles of ‘the stupid jar.’ this door would then open to reveal a comfy-looking and barefaced chan with a smile already on his face as he exited the darkness and entered the living room to take the jar from her.

it would only take him the few seconds of a walk back into the kitchen to then successfully pop open the blasphemous lid that had publicly defeated juyeon. he’d outwardly laugh as she stole the now-opened jar from his hands, a vexed frown on her lips.

“i loosened it for you.”

“oh i’m sure.”

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 stray kids survival show

[the members are hard at work, practicing their performance relentlessly to polish even the smallest of details before presenting themselves before jyp and yg in the morning]

the group looks wholly exhausted as the song then comes to a close, their heaving breaths and faces glistening with sweat acting as a visual indicator to how eager they were to give a good performance in front of not only their own boss but also yg and his trainees, hands flying to rest on their hips as they tromped over to their water bottles.

the boys’ quick disperse from the formation in the middle subsequently revealed a haggard-looking juyeon with her fingers interlocked behind her head. a quick zoom-in on the panting girl would expose her trembling bottom lip as she blinked rapidly before cranking her neck to look up at the lights on the ceiling.

[juyeon looks troubled]

chan, sitting in the right hand corner of the screen as he messed with the speaker, could be seen with his attentive leader gaze on the red-faced girl. to the untrained eye — namely the viewers watching who still didn’t know the members very well — his furrowed brow and pursed lips could easily be read as irritation towards the black sheep of the group. however, the speed with which he stood in order to be by her side after she turned her back indicated otherwise.

[leader chan is quick to check in on his members when they’re struggling]

“hey,” he hummed, placing a hand between her shoulders to seclude them from the other boys “you okay?”

chan’s soothing presence would be the catalyst that revealed juyeon’s true state even as her back was turned to the camera, face hidden from view as her frail, shaky voice exposed the tears she’d fought to conceal.

“yeah — sorry — ts’stupid”

“hey,” he’d say again, now moving to stand in front of her to catch her gaze “what’s up?”

juyeon shook her head, dropping her interlocked fingers to instead wipe the tears on her cheeks. “i don’t know — nothing — i’m good”

“talk to me, joong. you don’t have to find the right words, just tell me how you’re feeling.”

[although juyeon tried to hide her troubles, chan won’t let her suffer alone]

“m’just…scared. what they’ll think — what they’ll say…”

chan’s response was immediate; certain and encouraging as he brushed her hair from her face. “that’s okay, ju. it’s okay to be scared. it’s okay to worry about what people will think, we all do, but you can’t let it eat at you. they’ll say what they’re gonna say, but at the end of the day, you’re still the talented juyeon we know you are — you know you are. don’t let the fear stop you from doing what you love.”

with this, juyeon sighs. she stands there for a moment to take in his encouraging words, marinating his verbal and nonverbal support in her mind before nodding shortly once more.

“we’ll all be there to back you up, ju. always.”

[juyeon may be anxious about tomorrow, but she has her boys to stand behind her, and they’ll defend her to the ends of the earth]

[charlieslowartsies]

FINISHED MY TOOTHLESS PLUSH!!

Materials, info and some comments under the RM!

Toothless' Pattern I purchased

Materials: 6 yards of black minky 1 yard red minky 5 yards of Poly-Fil extra loft medium quilt batting 18 oz of poly pellets (4 oz in each foot) 2 Mainstay firm bed pillows for stuffing 1 spool of purple thread for the top stitching details on his tail, hip and main wings 2.5 spools of black thread Dark green, lime green, goldenrod and light yellow embroidery floss black acrylic paint white fabric paint Velcro one very old, small and cranky sewing machine who somehow survived this ordeal several comfort shows, podcasts, and music to listen to

This was my winter break project! Granted I started bits and pieces of the process in early December, but once my two weeks off hit he really started getting worked on lol.

I know it's hard to tell from photos, but he is A BIG CHONGUS. Toothless is 5.5 feet from head to tail tip, and has a 9 foot wingspan. He weighs about 8 lbs.

He took about 60ish hours and was very complex. My budget was $200 and he came in at $202! That includes things like the bulldog clips that I bought when he was being pinned because the minky was so slippery! This cost EXcludes a sewing machine, or things like an embroidery ring which my mom had, so I was very lucky in several areas—but he still was not cheap, either by expense or by time and sweat/tears!

Of course, the minky was by far the most of the cost, coming in at $122. I’d say the batting would be next, but I waited and snagged a good deal at my local craft store and got the batting for $18. I HIGHLY recommend buying bed pillows. The original maker of the pattern used IKEA pillows I believe.

I increased his size by 20%, so I printed him at 120% and guesstimated on the minky amount. My WORST mistake was forgetting to mirror the WINGS, which meant I had to recut two of the four pieces of fabric. (I should have marked it on the pattern, which I did mark well for things like number count.) Had I not done this, I would have used a lot less minky. I bought 7 yards and only needed 5.5 before my error.

(Now I’ve got scraps and a whole yard left sitting there whispering that it wants to be made into a Krobus plushie…who seems much less of a hurdle than Toothless.)

I stuffed Toothy’s hip fins and tail fins with one layer of quilt batting. His wings however, are double layered with the batting for extra plush, warmth, and durability. His eyes are hand embroidered (my first time!) but stitched on with the machine. Toothless has poly pellets in his feet to help support his bulk, but most of his weight is in his body, hips and start of his tail so he actually sits up really well.

He was a huge labor of love for sure! The pattern was great, the instructions were…less great. But my mom helped me figure out a lot of the troubling bits. Some parts were easy to follow and others were basically "bing bong fuck ya life." Despite that, I do suggest this pattern. But this is definitely an intermediate or advanced pattern. They also sell the eyes for those that have access to an embroidery machine.

I followed the pattern closely as I desired. I did omit the back spikes on his rear legs, and I couldn’t embroider his lil nose by hand ^^; I also did not make his blue alpha fins because of expense and mistrust in my own skills...also, I kinda wanted HTTYD1 Toothless haha. I love the series as a whole but the og movie is literally one of the reasons I went to college, and it went into my thesis as well.

I want to remake his prosthetic at some point when I have time and energy, but for now I’m pleased with 99% of him, especially since this is my first plushie I’ve ever made. I do not regret any of my personal changes and I’m totally in love with him.

[wannaeatramyeon]

I need something like a part two of Jake x smoll reader🥺 that was so good😭 What about reader wearing Jake‘s clothes

@11hinxd and anon, I might have been lazy and just gone for a 2 in 1...

Jake Kim x Reader: Clothes thief

G/N. Soft

Jake's threadbare wardrobe is not helped by the fact that there is a thief.

HIs favourite hoodie, gone. His most comfortable black t-shirt, gone. Even his grey sweatpants, gone.

The first time it happened, he had assumed that the washing machine had graduated from eating the odd sock to full blown items of clothing.

However, after working one too many late nights on the trot and returning home in the early morning, Jake realised that the appliance wasn't as ravenous as he initially thought.

The clothes thief, dressed in all his most beloved items of clothing, is sleeping soundly on the bed.

You were barely recognisable under the swarms of fabric. A shapeless, peaceful lump. Body slowly rising and falling with your breath, and phone gripped in your hand.

Jake's last message to you is still open, along with a half typed response before you must have fallen asleep.

He stifles a chuckle, tiptoeing over, taking the phone from your grasp and placing it on the bedside table. At the movement, you stir and Jake brushes your hair back as you blink blearily at him.

"What happened to waiting up for me?" He smiles down at your form, sleeve falling over your fists when you rub at your eyes.

"You took too long," Your voice is thick with sleep and displeasure.

"I know. I'm sorry." Jake leans down to press a kiss on your forehead. Just when he pulls away, you peer at him, frowning, and he grins and places one more on your lips and the pout vanishes.

"I can't believe you've been stealing my clothes." He says, fingering the collar of his hoodie and you tuck your face into it, hiding a mischievous grin.

"It reminds me of you."

Oh, well isn't that goddamn adorable. Not that he ever was, but how can he be mad when you're so cute.

"I suppose you can keep it," Jake has given you every part of himself. What's a few items of clothing? "Just let me borrow it now and then,"

You purse your lips, pretending to weigh up the pros and cons. "What do I get for it?"

Jake climbs properly into bed, despite being dressed in his Big Deal uniform. He wraps his arms around you and pepper kisses all over your face until you're half breathless, half giggling and fully wide awake.

"Good enough?"

You sort of want to say no, because getting a kiss from Jake is easy. He kisses you whenever you want and then some. If Jake's kisses were currency, then you would be the richest person on earth.

But just because it's easy and abundant, doesn't mean it's not good. In fact, you're pretty sure they're the best damn kisses in the world.

You give him Jake a nod. Although, 'good enough' may be the greatest injustice in the world.

He laughs and gives you a gentle squeeze. "Good."

[runninriot]

Inspired by the prompt ‘Love is helping them unwind after a rough day‘ by @lihhelsing for @steddielovemonth day 19

I’ll take care of you

wc: 1,946 | rated: M | tags: Steve is stressed, Eddie takes care of Steve, Established Relationship, Domesticity, Smut (under the cut)

Eddie looks up from where he’s busy peeling potatoes for dinner when he hears Steve entering the apartment.

   “I’m in the kitchen!” Eddie calls into the hallway, excited to finally have his boyfriend back home after another day of him working late.

He continues to prepare the remaining vegetables, smiles when he feels a heavy weight slump against his back and two arms wrap around his middle.

   “Hey baby. How was your day?”

Steve sighs deeply.

   “I hate my boss.” He sounds exhausted.

Eddie chuckles, doesn’t comment on the double meaning (Steve’s boss is his dad. But that’ll change as soon as they’ve saved up enough money to make their way out of this town).

   “That bad, huh?”

He tries to move to put the casserole in the oven but Steve’s arms are still clinging to him, only loosening their grip enough for Eddie to turn around in his embrace.

Steve has been working overtime every single day this past week. They’ve barely spent any time together besides sleeping next to each other, with Steve being too exhausted to do anything after work.

He’s working on a big project right now, something ‘crucial for the future of the firm’. Eddie doesn’t know the details, just knows it’s draining Steve of every last bit of energy. He hates it. Hates that he can’t do much to help take away some of the pressure weighing on his boyfriend’s shoulders. Knows how hard Steve always is on himself, always has the tendency to overwork himself, always giving 110 percent and more.

Thank god it’s Friday, Eddie thinks, looking forward to a weekend with not much to do, already making plans in his head how to spoil Steve in all the ways he deserves.

He pulls Steve’s face up with a hand on his chin to properly greet him with a long and tender kiss.

   “How about you go take a nice hot bath while I clean the kitchen. I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready.”

Steve leans his forehead against Eddie’s chest and tightens his arms around his waist like he doesn’t want to let go.

   “Hmm nah, just gonna have a shower. I don’t want to risk falling asleep in the bathtub.”

They kiss again, once, twice, before Steve relents and peels himself off.

Steve returns to the kitchen 20 minutes later, looks refreshed, still tired but at least a little more alive than before.

   “Can I help with anything?” Steve asks, looking over Eddie’s shoulder where he pours each of them a glass of water.

   “All done. You just sit down and let me take care of you.”

   “Ugh, you’ve been taking care of everything this week. I didn’t even remember to start the damn washing machine this morning like you asked me to. I only now remembered when I saw the piles of clothes on top of the dryer. I’m sorry.”

He sounds genuinely upset but Eddie will have none of it.

   “Babe, stop it. You’ve been working your ass off all week. Cooking dinner and doing some household chores is the least I can do.”

Eddie snags another kiss from Steve’s lips before he prompts him to sit down at the table.

   “I don’t deserve you.”

   “Aww, I know. But what can I do? I’m but a fool in love.” Eddie sing-songs and feels like he’s completed an important mission when Steve laughs wholeheartedly at his words.

   “You’re such a dork. God I love you.”

   “Love you, too. Now shut up and eat. I didn’t burn my hand for this to go cold again.” This earns him another laugh and an appreciative kiss on the back of his hand before they dig in.

An hour later they’re lying in bed. Eddie is reading a book while Steve is going over some papers – despite Eddie’s protest not to bring work into their holy chambers – rubbing his forehead and eyes every now and then while groaning frustrated.

   “Okay, enough.” Eddie says too loud for the overall silence in the room, snaps his book shut and lays it down on the bedside table.

He then turns his attention to Steve who looks at him startled and confused.

   “I said... enough,” Eddie repeats, voice stern and determined.

He takes hold of the papers in Steve’s hand, pulls them out of his grasp, quickly but careful not to accidentally cut him, and lets them drop to the floor next to the bed.

   “Eddie! Those are imp-“

Steve doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Eddie is on top of him in one swift motion, dragging him closer with a fist in his shirt, silencing him with a kiss.

   “What was that for?” Steve says breathlessly when Eddie releases his lips again.

   “I told you I’m gonna take care of you. And right now, what you need is to stop thinking about work.”

   “Ooh, okay,” Steve smiles up at him, all flirty and smug, “and you think you can help with that?”

   “Hmm, I don’t know,” Eddie plays along, “Guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we.”

He grips the hem of Steve’s shirt and pulls it over his head, dropping it purposely down on top of the offending papers on the floor – like covering up their existence will make it easier for Steve to forget about them.

Eddie pushes Steve back down into the pillows, hands gliding over his boyfriend’s chest as he makes himself comfortable in Steve’s lap. Steve’s hands find their way to his hips, fingers digging into the sides, goading him to move. And Eddie does, slowly rolls his hips over Steve’s middle, delighted at the soft little Ahs flitting over Steve’s lips.

There are three layers of fabric between them – two pairs of boxers and a cover – but Eddie can already feel the effect of his grinding motion as he drags his cock over the hard line of Steve’s.

   “Close your eyes, baby. Relax. Let me take care of you,” Eddie coos, voice soft and low.

He leans down to kiss Steve’s neck, starts right beneath his ear, goes along the side and over the column of his throat. He makes his way from Steve’s collarbone to his chest, stops at his right nipple to suck at it. Twirling his tongue around the sensitive bud, encouraged by Steve’s breathy moans. With his teeth busy nibbling at one side, his hand blindly finds the other and starts rolling it gently between his thumb and finger, pinching just hard enough to get Steve talking.

   “Ah! Yes, baby. Feels so good, Eddie. More, please.”

Eddie releases both nipples, kisses his way further down over coarse hair, licks over his boyfriend's defined muscles and bites the soft parts of his tummy.

He sucks purple splotches into Steve's skin and beneath him Steve shivers, digs his fingers into Eddie’s hair as if to tell him to move on.

Eddie listens to his silent pleas, climbs off his lap only to pull the cover away and get rid of the remaining barrier. He peels his own shorts off before gripping the waistband of Steve’s, doesn’t need to tell him to lift his hips to drag them down.

Finally free, in all their naked glory, Eddie takes his place between Steve’s legs and doesn’t waste anymore time before dragging his tongue over the length of his cock. He starts at the base, licks a long stripe to the tip.

   “Oh, baby.”

Steve’s voice reaches him from above his head but he doesn't look up, his attention is somewhere else. He parts his lips, wraps them around the swollen head and begins to suck. Teases Steve with a wet tongue curling around the crown, lets saliva pool all over the tip before sucking it back into his mouth.

The noises Steve makes are an obscene soundtrack to Eddie’s performance. Lower and lower he sinks down on Steve’s length, taking him deeper inch by inch until he can feel him on the back of his throat.

   “F-fuck, Eddie! You feel fucking amazing!”

He’ll never get tired of hearing Steve call his name as he slowly loses his mind. Desperate and whiney and oh so sweet it sends a tingling sensation right to Eddie’s dick.

Eddie comes back up, pops off with a wet sound, much to Steve’s disdain, who protest loudly at the loss of Eddie’s mouth.

   “I’m not done, baby. Don’t worry.”

He reaches for the drawer on Steve’s side of the bed and takes out a bottle of lube, klicks the lid open and pours a generous amount on his fingers. Steve startles when the cool gel connects with the skin between his cheeks, two fingers spreading the lube in circles around the rim.

   “God, fuck, yeah!”

Steve’s enthusiasm spurs Eddie on to slide the tip of one finger against the tight muscle, slowly pushing inside until he’s two knuckles deep.

   “So pretty, baby. Fuck, Steve. I love how greedy your hole is.”

Without looking up, Eddie knows that Steve is flushed red from the tip of his nose down to his chest. Always a little ashamed of how much he secretly enjoys the dirty talk.

   “Gonna stretch that pretty hole so good, make you ready for my cock. Do you want that, baby?”

Steve moans loudly as Eddie thrusts his finger in and out and it’s all the answer he needs.

He keeps up his loving torture for as long as he needs to make Steve loose, until he’s literally begging him to stop the teasing and fuck him.

When Eddie sinks into his boyfriend, he nearly loses his mind at how good it feels. They haven’t had sex all week and Eddie just now realises how much he missed it. The burning heat of Steve’s body, the slick noises they make when Eddie fucks into him with rough but loving force. The way Steve trembles underneath him, breathlessly chasing Eddie’s lips for a kiss. How fucking perfect it is to watch Steve come undone, pounding him into the mattress while stroking his leaking cock. How the stinging pain of Steve’s nails digging possessively into Eddie’s flesh alone nearly sends him over the edge.

The room is filled with the scent of sex and the sound of their moans and it’s heaven.

   “Come on, Steve. Come for me.”

With a last, desperate cry on their lips they both crash and fall, succumbing the crushing wave of their orgasm.

And then the world goes quiet around them.

The only sound is their heavy breathing, both trying to catch their breaths as they slowly come down from their heights.

   “That was-“ Steve starts but gets distracted by the sudden movement when Eddie pulls out and drops down beside him.

   “Phenomenal.” Eddie ends Steve’s sentence for him while pulling him close to his chest.

They are both sticky and sweaty and should probably clean up before they’re too tired but Eddie can take care of it later, doesn’t want to break the moment.

   “Love you so much, Eddie.”

Steve’s breath tickles on his skin and it’s too hot to be holding each other so close but he’d rather drown in his own sweat than not hold Steve in his arms.

   “Did it help?” Eddie asks jokingly, a wide, knowing grin on his face Steve can’t see.

   “Mhm,” Steve hums, exhausted and blissed out.

Eddie draws Steve closer, feels the way his body relaxes in his arms, melts into his embrace like he's made of warm candle wax.

   “Love you, baby.”

And if they fall asleep like that – sweat drenched, and cum stained, and on top of dirty sheets – that's okay.

They can take care of that tomorrow.

[cyraclove]

Happy Sunday, have a little hellcheer thing that I needed to evict from my brain:

Eddie is ten years old. He wakes up around the same time he usually does on Saturday mornings and shuffles into the bathroom, bleary-eyed and barefooted.

It’s quiet this morning. There’s no coffee maker gurgling, no newspaper rustling. He doesn’t hear the muffled sound of a newscaster droning on about the weather. That’s weird.

As he runs his toothbrush under the faucet, Eddie thinks back to the night before. His dad had come home late, tearing through the house looking for something. His words were slushy as he stumbled around, muttering something about a suitcase.

Eddie had watched him for a while until he tired himself out and slumped into his armchair like he usually did. He’d still be there in the morning, wearing the same clothes as the night before.

He isn’t, though. Not this morning.

Furrowing his brow, Eddie pokes his head into his father’s room. The bed’s empty, still made.

“Dad?”

There’s no answer, just the soft clink and whir of the ceiling fan above him.

Eddie walks out and into the kitchen, a strange tightness in his chest. Sunlight streams in through the window above the kitchen sink, but there’s not a single light on. Nearly all of the cabinet doors have been left open.

A rusted, red Folgers coffee can lays toppled over on the counter. There are two quarters on the floor right beneath it. Fifty cents, Eddie thinks to himself. Two more and he’d have a whole dollar.

The front door creaks open and Eddie startles, whipping his head toward the sound.

“Dad?”

It’s not his dad. A tall, graying man with a sad, weary smile stands in the doorway. Eddie recognizes him from pictures and a couple of Christmases. He looks older than the last time he’d seen him.

“Uncle Wayne?”

Wayne sighs as he crosses the room toward Eddie. His eyes are wet as he looks down at him. “Hey, kiddo,” he says softly. “Still in your jammies, huh?”

Something icky gurgles in the pit of Eddie’s stomach, the same feeling he gets when he knows he’s done something to make his father mad. This isn’t right.

“Where’s dad?”

Eddie sees Wayne wince, swallowing hard. He pauses, like he’s not sure what to say. “Listen, Ed—“

Before Wayne can finish, Eddie darts past him and all but crashes into the screen door, running out onto the deck. The wood is gritty and wet from the rain the night before. His father’s truck is gone.

Eddie’s face is hot and his eyes sting as he looks around. There’s no one outside but him.

“Dad?”

The wind whines through the trees.

“Dad?”

A dog barks from behind the fence next door.

“Dad?”

Eddie swivels toward the unfamiliar voice, gentle and kind. Machines beep and hum in the background as he stands next to a hospital bed, his clammy hand wrapped tightly around the plastic bedrail.

A nurse in a papery yellow gown smiles up at him as she cradles a snugly swaddled, ruddy-faced newborn.

Eddie’s throat is thick. His voice sounds all croaky when he speaks. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” the nurse chuckles. “You ready to meet your boy?”

The air leaves Eddie’s lungs when the baby is placed gently in his arms, a wiggly, fussy little thing that can’t possibly weigh any more than a dictionary. He’s soft and warm and staring right up at Eddie with big, pale blue eyes.

Eddie turns to Chrissy, laying in the hospital bed looking breathless and beautiful. She’s sweaty and starlit and beaming at him, her lashes glittery and damp.

“A boy?” he asks her. They’d waited to find out. “Did she say boy?”

Chrissy nods, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. Yesterday’s mascara smears her cheek as she gives him a sniffly smile.

The mattress dips as Eddie gingerly sits on the edge of the bed next to Chrissy, her hand resting on his thigh. She’s all wires and medical tape and hospital bracelets. She’s amazing.

He stares down at the little boy nestled into the crook of his arm, at their son. Chrissy leans her head on his shoulder and his heart feels too big for his ribcage.

“Hey, kiddo,” he murmurs. “Happy birthday.”

[galway-girlatwork]

Fandom: The Last of Us-AU-No outbreak

Rating: Mature-There is angst. Fluff at the very end.

Central Characters: Joel, Sarah, Tommy, Tara (Original Female Character)

Central Relationship: Joel and Tara

Word Count: 2,534

AO3

Please do not copy my work. If you liked it, please re-blog and tag me. Please do not steal my mood board. I do not give permission to copy, translate, or post my work to any other platform.

Music inspiration: Hold On By Chord Overstreet-Hurricane by Tommee Profitt and Fleurie. Never Not Love You by 30 Seconds to Mars. Carry You by Ruelle and Fleuire

Written for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Writing Challenge

Amnesia

SUMMARY:

The aftermath of a traumatic car accident leaves a family struggling with fear and uncertainty. The emotional toll weighing them all down as they try to find some normalcy which they all know is impossible until he wakes up. Vulnerability and desperate needs for the man who is the center of their lives to remember who they are and the life he had with them.

Fragile State

It was one the most cliché things that could happen. Something you hear about on the news, read on the internet. You feel bad to those it’s happened to, the “oh god that’s terrible” but then you move on with your day of mundane tasks that you are imprinted on your brain. They were just coming home from picking up dinner from some random drive thru when it happened. Some asshole running the red light, t-boning the SUV they were in, his side taking the most damage, the impact so brutal, they were surprised he had survived.

That was four days ago and before then? Life was normal. It was school, work, soccer practice, backyard BBQ’s and sleepovers. Now it was sleeping on hard cots, hospital food and coffee, unwashed bodies and constant beeps of machines that you swore were driving you slowly insane, each one, one push closer to the edge. Standing you walk into the bathroom, staring into the mirror, you notice bruises turning sickly shades of yellow and purple. The black eyes are second to the blood-filled sclera that surrounds your irises. You and your step-daughter were “blessed” as they put it, minor scrapes and bumps but your body disagreed when you did the simplest of tasks. Washing your hands was one of those tasks, they trembled under the gush of warm water, the room always slightly above sub-artic. Turning off the water, towel grabbed and as you dry your skin, light reflects along your engagement ring, remembering the night he proposed. He was nervous as fuck, not knowing if you’d say yes. Hands gripped the edge of the counter, bottom lip between teeth, hoping the pain would hold back tears. It didn’t and ten minutes later, face now washed, teeth brushed, you walk out of the bathroom and the constant beeps are back, knowing you should be grateful for them, since they marked the fact that he was still alive.

An hour later, doctor and nurses, come and gone tell you the same thing as the day before, there was no change. Tommy and Sarah texted to let you know they were on their way, asking if you needed anything. A quick text back letting them know you were desperate for Starbucks and that you would Zelle money to him. Proficient taps to the screen of your new phone, the other one lost in the carnage of your wrecked car, had money sent, email checked before you put it on the charger. Body slid into the chair by his bed, hand taking his, head resting on his forearm.

“Hey baby. Tommy and Sarah are coming to see you. She’s not happy by the way, that she has to go back to school Monday but I think it would be good for her. Thank god I have as much PTO as I do but Rick’s been really understanding, letting me know I can take as much time as I need so I can be here.” A shuddering sigh, a sniffle taken before you look at him. “Joel, I really need you to wake up. I can’t do this without you. I am not as independent as I pretend to be. Maybe I was before you but now...It’s different. It’s your fault you know, if I’d never met you and Sarah…Let’s face it babe, if I hadn’t met the both of you, I’d still be living in a one bedroom, eating out of take-out cartons. You two changed my life and I can’t imagine it without you in it. So fucking wake up.” Nothing came from the body in the bed, hooked to wires and tubes, head wrapped.  

She must have fallen asleep, a hand on her shoulder, repeating your name, finally brought you out of a troubled slumber. “Tara, wake up.”

“Hey sweetie.” Standing, you hugged your step-daughter who is more yours than not. She was ten when you met her, eyes peeking up at you through a head of curly hair as she partially hid behind Joel. The two you of had been dating for eight months when he decided he wanted you to meet her. It was you had suggested pizza and Disney, wanting to make her feel comfortable in her home. Of course, you were an instant hit because how many women would cater to a ten-year-old? Four months later you moved in. Now she was fifteen, a sophomore in high school dealing with daily teenage angst and peer pressure. “How are you feeling?” Side air impact bags coupled with the fact that she always sat in the middle, meant she’d walked away with just some bruised ribs from the seatbelt.

“I’m ok. Just sore. Tara, when are you coming home? Uncle Tommy can’t cook worth a damn, I think he might be worse than dad.”

A slight chuckle rumbled in your chest. “I’ll come home tonight. Doctors were here earlier, no change, said I should go home, shower and eat real food so…”

Tommy came up behind you, giving an awkward hug and you wondered if he was taking this harder than you and Sarah. Joel was his big brother and even though Tommy could be the biggest pain the ass, it was still his brother. “He’s gonna be ok. Just give him some time. You both know how stubborn he can be.” You prayed that, that stubbornness would keep him around just a little bit longer. You wanted to grow old with him, watch Sarah go off to college, get married, have babies.

Turning, coffee taken from Tommy, you sat on the couch beneath the window, Sarah curling up next to you, phone in hand, scrolling through her Facebook, the annoying beeps taking up space in your head once more. Looking at Tommy, who was pacing like a wild animal, you asked about the job that was now on hold, him letting you know the client was more than understanding, guaranteeing they wouldn’t lose the remodel job. “Tommy, why don’t you go home. There’s nothing you can do here and the rental place dropped off the loaner yesterday so I can drive us home. You look like you are bout to lose it.”

Glaring at you, a mumbled yea was tossed over his shoulder as he left. You knew he blamed you. Not so much for the accident but for the fact that you all were in your car and not Joel’s truck. He’d been such a hurry to get home for soccer, he’d forgotten to put gas in the bemouth truck of his, so of course they took your car, the girlie car as he put it, with all the frilly things on the inside, courtesy of Sarah. Trinkets she bought you for Christmases and birthdays, things she knew you would never buy for yourself. Flowered hair ties around the gearshift, the car freshener from Bath and Body, the little flower key holder that went with the steering wheel cover. Things now lost, kinda like her husband. Feeling Sarah tense up next to her, you hold her tight, shaking your head. “He’s just scared honey. Like us and he doesn’t know how to handle it. No worries, okay?” A nod of her head let you know she understand, may not have liked it but got it.

Hours passed in silence, only broken the few times nurses came in, the look in their eyes spoke volumes if you paid attention and that was something you did. Always paying attention to every detail, it’s why you were good at your job, even though everyone wondered why you were an accountant, it was because of details and numbers. Things you knew were reliable, constant, predictable. This was none of that. A rumble of Sarah’s stomach was the clue that it was time to go, for now. “Come on baby, let’s get some burgers and get home. We’ll come back in the morning.” Nurses reassured you that if anything changed, they would call you but something deep in the recesses of your mind, you knew that call wouldn’t come tonight.

The drive home was nerve wracking, Sarah letting you know to order Doordash when she noticed how clenched hands and jaw were as you left the parking lot. “I think that’s a way better idea.” What you didn’t realize was how different home felt without him here as you stood in the kitchen, mail stacked on the counter, sink full of coffee cups and cereal bowls from the morning of, Sarah staying with Tommy.

“I’ll take care of it.” Was her response when she saw tears silently falling.

“Leave em. We can do it in the morning. Can you order while I shower? Order from where ever you want.” Gathering her close, you hugged her, a little tighter than normal but then what was normal at this point? Nothing. Not a fucking thing. It was okay though because she clung to you just as hard.

It was when you were in the shower, body on the floor, pulled inwards, hot water blasting your back that all the tears finally let lose. Gut wrenching sobs that would have frightened anyone who heard them, sounding as if your soul was being ripped out of your body. Your relationship with each other wasn’t something that either one of you had planned. It was pure coincidence that you had met each other. When the tears dried up, dehydration at it’s best, you scrubbed your body until you couldn’t take the pain anymore, it’s way of letting you know that you were still alive. Hey at least you felt somewhat human now, right?

Both of you were quiet during dinner, food was picked at until you decided you were done. It was after eleven when you both decided to call it a night, the hours from then til now, were filled with a movie that neither one of you could remember turning on. When two am hit and you were still wide awake, blanket and pillow were dragged downstairs, deciding the couch would be better, at least until he came home.

It was on the sixth day that he finally woke up, fighting the tube, panic filled eyes searching the room, one hand gripping his as the other pressed the call button. Suddenly the room was filled with too many people, and you were helpless as you were gently pushed out into the hall, door closed behind you. Sliding down the wall, the velvet ponytail holder violently ripped from your head, fingertips kneading your scalp as you waited and these days, your patience was running below empty.

Minutes felt like hours before the doctor came out, letting you know that yes, he was awake but there was a problem. Standing in front of him, bits and pieces of what he was saying sank into the gray matter of your mind. He didn’t remember the car accident. Thank god for small miracles right? But he also couldn’t remember his name, that he was married, that he had a daughter, repeatedly asking questions before the panic attack started, the need to sedate him and he was sleeping. “Come back later today but don’t bring your daughter, it can be upsetting to both of them.” The drive back home was a blur, the paperwork they’d given you on short term memory loss was still sitting in your purse, once again it was explained that it was from the TBI and it would only last a week, maybe two but there was a rare possibility it could last for months.

What the actual fuck? A million questions came up but the most important one was what would this do to Sarah? Now standing in the middle of the room you both shared, rage bubbled up and overflowed like the volcano you helped Sarah make for her sixth-grade science project. It erupted from your small frame, as one arm swiped everything from the top of the dresser, the fan picked up and slammed against the mirror, reflective glass exploding. Perfume bottles followed suit, leaving the space to smell like a cheap whore or an old woman, take your pick. Collapsing in the space, you lay there wondering who your wronged and why Karma and Fate did this now. Exhaustion must have laid claim after rage took a vacation because that is where Tommy found you two hours later.

He sat you on the bed as he took in the damage. “Sarah’s going to be home by four. She can’t see the room this way, please Tommy?” Nodding, he told you he’d clean up and have a new fan and mirror before then. Asking what caused the chaos, you told him what the doctors had said or what you could remember. “Is it permanent?”

“I don’t know.”

“Go back to the hospital. I’ll be here and we can talk to Sarah tonight.”

“Thank you Tommy. I’m sorry.” You were admitting to your part in this. You had to have some part, right? Maybe reminded him before coming home to get gas. Maybe not fighting him on driving your car so it would be you instead of him. It was a hell of lot maybe’s.

“Who are you?” His voice startled you from the far away place you’d gone while you sat in the chair next to his bed that now had the imprint of your ass on it.

“Hi Joel, I’m Tara.”

“Thirsty.”

“Hold on.” Flimsy Pepto colored cup was filled from the pitcher baring the same hue, plastic straw pressed against dry lips, he drank half before pushing the straw out of his mouth with the tip of his tongue.

“Tara? Tara? I should know you, right?”

“Yes, you should but there was an accident and things are fuzzy for you right now.”

“How do I know you?”

“We’re married. Have been. Three years in October.”

You’d wanted a Halloween wedding but he’d refused to actually get married on the holiday, said it was bad luck, so the 30th was a compromise along with the promise that you wouldn’t wear red or black, his desire to see you in white.

“I wish I could remember.”

“You will, just be patient, something you are not always good at.”

“Tell me more.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“Okay.”

Hours passed as you told him about Sarah, Tommy, the life you’d built together, his job, your job, soccer practice, Sarah’s first school dance, your wedding…conversations peppered with questions, showing him photos that have taken up almost all of the memory of the new phone that now pinged with a text from Sarah, wanting to know how he was and when you’d be home. Texting back, you let her know he was awake, still not remembering, that you’d be home soon and to order pizza, there was fifty dollars in the coffee can above the fridge, tucked behind the fake plant.

“Sorry, Sarah was asking about you and wanted to know when I’d be home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Joel, why are you sorry?”

“That I can’t remember anything.”

“You can’t remember everything right now. Give it time baby. Be patient.”

“I must have loved you a lot.”

“You did.”

“Think I will again?”

“Yes.”

"Good."

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

COPPER TALONS (V)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER VI ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 7.0k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, mentions of suicide, talk of death, drugs, wounds, self-destructive behavior, fluff?

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“You never told me you had a cat.” Your eyes blink slowly at the sight, taking in the soft smile on the man’s lips as he twiddles his fingers in the air, the front door slightly ajar and the feline's void form tilting its head in wonder. 

Face still loose with fatigue from a sleepless night, you pull at the bandages over your palm absentmindedly; staring. 

“I don’t.” Grumbling, you clear your throat stiffly to dispel the raggedness of the tone, saying again, louder, “I don’t.”

Gaz smiles brightly and spares a glance, though the cat holds his attention.

“Stray?” He asks and you flinch as your finger digs too deep into your wound, shaking out your hand and placing them into the pockets of your pajama pants. 

It was the next morning and you had only just shown your face to the rest of the mansion—instead choosing to waste your time in your room, glaring at the nightstand beside your bed with your phone’s alarms blaring. It was far past 8 o'clock and it was the first time your routine had been broken. 

You felt…displaced. Wrong. Like a piece of fabric stretched too far. 

“Yes,” your lips move, commenting blandly as the Brit’s soft laugh echoes into the foyer when the cat bats at his hand. 

Golden slight ran slickly off the lithe body, black almost amber because of it. Green eyes that widen and tighten. The animal obviously likes the man far better than you—you could never get close without it hissing at you. 

Gaz’s knee digs slightly deeper into the ground, patting the tiny, sharp, head. 

“Sorry for letting him in, little bugger was pawing at the door—didn’t know who it was until I took a look.” The gun is on the ground, and you can imagine what he would have done if someone was there instead of the cat. 

Small trills hit your ears and you sigh, tired. Last night…yesterday…it weighs heavy. It hurts to think, so you don’t.

“I feed it sometimes. Won’t leave.” Your feet turn, taking you closer to the kitchen. The words echo, hitting the empty walls and off the dusty furniture. “Close the door if you want it to stay in, I don’t really care.”

Gaz looks at you walking away in shock, the feline bushing itself on his leg as his hand stills above it. “I…that’s not my place, Ma’am.”

But you’re already entering the junction of the kitchen, nearly hitting your shoulder on the frame on the way to your coffee machine—autopilot. You bite your lip, peeling back your skin. 

Remembering Kyle’s actions from last night made you confused. Burning, the flesh of your hand pulls with the pressure of stitches and you hear the man speaking to the animal, trying to prompt it to leave. 

He told me about his scars, you take down a settling breath, padding over the tile to grab a mug and turn the coffee machine on. The small button under your finger gives way as you furrow your brows. 

“Stitched me up,” muttering, the machine grumbling to life as you open a cupboard. “Sent me to bed.”

You remember his hands on you, guiding you along like a boat at sea. It was…your lips thin. Footsteps come around the entrance and your emotions quickly still themselves.

“He,” an awkward cough, “uh, he won’t leave.” 

“What am I supposed to do about that?” Grabbing your cup you barely glance at the source of your problem, body growing hot at his mere presence. You send a subdued glance over, pausing a moment before huffing silently. “If he likes you he likes you. It’s a cat.”

“Can’t you,” Gaz stares at the feline at his feet as it holds its flicking tail high and begins meowing with a vile insistence, chubby face soft. “I don’t know? Make it go?”

You scoff, putting your mug on the counter. “You let it in, dude, not me.” 

A dry stare is sent your way, but the only thing the Sergeant does is lean down and scoop the being into his arms. Immediately, the loud baying ceases; delicate purrs hitting the walls and bouncing like a ball off your eardrums. 

“Christ, the thing is bloody adorable—look.” You roll your eyes, hearing the coffee machine going off as you shuffle. Grunting, you comply, meeting the green orbs that snap around the room at the higher angle. 

When they meet the pupils, you see them shrink, and suddenly there’s a low growling sound entering the air. Obsidian fur bristles, but you’re not at all surprised. 

Gaz’s eyes widen, and he quickly places the cat back down before gazing back at you as you take the coffee pot. 

“Your problem,” you say blandly, putting the object down on the island and taking your mug with it—filling up the cup and letting the dark liquid almost slosh over the edge. Not wasting any time, you bring it to your lips and take a large gulp. 

A stiff sigh falls, but eventually, Gaz’s form graces the sides of your vision. He goes to lean on the counter. Amber eyes watch the feline as it slinks about, sniffing the walls and the like. The silence that falls almost lets your eyes slip back closed, stuck on the absence of coffee cake and espressos. You let your hands heat on the mug, liking the burning sensation seeping in through your bandages. 

That nothingness reigns for a minute, maybe two. Lips part, hesitating.

“Everything feeling okay then?” His comment is easy, smooth, but you can still pick up that tiny edge of apprehension. 

His hands were kind. 

You blink quickly, dispelling the thought that leaves your brain bleeding. 

“I’m alive.” Forcing out the words, you take another sip and lick your lips. “You think deliveries are off the table too, or not? Could go for a pizza.”

The Sergeant watches you, crossing his arms slowly. Clenching his jaw, he reminds himself to take it easy—you were most likely still going through shock. You had killed someone. 

Obviously hasn’t struck yet.

“I think not, sorry. And I meant how your hand was.” 

“Hm,” you huff, rubbing at your eyes. But coffee wasn’t the only reason you’d come downstairs. Brushing past the question, you prompt one of your own. 

You’d thought over much last night; had stopped yourself from opening your phone and looking at the news with a deep pit in your stomach. What was it about you and wanting to know information that would break you? 

“The two that want my family dead,” you finish off your first cup and fill it back up, this time pausing in your gluttony and sliding an eye to stare at Gaz’s neck. The man stills as he keeps his tongue stuck behind his teeth. At least you were talking, that was good at least. “Yaromir Osipov and Mala Kham, right…? Why would they kill innocent people just to try and get rid of me?” 

You stare hard and you stare ferociously; not answering this wasn’t an option anymore. You’d thrown a knife into someone’s eye—your hands weren't clean anymore.

Were they ever clean? Hell, you didn’t even know anymore.

Gaz blinks, thinking to himself that if there was ever a time to do this that it wasn’t exactly now. But you deserved answers. Especially after everything. 

He nods slightly, eyes sliding to the ground as he collects his thoughts. You wait, fingers flinching over the porcelain of your mug and heart speeding up from caffeine. Garrick’s answers would determine your next play.

Because his hands had been soft and warm; he had spoken to you in a tone you had almost forgotten could be uttered by another person beyond yourself as you spoke in the middle of the night. Trying to calm our mind from another nightmare and needing something to ground you. 

Gaz rubs at the back of his head, fixing his still-bloody cap. His washed camo pants shift as his legs do. 

“Kate explained some of it to you, yeah?” It comes out as a fierce sigh. You nod, watching his forearms under his compression shirt. A tiny meow from the hallway goes in one ear and out the other. Brown sends you a glance before his hands capture the edge of the counter, fingers tapping on the underside of the stone. “Alright. How much?” 

“Just that they wanted someone as a family head and that the easiest way to do that was to kill us. Reinstate someone new that they can control.”

“How much do you think Chicago would make those two? Selling weapons and drugs here?” Gaz speaks in terms you would know, not getting into the proper classifications of smuggling operations. Best to keep it bare bones and not make this worse. “Few hundred thousand?” 

“That’s why I’m asking you, Garrick,” you’re not as volatile today, he admits. Your comments are poking but not digging. Maybe he had finally gotten some headway with last night. But the absence of your sneer makes him feel something different.  “How would I know?” 

“You wouldn’t—because even I can’t envision a proper number. More than I’ll ever see, that’s for sure.” A sly smirk. “And the SAS pays well.” You don’t miss a beat.

“Guess I missed arrogant in your file.” Gaz takes in the way you pick at the bandages on your palm, pausing his own tapping on the counter with a slow halt. “But still, that tells me nothing.”

He turns away and continues, chest tight.

“...What it means is that there’s no place like Illinois—easy docking and shipment storage off of Lake Michigan, bribeable officers,” a lick at his lips, “people willing to sell at higher prices. It’s not just a small piece of the puzzle. It is the puzzle.”

You close your eyes, feeling the steam from the coffee waft over your face. Your heart was skipping beats, but you listened with great intensity. 

“From here products can be sent all over the US by train or vehicle. It’s damn near impossible to stop every transport.” He lets the words sink in, trying not to flip your switch about your father but unable to be dishonest with you. You stay very still as he slows his speech.

“When you take a hammer to a window, Love, there’s still going to be glass stuck to the frame. A single death doesn’t stop this from happening—but it slows it down considerably until the piece is replaced. It’s a right shame it had to play out like this, but,” you don’t fight him for once, just grunt and drink. Wishing you had your coin to twiddle in your grip. His words from yesterday still fly through your brain coupled with the flash of a crimson knife. “But with such a large business, those two need to flush out any doubt in their pocketbooks. And they can’t have anyone know about it.” A nod. “Power and all.”

“They wanted to make it look like an accident.” The realization isn’t surprising as you stare into your cup with a dead glint. Gaz makes a sound in the back of his throat—face gaining tension to it. 

“Affirmative.” All you can do is rub at your eyes and motion slightly with a ‘that’s life’ flick of your hand. The answer just makes the guilt worse.

It’s a long time before you speak again, and you know Gaz can see the vibrations of your hands as you flatten them on the island. Your response to all of this had been decided in the black recess of the night prior; as if ripped from the darkest part of you that had been kept under lock and key. A sliver of doubt. 

That tiny thought of horror. 

What if your father was really all of the things that they had said he was? 

But you owed something to those lives lost and now that it was said aloud it made you want to scream. The knowledge of the murder you had committed lost some of its sharp edges.

“I’m going to go through my father’s things.” Before you can register the neck-snapping expression that Gaz sends your way, you continue with a numb distance. “...but I don’t know what to look for.”

The pressure on your chest is spreading to your shoulders, weighing you down. You flex your hand and feel the sutures pull as Gaz’s mouth opens.

He’s quiet for a minute or so, eyes wide. 

“You’re serious?” The Sergeant stands up fully, straightening his spine. You force down a low growl from behind your lips while you spare a short glare his way. Kyle clears his throat, trying to wipe the slight smile from his visage. “Right, yeah, ‘course you are.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” you need to make it clear. Standing and going to put the coffee pot back in its place, you keep down a slew of yells in your throat. Drumming your fingers on the handle as you slide it into the machine your words are utterly serious. “But if there’s one thing that we can agree on—no one else should have to die for this except the people involved.” 

Gaz nods immediately, agreeing with a swell of appreciation in his blood.

“Can’t argue with that, can I?” A soft huff echoes as tiny padding feet re-enter the kitchen; the black cat striding into the open and suddenly hopping up on the counter near the Brit. He spares a swift glance, but Gaz still feels that high of the job finally going forward. The Sergeant had something to give his team and Laswell. 

This is bloody perfect…

But the man sees the bags under your eyes and the pajamas that still sit on you despite it being mid-day. Shaky hands that brush over your cheeks and the bandages that needed to be changed out. His giddiness halts. 

Vision slipping back and forth over your frame, Kyle takes an internal step back.

…But I can’t put her in danger just because of something we can still do any other day.

“Would we be starting that…now, Love? A lot’s happened, are you sure you’re up for it today?” Realistically he shouldn’t be asking this—he’d been waiting for the moment when you’d start looking for actionable intel on your father’s hub and other contacts. The concern had escaped him though, and he swallowed down saliva as your eyes dug into his neck. You were so…stilled this morning. Like a hound just waiting for something to jump out from the woods. “Not saying we can’t, though, jus’ letting you know we can still do it later, yeah? When you’re better, that is.”

Gaz tries to salvage but his face chest tightens at the awkward speech. 

You snag your mug as you slip past the island, ignoring the sharp hiss from the cat that you grimace at. Brushing past Gaz, you get the soft scent of linen and thistle in your nostrils when. Frowning, you say, “If I don’t do it now, I never will.”

Remembering your sprint yesterday, the next comment that flies from you is more common to your normal attitude, and the Sergeant finds himself—for whatever reason—slightly calming down at that. He gazes over his shoulder and lets you go, the cat pawing at his arm and thrilling. 

“I bit your hand, didn’t I?” You feel your lips flicker up. Try as you might, the comments aren’t malicious. You’re too tired for that—you just want to recall it properly. “Elbowed you in the gut when you dragged me around that corner?” 

“Yes, Ma’am, you did. Screamed quite a bit, too. Heard you two streets over.” Gaz’s lips twitch as you exit the kitchen, calling after but not saying how his heart had stopped when he’d heard you yell his name. “Got a proper pair of lungs, yeah?” 

To stop the small smirk from growing, you dig your fingers into your palm until the pain overrides the dull amusement. 

—

The air around the two of you had seemingly flipped on its head. There was still anger and blatant dislike, but now it was easier to send regular comments like the conversation you had both had outside of your university before the shooting started—a small understanding. Well…more like dull toleration. 

You owed him your life and yet he was the one who had destroyed it at the same time. As you flatten your t-shirt out and exit your room, the irony of it wasn’t lost. But right now you have greater things to think about. 

“Did your father have multiple offices, then?” Gaz asks as he takes a walking pace beside you from his waiting spot on the wall. He’d gotten the cat to leave by placing a plate of cooked chicken slices on the front step while you were getting ready. “Or just the one.”

You hum, “my dad didn’t like to be thrown away to one side of the house—if he was able he’d bring the work to wherever my mother or I was and sit with us until it was done. He really just stored everything in various rooms.”

Gaz nods. 

“Organized chaos?” He laughs slightly. “I’m familiar.”

“Well, call me shocked.” A raised eyebrow moves sarcastically.

“Now, I’m not quite sure if that’s an insult or not.” You only roll your eyes and continue on until the familiar door from last night enters your vision.

In your brain, you wonder if he’s going to bring up the shooting or just wait until you say something about it. The death—the penknife that you know he’s keeping somewhere. 

But what could he say? What could you say? It’s not something that can just be blurted out, your feelings. Right now you’re content to push it away and focus on finding something that could help you make sense of it.

Stepping into the office you’re immediately met with the mess from hours prior and cringe subtly. Strewn papers, blood stains, even the lamp was still on. 

Sighing and forcing down the regretful burn under your skin you move on.

“Your jacket’s on the floor,” you say as you click the light off and get to re-organizing the piles of files and random papers into neat stacks, muscles aching. 

“Was wondering ‘bout that.” Gaz clears his throat and snatches the article up before tossing it onto the old couch with only a single glance. His brown eyes watch as you pick up every item with care, tapping the bottoms of the manila folders so everything sits nice. Your jaw is tight. Not liking that needle in his neck, the man glances away to the floor before he speaks. Asking again, “You sure you're up for this?”

“Would you quit asking me that?” You grunt, turning and putting your hands on your hips. “I can make my own decisions.”

“Well, I’m aware of that,” the Brit grumbles, putting up his hands and shrugging. “Was just trying to give you an excuse.”

“Yeah? You’re making me hate you more—so hurry up and tell me what I’m looking for.” You try very hard to hold back the growing anger, and you somewhat succeed. Flexing your injured hand you close your eyes stiffly and remember Gaz’s hands; his soft voice and his story. 

He had been right. There needed to be a level of solid ground to start this all on.

If I don’t find one document in this office that changes something, at the very least it’ll save me the heartache. But if I do I need to hand it over so more people don’t meet the end of a bullet. And that would mean your father was truly guilty. 

You didn’t know which outcome of this would make you dislike yourself less.

Kyle’s not rising to the occasion. In some strange way, he knows that this was probably because you were acting relatively normal now—so soon. He hadn’t expected you out of your room today at all, really. Wouldn’t have blamed you. Even he was shaken by the event in the park and he was trained for all of this. 

“I would start with shipping ledgers, Ma’am,” Gaz offers easily, coming closer and shifting his feet as you stare tightly at the desktop, eyebrows gradually falling back into a line. “Records and any large increase in funds. Narrowing down the days that crates came in might offer more of a timeline and give a bloody good idea of where they were being sent out from.” 

Reality was all settling in. 

You pick up the first folder from the pile and stare at it, seeing your father’s handwriting on the top of the page and blanking. There were so many things you wanted to ask your dad—wanted to grip him by the shoulders and shake him violently for but that’s just not possible. So, you steel yourself and clench your jaw. 

And you toss the item to Gaz. 

Kyle catches it quickly, bringing it to his chest with two hands and a grunt. His eyes snap to you.

“Before I agree to any of this,” you turn and focus on the scar on his face, being as honest as you can, “I need you to answer one more thing.” A breath. 

“How did Samson Row die?” 

The air stills with low electricity tingling your lungs. 

Gaz freezes, shock evident on his face, “Private Row?” he whispers, “Love, I…I can’t…” You continue to watch, not exploding in anger, not slipping him hard comments like a slap to his face. Brown flies over your expression of eerie calm with weighed shoulders.

That’s confidential information. Gaz’s heart lurches.

Sucking down a calming breath, you whisper out, “Kyle, you owe me at least that much. I appreciate what you did yesterday, but this is bigger than that. I need to know if you want me to desecrate over eighteen years of love and loyalty to a man I aspired to become exactly like.”

Those words are the truest you’ve ever spoken to him and you’re not exactly sure where they came from, either. Like a moth to flame, you breathe life into your conviction.

Gaz blinks, lashes caressing his cheeks as his face heats with an unidentified emotion. There were protocols; structures and levels of authority that far outranked the Sergeant. His gut festers. If it got out that you knew what had happened he could lose his job—get thrown into a black site, even. 

And he’s telling you before he can clear the fog from his brain.

“Suicide.” You inhale a sharp breath. “He…pulled the fucking trigger and they found him in his cell. No one knows who gave him the gun—security footage was wiped. But it was a clean shot to the side of the head with gunpowder residue on his hand.” 

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why did he tell you that? Kyle’s jaw snaps shut, spine going rigid. 

You steady yourself with a hand on the desk, heart running like a stag in the woods. Gaz’s gaze stays on you, but his mind is going in circles. There was nothing he could do to take that information back, and while he could see the realization settle on your face slowly as if a cloth, he just stays silent. Pulse pounding. 

He shouldn't have done that, but how could he not answer the sensitive question after everything that had happened? His own morals were conflicted—you deserved to know. 

But this was his bloody job.

Stabilizing yourself, you clear what you can from the fog of your eyes and flatten your lips, uttering a short, tiny, “Okay,” with nothing more. 

Hand shaking, you pick up the next file on the desk and sit in your father’s chair. Mouth slightly parted as you settle, you rub at your palm as Kyle shuffles. 

Suicide? 

“You can use the coffee table,” you motion with a hand but the Brit lets out a deathly still sentence.

“Love, no one can know about that. None of it is public knowledge.” Swallowing, you nod, barely listening through your ears ring. “Do you understand?” 

Gaz takes another step forward, and you keep your vision firm on the desk.

“Fine, yeah,” a whisper is all you can muster.

Suicide? 

“Ma’am,” Kyle’s jaw clenches with genuine unease, “I’m being serious—”

“Garrick,” he pauses and you put the first bank statement to the side with a slam. Lips pulling back slowly, you grunt out, “I know.” 

Brown eyes dig into your face. 

“...Copy.” 

—

The rest of the work is done in relative silence, and you don’t have much to show for it. Your father’s blue ink signature was on every paper you had gone through—various financial records and important museum documents were now being stacked on the floor due to the little space you had on the top of the desk. Kyle wasn’t faring any better; the coffee table nearly creaking at the weight. 

Over the course of the hours you had both descended into a soft silence of shifting papers and tiny breaths—sighs that were echoed by the other. 

But your mind was ever present on it.

Samson Row had committed suicide in his cell. No one knew how he got the gun. The cameras were wiped. 

You’d tried to make sense of the event and the sudden numbness had bled into a separate state of disgusting pleasure. Was it bad that you somewhat felt…what was that high sensation in your skull…was it…joy? 

He deserved it, you catch yourself believing as you rub at your nose with the side of your hand. He killed Dad. 

Did Row have people inside that could get him what he had needed? That would explain the lost footage and the weapon. 

But they would have kept him in a military prison. Your eyes scan another useless page, tapping the blue signature and sliding it away. Highly guarded. 

None of that made sense. 

Suddenly your mind was filled with too much information—yesterday, the burning sutures on your palm; the death of Samson Row. Kyle being here and you letting him help you. 

As if he knew you were thinking about him, the Sergeant coughs and speaks casually, accent rolling off his tongue. You don’t bother to spare a glance. 

“Your father donated a lot—I had no clue.” If this was his attempt at small talk—speaking about the dead man you worshiped in life and after—it was poor. But you welcomed any distraction…no matter how tone-deaf. 

Your shoulders release slightly with a sound of affirmation, “he sent anonymously to just about every sobriety center in the city.” The man’s back goes motionless from your peripheral vision. “Sober Living, Halfway House…” you trail and move your attention to the following folder as the previous proves itself to be about as informative as a corpse. “Others. He was big on improving run-down neighborhoods too. Bringing life back to the heart of the community, so he said.” Curious, you look from the corner of your eye to Gaz and see his head slightly tilted over his shoulder; listening intently. Your eyes stay on him, gliding over his features while his optics can’t trap you at his neck or scar.

You had never bothered to notice, but you suddenly realized why the woman at the train station had tried to make a move on him. Kyle had a sort of…boyish charm, you could say. 

Not that you cared. You huff and get back to it.

“Most of the neighborhoods he spent fixing up he offered to house the homeless in. Safe to say he was popular.”

Kyle takes down a silent breath, keenly staring at the navy curtain over the window while he thinks. The question was left up in the air to hang over the both of you—why would a man donate to the very thing he’s spreading? Why help the homelessness and the deteriorating streets he was perpetuating? 

“He sounds like he was a good man,” Gaz says it as it is. Picking up one of his own papers he moves it in the air in display. “Half of his income was given away every other month.”

“Helps that my mother was an heiress. We never really struggled financially and my father inherited the family house. I was glad I got to be raised by them. My…my best memories are when we were all together.” 

“...What went wrong,” Kyle mutters to himself, placing the page back down and looking confused at the countless stacks. “None of this is adding up.” 

While he could admit your father was a good man to you he had never expected that to flood into his social life. Was it an act? A way to mask his true dealings? 

But then why half of his total income? That’s not a cover that's…that’s true care and concern.

His head shakes, “you find anything yet, Love? I’m about ready for a break, my eyes are blurrin’ like I’ve been in a heli all day.” 

Gaz’s heart is rapid when you snort, “No. What, can’t handle words? I imagined you as a bookworm.” Brown eyes blink. 

With a raised brow the Sergeant cranes his neck over. 

“And what in the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, then?” 

A small snicker makes his lips twitch with mute humor, nostrils flaring in a small laugh. But still, it’s a small portion of him that manages to speak out. The sentiment is pure, however, and the words are soft-spoken with concern.

“How are you taking this so well—the shooting and the man you killed—I’ve seen my mates fall apart for days straight by witnessing something like that early on.” The question should take you aback, but it was like you had expected it. Gaz had already been hinting at his worry since this morning. 

You lick your lips and grunt, “easier the second time around. And I don’t really feel bad about the guy, I guess.” Your skin crawls as you feel his eyes on the side of your face; eyebrows pulled back. Asking as if a part of you was afraid, you wonder aloud as a piece of insecurity breaks out, “Is that…bad?” 

Inside your stomach, your intestines bunch at the thought of asking this man about anything like that, but…who else was there to ask? Your mother was still in Ireland and while you knew she loved you, and vice versa, you can’t just call her up over an open line. Interaction was firmly restricted. 

Gaz was all there was. 

I’m gonna be fucking sick. 

The Sergeant takes a deep breath and tilts his head, hat going with him. “Tricky question,” he spares a comforting chuff of laughter, but he now knows his actions from last night might actually mean something to you. A small success in the flat ground he’s trying to make—today there had been big steps. “I hate to say it, but I might be biased, Ma’am. The people that I take care of are usually shooting right back at me—don’t really feel anything for them, either.”

To anyone witnessing this interaction, it might have made them raise a startled brow but to you, it might as well have lifted one cinder block from the pile on your lungs. A bitter type of victory. 

Humming, you say, “Trying to make me think you’re a heartless killer”

“Please,” Kyle chuckles, “you already do, Love.” 

For the first time, a genuine laugh barks from your mouth, and a shocked silence strikes like lightning. Eyes wide, your face goes blank immediately as Kyle gawks. 

Very quickly both parties clear their throats with burning faces and get back to work, shuffling papers and re-organizing pikes that had already been organized.

About five minutes later is when it happens.

You’re about to pass off the next document in your grouping when your fingers pause along the printed letters at the bottom of the page as they halt. Blinking, you still your body and the voices that speak to you inside your brain cease like a swift knife had slit their throats. 

Red ink. 

The drastic change registers a few moments later and you’re jumping up.

“Kyle!” You call, and the man snaps to attention, eyes roving the room in an instinctual sweep before he sees your hands waving him over with a brief statement. “This one’s different.” 

You hear his footsteps pound over the hardwood as he quickly comes over to hover above your shoulder. 

“Look,” pointing, you display the signature and set it near the others with blue ink. “It’s red.”

“Ink?” Gaz asks.

Your eyes begin skimming the contents of the page again, looking for something to snag onto.

“My dad was stubborn—if he only used blue ink to sign, then he was only going to use blue ink.” Both apprehension and an infestation of curiosity buzzes in you like a hive of wasps, each insect a small fraction of your feelings that bunch into great swarms of unrecognizable forms. 

You wanted to understand, but to do that it involved taking a hammer to the stained-glass window that symbolizes your family. 

Could you really do that? 

How many people died yesterday? Ten? Twenty? The hissing snake in the back of your skull tempts you as it had to Adam and Eve. How many families are just like yours now?

You grit your teeth and try to find anything important on the document. 

“I’m not seeing anything else,” Kyle speaks lowly, also reading it with firm brows. The contents spoke of a new addition to the Museum in the form of a skeleton of the American Lion found in the La Brea Tar Pits. He sends you a small peek. 

There was nothing else.

Vision rapidly jumping from one word to another, you grow slightly more agitated at the true statement from the Brit. Were you just being paranoid? 

Signed copy of the agreement therein for the continuous upkeep of any and all physical objects/specimens/entities donated from ‘Chiyou’ to the Chicago Museum of Natural History. We look forward to your continued sponsorship and future dealings. 

If the recipient of this document would have any further questions, they are encouraged to content— 

Your eyes flash over the date but quickly dash back. The words dash from you.

“Why’s the date wrong?” Kyle’s body heat leaks into you, staving off the shivers and the shakes that you’re accustomed to. Your hand slaps the paper to the table as you whip open the next month��s manila folder.

“I’m...not following, Love. Date?”

“And the name—Chiyou?” You dig through your brain as well, going a mile a minute as Gaz’s lips go thin. “That…that sounds familiar, and it’s not the name of any sponsor I’ve ever heard of.” Muttering, you peel out the same paper from the following month as well. “And the date. My father always came home early on the fifteenth, he said he just wanted to take a day off sometime in the middle of the month—that’s what he always said. He never worked on the fifteenth but—” You breathe quickly and make a sound of alarm when you find what you’re looking for. “See?” 

More red ink signatures are on the same date every month. Your brows peel far back—a pattern. All copied donation forms are from this strange moniker ‘Chiyou’ and all are different specimens from different eras. 

Ancient butterflies trapped in amber, more bones from different species, and diagrams for displays. 

Brown eyes grow more serious, taking the other pages as you whip out more, flying through stacks like a mad woman. 

“The same date every month, the same person, the same form repeated over and over again with no changes. They weren't all signed individually, they were copied.” You hold one up in the air and inspect the red with a sharp eye. 

Printer ink that blanked in some areas.  

“I’m wagering that isn’t normal for this kind of work,” Kyle mutters, hand bushing yours as you hand him another file. You don’t flinch back, too preoccupied. “Fucking hell.”

By the time you’re all done there’s a group of more than sixty printed copies high with Gaz going through his own with more fervor than ever before, jogging back over and adding his to the pile when he found one. 

You were working together to make this work, a Sergeant and an anger-infested girl. There were quick comments and questions about the other papers, but nothing ever appeared any different.

He doesn’t realize you’re crying until, when he’s reaching an arm over to add his last page, your tear hits the back of his hand. 

His eyes find yours as you glare at the table, palms to the top and lids held tightly closed. There’s a small beat of silence where all that adrenaline disappears from his chest in a fell swoop–like a bug had been snatched into the beak of a barn swallow. 

In a delicate way, he remembers your frigid hands from when he had been stitching you up. How you had been so obviously running on a knife edge. Your outburst in the car strikes Gaz right in the heart as he recalls it.

‘ …made my mother leave me in a decaying house all alone…!’

That was just…unimaginable to him. Alone for three years after seeing what you saw—Kyle’s hand went to reach up and his fingers lightly brush your arm. 

Lids peeling back, your gaze falls to the touch, instantly finding that dark skin lightly digging into your own with bitten nails and picked-off cuticles. You hated how his touch felt, you hated that he was warm and how he was trying to comfort you with no knowledge of how to do so. You hated his stupid job and his horrible ability to keep you safe. 

You hated that he was one of the reasons your father was dead and that now you were going through his things because scores of people were in the morgue with bullets in them. This should not be your job. You shouldn’t have to question whether…

Your jaw clenches and you pull your arm away, standing to your full height and pointedly not looking at Gaz. Shaky fingers push away tears violently. 

“These were printed in my Dad’s museum office—if they kept all of his things I might be able to get into his computer and figure out who this ‘Chiyou’ is and what was being shipped. Whoever it is…” You shake your head and Kyle feels his oxygen get stuck in his throat. “It’s not good.”

Brushing your nose, you sniffle, wiping all the water from your palms onto your pants. Your wound was bleeding, you could feel it, but that was the least of your worries. You had wanted this…right? 

What choice did you have but to want it? 

Kyle clears his throat quietly, the words coming out low. “How about we take a break—we’ve made some good headway in this and Laswell’ll be over the moon with what little we have, yeah? There’s more time for this later.” 

A bitter laugh takes him aback.

“And do what? Sleep?” You look at the ceiling as you tilt your neck farther up. “All I do is sleep, do homework, chug down coffee I don’t even like.” Legs taking a step, you lower yourself into your father’s chair and look at the piles all over the room you could remember so vividly being alive with happiness and soft words. 

This house was supposed to be alive. Now it just screams as it goes through death throes.  

“‘Well,” Gaz chuffs awkwardly, not knowing what to do but still trying as you were in obvious distress; crossing his arms over his chest. “I can put on a football match on my computer if you’d want to watch that?” 

A hopeless groan escapes you as your head hits the desktop. 

“I don’t know, Love, I barely know you.”

“I barely know me,” you whisper to yourself, moving back again and shrugging. “He,” you start and stop, “he can’t really have done this, could he?” 

It’s a terrible thing to have to question the man that raised you—that taught and influenced you in more ways than one. Kyle blinks at this moment of genuineness and he frowns, fingers tightening on his biceps.

“Ma’am, he’ll never stop being your father, okay?” Your eyes spread to Gaz’s scar, watching the darker skin bend and flex with the motion of his lips. The blood in your veins feels thick; like poison. “But there was never any question as to whether he did or didn’t do this. No one else had the means. It was just a matter of time before this was all figured out.” He sighs. “I’m sorry.” 

The Sergeant’s honesty was blunt and forward, yet you wanted it that way, perhaps. There were only so many lies you could tell yourself before you forgot what reality was. Your father had been shot for a reason, and although the lines were still blurred—Row’s strange death, the mysterious individual ‘donating’ what was most likely illegal paraphernalia that resided in the docks, and the very real danger to your mother and you—that was still fact.

He’s dead for a reason. 

“You’re horrible at lying,” you comment dryly to the Brit, voice hoarse. The man’s laugh hits your ears, but you can’t see the way he watches with worry. 

“I’m more of a half-truths kind of bloke if we’re being honest. I’d never lie to you.” Your lungs hold air at the last statement, keeping them trapped like a balloon as your brows go up, but the ringing of Kyle’s phone breaks your silent shock. 

“Sergeant Garrick,” the man answers, and your mind finds itself stuck replaying his reply. He might have found that inconsequential but even the very act of that promise was like taking a silk ribbon and tying it over your wrist. 

Coming from him, you tried to reason that it couldn’t amount to much, but words such as that had always meant a lot to you. 

“Love,” your ears perk up, and you turn your eyes to Gaz’s nose. His lips are straight and tense. You find yourself becoming nervous even if you don’t know why. Kyle steadies himself. “Your mum just landed in the States.”

TAGS:

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[creations-by-chaosfay]

Quick question about a quick quilt...

I can finish a lap size rag quilt in less than a week, twin size in about a week, queen size in two weeks. It's three layers of fabric, quilt-as-you-go, minimal piecing, and they are heavy. Excellent for cold weather and folks who like the weight of blankets but not weighted blankets.* These quilts aren't as hot as layers of fabric plus beads/pellets, and they breathe much more effectively. For a heavier rag quilt, it's a layer of denim and two layers of quilting cotton or flannel. I have a rag quilt for myself that's three layers of quilting cotton. My house is drafty and winters are full of rain, which means the cold sinks into your bones with the humidity. My husband keeps stealing my quilt because his man-cave is the coldest room in the house. He doesn't care that it's very feminine colors "because it's warm."

As for why it's called a rag quilt, here's a sample:

The top is the fluffy side with the exposed seams. Instead of a quarter inch seam allowance the seams under the fabric, it's a one inch seam allowance and the seams are exposed. Said seams are then cut at one inch intervals. With every washing, the seams get fuzzier and softer. They're fun to touch and feel really nice. It's also why these must be dried ALONE or all the strings will end up on whatever else is in the dryer. Three layers of fabric also means two rounds in the dryer on high heat (which is why I like using flannel rather than quilting cotton) or one round of high heat and hanging to dry for a couple hours.

The back looks like a more traditional quilt top and is often the side with denim on it if denim is used. The one is three layers of flannel and was a giveaway prize earlier this year, to celebrate meeting a ko-fi goal.

These are a delight to make and excellent for cold winters and drafty homes. Did I mention they're pretty heavy? The one I have, once all folded up, weighs about six pounds, and knocks my husband out within about ten minutes of him laying over himself. It's why I plan on making a rag quilt for him. He keeps stealing mine.

For context regarding prices, these take significantly less time to make. This one, a lap size, took just 14.5 hours, and that included the quilting. A traditional style baby quilt starts at $2125 because I have a lot more cutting and sewing, and I do the quilting by hand (though it will soon change due to soon having a machine I can use on my Cutie frame and do all my quilting on it), and can take 70-80 hours start to finish. I charge $27/hour + cost of materials to come to the final price.

*A PT I know hates weighted blankets because they cause a lot of injuries. People rolling in bed with a weighted blanket on them have ended up in physical therapy because of soft tissue tears. Most especially dangerous for people with EDS and other connective tissue conditions. Other injuries they've seen are from the pockets with the beads/pellets in them tearing open. Pets and small children have been known to choke on those, and folks who are heavy sleepers can also be injured if the pockets near their face tear in their sleep. When the beads/pellets get all over the floor, people fall and end up with serious injuries from that. Not to mention overheating under all of them because the material doesn't breathe well.

[loafaethernaut]

WIP WEDNESDAY

I few days ago I was tagged in a “post your WIP Wednesday” chain by @ravsbloodbunny and coincidentally enough I had just started writing again for the first time in months.

I normally don’t post my writing on Tumblr, my fics can be found under “LoafChampion” on AO3 though I only have a couple of COD fics. But I thought posting a little snippet on here could be fun!

I have no idea if I will ever find the time to finish this but I hope y’all find some good out of what I’ve got so far lol-

Things didn’t seem as dark as they did before here.

Maybe it was just all in Samantha’s head.

It’s not like it was the first time she’d been banished to the Dark Aether after all. But it was the first time she banished herself, willingly. Sam wasn’t really one to believe in the concept of ‘karma’ but all things considered, maybe this time it wouldn’t be so bad.

She chuckled to herself. Who was she kidding?

She had weighed the ‘pros’ and ‘cons’ of her choice beforehand, weeks ago.

Both the Earth and the Dark Aether would be safe from the reign of the Forsaken. The people she cared about most would be safe from the Dark Aether and all the monsters and machines that came from them.

Did that include herself?

Sam knew the answer.

She could never be with the people she cared about most ever again. She wouldn’t even know if her sacrifice truly kept them safe or not.

The thought did nag at her. Could she truly trust the Director to keep his word? Would everyone at Requiem truly be safe?

Weaver would never be safe, Sam knew there was nothing she could do to change that. He was a soldier, a cog in the CIA’s machine. His fate had been sealed before they had ever even met.

But Grey?

Sam was paranoid to even think about her now. The last time she was here, she lost her memories. No, lost wasn’t the right way to describe it…

Had they been taken from her?

She took a moment to stop and rest, sitting down with her back up against a large aetherium crystal. One knee bent, the other straight out.

It’s not like she was in any rush now, she had played her part. For now.

In the meantime, Sam had all the time in the world.

She anxiously rubbed her thumb and forefinger on the cuff of her hoodie sleeve.

A memory played out before her. Dr. Elizabeth Grey was sitting on her bed, arms and hands waving out dramatically as she retold the events of her day to Sam.

Good old Liz. Always so expressive. She talked with her whole body, and sometimes it made Sam envious. Being so unafraid to share so much of yourself to another like that.

The details of her ramblings weren’t committed to Sam’s memory, but there was one comment that had left quite the echo in her chest.

“...there’s got to be some kind of good to come out of that place. I just know it.”

Samantha recited her reply from the memory out loud.

“Just don’t expect much help from me in trying to prove your theory.”

The movement of Elizabeth’s eyes paired with that knowing smile-

“But that’s just the thing, Sam! I think you already have.”

Samantha blinked the blurring memory away and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

She couldn’t forget her. Not Grey. She couldn’t.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

This Is The End (Of What Used To Be)

Chapter Seven of Sweet Home Alabama

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd), Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd)

Description: The morning after your night out on the town is anything but happy. You can't believe you made the decisions you did last night. Maybe those rounds of shots were a bad idea? But for better or worse you're making even worse decisions, picking fights and hurting the one person you've never wanted to hurt - not again. You get what you want. So why does it feel like you don't want this - not anymore?

Themes: angst, love, attraction

Warnings: arguments, anger, cheating, aftermath of cheating

Word Count: 2990

A/N: The last chapter was titled The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Decisions for a reason, y'all! This chapter picks up right where the last one left off (or well, I should say the morning after it left off). Jake and Linley are not in a good place at the end of this chapter, not at all.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

Everything hurts when you wake up. It feels like an entire New York construction site has set up shop inside your skull, complete with jackhammers, big machines, and yelling and beeping. But the bed is soft under you, and you’re warm, and the arms around you feel too good for words.

Wait…

The arms around you?! You slide carefully out from between the sheets, shivering at the goosebumps rising on your bare skin. It’s more than just the pain of a hangover in your body, then. You’re sore, the specific kind of sore that you’ve really only felt after a night of passion, and when you look back into bed, it’s to see Jake lying on his stomach fast asleep while facing you. It hurts seeing him lying there because it’s everything you’ve wanted for seven long, lonely years. 

The longer you’re awake, the more you remember about the night before. You remember every single thing you said - to him and about him. You remember Jake picking you up like you weighed nothing and carting you out to the parking lot when you’d been nearly blind with rage and drunk. You remember the kisses, too. You bring your shaking hand up to your lips because even now, you can still feel them. After that first kiss, it was like you were consumed by lightning. Every part of you ached for Jake. He’d kissed you in that parking lot like you were the air he needed to breathe, kissed you until you wanted nothing more than to feel his touch again. 

The two of you had stumbled into his car and driven home with barely withheld need coursing through you. As you stumbled into the house, avoiding Bryant’s dog bed in the corner of the living room, it felt like you were finally alive. When he finally had you in his bed, it was like having sex with no other man. You can still feel the ghosts of his touch on your skin. He’d stripped your clothes off tenderly, replacing them with his kiss, his touch. It was heated, frantic, every inch of your skin singing under his touch. 

You’d say it was hate fucking, but there is too much history between you and Jake Seresin. It had felt like nothing you’ve ever felt before, not even with Bradley, and that scares you. You came to Alabama for one reason, only one. To get a divorce - not get horribly drunk and end up in the same situation you were in before you left all of those years ago. This situation also means that you just cheated on Bradley. God, Bradley. What’s he going to think? How can you tell him? Carole’s already on a warpath about you and the wedding. If you tell him you cheated, it’ll break his heart. 

Oh, god!

 If Carole finds out, he’ll be shipped off to California to marry one of his exes quicker than you can apologize, and you'll be seeing interviews where she accuses you of breaking her baby boy's heart. You can’t hope to have him forgive you. Not when you know his thoughts on relationships and on cheaters. Not when you know how much he’s struggled to advance in his career. The news of your infidelity would completely destroy your relationship as well as any political aspirations he has.

Jake grunts just a little in his sleep, lips smacking as he turns to the other side, jolting you out of your musings. As the bed jostles slightly, you can see the bruise purpling on his golden skin from where you’d chucked the pool ball the night before. Seeing Jake like this makes worry swirl even tighter in your gut. How are you going to face this? Something like practicality sinks in despite your worry as you gather your scattered clothing. You’re probably still a little drunk as you bend to pick up your underwear, your head aching as you pull the garments on over passion marked skin. You’re just fighting with one of your high-heeled shoes when the rustling of sheets and a sleep rough voice tell you that Jake is awake.

“Hey, darlin’.” He sounds so good, but you know the minute you turn around, you’ll have to break his heart all over again. “Good Mornin’.”

You pause for several long moments, standing in Jake’s bedroom, the scent of him surrounding you while trying to think of what you can say.

“C’mon Lin, can you look at me, sweetheart?” God, he sounds so happy and fond. Would he sound like this if it were anyone else in his bed at the moment? How much longer can he sound like this? Especially when you know what you have to do. Does it make you cruel to try to push for a divorce now? When Jake is the first time being intimate has brought a smile to your face in years? When Jake is the one person you’ve never had to hide around? You turn around and try to spread the facsimile of a smile on your face. Because Jake knows you, he can easily see your feelings in your face. That easy smile drops, and worry takes its place.

“Hey, sweetheart?” He scrambles out of the sheets, tugging worn gray sweatpants on before taking your hands in his. “What’s going on in that head of yours? Is it what we said to each other last night?”

Why is it that he just can’t shut up? He keeps acting sweet and pretending like you’re someone important to him when both you and he know you’re not - not anymore. Each selfless word, each gesture, god, even the way he pulls you into his chest, sends you spiraling. You can do this. It feels like you’re living a lie, a much bigger one than your life in New York, even. It’s always only been Jake who has been able to strip you bare like this. Only ever Jake. If you didn’t lose your best friend all those years ago, you’re definitely going to lose him now.

Your throat is bone dry as you pull away from his secure embrace. Your eyes burn with unshed tears and your voice is gravelly as you say, “I can’t do this, Jake.”

“Do what, honey? Tell me what you’re thinking. You don’t have to do that right now, Sugar. Take all the time you need.” Damn him! 

God, you’d give anything for angry Jake right now. There’s a reason why you left Pigeon Creek the first time in the dead of night. You’ve never been able to handle his pain.

You gather all the hatred you’ve ever felt for anyone and hold it in front of your battered, aching heart and spit out words you never would have said before, and don’t mean in the slightest.

“I can’t do this anymore, Jake.” It’s obvious he doesn’t understand, so you twist the knife a little bit deeper, hoping he doesn’t see how you’re bleeding a little too. “Last night was a mistake.”

Confusion graces his face as you continue. “A cheap little hate fuck. As if I could ever want to be with you again. God, you’d think I’d never learn. Jake, there is no way I could ever want to be yours again. I mean, come on. Even a year was too long last time.” 

Pain rises in those green eyes you love - no you loved, because you love Bradley - so much before his expression schools into blankness. His voice is gravelly and quiet, so quiet that it makes you want to sob just hearing it. “So what did you want, sweetheart?” 

“You came on to me last night.” His voice turns into a snarl, a growl. “You just want your happy little rich life, the one Bradshaw can give you. Forget having something real with someone who loves you.”

That’s when a sob breaks through from the iron hold you have on your tears. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jake. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody.” His chuckle is far from joyful or happy. He stomps into the living room and comes back with the divorce papers nearly crumpled in his fist. He signs the papers with enough force to nearly rip through the paper three excruciating times and shoves them your way.

“You got what you wanted, Linley. Now get the fuck out of my house before I call Mickey to drag you out.” By the time you’re sitting in the front seat of your car, not that you know how it got to Jake’s house, there are tears on your cheeks. It shouldn’t hurt this much to get what you want. It shouldn’t. It can’t. But it does. 

It feels like you're reeling as you mechanically drive to your dad's, shower, and get ready for the day. Thankfully, your dad’s not home. There is a note on the fridge, though, proudly stating, “Went to prep for the reenactment in Greenville, Lin! Love you, Dad.” The shower helps, as all showers do, and you feel positively human as you walk into Pigeon Creek's one tiny post office and mail the divorce papers away. But with that done, you feel lost. Adrift and caught between the person you were, lonely, heartbroken, and alone, and the woman you’d made yourself into in New York. For Jake, you’d been willing to give up everything, your hopes, your dreams, everything to make a new dream with him. Without that dream, it had felt like nothing else mattered. Not over a decade of friendship or the love you felt for Jake. On a whim, you drive out of town.  With the top down and the wind blasting your tears away, you feel a little more bit like yourself. 

It rained overnight, you note dimly, the world rain-drenched and brand new as it whips past your windows in a patchworked blur of gold, green, and bronze. Unconsciously, you must drive on the roads you’ve been driving since your dad taught you how to drive, and you end up looping around town and in front of the one place you never expected to go back to, especially after how you acted the night before.

In contrast to when the Hard Deck is filled to the gills, this time when you walk through the swinging doors, the scent of lemon wood polish fills your nostrils, and it’s quiet - blessedly tranquil, in fact. The silence blankets your thoughts, muffling the frantic, flurried thoughts until all you can hear is the clack of your heels against the golden, aged wood. Unsurprisingly, Penny’s at the counter. Seeing the glare she levels in your direction doesn't surprise you at all.

“You know, I knew you were trouble the minute I saw you walk through those doors, Linley.” You nod dumbly, sitting on the stool in front of her. “My son’s put up with a lot for you and from you. Because he loves you. When you left, we all thought it was just because you were heartbroken and didn’t know how to tell him how badly you were hurting. We put up with the turmoil you inflicted on him for seven years. And then you pull this nonsense?”

A tear drips down your cheek at her words. Because it’s true. “You never loved my son at all, did you? What was it then, all those years ago? A case of possessive ego? A chance to prove that the nerdy little thing sketching all the time could bag the quarterback?” That can’t be why you did what you did. Right?”

“What do you have to say for breaking my son’s heart like you have?”

What can you say? 

“Penny, I did love him. I think a part of me always will.” She snorts, and that’s when you officially give up on salvaging the relationships you’ve broken in Pigeon Creek. But you have to try. Penny’s the closest thing to a mom you’ve ever had. Without her, you wouldn’t know anything about being a woman. “I think a part of me will always love him, Penny. I think I’ve loved Jake since before I knew what love was. But I have to grow up. I’m too old to think that true love conquers all. And I found someone who loves me. He loves the person who followed her dreams and succeeded despite her struggles. We both know Jake’s never been able to do that.”

“Then why are you still here, Honey?” You shrug, the motions feeling like you’re moving something that could shatter at the easiest provocation. 

“I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to Dad, could I?” It’s your best answer, even as she bustles out from behind the word with a skeptical glance in your direction. You're left alone, with just your frenzied thoughts and your battered heart.

"What're you doing here?" Amelia's arrival breaks the tense silence as she smacks one of her textbooks onto the counter and pulls a soda from the fridge.

"Didn't you get what you wanted anyway?" She can't hide her disgust for you as she opens the can and takes a long sip. "I mean, come on. You broke my brother's heart again and then stomped all over it."

"If you weren't smart enough to realize that you've had Jake since before I was born, I guess seven years hitting it big in New York didn't teach you a single thing."

She gestures to the now empty can in front of you. "The soda's 3 dollars and 50 cents. We take cash if you forgot. Only my family gets free drinks at the Hard Deck. You're not family anymore. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

When Amelia has made it absolutely clear exactly how much she hates you, what else can you do? You leave the bar after leaving a five-dollar bill on the counter. Talking to Penny was supposed to make you feel a little more settled in your skin. Instead, you feel like a tornado has blown through your life. Driving in circles inevitably leads you to the same place that you left earlier in the morning. The door is locked, and you’d left the spare on Jake’s dresser after the fight as you walked out of the door. Jake’s truck isn’t in the driveway, and the entire property sits in a dappled green haze. It feels like there is still something dragging you towards Jake, and it’s not just the bruises he’s left on your skin. A part of you isn’t ready to let this part of your life end without some closure.

You pad around the house and make your way down to the dock. The seaplane is still out there, and that’s where you see Bryant sleeping under the broad wing. He lifts his head the minute he sees you and lopes forward, happily slobbering over your upturned palms. You can’t help the soft kiss you press into the silken fur as he rests his whole head in your lap. It’s heavy and warm, and in that instance, a spike of longing impales your heart for the puppy you bottle-fed and raised sitting on this very dock. Your Bear loved you with all his heart, and even now, you wish you could have taken him to New York. But he would have been miserable in your shoebox apartment, going from a king in the countryside to a pauper overnight. So you’d left him with Jake. And as it turns out, you will never see him again. At least you know Jake loved him until the very end.

When a whistle rends the air, jolting Bryant into action, you’re not surprised at all to find tears on your cheeks. Of course, Jake strides down the well-worn planks with a bone in one hand. You can faintly hear him mutter, “What’s she doing here?” as he sets the bone down on the planks. “I thought you’d be long gone by now.

“I put the money back, Jake.” There’s still anger in his eyes as he looks over your face. His jaw is tight, like his teeth are clenched. 

“That saves me from a lot of bounced checks. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here. I signed your papers and everything. So you could go after your dream in New York. Now I’m going after mine.” Every word rings of finality.

“You’re leaving Pigeon Creek?” It hurts hearing Jake say that, you can’t quite figure out why it hurts as much as it does.

“All of the things you did to the house will actually help its resale value.” His chuckle is sad and soft. “I’ve been spendin' a lot of my time up around Tuscaloosa, so…”

“Oh.” There’s a lump in your throat that you have to swallow around. “I came to thank you, Jake. And to tell you again that I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know, darling. It was the only way to get what you wanted.” If he knew, why did he let you hurt him like you did this morning? “You’ve always been single-minded when you were trying to get what you wanted. The girl I knew never used to leave people behind. She’d take them with her if they truly mattered to her.”

Hearing Jake’s words makes all of your accomplishments over the past years seem pale in comparison. “The girl you knew, she wasn’t living life at all.” The words nearly get stuck in your throat as you say them.

“Better get on with living then.” He turns to Bryant, ushering the puppy into the plane. It makes you smile, just a little, to see how Jake has to lift him into the plane, drool-covered, gnawed-on bone and all. It feels like the end. Now, if only you knew why your heart hurts when you have something, no someone, just as wonderful, waiting for you in New York.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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[fatteningmenstories]

At your service - Chapter 8

Part 1

This was bad, worse than bad, as Alex laid there in bed, wriggling and squirming under his own weight he was stuck by his body or more precisely his fat. Pushing off his sleep apnea mask Alex struggled to do much else, he had woken in the middle of the night thirsty. But as he laid there he could barely lift himself up in bed let alone get some water. Struggling to bend his chins he could barely see the culprit past his ample moobs - which was of course  his  large mountainous gut ballooned out  and weighing him down. He couldn’t move he tried bending with his arms but as they’re jiggled and wobbled as he tried to hoist himself up he knew there were no match for his massive stomach. How had he let himself go so badly, this was dire but he was stuck Unit was in night mode essentially dead to the world till the earlier hours of the morning. He gave it one last heave but it was useless, rolling was no better he was a like a whale on land completely harpooned by its own weight, his chubby arms frailed by his side desperately trying to grab anything - but deep down he knew it was pointless what could he even grab to shift the hundreds of pounds that were piled onto his body.  And the worst part about it these whole situation was turning him on, since the moment he felt pinned down by his own lard he felt his dick come to life pulsing  as it hit the fat of his underbelly, he couldn’t even relief himself if he tried as his arms were not even able to reach around his obese body. He was stuck like this until unit rebooted in the morning, making his dick throb even harder and that’s when it hit him. Adam 

Adam was always waiting, time to put it to the test, 

“Adam’ he yelled at the top of his fat covered lungs could 

‘Adam Adam’ he continued but it proved useless , I guess even super computers need their down time.

But then the whizzing sound of metals filled the room , and the sound of a door opening - he was saved at least he thought  he was, with his view still blocked by his gut.

“My Alex - what a situation you have gotten yourself into’ came Adam’s deep voice 

“Why I think I even found it what to do you call it - amusing’

But seeing Alex continue to frail Adam knew it was no time for jokes - instead it heaved Alex up in bed delivering the water without even be said.

Finally after a couple of seconds of Alex gulping the water down 

“Fuck Adam look at me, what have I done to  myself’

“What’d you mean - you shape is more perfection, I couldn’t design it better by myself - and here let me’

Adam said quickly relieving Alex’s throbbing member 

“Adam look at me though’ Alex let out in-between pants 

“I can barely function’ 

Adam was taken back at this - but upon detecting the struggle in Alex’s voice it knew Adam was serious

“This has to stop’ Alex continued 

“I’m more fat than man - I mean look at you body that was designed after mine’

Adam detected this more comparing his sleek muscular metal bodies to Alex’s rolls of fat 

“I know you deeply attached to all this’ Alex said slapping a vad of fat 

“But it has to go’

Adam was speechless - the smartest robot in the world for a spilt second didn’t know what to say but when it sensed Alex’s frustration it knew it had to put it fascinating beside. 

“I understand completely’ Adam finally let out after a prolonged silence

“Thank you - now come give me a belly massage while you still can’ chuckled Alex as the robotic man laid beside him in bed

In the morning Adam was gone leaving a message about his functions in the factory, and Adam began his day ready for the change. His people remover laid unused as Alex waddled  his fat body to the bathroom it certainly wasn’t easy but it was start, at breakfast despite the  towering plates of  breakfast food  he restrained  himself to one plate  only and in the gym he didn’t give up  as he shifted his fat body under the machines and  broke  a long needed well-deserved sweat as he shifted weights. It wasn’t much but it was a start- snacks were limited and plates were unfinished Alex was serious he needed to get his life in charge. 

The people mover reared its head for dinner, even Alex knew his own weakness but at dinner he restricted himself to only one helping of seconds a stark contrast to his usual diet. Mr Gordo chalked this up to the fat boy filling himself on food all day and being too stuffed to move, but when dessert rolled around and Alex failed to touch his desert he knew something was up 

‘My dear boy - in the 3 years you  have sat across me you’ve never not touched desert’

“Yes I know’ Adam replied  as he fought the desire to stuff his face full of chocolate 

“Whatever is the matter - that sweet tooth of yours missing huh my dear boy’ Mr Gordo chuckled as he prodded Alex ’s fat rolls

‘You don’t get to that’s size by missing dessert - you know’

“That’s exactly the point - no more …. I just can’t, I’m a whale I’m too fat to barely move by myself, this has to stop I have to stop myself before I get too large that I can’t’

“Why my boy I.. …’ Mr Gordo was speechless he had to think of something fast the boy was stuck in his desire- the lack of food and raised movement would tamper his experiments but what was he going to do.  But then he chuckled to himself  it was obvious, here sat infant of him was  a man  once fit and muscular now struggling to keep his fat arse on a chair all because of one thing - Chocolate 

“Why me dear boy - if that’s so’

Alex nodded his head - as much as his  thick double chin would allow him to do so

“How about this - one final sweet, delicious, scrumptious treat’

As Alex’s eye opened - Mr Gordo knew the pig was caught

‘To end all vacation with my factory best product - how about one last trip to the finest chocolate on this planet’ as he pointed his stick to the deep gurgling hot chocolate lake

Alex turned his chubby head to the side - he had only ever drank straight from the chocolate lake once and it was glorious - so much so  that he  had nearly fallen in but no he shouldn’t,  shouldn’t he 

‘Tick tock boy the offer won’t last forever’

No he shouldn’t this was not what he needed, did he not  remember this morning struggling under his own weight harpooned

’10’

But he was so hungry, he stomach growled 

‘9”

He had barely eaten today and he was ravenous 

‘8’

No show restraint- he had to  do this was one long journey and today was the start

‘7’

But oh well how bad could one mouthful be 

‘6’

Deep chocolate rich, bubbling hot 

‘5”

He couldn’t fight it no more, he needed that chocolate - his cut could wait a day 

‘4’

He had no time, he had to run, a foreign concept to him know, his belly was like a pendulum weighing him down and his arms rubbed in fat as he tried to pick up momentum, 

‘3’

He hadn’t run this fast in a long time, and he was sure paying for it, all over he wobbled and trembled as his swollen legs did the best they could - but it wasn’t enough. It all happened so fast  as his  came crashing down his mountainous gut weighing him down, but he couldn’t stop there 

‘2’

Mr Gordo couldn’t believe his eyes, in front of him he saw the once mighty athlete  was now crawling  on his knees towards his lake of fat. His fat voluptuous arse swinging  side to side as the fatty desperately crawled to the river

‘1’

He wasn’t going to make it, but  when the smell of the chocolate hit him like a dump truck, he was hypnotised he couldn’t fight it if he wanted - he needed that chocolate now 

And as the final ‘0’ left Mr Gordo’s mouth, Alex’s felt his  lips touch the deep brown chocolate, he gulped it done - it was so velvety and smooth and  as he felt the hot chocolate enter his body straight to his stomach he found a hunger inside of him. One mouthful wasn’t enough he needed more and more, like a pig at a tough, Alex drank the chocolate with a burning passion  deep inside of him, more and more  he needed it. It wasn’t long till he was head first into the chocolate, sucking it all up, only coming up for air. And as he gulped mouthful after mouthful of chocolate he didn’t hear the slow clapping coming from Mr Gordo nor did he notice his body shift closer and closer to edge. He needed the chocolate and thats all that mattered, he didn’t see Adam approach the situation and be deactivated  by Mr Gordo, all he needed was chocolate. He paid no attention to his massive body edging  more and more into the chocolate - how his whole head to he his shoulders were  soon buried in chocolate.  How his moobs now dangled done over the edge dipping into the hot  chocolate, or most importantly how his arms had started to quiver under their lack of muscle failing to keep holding him as he dived  deeper and deeper into the brown chocolate

And then it happened, his gut was the final straw, losing his balance as his head was deep in chocolate, as he tried to lift up for air he just couldn’t, he was struggling to breathe his arms were not  strong enough and the slippery chocolate didn’t help

He was going to drown, under his now weight, all he saw was chocolate and as he opened his mouth only more chocolate poured in - he was in deep danger 

‘Here let me’ chuckled Mr Gordo - Alex thought he could hear from the surface expecting a helping tug out to save him from a chocolatey death 

Instead Alex felt a  kick on in his right buttock , it certainly wasn’t strong but it was enough to make him finally lose his balance, no longer could he support the mountains of fat slapped unto his body - he was falling like a weight straight into the deep hot chocolate river.

Splash !!!

All of Alex’s fat body fell straight in, maybe a couple of hundred of pounds ago Alex would have been able to keep himself above the chocolate, but now as he kicked and squirmed it was all too much his fat heavy body and is diminished excerise capacity resulted in one thing, a sinking ship

Laughter filled the room as Alex tried desperately to support his heavy body 

‘My boy look at you struggle, ha I could watch this all day’

What was Mr Gordo saying, he was on the cusp of drowning here 

‘Looks like someone packing on the pounds my boy - 552 to be precise from you last measurement’

552lbs there was no way, Alex weighed all that but as he felt his fat gut continually weighing him down the hot  reality sank in 

‘And my goodness Alex, your transformation has definitely been entertaining to watch, I mean look at you, you can barley give that fat head of yours above the chocolate’

“ You my boy where once an all star American athlete, winning scholarships and trophies  alike and now you can’t even keep that bloated body of yours from sinking’

Mr Gordo was right, and Alex didn’t think he could go on much longer, he was just too heavy and his chubby arms and legs were growing weaker and weaker’

“And even now, when your on the edge of death you cant’t keep that sweet tooth of yours at bay - huh my boy’

Alex grunted, as the chocolate filled his mouth and he swallowed it piggishly

“My my my what has your  dirty appetite gotten you into’

Where the last words Alex could hear as his head slipped under the chocolate 

The cold metal arms of Adam, soiled around Alex as he sank deeper and deeper, it wasn’t easy but Alex’s blubbery body was slowly hauled out of the chocolate, he was saved.

Expecting Adam’s reassuring glare and words, he was instead met with a lifeless Adam once all of his 500lbs was hauled under solid ground

‘What expecting your love machine to save, my my my Alex those days are over, Adam prepare the final operation’

And just like that like a puppet Adam raced around the room pushing  buttons and flicking switches 

“Mr Gordo please let me go’

‘My dear boy, why on earth would I do that the second part of this experiment is about to commence’

Alex was sacred, but even worse he was immobile, bloated with chocolate and exhausted from his near death experience, he could barely move a muscle let alone run

‘You see my dear boy, while you’ve been stuffing you face day in day out for the last 3 years now - I’ve been collecting priceless research’

Alex had no idea where this was going but he didn’t like the sound of it, but as  he wriggled and squirmed on the floor  he knew he wasn’t going anyway fast

‘Every chocolate you stuffed down that fat endless mouth of yours was precisely engineered, every smoothie, every meal every desert !!! My dear boy was made just for your taste buds’

“At every second of day Unit was collecting date from you, your hormones, your sensations your lust’ Mr Gordo went on chuckling to himself as he saw Alex squirm on the floor

‘You’ve been the prefect specimen, the star athlete primed with muscles, I learned exactly what made you tick - what made you crave more and more, and served it straight back to you’

‘And not just you my dear boy, it’s been quite some time since you’ve stepped outside haven’t you - but I’ve give you a spoiler, I’m everywhere, all over this damn country My chocolate bars are in every house, gym, and store this side of the sun - all thanks to you’

“I started first with the gyms, free vending machines stocked to the brim with your favourite chocolate, and it wasn’t long till ever bro and chad in that place was sporting a spare tire’

“You body was the perfect blank canvas - and your little sweet tooth was the perfect cherry on the cake, I mean look at you even know your licking the chocolate of your fingers - hungry for more’

‘Master - the people mover is ready’ came Adam cold voice 

‘Excellent get the pig ready’

Like a soldier, Adam acted swiftly and ruthlessly straight to Adam dragging  his obese frame closer and closer to the people-mover

“Ah get of of me’ Alex cried out fruitlessly

But Adam didn’t stop, until All of Adam was planted straight unto his chair

“Ahh what do you want from me - seems like’ve you’ve already got everything’’

‘Ah my dear boy, that catchall question, and to be honest you’ve stumped me - at first it was simple get a jock in pump him full of chocolate and watch as the sales skyrocket when his porky body waddles out my factory doors - the perfect ad’

‘But you my dear boy,’ Mr Gordo said as he approached Alex 

“Just had to keep eating and eating !!’

“ See No one gets to these size without being a pig, my boy’ Chucked My Gordo as he grabbed Alex’s rolls

“I have  yet so much to learn about you - what are the limits of the human body, when does your appetite ever stop and who can forgot …….   how big  can you get, so got comfortable my boy your not going anywhere’ Mr Gordo finally proclaimed flicking the final switch 

Alex could only see as his fate enrolled infant of him - too weighed down by his swollen gut to do anything. 

Metal loops trapped his arms and legs, a wide metal metal wrapped around his frame, his head was pulled back and his jaw done, and then finally a long conveyor  belt spurted from the walls. At first nothing came as it gruntled to life, bring only nothingness from the dark void it came from, but then to Alex’s despair it started, plates and and plates of food started slowly rolling towards him.

He tried to fight it but it availed no use as the cold metal strengthen  around his body, and when the food came he  has even more merciless trapped by the machine he he could was beg 

‘Please Mr Gordo, let me go’

“Ah that’s the sweetest part my dear boy, I own you. Now Open up !!’

And Alex was helpless as Mr Gordo shoved the first chocolate cake slice down his throat, and left Adam to do  the rest 

[moonfox281]

Hey! I really love your Fumes of Our Love series and have read all of them multiple times. I was wondering if you’d consider continuing it with requests. 🫶🏽

I'm super busy with a lot of things both personal and for Jaydick right now. But here's a little nsfw doodle for you!

Dick didn’t like being on air. 

Strange, right? Odd words from the flying boy. People always said he was the one with wings. Well, that was if he was the one doing the flying and not a giant machine with hundreds of wheeling engines and caging cockpit. Flying beyond cloud level, low atmosphere, high pressure. You can’t exactly go further up, not enough to touch the stars that you know well are there, awaiting; yet, you can’t exactly go low enough to see the ground, to feel safe, unchallenged. Middling, it is.

He found it lonely, getting stuck in the air with nothing but the infinite blue. You just get high enough to want to go higher, to realize how small every being is to the sky, the universe. 

It was kind of lonely, if not the presence of John cuddling Beast’s oversized body on the couch snoring thunder with open mouth; Jefferson tentatively dancing one foot on the floor while looking out the jet window with cautious eyes; and the heavy, warm body slumping by his side breathing soundlessly.

Jason had dozed off since the first ten minutes they got into the plane. He got home later and later these days, missing dinners, always back at the front door with a tight knot between his brows. His works piled up every once in a while, work loaded up, people changed. The life of an infamous crime lord is a never ending rollercoaster, sometimes, even the thrills can tire you.

The only times that he seemed to ease himself was when he wasn’t conscious. Jason’s trust in others was as frail as an old man’s grey hair, it broke and brittled easily. It was a fitting character for him, in all terms, so fitting that he wore like his favorite jacket, belligerent to share. 

Even in his sleep, the hold on Dick’s wrist was iron. He weighed his whole down as a pillar, grounding Dick to his seat. What feared him, honestly? Dick jumping out of the cabin while they were 500 hundreds feet above sea level? 

Possessive he had always been, Jason to the things that he was interested in. 

“He’s losen weight.” said Dick as he tucked a fallen lock out of Jason’s clean pull back with his free hand. “He really needs this. A vacation.”

Jefferson stared back at him with heavy shoulders. He was always a keen talker, but even more so when around Jason. 

“Lose the knot, would’ya? Your boss won’t hear a thing. He sleeps deep once get a hold of me.”

“On the contrary, sir. His ears are light when it comes to you.” 

Dick chuckled. “Relax, I may or may not have aided his rest with the accompany of mushrooms.”

Jefferson’s eyes sized up, “You poisoned him?”

“Sedation. Psilocybin, it was what was in the tea this morning, too much of it and you’ll take the first bed in the ER. But for him, it’ll be just a few hours off.”

“I didn’t know shrinks approve drugs.”

“On the contrary, we do, under our subscription and supervision, of course.”

“The irony, sneaking drug to him.”

Like selling the devil his own goods.

“Everybody needs a good sleep sometimes.”

Jefferson snorted, “You’re always so full of tricks, Blue.”

“That’s one of my charms, Jeffie.”

Approximately two hours later, the island came into shape and size under the peeking through the thickness of clouds. Their great big mansion stood lonely by the edge of the mountain, back to the dead volcano, face to the ocean, the beach as their pridely front yard. Pearl white sand spreading along the edge of 43 acres of private paradise land, tropical trees and an inactive volcano. The island itself was ripped from another crime lord, adding one filthy lump of money that Jason had pulled no strings back in spending, designing and building, knowing it would be his little family escape zone twice every year, on their wedding anniversary, and in John's summer break. No duty, no study, no risking their life and most especially, no annoying family members.

The jet slowly loosened itself down the runway at scheduled time when the sun hovered above the peak of the mountain. The staffs lined out to greet them, the local people Jason hired to keep the mansion well and maintained during the year when they were away. Two cooks, a gardener, a live-in doctor, twelve housekeepers, and a butler to keep the wheels turning in the right direction. Trevor, his trusty right-hand man selected them himself so usually Jason let these sort of micromanagement slip off his hands. Too much profile check, history run, paper work, paper work, paper work. Jason got a whole crime dynasty running in his hand, he couldn’t have time for that. 

He hardly even had time for his family recently.

Jason jolted awake when Dick pinched his nose, scandalous and shaken at his own self and not of the jet lowering down the runway.   

“How long have I been out?”

“Our entire trip kind of long.” John snickered. He buckled Beast’s leash and help Jefferson take down their luggage.

“Fuck.” Jason then turned to Dick, “You!” 

“You’re quick to exclaim.”

“Dickface, I’ll kill you.”

He mounted Dick before he could even manage a squeal. The jet jumped when they hit the runway, enough of a bump for Jason’s knee to scrap over places that it wasn’t supposed to be. 

“On second thought, I’ll kill you on our white sheet, summer bed. Slowly, leisurely,”

Jason blew into his ear when he caught the little hitch in Dick’s throat. 

“That sounds absolutely horrid to me.”

“The island is big. Nobody can hear you in the waves.”

“Dreadful!”

Dick laughed turned louder when Jason blowed down the skin of his neck. 

Jason knew how bring out the part that Dick didn’t know existed in himself, yearning to be love, craving for touches. And Dick? Guess his nature brought out that side of Jason, the gentle, loving one he concealed so deep under layers of metal armor and mental scars.

“Greeting lovely customers and welcome to the Marlyland Island. Temperature is currently 87 Fahrenheit, 60% in humidity, the wind is strong, the sun is high, perfect for a good wave or parrasuiting. On the right side of the jet, you can see the Paragon Mansion standing tall and mighty facing the white coast and blue ocean, a perfect resident for a fortunate couple with a young teenage boy in rebellious period, perfectly safe and and pet friendly. On the left side of the window, you can see the infamous coral reef which will be the main event for this afternoon activity. All of your luggage will kindly be transported and carefully handled by our lovely escort Jefferson Stones. With that being said, as the captain of the flight, I wish you a joyful vacation, and thank you for flying with the Red Hood Airlines.”

Jeff rolled his eyes and took down their bags one by one. Beast circled around his feet waiting for his own bag stuffed of balls, throw discs and squishy toys to be put down. 

The butler was the first to greet them when the steps lowered down. Jason liked her, so did Dick. No kid. No husband. Her family sold her for a good price when their local business fell down on a small island 20 nautical miles away from their private property. She owed Jason her life. Oh, Jason liked when people owed him. 

“Welcome back, sir.” She bowed to Dick and Jason but gave John a sweet kiss on the cheek. “My my, how tall you’ve become, young master.”  

John’s eyes squinted into lines when the woman patted his shoulders. He rubbed his short shaved hair when realizing how much taller he had become. Once such a scrawny little kid when Jason first picked out of the alley, Jason was almost forteen by then, malnutried, dirty and so small. 

Now? Kid sprouted like weeds. A rich diet, balanced sleep schedule, stability in muscle training and whole body workout, plus a premium healthcare at Gotham’s top hospitals. Four years in with them and Dick woke up one day, dumbfounded and wordless to find the boy had reached his eye level. 

“I’ve heard from Master Jason how awful the weather was in the city. We’re more than honored to have you visit.”

It was her graceful way to say Jason had called and talked about what happened.

And what had happened? Gotham was entering the turning season, stepping from cool to cold before everything turned freezing. The city rained five days out of seven, unpredictably. It was dry yet humid, windy and foggy at the same time. Not exactly the perfect weather for toddlers, the old and the illed. 

Jason remained invincible, but Dick? His body wasn’t as it was in prime days anymore.  

“Would you like some tea in your room, lemon and gingergrass?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

While John and Beast were running loose along the wide seashore, the rest of them headed straight to the main house, and couldn't wait to get off their feet.  

The mansion was massive. No matter how much time they had spent here, Dick never got used to it. 30,000 square feet of white pillars, honey tiles, black terracotta roofs, coral stones walls with open showers, baths, a pool and multiple gardens. Three stories of six bedrooms, nine bathrooms, one meeting room, two dining halls inside and outdoor, a kitchen with beach view and connecting straight to the shore and their private dock for daily fresh catch and fresh water supply. Not to mention staff rooms and working areas. 

Jason had high standards. He always had.       

The moment they stepped into their chamber, the sea view welcomed them. Seagulls flew from afar as the waves hit the soft milky sand. The ocean hit them in the face in all senses. Salt seasoned the air, tingled their skin. The wind liner curtains into big, blowy flows. Light swallowed their room, warmed the stone tiles down their feet. 

By the legs of their Caesar size bed of white sheet and Persian pillows, Jason looked around with one good turn and smiled widely. 

“It hasn’t changed one bit.”

“Gloria is a good housekeeper. You should consider raising her wage.”

Jason pulled out the first drawer of their bedside table, smirked to himself and closed it back. “I definitely will.”

The heat of the tropical land seeped through even the cold cuts of honey stone tiles, warmed their feet, dampened the two layers of clothes on Dick’s back. He dressed for the killer weather of Gotham and didn’t have time to undress for the island. The sea smelt, a distinguishing auroma of salt, fish, water and sun.  

The present of this place was as sharp as the double blade Jason used to freshen up his morning. 

Dick felt him on his back, his heat and his sweat, along the smell of clean and sun-dried clothes. Jason pressed himself closer to him, until Dick was sandwhich between him and the door, until all they could feel was each other. 

“Jason?”

He grunt back, nuzzled close into Dick’s neck while wandering his hands. He pushed them both further to the door, further, closer, until Dick could feel Jason’s hard-on pressed hot against his lower back. 

“Jason⎼”

“No, call me like that. Like you always do.”

Dick chuckled and whispered, “Littlewing.”

The moan he earnt back could color a stripper’s skin.

“You’re so hot. Gosh, you’re so goddamn hot. Can I?”

Dick laughed and elbowed Jason in the guts, just enough to hear him laugh back. “You already have me up the door.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

And he stopped. Jason’s hands that were all around Dick’s body moved, tightened, until they had him squeezed tight in his chest. He held him dearly, despressly, as if they had no tomorrow.

“Can I have you, my love?”

“I like it when you plead.”

“Just for you, Dickie. Just for you.”

“I love you too, Littlewing.”

Jason made quick work with his belt and pants. He bit on Dick’s nape, twirled him a 180 and pushed him flat against the door then apologized for it. He quickly unbuckled Dick’s belt and stripped his jeans down, guided his hand up to around his neck because he knew specifically that Dick’s body was built to be shaped and bent. And oh, how he loved it when Dick pulled on the short end of his hair and scratched his neck a little. 

Humans are part of only 3-5% of mammals that pair bond. Sex forms the pair bond, one pair for a lifetime. Even when they have way past the point of reproduction as the population hit somewhat above seven billions, the concept of bond remains something sacred. 

And animals, they were. Animals in the way they lusted, they craved. In the way Jason grasped on Dick’s neck and shoved into him hard enough to land them against the door with a loud bang.

He was rough, as was everything of his nature. Yet he always embraced Dick carefully, tenderly, in his own way. 

He crawled on Dick’s skin, twisted his nipples, fondled his stomach. He loved to feel himself through Dick and made him moan for it. 

And he went hard. Hard enough Dick thought he could feel it in his guts, his lungs. There was something sadistic about his joy in making Dick yelp, watching Dick get twisted and turned and all messed up. But at the same time, the way he whined and cooed into Dick’s neck like a wounded animal faltered all the strength and courage of an iron man. 

“God, I love you. I love you so fucking much.” Jason panted, but it wasn’t like Dick had the mind to hear. He was way out. Thinking about it, sex with Jason was always pretty much a marathon. Dick was an athelete, he gave as good as he went, but strength and stamina weren’t things he could run up with someone with the Lazarus Pit in their veins.

Also, to his defense, Jason grew up to be very well adorned.  Too well adorned. Dick’s body was built for a lot of things but it certainly wasn’t built for this. 

Jason’s hips faltered at the last minute and then finally, they stilled. Dick stuck flat to the door, eyes rolled up, chest heaving. His expensive shirt had definitely lost some buttons, and pretty sure that the stickiness against the mahogany wood was his saliva and… something else.

“You’re still hard.” Dick grunted, hypersensive. 

“Have you tried being in yourself? People don’t go down that easily, babe.”

“You’re just young.”

“It’ll stay up for you even in the grave, honey. Fuck viagra.”

“Even when my butt is wrinkled and withered?”

“Can you not say that right now so I can not imagine about it?”

They laughed, stayed connected, frozen on their feet until their knees gave out and they both slid down on the floor in a bundle. Climbing down from euphoria, Jason landed kisses down the length of his neck. Dick licked the tips of his husband’s fingers, kissing his knuckles. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Dick nodded, winced when Jason pulled out. "Need head?"

Jason choked, laughed, and kissed him some more. "You'll be the death of me."

They were tongues down each other's throat when a knock came on the door that was right by Dick's ear. Dick almost bit himself and Jason. 

"Sir, if you both are free now, we would like to have you down for supper. The young master is already hafl-way through his plate."

She knew. Yeah, she gotta knew exactly what they had done against this door. Most likely even heard it. 

“We’ll be down in a minute.” said Jason with his hand down under Dick’s shirt again.

They tickled each other, laughed, almost fell on the floor laughing, and symphonized the dance of their skins with the blue waves of the Bahamas ocean. 

[flowers-of-io]

Inspired by the tags under this post by @ninerivens <3 I wrote the majority of this fic back in Haunted and kinda forgot about it whoops, hence why I’m posting it at such a random moment.

Read on Ao3

When the H.E.L.M. was being designed, there was one room tucked under its left wing that had a table with two chairs and a coffee machine, and many blinking monitors covering all of the widest wall. It turned out to be a good place to sit and talk when the main area was occupied, or just to and gather thoughts over a cup of awfully bitter coffee, and Zavala liked to watch it transform over the months of use: an Imperial banner looted from the Halpheas Electus strung over the kitchen counter, some spare parts left by Corsairs and gathering dust in the corner, a third chair brought here by an Eliksni technician when they were celebrating Crow’s “rez-day” here, back when things were simpler. Several mugs in significantly differing sizes clutter the cupboard. There is even a bedroll tucked behind the table, one Zavala has found himself sleeping on more than a few times lately. Crow has been talking about bringing more of those, maybe even a bunk bed, maybe some more folding chairs or a clock or a microwave. A Cabal-sized ottoman occupies one corner, next to a pile of blankets.

It is quiet here, now, save for the soft buzz of monitors and Crow’s measured breathing as he slumbers on the bedroll spread out under the opposite wall, curled around Glint like a cat. It must be horrendously late by City standards, but Zavala still holds a cup of fresh coffee, huffing on the surface and feeling hot vapour caress his face. The monitors blink—shifting images of the Leviathan’s rooms from different angles, awfully familiar by now, making his skin crawl all the same. He barely registers the quiet rustle as the door behind him slides open.

“Zavala,” the voice is soft, but he almost spills the coffee with how abruptly he turns around.

“Ca— Empress,” he stumbles, because this is an official space, even with all the mess and his lead scout currently snoring in the corner; but she only gives a weary shake of her head and he settles on, “Caiatl.”

“Could you… spare me a moment?”

“Always,” he moves to give her some room. With how small and cluttered the place is, her arm almost brushes against his shoulder when she comes to stand beside him.

Tension radiates off her, he can see it in how stiff her back is and how she clasps her hands in front of her, knuckles white, in the stained expression on her unhelmeted face. Worry curls in his stomach, but he doesn’t rush her—only watches as she stares at the monitors for a moment, then finally turns her gaze to him.

“The severance ritual,” she begins.

“Are you… alright?” An impulse makes Zavala want to put a hand over hers, but he resists it. Caiatl draws in a breath.

“Ghaul’s… the phantom’s words…”

“They’re lies,” he says immediately.

“They’re my own thoughts.” She looks away, and speaks slowly, as if every word was being pushed through her lips with great effort. “My own doubts. I… I fear putting the lives of my men in the Guardians’ hands. Every time, I’m second-guessing myself when I send them under someone else’s command.”

“That is a reasonable concern to have.”

“I fear I’m not taking something into account and will end up with a knife in my back, just like my father. I’m weighing the Guardians’ motives. The Red Legion razed your City; sometimes I have nightmares about my armada burning, a fair vengeance for that war.”

Zavala watches her wring her fingers, rings clicking against each other. Her hands must be warm, even in the coolness of the H.E.L.M., and they are soft and wide and safe, and he is trying not to think about this now but cannot help himself.

“Some time ago you said, ‘trust is still being built’.” He looks to her face half-turned away, blue streaks on her profile flickering in sync with the monitors. There is no accusation in his tone as he continues, “Are you worried I will betray you?”

“No,” she says this instantly, and then frowns, as if considering the words only after she had uttered them. “No, not you. I would lay my life in your hands.”

This is not spoken like a vow or a confession, but Caiatl is looking at him now, and something warm and so very soft coils in his chest without a warning. He puts the mug down.

“I wanted this to be clear between us,” she presses on, “and that what you heard—”

“It doesn’t change anything,” he interrupts, and shakes his head when she opens her mouth to speak. “You’ve never given me a reason not to trust you. We all have fears, but they’re not who we are.”

She sighs, “Zavala…”

“Caiatl.” He moves, because the tension is unbearable, because she keeps looking at him like she wants a way out but can’t find it, because her eyes glow dimly in the darkened room and he couldn’t break their gaze even if he wanted to. His hand touches her forearm and he marvels at the softness of her skin, at the electricity upon contact that has nothing to do with the Light. Caiatl’s shoulders slump, and she reaches back, her fingers brushing the side of his face.

From there it is easy to lean in, his forehead coming to rest against her chestplate and her chin atop his head, and then her arms curl around him, and he breathes in the mixed scent of musk, iron and herbs. They stay like this for a long, wonderfully warm minute; until a soft chuckle escapes Zavala and Caiatl hums at this inquisitively.

“You’d think it would be harder. This,” trapped in the embrace all he can do is shrug unhelpfully, though Caiatl’s gentle nod suggests she understood. “But frankly, I’ve found it quite effortless.”

“Easier than most things lately,” the small scoff she breathes out is almost a laugh. He shifts to look up at her, at her golden eyes and glimmering ring-bands, the long carved tusks casting strange shadows across her face.

Facing the risen Hive. Losing his faith. Falling in love. Losing his son, again, in a whole new and terrifying way, almost losing himself in the process. That moment in the Hangar when he watched Caiatl storm towards Crow and for one horrible second was ready to kill her.

He wants to speak but finds himself choked up.

Caiatl releases him and takes half a step back, though her hands still linger loosely on his shoulders. Her gaze wanders to Crow, curled up in a fetal position on the bedroll, his face smooth and calm under the few strands of hair that fall over it.

“I envy such peace.”

Zavala follows her eyes and for a moment they stay in silence, listening to the Hunter’s measured breaths. He moves slightly, only once, and his arm curls to hold Glint tighter to his chest.

“Sometimes I worry the only peace he ever gets is when he’s sleeping,” Zavala says quietly.

“And you?” She turns back to him, assessing him with her gaze.

“Hmm?”

“Have you been sleeping lately?”

He opens his mouth and stumbles, because it’s hard to lie straight to her face, “…there was a lot of work.”

“I see.”

“I’m fine, Caiatl.”

“If so, why are you making excuses?” She tilts her head, humour twinkling in her eyes. “Another thing I told you was that a true warrior knows when to fight and when to rest. Do not make me doubt your prowess, Commander.”

From his corner of the room Crow gives off a single, definitive snore, and this seals the spell. Caiatl chuckles, a warm and rumbling sound, and Zavala suddenly realises just how heavy his limbs feel—between coffee and the crutch that is Targe’s Light, he really hasn’t been sleeping for days. The Cabal otoman in the corner now looks incredibly appealing.

“Maybe I should heed your advice more often,” he says with a small smile. Caiatl lifts her tusks in amusement.

“You’d better.” The hand ghosting over his shoulder moves to scoop up his palm, and he squeezes her fingers. “See me tomorrow?”

“With pleasure.” A cynical voice in his mind whispers that the rate of crises as of late would have them meet whether they’d like it or not, but he brushes it away. They linger like this for a moment, until Caiatl lets go of his hand and pointedly gestures to Crow with her chin.

“Go rest. It must be late for you.”

She leaves with a smile in her eyes, and the warmth of it settles inside Zavala’s chest somewhere between the lungs, making him breathe deep and easy. He sinks into the otoman, head turned away from the blinking screens that buzz with a pleasant white noise. It is oh so warm, warmer still when he pulls a blanket over himself, and his bones all but melt into the plush as he drifts off. Crow mumbles something in his sleep. The measured footsteps of security frames come from the other room. A sensor beeps, somewhere far enough not to care.

And then there is no sound at all.