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spookysmujer · 5 years ago

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No Más, O.Diaz

Summary: Oscars sends you away for the weekend to handle some business, but things seem a little out of place.

warnings: a n g s t

A/N: Ok but I feel like if Spooky has a gf she would be a ride or die type of girl and that’s giving me major ‘03 Bonnie & Clyde vibesss. Thank you for all the love! ❤️ Just hit +750 followers, I’m honored!! Again, I appreciate you taking your time to read my comment. Please don’t forget to: follow, heart, comment. reblog and turn on the notifs for alerts when I post, thank you so much!

(gif belongs to @merakiaes 🦋)

“It’s all about the Valentina, bebe.”

Oscar grabs the hot sauce that you had just placed in the shopping cart a few seconds ago. You let out a tsk as he placed it back on the shelf, reaching higher to grab the biggest bottle of extra hot Valentina.

He lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as he continues on through the isle. Shopping trips with Oscar always consist of him ‘teaching’ you about the do’s and don’t’s of food/cooking. Which is why you don’t know why you bother joining him half the time.

“Must you run my life in the kitchen too? You already do that in the bedroom.” You pass him as he catches up to you, setting his hands on the bar of the cart besides yours which has your trapped. “And don’t you forget it, mamas. Trust me, Valentina on the raw oysters, as you say, chef’s kiss.”

You face defeat and nod in agreement. The shopping trip being better than usual. Oscar is playing around with you, making you laugh. It would’ve been a perfect trip if Oscar didn’t get a call mere seconds after checking out. Business, per usual. If it wasn’t you he was on the phone with, then it’s most likely gang related.

“Gracias.” He ends the call and unlocks the trunk of the infamous cherry red impala. You both load the car together, you keeping to yourself. The car ride back to his place quiet though he does rest his hand on your thigh, you high-key loving when he does that.

The both of you unloading the groceries and putting them away. Your mouth watering as you seen all the goodness that will be on the grill tonight. A night for just you two, you’ve been looking forward to it all week long.

“Sorry, bebe. I got some business to take care of with Cuchillos. I’ll make it up to you, promise.” Oscar’s voice sounds from behind you as you were gathering all the spices and ingredients he’d need.

You hold back letting out a sigh as you start to set back things in their places. He walks over to you and places his hands on your arms, planting a kiss to your shoulder. Oscar is no fool, he knows you’ve been looking forward to tonight but when Cuchillos calls, he goes no questions asked. Though lately he has been tired of her bullshit.

“I’ll order you some pizza, don’t wait up for me. I love you.”

He kisses your cheek as you keep quiet. He does wait a moment though for any response from you before leaving. When you hear the door close, you look around the empty kitchen, finally releasing the sigh you’ve held in. Though frustrated you didn’t want to escalate the situation, not when things have been going well between the two of you.

After blinking away the tears that began to pool, you put away everything and go for a shower. Oscar did indeed order you some pizza and after managing almost half of it, you turn in for the night.

When you wake the next morning Oscar is sleeping soundly besides you. A sleeping Oscar always makes you smile no matter what the circumstances. You lean over and kiss his cheek and get out of the bed to get your busy weekend cleaning started. It’s the Santo house, it’s never clean for more than 5 minutes.

As you start the day you make sure to make breakfast for Oscar and Cesar for when they wake. It’s rare to see Oscar sleep in but the meeting with Cuchillos must have been a serious one, considering the clock is close to 9:30 am. By the time the morning sun had approached its morning peak, Oscar and Cesar join you in the kitchen and get to grubbin’.

“Mano, let me talk with Y/N.” You hear Oscar say as you clean the counter-top. It didn’t sound like the normal ‘bounce foo’ that he’d tell his brother when he wanted just you and him time. But you carry on with your chores until you feel Oscar beside you.

You rinse the rag and lay it out to dry, turning to face Oscar who is now leaned with his lower back against the counter and arms crossed over his chest.

“Everything go okay with last night?”

“I need you to lay low for the next few days”.

You both say at the same time. You hear his words clearly and your face contorts as you replay what he said in your head and then out loud.

“Lay low?”

Oscar simply nods at you. You cock your head and switch your weight onto your other leg as you look at him for which he still hasn’t look at you yet. There is a moment of silence as you move around the kitchen again before speaking, “Why do I need to lay low? Something going down?”

From the beginning of your relationship you understood that for him, as the leader, the gang comes first and foremost. And so when things like carne asada gets postponed, you try your best to show little to no irritation or displeasure. You knew what you are in for. And yes, he never got you involved with his business, but for him to openly tell you something such as this meant something else.

“You don’t need to know, I just need you to lay low for a bit. Off the streets, maybe stay with Geny and Ruben for a bit. Or it’d be a good time to go visit your moms for the weekend.”

Oscar keeps his eyes trained on beyond you as you stand across him, leaning against the other counter. Eyebrows knitted, he finally looks you in the eyes. He sees the confusion in them, the desperation to know. It gives him the urge to smile a little because in the beginning of dating, you were so clingy to him like a Koala to a tree. You loved being with him, you would whine when you weren’t with him and he can see the worry in your eyes on why he wants you to lay low.

“Why would I need to go out of town this weekend? Oscar, what’s going on, hm? Is everything good with you and the Santos?” You ask stepping closer, still a couple of arms length away.

He purses his lips into a thin line, face contorting to irritation, “You don’t need to know like I’ve said. Can you just give me your word you’ll go?”

Your head tilts to the side as you try to read his face for any signs of anything. Something to tell you more than his words are but he holds the irritation, the one that you know all too well. Your chest rises and falls heavily as you nod, “I’ll go.”

He nods and wipes his hand over his mouth, looking around the almost clean kitchen. Oscar takes the rag and wets it before walking over the dining table to wipe down. It’s not that he never cleans but it takes more than just a desire to clean for him to do so, it takes nerves. It’s more of a distraction for him.

“I’ll go call my mom and book a bus ticket.” You announce walking over to get your laptop and phone, Oscar continues to clean as you head to sit on the couch and proceed with your sudden weekend trip. Despite your less than thrilled mood about this, your mother is thrilled to be having you.

When she asks if Oscar will be joining, you sigh and sadly reply it’s just you. As Oscar puts away the last of breakfast he eavesdrops on your phone call.

He can hear the sadness in your voice when you tell your mom that it’ll be just you heading out. His shoulders slump and his breath hitches in his throat. But he is uncertain what the next few days will bring and your safety has been one of his top priorities since the beginning of your relationship. So he shakes any emotions that could get in the way. Sending you off is best.

Unfortunately, the weekend has approached at speed lighting. Oscar parks his car across from the bus station, the two of you exiting the car and he being the kind gentlemen to carry your bag for you. It’s mostly quiet as you head over to the kiosk to print your bus pass. The 4 hour ride mocking you as stated on the ticket.

The bus is set to arrive in the next 15 minutes or so, though you were smart enough to pack some snacks and drinks, Oscar heads over to the food vendor to get you a breakfast sandwich and a smoothie.

Again, radio silence as you sit on the bench near the designated spot where your bus should arrive soon, “You sure you got everything?”

“Yup, though really I do have some clothes at ma’s so it was unnecessary for me to pack all this stuff. The only thing I do really need is your flannel so I thank you for that donation.” You giggle as you lean into him and kiss his cheek. You can feel his cheeks rise as you do so. “Which leads me to ask one more time... Is everything okay?”

He moves his arm from behind you and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, wringing his hands together. A knack of his when he has a hard time putting words together. The only other times you’ve seen him do it is when you both waited for time to move as the pregnancy test loading to determine your results, which was negative, and when he waited in the lobby of the hospital for one of his homies to get out of surgery.

You don’t push for an answer, you give him his space because you can really see how much he didn’t want you to go either. He had to put authority in his voice when he first asked you to lay low. For you, you know that there is more to this than he is leading on. For him, he’s sending you away because he doesn’t where this could all go and in the case that something should happen, you won’t be alone nor will you have to deal with any repercussions.

“It’s all good. Just got some shit to deal with and I don’t need you in the crossfire of it all. It’s the Santos and 19th street, too much to keep up with and the last thing I need is for you to get in the middle of it all. So you heading out of Freeridge will put my mind at ease.” He finally looks over his shoulder and at you, you watch him intently. You rub the back of his head where your hand rests at the nape of his neck,

The buzzing of your phone pulls your attention from him. Though you didn’t want to focus on anything or anyone else at the moment. It’s your mom calling, probably to check in on you if you’ve made it to the bus station alright and are ready for the lengthy commute, “Hey Ma...” You step away and pace talking to her.

After a quick chat, you hang up and sigh shoving your phone in the back pocket on your jeans. It takes all the strength you had to turn back around to face your boyfriend as you hear the bus approaching. God, this sucks. Oscar stands and holds your backpack in his hands, waiting for you to put it on. You do so and turn around, looking at him and studying his features, reaching out to feel his face.

“I love you.” Your voice but a whisper as he slides his hands over your hips and onto the top of your ass. The two of you with your bodies pressed together for a moment where everything around you melts away. You aren’t standing in a crowd of people, there are no buses or rancid smell of exhaust. It’s just the two of you. Oscar leans down just as you lean up to connect your lips. Even after many kisses you’ve shared you always smile into it as his facial hair pokes at you.

The chaste kiss is held as you want this moment to last forever, all you want to hear is him to tell you to stay. Fuck all this and stay. Or even forget all this and let’s run away together. Oscar has thought of that one too many times but you can’t run from your problems, it’ll only create more. So you kiss each other and forget that you have to board a bus for just a second longer. You have your hands pressed to the sides of his neck.

He sighs as your lips break apart, his eyes filled with tears. And for this moment he doesn’t even try to hide that he is crying. That only adds to your worries.”I love you, bebecita. Mi vida y mi alma. With everything, mamas. I’ll see you soon okay, first in your dreams and then soon after.”

Your cheeks hurt with how hard you’re smiling. One more chaste kiss and he walks you to the entrance of the bus, you take step up and look back at him. He gives you a side smile as you ascend up the last few steps and the doors close together. It feels like a goodbye, a real one. The one that meant it’s the last goodbye. But you tell yourself to stop thinking the worst as you see him get smaller and smaller when the bus begins its trek.

The cool air gives you chills almost immediately when you settle into your seat. The next stop isn’t for another hour and a half, with the lack of people, there is no body heat making it colder than it would be if more were on. Thankful you took on his flannels so you reach in your bag to get it when your heart stops. The long pause before it takes it next beat.

His cross chain.

In all your time knowing Oscar he has always had it on. It’s almost as if it were apart of him. He didn’t even take it off when you, him and Cesar would go to the beach. Or when he’d shower yet here it is in your bag headed 4 hours away from him. You hold it to your lips and close your eyes.

“What are you doing, babe?” You whisper to yourself.

It takes all your will power, all your self preservation to not ask the driver to stop the bus. To not call Oscar and frantically demand him to tell you what the hell is going on that he needed to send you away with his chain. This just confirms that something is going down, something big.

Of course, Oscar is a smart man. He knows what he is doing. Hell, he’s been in this lifestyle since he was a young boy. And he has the Santos. This is the same man that walked into Prophet$ territory with 200k to trade for his brothers life. Even then he wasn’t certain he or Cesar would walk out alive. But he did it.

But he didn’t ask you to lay low then, so what the hell is he doing that he had to ask you to this time?

You take your chances and ring Cesar. Though you are certain that either his brother has told him to keep quiet of the situation or he’s already learned that the rucas shouldn’t be involved. The echo of the ringing is haunting.

“Y/N! Have you left already? Sorry I haven’t been home the last couple of days.” He answers cheerfully, you miss the kid already.

The ease in his voice allows to you ease into your seat, “I did, just left the station awhile ago. I know I shouldn’t being asking, but do you know what’s going on with your brother? He’s told me very little, which again I know it’s how it is but.. should I be worried?”

“Oscar is fine, everything is fine, Y/N. Just as it always is. No need to be worrying.” He reassures you, you body beginning to relax more as you looking down to your hand that is holding the gold and silver chain.

Perhaps Oscar left it with you because he knows how worried you are about him. This being a way to have him with you always even though the little spooky tattoo that rest below your left breast is a permanent reminder of him. You clutch the chain a little tighter, bringing it to your chest.

“Okay, I’ll try to. Just be careful, please? The both of you, okay? I’m trying not to bother him so can you tell him thank you for his chain, it’ll be nice to have with me while I’m at my moms.”

But Cesar doesn’t reply or laugh and Cesar is the type to be engaged in conversation. As you sit there with the phone pressed to your ear and no response from him, you shoot up from your seat. Your heart begins to race. “Cesar? Wha- why aren’t you saying anything? What?”

“His chain? He gave it to you?” He asks you.

Now your heart is beating triple time, “Uh yeah, well he didn’t hand it to me. He must of slipped it into my bag while we were at the station. I didn’t even notice he didn’t have it on when we kissed goodbye... Cesar, please tell me again that I have nothing to worry about.”

“Just trust that I’ll handle it. I’ll make sure that he is fine, he has me. And the Santos won’t let him get into something he can’t handle. Don’t worry, o-okay?” And for mere second you hadn’t but when he’s voice cracked. You knew that you couldn’t go,you couldn’t leave him.

“Stop the bus!”

taglist: @clemmingstylins0n @fairygardenss @firebenderwolf @spookysnena @princesstiffxoxo

#Oscar Diaz #oscar diaz imagine #oscar diaz x reader #oscar diaz x y/n #oscar 'spooky' diaz #spooky imagine #omb #on my block #on my block imagine #spookysmujer

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amelialincoln · 4 years ago

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the baby is dropping and is hard for Amelia to sleep, sit, walk, gets tired easily.

Good Days

Link knew that it was in his best interest to pay attention to what Bailey was telling him. She was going on about Richard’s recovery and how he should be monitoring him more closely. Link wasn’t about to tell his boss that her best friend was the least of his concerns right now.

He had about ten far more critical patients and had no issue with leaving Webber to be taken care of by perfectly capable residents. Bailey, of course, thought differently. On top of Link’s ten emergent patients, what was really distracting Link was the view he had of Amelia out of the corner of his eye. She’d been due last week and as Carina had told them many times, first babies usually come early. But this wasn’t Amelia’s first baby and despite him telling her that being honest with her doctor, which she obviously knew, was extremely important, Amelia had decided against it. Though judging by how the baby had recently dropped into a birthing position, her due date seemed to be quickly approaching and Amelia was, and this is a nice way to put it, miserable. She was not able to find comfort in any position but most of all her back had been killing her from carrying the weight of her rather large bump. Amelia had stated that carrying Link’s massive baby in her five foot frame was nearly impossible. Carina had almost scoffed at their child’s rather impressive margins. Amelia was positive that if this baby stretched her any further, she wouldn’t be able to balance on her own two feet. Link watched her sympathetically as Amelia waddled very slowly over to the nurses station, placed her Ipad down, and rested her head on the counter.

“Dr. Lincoln, are you listening to me?” Bailey snapped. Link glanced down to find her fuming. If there was anything the chief of surgery didn’t enjoy, it was being ignored. She followed his fleeting gaze and finally noticed that the concern in his eyes was not directed at Richard but at his girlfriend. On a normal day this would infuriate her but instead she felt herself sympathize. It seemed as though every doctor at the hospital was trying to get Amelia to take the rest of her pregnancy off. Amelia would engage their requests for about a day before returning to surgery, complaining that she was more uncomfortable at home with nothing to do rather than when she was distracted at work. And while the neurosurgeon was usually outgoing and talkative, she’d become quiet and exhausted. “Oh for god sake. That woman is going to give birth while removing a gliosarcoma.”

“Wouldn’t put it past her,” Link grumbled, excusing himself from his and Bailey’s conversation. His girlfriend didn’t notice him until he placed a soothing hand on her lower back, pressing deeply into a pressure point. She winced in response, stifling a groan.

“How was surgery?” He had given up trying to get Amelia not to operate. She glanced up at him, appearing to be half asleep.

“It was fine. Spinal surgeries can be kind of difficult with my…” she glanced around, she’d been adamant about not letting her pregnancy affect her work, “condition. I’m having trouble leaning over the surgical table.” Her voice was hushed.

“Well what’s that telling you?” A smile played on his lips.

“I operated with my last pregnancy up until I gave birth, it was never an issue.” Link couldn’t bring himself to remind her that her last baby wasn’t constantly moving around and kicking her in the bladder.

“And how are your feet?”

“Sore. Obese people deserve more credit.”

“You’re not obese,” he sighed, tired of this specific topic of conversation. She rolled her eyes, seeming to not have the energy for an argument. Instead she took his hand softly and placed it on the underside of her bump. Link felt the baby roll lazily inside her. He’d stopped kicking about a week ago and now his movements had become more constricted, as if he were running out of room.

“Your son is ready to come out.” She glanced up at him tiredly before grabbing her Ipad. Link watched herself become immersed in her work as she flipped through the updates of her patients. At first he hadn’t understood why Amelia had been so insistent on staying at work when it seemed like it only brought her more fatigue. He finally noticed that Amelia barely ever looked tired while she was deep in thought. He refrained from trying to lessen her workload after that.

“Are you nervous?” It was something he’d been wondering about for a while.

“About birth?” She asked him, looking up at him with a puzzled expression.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I guess being a guy we don’t really think about it. I mean I’m obviously not excited to see you in pain but it's never really crossed my mind about how daunting it must be for you.”

“Well it’s less of an unknown now.” She quieted her voice. “I know what to expect this time. I am nervous but...this time it’s not for nothing.” Her eyes fell to the floor and her hand moved to sooth her bump affectionately. “I know that sounds awful. I just think that being able to focus on holding our healthy baby in my arms at the end of it all will make it a lot easier.”

“That makes sense.” Was all Link could think of to say. He wrung his hands, wishing he could’ve been there for her. With all she’d been through sometimes it seemed as if she had lived a completely other lifetime. Link always had trouble trying to piece together the L.A. timeline. Amelia would laugh and say that Addison would tell him everything when she came for the birth. She would regretfully add that, at times, she was too high to make sense of it either. Link personally thought that it was in Addison’s best interest to be here now considering that Amelia seemed like she was going to pop. But Addison had been wrapping up the ends of a case and told her ‘sister’ (what Amelia referred to her as) that she would be there as soon as possible. Cutting it a bit close in Link’s opinion.

“You’re going to love Addison.” It was as if she’d read his mind. “You don’t have much to live up to in terms of boyfriends.” She bit back a grin as he straightened up proudly. “And she’s used to my accidental pregnancies by now.”

“How many have there been?” Link stared at her in shock.

“Only two,” she assured him, chuckling at his response. “And a rather unfortunate scare in high school.”

“And to think you pride yourself in educating others about birth control.” He thought back to the night at the conference when Amelia insisted he wore a condom, despite her being on the pill.

“I am extremely careful.”

“And look where that got us.” They both glanced at Amelia’s swollen abdomen.

“It appears you may be right about that.” They both couldn’t help but burst out laughing, receiving a couple of distasteful looks their way from nurses, who were obviously eavesdropping on their conversation. The entire situation only made the surgeons laugh harder, imagining the gossip behind Amelia’s accidental pregnancy. They were doctors, you’d think the couple could manage to enjoy worry free sex. As she was laughing Amelia couldn’t help but glance up at the man she’d begun to adore, to love, she found herself realizing. If someone had told her where her and Link’s relationship would have led nine months ago she wouldn’t have believed them and she found herself feeling incredibly grateful. For the first time in her life, she realized she had nothing to run from anymore.

#amelink #amelia shepherd #amelink fanfiction #amelinkfanfic #amelink fanfic #greysanatomy #greys fanfiction #greys anatomy #Atticus Lincoln #atticus link #atticuslincoln

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platinumsun490 · 4 years ago

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Sonic and Friends: Last of Us AU-Knuckles

Thanks to the inspiration of solar-socks, who thought of the idea of putting Knuckles the Echidna in place of Abby from the Last of Us, I have written my own version of his backstory as to why he hates Tom, in place of Joel, and Sonic, in place of Ellie. Like Abby, Knuckles loses his dad, but I added a bit more to that. Gotta warn you though, this does not have a happy ending. Each piece of the story is something that led Knuckles to the final conclusion of killing Tom and getting revenge.

nothing but ANGST

Knuckles watched from the little secluded area he and his father, Locke, had hiked out to as echidnas of all kinds walked in and out of the hospital, either to help or to visit. While he knew it was important for him to be there, seeing how he was going to be the next leader, it was nice to get away every once in a while. Just then, Vector, a crocodile, and Espio, a chameleon, came running up to them from a distance.

“Sir, that hedgehog showed up,” Vector said breathlessly.

Locke rolled his eyes, unknowing. “What hedgehog?”

“The one your wife keeps talking about.”

Knuckles stopped rummaging through his bag to stare at Vector and Espio, who couldn’t be saying what he thought they were saying. Espio stepped forward, saying, “They found him in the tunnels. He has an old bite mark on his arm. No signs of infection.”

The echidna warrior watched as his father, Locke the echidna, blinked a few times in shock, shaking his head and saying, “That can’t be.”

“They’re already runnin’ tests on him, but…you gotta get down there,” Vector said. Both of them seemed to be in disbelief. Knuckles couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

After so many years of saying the echidna people, his people, would have a cure for the Zombot Metal Virus soon, it finally happened. He remembered watching his parents preach about it sometimes, like religious leaders saying the word of an otherworldly being. At first, he thought his parents were going crazy, and chose to stick by his friend’s sides, but now, this news practically proved his parents right. He watched Locke shift his weight nervously from one foot to the other. “Dad?” he asked timidly.

He merely pointed down the path they had originally came from, silently telling them to head back to base. Vector and Espio left first, most likely to spread the news further, and Knuckles watched as his father took him by the arm and pulled him to the main building, a hospital.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Knuckles watched as his mother and father discussed the operation in his dad’s main office. Locke was trying to explain how there was no way to remove the specimen without destroying the host. Lara-Le, Knuckles’s mother, was clearly not happy about his father’s wording. “The host? He is a child, not some petri dish.”

“You think I don’t-” Locke’s voice began to raise, but he quickly contained himself and said, “I’m aware of the situation.”

“And you’re okay with killing him?” Lara-Le asked with a grim expression. It scared Knuckles a bit to see his mother so upset. He was used to a negative attitude from his dad, but not his mother. She was always so positive about things, keeping everyone’s heads up when it felt like there was nothing else.

“No, Lara. I’m okay with developing a vaccine that’ll help save millions of lives. How many echidnas have died for less?”

Lara grew angry. She jabbed a finger at Locke’s chest, pushing him back a bit. “That was their choice. Are you asking me, or are you telling me this is how it’s gonna be?”

Locke moved closer to her, but she stood her ground. Knuckles watched his father place his hands comfortingly on Lara’s shoulders. “I am begging you to buy in.”

Lara didn’t hesitate with a response. “And what if this was Knuckles?” Knuckles watched as Locke’s expression changed slightly, just slightly, before going back to serious.

“Look, everything that we’ve been fighting for, all the sacrifices, all the horrific…all of that is justified with this one act.”

“If this was our son, what would you do?” Lara asked again calmly. She was starting to scare Knuckles. Locke stood there, not saying anything, which made Lara turn and leave. Before she walked out, she said, “I’m telling the human, Tom. He has a right to know.”

She faltered when she noticed Knuckles sitting on the floor next to the doorway, but she just rubbed his head and walked away. Knuckles then stood up and walked into the room, where his dad was leaning against the desk with a dark look, his body showing signs of tiredness. Walking up next to his father, Knuckles said, “If it was me, I’d want you to do the surgery.”

Locke took his son’s hand and gripped it tightly, like a patient on a lifeline. Knuckles watched his father wipe a few tears away, then walk away to do what he had to do.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Knuckles watched as Vector and Espio leaned over a bleeding body.

His father’s body.

Dropping his weapon, Knuckles stumbled into the room, gaining his friend’s attention. Espio took a step back while Vector stood up and held his hands out, saying, “Knuckles…”

“Is that…?” Knuckles whispered. He felt all the blood drain from his face, his hands shake as he saw a scalpel from the operation jammed into his father’s neck. Blood was staining the floor a dark red, darker than his fur tone, darkening to a sickly brown color.

Knuckles watched as Vector moved towards him, not to comfort, but to stop. It was then that Knuckles realized he was screaming. He was screaming for his father. He didn’t know he could make such a horrid sound. It scared him. “No! DAD! DAD, NO!!” Falling to his knees, Knuckles curled up in Vector’s arms and started to sob violently, his breathing erratic and ragged. He buried his face in Vector’s shoulder, continuing to cry over his loss.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Knuckles watched as a thief who had broken in interrogated Lara-Le about the cure for the virus. The human, Tom Wachowski, had taken the hedgehog, Sonic, away from their home, leaving the echidna race to fend for itself after years of saying they had a cure and ended up not having one. Now, people, humans and Mobians alike, had gotten angry.

“Tell me where you people hide the cure or I’m going to make sure you have one less mouth to feed,” the man said as he held Knuckles down at gunpoint.

Lara stiffened at the sight, then took a deep breath, put on a serious expression, and bargained, “If I show you where it is, will you let my son go?”

Knuckles watched the man nod, then yelped when he literally kicked out of the room. Knuckles reached for his mother, but she just smiled tearfully at him as she led the man away.

Minutes later, as Knuckles and a few survivors were escaping, he heard a gunshot.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Knuckles watched as Tom tried to climb the fire escape as fast as he had done. Tom had ran into Knuckles on a supply run and saved him from being bitten or killed from one of the monster. Now, a horde of Infected was closing in on them, and they didn’t have much time.

Thankfully, one of the buildings still had its fire escapes attached to it, despite the ruins around them. Tom finally reached the top, but one of the steps gave out and left him dangling off the edge.

He scrambled to climb over, but he didn’t have a good grip. With a sneer of disgust, Knuckles grabbed Tom by the front of his shirt and lifted him up with ease, ignoring the man’s panicked yelling. He wanted to do this. He wanted Tom to remember who he was.

“Did you hear about what happened to the echidnas after you ran off with the only hope the world had? Do you know how many died at the hands of murderers and Infected?” Knuckles seethed through clenched teeth. Tom looked confused for a second, then frantic. He thrashed in Knuckles’ hold, hitting and kicking, but to no avail. The red echidna lifted him higher, scowling with absolute hatred. The faces of his parents and friends flashed in front of him, making him hesitate. They wouldn’t want him to do this…

Knuckles let Tom go.

Knuckles watched as Tom’s body slammed into the fire escape a few times, then hit the ground with a sickening thud. Infected after Infected jumped onto Tom, and Knuckles turned away, just as Tom’s screams were cut short.

“NOOOOOOOO!!!!”

The echidna looked up in surprise to see Sonic standing on a building near them, having seen the whole thing. His expression was one of shock, fear, defeat, and anger. He glared at Knuckles and sobbed as he fell to the ground, curling in on himself. Knuckles watched Sonic choke on his own breathing, but actually stepped back a bit when Sonic grew rageful.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Sonic shrieked, filling the empty space around them with an echo of his threat. “You hear me, you bastard?! I’ll kill you for this!”

Knuckles watched Sonic sob uncontrollably for a few seconds before grabbing his bag and jumping over to the next building. He was done here. That was all that mattered to him.

For once in his life, Knuckles didn’t stand by and watch. For once, he did something.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic the movie 2020 #sonic last of us au #knuckles the echidna #tom wachowski #last of us 2 #last of us #last of us au #angst #hurt no comfort #not a happy ending #i got sad while writing this

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shakespeareanwannabe · 4 years ago

Text

Heartbeats

Santiago Pope Garcia x F!OC/Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Rebecca Cooke

Summary: A first date at a Beer Garden shouldn’t be difficult to manage, especially with his team at his side, but Santi still has doubts.

Warnings: Drinking/Alcohol Consumption, Swearing, Benny being Benny, references to war time injuries, references to Anxiety if you squint

A/N: Hey y’all. Sorry it’s been a while. Some stuff came up, but I am so happy to finally have this chapter out to you all! Anyway, this is chapter 3. Please enjoy!

**********

Listening to his own heartbeat had become something that Santi was pretty comfortable with. When the Humvee had hit a landmine during his first deployment, sending him, Frankie, and Will sky high, he’d woken up in a military hospital in Germany, with only the steady beeping of his heart monitor to keep him company. Well, it kept him company until Will wandered in with a cup of coffee. The youngest member of the team had somehow managed to walk away with a couple of cracked ribs and some scarring on his back, whereas Pope had fractured his knee and given himself a pretty nasty concussion. At that point, Frankie was still out. He had broken a rib, punctured a lung, and fractured his hip, all on top of a nastier concussion than Pope’s. There was a harried moment when they thought he wouldn’t make it, but Fish was the toughest bastard out of any of them, and within nine months he was patrolling the desert with Santi once more.

After various near-misses, his multiple knee surgeries, and his so-called miracle neck surgery, Santi woke up to that same sound of his heart beating. It reminded him that he was alive. It was a comfort.

Now, his heart was beating so loudly in his ears he couldn’t think straight. And, the kicker was, he wasn’t even in country or recovering from a near miss. He wasn’t getting shot at or sneaking around an enemy compound. He wasn’t even sitting in the back of a helicopter while Fish tried to fly it over the fucking Andes while carrying too much weight and, fuck, he was an idiot. He hadn’t even been able to pull off a ‘sure thing’ mission. He hadn’t been able to pull of a relationship with a girl that everyone thought he was fucking anyway. Why the fuck did he think he would be able to pull off impressing this much younger woman who, for some god forsaken reason, thought he was worth her time?

Rebecca was a professional. She had a fucking Masters of Fine Arts that she used to lead tours and co-curate the art museum while also teaching art lessons to kids all across the state. And then there was him. Santiago Garcia. A washed up, beaten down, half-broken retired soldier who was living off his (not unsubstantial) savings and the kindness of friends, who had almost no prospects other than signing another damn contract and going off to shoot questionable people under the orders of even more questionable people until his knees gave out or he broke his fucking neck running around on favela rooftops. She was so far out of his league, he had no clue how to even find her league.

And yet, he found himself sitting outside her apartment in his truck, about to go and buzz up to let her know that he was there. Early. To pick her up. For their date. What was he thinking?

He was shaken out of his negative reverie when his phone buzzed four times in quick succession.

“I swear to god, if you’re sitting outside her apartment deliberating over actually picking her up or standing her up, I will drive there myself and beat some sense into you.”

“Hey man, Charlie’s had a little too much to drink (first weekend alone without Mateo) and she’s threatening your manhood if you stand up your date. Do not show up here alone, cabrón.”

“Dude, you’re bringing a date? Why haven’t I heard about this lovely lady?”

“Ignore him. He’s drunk.”

Pope could imagine his friends, his team, sitting around their reserved table at the beer garden, acting like millennials with their phones out, texting him and ignoring each other for a moment. They were insane…He loved them.

“Keep your shirts on, I’m coming.” He copied and pasted the message into the four separate threads and sent them off, ignoring when his phone buzzed again with what could only be a “That’s what she said” reply from Benny as he exited his truck and made his way to her lobby door.

He pressed the small white button next to her name and waited impatiently for her response.

“Hello?” the tinny machine garbled, but he had become accustomed to her voice. It was quickly becoming one of his favourite sounds, like the sound of the waves at the beach or the sound of his own heartbeat. Soothing.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey, c’mon up! I’ll be ready to go in five!”

Santi gulped then shook his head and pulled the door open when the lock clicked, signalling that she had unlocked it for him. What was he nervous about? He was god damn Delta Force. Some girl should not be shaking him up this bad.

Santi took the short elevator ride up to the fifth floor, trying to calm his hammering heart, and knocked on her door.

When the door creaked open, he was reminded that Rebecca Cooke wasn’t just ‘some girl’. He had taken one look at her, sweaty and red faced and face distorted from pressing into a massage table and been smitten. Every conversation he had with her dragged him further in, until he was hooked.

Now, standing in front of him, dressed in a sapphire blue lace dress that swished around her knees, he was smacked in the face with the fact that she was, in fact, the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. The short sleeves showed off the smoothness of her arms and the V-neck had him having to drag his eyes away from her décolletage.

“Hey Santi,” she smiled gently at him, moving in to place her hands on his shoulders as she placed a hesitant kiss on his cheek.

“Um…hey,” he replied, mentally kicking himself for being so lame. “Uh, these are for you.” He handed her the bouquet of wildflowers he had bought on a whim on his drive over.

Rebecca smiled up at him, a slight glimmer in her eyes as though he had just made her the happiest person on the planet. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” he blurted. She giggled, turning her back to him and he grimaced at the stupid cornball line.

“Let me put these in some water and grab my shoes, and we can go, okay?” she called back. He looked towards her retreating form and gulped at the sight of her bare back. Fuck, this was going to be a long night if he couldn’t get himself under control. If he was going to actively pursue Rebecca, he was going to do it properly.

“Uh, yeah. No worries.” He followed her a few steps into her home and peered around at the small space. It was a small apartment, cozy and warm. A suede sectional sofa overtook most of the living room, a soft looking throw blanket tossed over the side and brightly coloured patterned pillows were piled up on one end as though she had been searching for something. A variety of prints and pictures decorated her walls, everything from the infamous Kissing on VJ Day photo to a print of San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk by Monet, drawing his eye from one frame to another in rapid succession, drinking in the little details of the life she lived that he so desperately hoped to be a part of.

“Ready to go?”

His eyes were drawn back to her like magnets as she exited the small but spacious kitchen, glass vase in hand. She deposited the vase with the wildflowers on the side table next to the sofa, picked up her purse and held up her other hand, a pair of strappy sandals hanging from her finger.

“Uh…yeah. Sorry. It’s a, uh…it’s a nice place you’ve got here,” he managed to get out, cursing himself internally at his stupidity.

She smiled sweetly at him, that starry-eyed look still in her eyes as she clutched his arm to slide her sandals on.

“Thanks. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

She didn’t release his arm as they exited the apartment, clutching him close as she locked the door, as they rode the elevator, and exited the building. He shifted carefully to grip her hand and help her into his truck, closing the door softly behind her as he paced over to his door, silently coaching himself to not be a total idiot on this date.

She was into him. Holding onto his arm, looking at him the way she was. She liked him. All he had to do was not screw it up…and not let his friends screw it up.

He hauled himself up into the driver’s seat of the truck and let it idle for a minute as he double checked his mirrors. Finally, he pulled out of the parking lot and began the ten-minute drive to the Beer Garden.

“I, uh, I meant what I said. About your apartment. And about how beautiful you look. Because you do. Look beautiful, I mean. That dress is…nice.”

“Thanks.” An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, and Santi fidgeted with the wheel. He was halfway to convincing himself that this whole thing had been a bad idea when she turned to him. “Are you as nervous as I am?”

“Fuck yes,” he breathed, causing her to giggle. “I swear to god, I’m not normally like this.”

“I know, that’s why I asked! I thought you were either really nervous or completely regretting asking me out,” she sighed, leaning back in her seat as the tension began to slowly dissipate.

He waited until he pulled up to a red light to turn and meet her gaze. “The only regret I’d have is if I didn’t ask you out at all and was left wondering what might have happened if I’d just gotten my balls up and asked.”

He watched her eyes widen as she looked down at her lap, jerking the car back into motion as someone honked behind him.

“Can I confess something to you?” She waited for his nod. “I had a shot before you got to my place to try to calm my nerves, but I don’t think it worked. I just…why are we nervous? We’ve been friends for a couple of months now, right?”

“Right!” he exclaimed, laughing as he risked another look at her. “I don’t know, Bex. Maybe that’s why we’re nervous?”

She shrugged delicately, pulling her legs up into the seat as she twisted to watch him drive. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just…I really want this to go well, you know?”

Santi took a hand off the wheel and reached out to squeeze her hand. “I know. I really know.”

She sighed, twisting her hand in his grip until she could interlace their fingers. “Okay. So. We’re two friends. Going on a date. We’ll just…see how it goes, okay? At the end of the night, if we decide we’re better off as friends, you drop me off, give me a high five, and we’ll see each other on Monday at the clinic.”

“But?” he asked anxiously because, like he said, he knew. He knew how badly she wanted things to go well because he desperately wanted the same thing. He’d been drowning in her for months, and he felt like he was just now being taught how to swim.

“But…” he heard her take a shuddery breath. “But if things do go well, and I really hope they do, Santi…If things go well, we agree to go on that coffee date before our sessions on Monday. Deal?”

He squeezed her hand again. “Deal.”

**********

The Beer Garden was a nice place. A solid first date choice. There was liquor to settle the nerves, incredible food to snack on over conversation, a live band to dance along to, mood lighting, and an outdoor patio with fairy lights that was pretty fucking magical, if Santi was allowed to say so.

He and the team had been there once or twice, usually after completing a room at Santi’s house, but this was the first time both Charlie and Frankie would be joining them, since Mateo was off for a sleepover at Grandma’s house. In a way, Santi was grateful. Rebecca knew Charlie, and Charlie was very protective of her patients both inside and outside of the clinic. Santi knew that Charlie and Frankie would help make her feel welcome. Will wouldn’t be an issue. But Benny…when the kid drank, he drank hard, and he was a loudmouth stone cold sober. Hopefully, Will would be able to keep his kid brother in line.

Santi slowed as he felt the distance between him and Rebecca grow, their arms growing taut until he was forced to stop and turn around, lest he let go of her hand.

“Hey, you okay?” he moved to stand in front of her, shielding her from the busy wait staff and slightly drunken customers who were milling around the door to the outdoor patio.

She offered him a distracted nod, her free hand coming up to smooth her hair behind her ear. “Uh, I’m just gonna…” her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of Charlie sitting at a long picnic style table with a bunch of large men. She met his eyes urgently. “I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”

Again, Santi found himself watching her retreating form as he cursed his own actions. He thought that having a group hangout would be a good idea for a first date. It kept things loose and informal and, after their conversation in the truck, he thought it couldn’t hurt to have some people there to help things continue moving in the right direction. Besides, so many people had group first dates. It kept things light. Only, now Pope was seeing his mistake. He wasn’t just introducing Rebecca to his friends. He was introducing her to the most important people in his life. His closest friends. His team.

“Fuck…” he mumbled to himself as he watched her duck into the bathroom before nearly sprinting outside to the table. He dodged a few waiters and barbacks before slamming his hands down on the table, causing Benny to jump. “She’s in the bathroom, Chuck, don’t start,” he quickly stated, watching as Charlie’s eyes went from murderous to understanding in the space of a blink. He slowly met each and every one of their eyes. “If any one of you motherfuckers ruin this for me, I swear to god I’ll find a way to end you.”

“Hey, I like her already,” Charlie shrugged, tipping her glass back to swallow the last of the foam. “If you ruin this with her, I’ll be the one ending you.”

“Noted. Fish?” His best friend cocked an eyebrow at him and Santi nodded, communicating in that way that only best friends can. “Fair enough. Will?”

“Hey man, I just came out for a drink.”

“Yeah, I know,” he conceded, before fixing his eyes on the youngest member of the group. “Benny?”

“What? What am I gonna do?”

“Considering you’ve stared at every waitress’ ass as they walk by, and commented on two of the barbacks’ butts, I’d say you’re definitely the problem here, Ben,” Charlie commented lightly, leaning over to rest her head gently on Frankie’s shoulder, smiling softly when he planted a sweet kiss on her temple.

“Hey, I—”

“Shut up, she’s right,” Will growled into his glass.

“Fine, I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Happy?”

“Ecstatic. Charlie, did you collect on your little workplace bet?” She offered him a slightly drunken thumbs-up. “Good, you’re buying.” Pope considered the table before him before straightening and taking a few steps back towards the door. “Please, just be nice?”

“Hey, I’m always nice!” countered Benny, a cocksure grin on his face.

“Yeah, that’s what he’s afraid of, dipshit.”

The din of another Miller argument faded as Santi returned to his post just in time for Rebecca to emerge from the bathroom.

“Uh, sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” Santi wrapped his arm around her shoulder as he led her out onto the raised wooden patio. “You’re still nervous, huh?”

She nodded hesitantly. “Charlie’s fine, but the rest of your friends…”

Santi tugged her gently to the side and pulled her to a stop.

“Don’t worry about them, okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Santi, you fought a war with them. That’s not something I can just not worry about.”

“Look, they’re gonna love you. Trust me…” he looked over his shoulder to peer at his friends, who were all surreptitiously trying to both look at them and look natural. “They’re idiots, but they’re my idiots. Look…see that blond guy? That’s Will. You could set a bomb off next to him and he wouldn’t flinch.”

“Oh, so that’s Will the Wise?” Santi smiled at the moniker. He’d found himself dropping some of Will’s more memorable motivational quotes during physio, and she had come up with the name for his quiet but forceful friend. “And the one who hasn’t stopped staring at my ass is Benny, I assume?” Santi whipped his head around to see Benny subtly trying to peer around him to get a glance at Bex’s profile. He quickly moved into his field of view and turned his back on him. Benny wanted to check out a nice ass? He could feel free. “And I know Charlie, which makes the quiet one…?”

Santi smiled softly. “That’s Frankie.”

“I like him already.”

His smile grew at the pronouncement. “I figured you would. Frankie’s good people. Easy to get along with. Now, please don’t worry?” he gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze before running his hands up and down her arms soothingly. “They’re gonna see exactly what I see.”

“Which is?”

He smiled. “A stunningly beautiful, intelligent woman who I somehow suckered into going out with me. Ready?”

She gripped his hand again and smiled up at him. “Ready.”

**********

Things were going…well. Better than Santi had dared to hope. He didn’t know what Will had said, but Benny was being a real gentleman and keeping his mouth shut other than asking polite and interested questions about Bex’s work. Bex and Frankie had taken off like two peas in a pod, which gave him a warm feeling in his chest that he dared not name. Not now, anyway. Instead of examining his feelings, he decided to go get another drink.

He stood slowly, squeezing her hand when the angle got too awkward to maintain contact, and leaned down to ask, “You want another one, Bex?”

She smiled and nodded, “Yeah, would you mind getting me a pale ale this time?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!” Benny interrupted, leaning across the table towards them. “She got a nickname?”

Santi shot Will a look, but the older Miller just held his hands up in surrender, as if to say, “You brought it on yourself”.

“I-is that a problem?” Rebecca asked, looking around confused.

Frankie leaned forward, resting his free arm against the table and adjusting his grip around Charlie’s waist. “Every one of us has a nickname,” he explained quietly. “For us,” he gestured to the men. “It’s a military thing. Kind of like a right of passage.”

“I earned ‘Charlie’ after three months of seriously dating Frankie,” Charlie added, her voice only slightly muffled from her cheek resting on Frankie’s chest. “Chuck came three months after that, and then only Santi gets to call me that.”

“Oh…” Rebecca murmured, wrapping her arms around herself and looking around the table at the demolished plates of nachos, chicken wings, sliders, poutine, and potato wedges. Santi quickly retook his seat, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

It had been instinct, giving her a nickname. Rebecca was too formal for the spitfire who made him laugh so hard his abs hurt more than his knees after a physio session. Becca was cute but she had grimaced at the name, citing overuse in popular culture for her dislike. Rebbie made her snort, and Becky made him want to go find Douchebag Derek and give him a swift kick so there was no way his DNA would be reproduced.

She had loved the name Bex. It was rare, it was quick, it denoted her spark and her wit, and, best of all, he was the only one who used it. Now, it looked like she was feeling insecure in it.

“Frankie’s nickname is Catfish,” he piped up, not wanting her to think too much on the subject of him giving her a cute moniker so early in their relationship (week 3 to be exact).

It worked. Her head whipped around so quickly both Charlie and Santi winced.

“Really? Why?” she asked the man sitting next to her.

Frankie’s quick glare and microscope cock of the eyebrow went unnoticed by the entire table, except Santi, who gave him an apologetic half shrug.

“When we were in basic,” he began with a good-natured grumble. “We were all swapping stories one night, and the only good one I had was the one where my old man and I went out fishing together.” Rebecca watched as Charlie placed a small kiss on Frankie’s chest, just above the third highest button, where Frankie had evidently decided to quit, not that his fiancée was complaining about the excess skin on display. Clearly a sore subject, Rebecca filed away for later. “We went all day without catching a single fish, but just as we were about to call it quits, there’s a tug on my line. And I ended up reeling in a 17-pound catfish.”

“Last time you told the story it was 15 pounds,” Will muttered.

“I always heard 13,” Benny laughed.

“Eh, whatever. It was a big fish to 10-year-old me, okay?” Frankie downed the last of his beer. “Besides, it’s not as stupid as how Ironhead got his name.”

Santi laughed. “Oh, that’s a good one.” Will glared at him. “Hey man, Frankie told his story, now you’ve gotta tell yours.”

Will sighed as he sat forward, leaning in towards Rebecca. “So…I was probably the clumsiest private in basic training. Now, I could do push ups and sit ups like a champion, but the more complicated exercises…Well, let’s just say our drill sergeant didn’t know what the hell to do with me. Climbing a rope ladder? I’d get my foot twisted and end up hanging there like three-day old laundry on the line. Going on a march through the woods? I’d find the only rock in the road and trip over it. Field striping a rifle? I’d yank on something too quickly and give myself a black eye.” Rebecca giggled, bringing a smile to Santi’s face. “And inevitably, every time I screwed up, I’d end up smacking my head. One day, we were doing this exercise and I really got my bell rung. Our drill sergeant sent me to the infirmary because he knew there was no way in hell that I didn’t have a concussion. But I didn’t. Hell, I didn’t even pass out. When he found out, he was shocked. Said I must have the hardest skull on earth. Thus, Ironhead was born.”

“Pfft…” Benny snorted loudly, the sound breaking through Bex’s giggles and Charlie’s muffled chuckles. “It’s not even a good story, man! I coulda told your drill sergeant that you were clumsy as fuck the day you enlisted! Now, Pope’s…that’s a good fucking story,” he guffawed, leaning back as far as the bench seat would let him.

“Benny…” Will put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, which was quickly shrugged off. Santi fixed him with a glare, and Frankie was subtly drawing his hand over his neck, but Benny was too drunk to care.

“Pope?” Bex looked up at Santi confusedly, but he didn’t get the chance to explain before Benny’s crowing laughter boomed out once more.

“‘Oh god, oh god! Yes god! Yes! Please, god. Por favor, mi dios! Oh my god, oh my god!’,” Benny’s voice rang out in a poor imitation of a girlish squeal. He threw his head back and laughed drunkenly, almost falling off the bench seat. “We thought for sure that Corporal had to have the Pope himself in her room for her to be screaming for God that loudly. But no. Turned out to only be Santiago Garcia, known almost exclusively as Pope from then on out.”

Bex looked between the two men, eyes wide, before standing and squeezing out into the crowd, heading back towards the bathrooms.

“At least I got a nickname, jackass,” Santi hissed, kicking away from the table. “I didn’t spend my whole military career known only as ‘Will’s Little Brother Benny’.”

Santi turned and chased after Rebecca, praying she hadn’t gone too far.

“What? What did I say?” Benny asked, half a potato skin hanging out of his mouth.

“If this fucks them up, I’ll kick your ass for both of them,” Charlie groaned, unable to take her eyes away from where her two friends had just disappeared.

**********

He found her standing under the strings of lights that hung above the front door.

“Y-you weren’t thinking of leaving, were you?” he asked in a slightly trembling voice.

She turned to him, eyes bright, and chuckled. “No…I just needed some air. Well,” she looked around the darkened city street. “Some different air. Front fresh air instead of back fresh air. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“It’s okay,” he shrugged out of his jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders as she shivered. “I…I’m sorry about Benny. He’s an idiot most of the time, but when he drinks…”

“He could win the Nobel Prize for Darwinism?”

He chuckled, a soft smirk appearing on his face. “Yeah, something like that.” They stared up at the dark sky for a long moment, a hesitant peace falling between them. “That story he told…I’m not exactly proud of the way I used to be. I hope you know that.”

Rebecca shrugged delicately. “We all have a past. We all have things we’re not proud of. What matters is who we are today. And you want to know something?” she looked up at him with those eyes, and he pressed down the urge to kiss her.

“What?”

“I really like who you are today,” she whispered, bringing a smile to his face.

“I really like who you are every day,” he whispered back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, his smile growing even larger when she leaned into him. “You ready to get out of here?”

She wrapped his jacket tighter around her body. “Yeah, it’s getting a little chilly.”

He nodded in agreement, gave her a quick squeeze and released her. “I’ll go grab my wallet and we can get going.”

Santi wove his way back through the crowded Beer Garden until he reached the table, quietly scooping up his wallet.

“Everything okay?” Frankie asked quietly as Charlie dozed on his chest.

“Yeah, tell your firecracker that she doesn’t have to kick any asses. See you tomorrow?” Frankie nodded as Santi pulled out a crisp twenty and threw it on the table. “Adios, hermano,” he murmured, bringing his hand gently down upon Frankie’s cap and giving his head a slight jiggle. “Will, can you get me that info on that electrician?” Will nodded as Santi clapped a hand down on his shoulder, bringing his hand up to gently clasp his buddy’s forearm before Santi removed it to give Benny a quick swat on the back of the head.

“Hey!” Santi fixed him with a glare. “Yeah, okay. I deserved that. Night man.”

Santi strolled out of the restaurant, a smile tugging at his lips when he saw Rebecca, wrapped in his jacket, staring at the restaurant doors, waiting for him. That warm feeling in the pit of his stomach came back full force, and, for the first time, he didn’t want it to go away.

**********

His truck quietly slid into a parking spot out front of her apartment building.

“Well…” she murmured. “I guess this is me.”

Santi nodded, a sigh building in his chest. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t want a simple dinner date to end, but he wanted it to continue. He wanted to keep talking to her, keep listening to her, keep touching her.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll walk you to the front door,” he stated, desperate to stretch their remaining few seconds as long as he could.

She smiled and waited as he made his way around the front of the truck, opening her door and offering her his hand. They strolled the maybe twenty paces to the front door and stopped, turning to face each other while their free hands sought each other out.

“I had a really nice time. Your friends are great. Frankie’s awesome.”

“He really is.”

“Well…uh…good night, Santi.”

“Bex?” he tugged slightly on her hands, so she remained facing him. “I…” That warm feeling in his stomach burst. “Oh, fuck it,” he pressed forward, planting his lips on hers the way he had been imaging since he had picked her up four hours previous. Sweet and tender, raw and full of something that would go unnamed for a while but had so much potential. He pulled back for the space of a breath, taking in her closed eyes and slightly parted lips. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

Finally, her eyes opened. “Don’t stop,” she quietly pled, freeing her hands to place them on either side of his face, tugging him back to her lips.

They stood there for what could have been minutes or hours, neither knew nor cared. It was like every moment of their friendship had been leading them to this moment, and they wanted to live in it forever.

It wasn’t until the nearby sound of a fire truck siren starting up broke the serene quiet that they broke apart.

“So, uh…coffee on Monday?” she asked, eyes slightly glazed over and lips plump.

“Definitely.”

**********

Tags list: @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @eternallyvenus, @rae-rae-patcha, @himbopoes, @sophoclese, @phoenixhalliwell, @buckstaposition, @who-talks-first

#santiago pope garcia x oc #santiago pope garcia x rebecca cooke #not another fairytale ending fic #first date fic #series #triple frontier fanfic #frankie catfish morales #santiago pope garcia #oscar issac #pedro pascal #slow burn #but its not that slow

38 notes · View notes

saphyrenights · 4 years ago

Note

*whispers sensually* scilescoe transformers >:3

Nonnie...nani?

“I-I-I don’t know how to explain it, Scott. It’s just...humanoid now.” Stiles grit his teeth and put the phone closer to his face. “And I’m kinda into it.”

There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the phone. “What?” Scott finally said. It was close to 2AM, and Stiles almost certainly woke Scott from a sound sleep. He expected the grogginess, but he needed to make sure Scott took him seriously.

“Look, I’ll send a pic. Hold on.” Stiles backed up to get as much of the baby blue behemoth in frame as he could in the deserted Dairy Queen parking lot. Luckily, he’d parked under a light, so the Jeep was suitably bathed in amber light. Enough for a photo. He snapped the pic and sent it to Scott.

There was another long moment of silence. Finally, Scott said, “Dude. What happened to your Jeep? It’s, like, really buff.”

“I know! Scott, you have to get down here and help me with this!”

“What do you want me to do, exactly? I’m not a mechanic.” He chuckled a little at his own joke. Stiles groaned.

Suddenly, the sound of metal scraping against metal cut thorough the relative peace of the parking lot. “Let me speak to him,” a voice rumbled in the darkness.

Stiles looked around to see who was speaking, but when he turned back to the now-human-shaped Jeep, the Jeep was looking right at him. It even flashed its headlights in Stiles’ face.

“Um,” Stiles gulped, his hand trembling around the phone. “I’m gonna put us on speaker. Okay?”

Roscoe nodded. Stiles tapped the speaker icon and held the phone out to the Jeep.

“Hello, Scott. This is Roscoe.” The voice rumbled around Stiles like thunder, sending deep vibrations into every corner of his body. Words failed to describe the experience, but a part of Stiles wanted to hear Roscoe speak forever.

“You know how Stiles lets you drive me, on occasion? Do you want me to tell him what you sometimes do with your foot on my clutch when we’re stopped at red lights?”

“Wha-” there was a scuffling sound and a loud thunk on Scott’s line. A few seconds later, “How do...I mean...Stiles are you joking, right now? Did it just talk?!”

“Yes. And this is beyond awesome.” Stiles got a little closer to the Jeep and gingerly placed his hand along Roscoe’s now upright fender. Startled, he quickly pulled his hand away. The Jeep was warm. Roscoe emitted a low, rhythmic reverberation that may have been a chuckle. Stiles shivered, his cheeks paradoxically warm.

He spun away from the Jeep and spoke directly into the phone. “Scott, please get your ass down here before I engage in a crime against nature.”

“Yes, Scott. Please hurry,” Roscoe rumbled.

Less than 10 minutes later, Scott rolled up on his bike, still in his pajama pants, a thin flannel he’d tossed on over his tank top, and bedhead at maximum thanks to the helmet he’d just removed. “How did this happen?” he asked as he drew closer to Stiles. That was a question Stiles should have put more thought into before now, but he wasn’t about to admit that.

“Like I said, I can’t explain it. Magic? A spell or something?”

“Yeah, maybe. But I don’t sense anything magic related.” Scott paused and sniffed the night air. “I can tell you exactly who’s horny right now, though.”

“This isn’t about me,” Stiles muttered.

“No,” Roscoe said, suddenly serious. “This is about both of you.” He took a step toward them, and Scott’s claws popped out almost immediately in response. Stiles’ mind briefly flashed on the government issued 9mm he kept hidden in his glovebox, where ever that may be inside Roscoe’s rearranged body.

Roscoe stopped in his tracks. “I do not wish to harm you.”

“Then what do you want?” Scott asked. Somehow he was able to see through the Jeep’s hotness and ask all the questions Stiles should have asked awhile ago.

Roscoe sagged a little, and Stiles could swear he looked...sad? “My people need your help. You see, I’m not the real Roscoe. I and a few of my compatriots have been sent here to find someone who can help stop the war that’s tearing my planet apart. We’ve been watching you two for some time.”

“And?” Stiles asked.

“We have witnessed your many accomplishments and determined that you are our best chance at defeating the great evil. Please, come with me.”

Scott looked at Stiles. This makes zero sense, his expression said. Stiles gave him the I agree with you, but let’s just see where this goes eyebrows. Scott rolled his eyes and turned back to the Jeep.

“What do you mean when you say ‘compatriots?’ How many of you are there?”

Roscoe smiled. “Assessing the threat. Very good. This is why we think you can help us.” He took another tentative step forward, and when Scott made no move to attack him, he continued. “We infiltrated a local Toyota dealership a few years ago based on intel we’d received about a group of fierce warriors who lived here.”

“Scott’s pack.”

“Yes,” the Jeep replied. “You two were the first, and so you will come with me.”

“Okay,” Stiles said. Scott tugged on the back of his hoodie to stop him.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Scott asked him.

“It’s Roscoe, Scott. We can trust him.”

“We can tr-...Stiles, you’ve never trusted anything in your entire life. I know how much you love your Jeep, but did you miss the part where he said he wasn’t the real Roscoe? For all we know, this could be some kind of trap.”

“Scott,” Roscoe interrupted, “would you like for me to tell Stiles about my clutch, now?”

Scott released Stiles’ hoodie. “Are you blackmailing me? Really?”

“What’d you do to his clutch?” Stiles might not have been able to smell other people’s emotions, but he definitely recognized the cute blush creeping up Scott’s neck.

“Nothing,” Scott insisted.

Stiles snorted. “Liar.”

Roscoe swung open one of his doors. Scott and Stiles saw the inside had been transformed into something that resembled a cockpit. Stiles could barely contain his excitement; it’s as if all his childhood mecha dreams were finally coming true. But one thing immediately stood out to him.

“There’s only one seat,” Stiles pointed out.

Roscoe shrugged. “A minor design flaw. I assure both of you will be safe during our intergalactic journey.”

“Intergalactic?!” they said simultaneously.

Roscoe shifted his gaze up to the night sky. “My planet, Cybertron, is beyond the boundaries of your galaxy. We must hurry.”

Scott turned pleading eyes to Stiles. “I have an owl scheduled for surgery in the morning. And someone brought in a stray cat that’s going to have kittens any day now. I don’t want to add ‘stop an alien civil war’ to that list.”

Stiles gently squeezed Scott’s arm in sympathy, but frankly, Stiles was looking forward to being gone for awhile. Today was his last day of vacation, and a mountain of boring paperwork awaited him at him back at the FBI field office.

Also, Roscoe was hot.

“Will your people tell our family and friends where we are?” Stiles asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“See?” Stiles felt Scott relax the tiniest bit.

“And my bike?” he asked.

“One of my people will retrieve it.”

Stiles grabbed Scott’s hand, and together, they approached the open door. Stiles climbed inside first.

“Hey, wait-” Scott couldn’t get the whole sentence out before Stiles had claimed the only cockpit chair and started touching shiny, multicolored blinking buttons in awe. Once Scott was also inside the cramped quarters, Roscoe close the door behind them.

“Where am I supposed to sit?” Scott asked.

Stiles reached out and hauled him down onto his lap. “Right here. It’s just like when we were kids.”

Scott apparently saw the futility in protesting, so he tried to make himself as comfortable in Stiles’ lap as he could. A little too comfortable. Scott was a warm, heavy weight in Stiles’ lap, and his body seemed to apply pressure to Stiles’ body in all the right/wrong places. After a few seconds of enduring the best kind of torture imaginable, Stiles tapped Scott’s shoulder.

“Um, Scotty? Buddy?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But if you don’t do something, this is going to be a really long trip for both of us, so can you maybe calm down?”

“My beloved Jeep is a person now, and I get to go to space with my best friend. Can you blame me for being excited about that?”

“Excited? Yeah, you are. In more ways than one,” Scott muttered. He slid back a little more into Stiles’ lap. Stiles choked off a curse.

“Only one thing is gonna fix that,” Stiles said, his voice sounding a little huskier than he intended. “Maybe two.”

“Oh, my God. You’re the worst, Stiles.”

“If you really believed that, you would have asked me to switch. But you didn’t, did you?”

Scott adjusted his butt yet again. The torture was deliberate and would apparently not be ending any time soon. Stiles sighed. That seemed completely fair somehow.

As though making the decision for both of them, a seat belt snaked out of one side of the chair and connected to the other side with a mechanical click. The belt tightened over them, pulling Scott even more firmly into Stiles’ lap.

He tried really hard not to think about how his half-chubb was now nestled neatly in the cleft of Scott’s ample, supernaturally warm, pajama-clad ass.

Roscoe’s voice filtered into the cockpit through hidden speakers. “Are you two settled?

“As settled as we’re gonna be,” Scott replied. He sounded calm, but Stiles knew him well enough to tell he was far from okay. Their position was a little awkward, but Stiles still managed to take hold of Scott’s hand. He was relieved when Scott interlaced their fingers and held on for dear life.

The lights dimmed in the cabin, and the sound of something charging up resonated all around them.

Just before lift off, Stiles had to ask. “Scott, what exactly did you do to Roscoe’s clutch?”

Scott sighed. “Nothing, I swear...”

#foreversciles #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #scilescoe #joeldawsons #mobile users there's a cut #divvy do you mind if it tag on this :)#nonnie #my fic #been awhile

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sapphicoftheworld · 4 years ago

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Okay so I wrote a short story. It’s got some elements of Southern Gothic lit, but I wouldn’t necessarily call it that because that’s just not my writing style. It’s about 2k words so I’ll put just a few sentences above the cut :)

The vase of sunflowers that sat on the kitchen table were the center of attention. No mind should be paid to the anemic meat on the counter. Yes, it's fresh, but very insignificant. Even the honeycomb and two halves of a pomegranate, which are to be paired with the meat, are all the more intriguing. They are fresh from the backyard and cultivated to perfection, specifically for this occasion.

And do not at all worry about the bleeding skull in the back. If one were to look closely, it is possible one would find the skull with gold dripping down from the top, much like a vanilla ice cream cone dipped in chocolate, that was in dire need of jaw surgery. Of course its original owner had no use for it anymore, so I suppose it could go without the surgical procedure, but there is something undignified about a skull with a broken jaw, especially if that jaw were splattered with blood. Naturally that blood would match that of the painfully boring meat on the counter; for it would be silly for one to think there would be two different types of blood in the kitchen at the same time.

But nevermind those insanely boring details; the real star of the show, as I've said before, are the sunflowers. They lay beautifully in a glass vase in the center of the table, looking absolutely stunning. Almost in full bloom, perhaps this evening or the morrow’s morn will they peak, with the most dazzling, deep golden yellow hue. Strong luscious petals balanced gently but firmly with a sturdy center of deep brown. The seeds these flowers produced made the most wonderful yet distinguishable treat. They grew in a small field just a stone’s throw from the back porch. It was about twenty feet by twenty feet and when the conditions were just right, could rear about 100 plants if all survived. Growing no less than six feet tall, they tower over everyone, creating the most magical place to escape to. A place where one is untouchable; immune and separated from all outside unpleasantries. The world could go up in flames and I’d be none the wiser in the sunflower field. In here the air feels crisper and the sun warmer. It’s as if all of one’s problems and all that is unjust in the world has floated away to some other reality.

Today was just like every other day--nothing out of the ordinary and utterly pedestrian. The weather was pleasant enough so one could sit outside with a glass of lemonade (or a Bellini if one is feeling particularly cheeky) and not worry about blisters on one's skin. Inside, the kitchen fan mildly spun about, revolution after revolution, which was sufficient enough to keep flies off the meat and skull. There’s something uncanny about the flies here; they seem rather attracted to blood. This is strikingly peculiar because there are rather quite a few around here. And that is clearly rather mad, for why would any noticeable trace of blood be here?

Ah but nevermind the matter; the glory days of complete comprehension and understanding are long past. Furthermore, Mrs. Ignara was at the door now. I knew it was her before she knocked; she had a way of fixing herself up as to be presentable before interacting with anyone. Why, I’m perplexed myself, because she is the most put together woman I know; everything about her seems to exude this attitude of “I am a woman who is functioning at a level that is admirable yet unachievable; you wish and strive to be where I am but you know you could not handle a day in my life”. I think I may be in love with her, but then again most everyone who sees her falls in love with her; yet I do feel as if we share some sort of unspoken bond. Hmm. No matter what is true and what is real, I appreciate and covet her companionship.

As I walked over to the front door, there was a hint of unfamiliarity in the air. This would have struck me as odd, but one can never be prepared for everything life throws at oneself, and not knowing what lies ahead is exciting anyways. The thrill of being blind.

Blindness itself is not exhilarating, rather quite melancholy instead. Unable to experience the little joys of life: the joy on someone’s face as they’re given something mind and body numbing; the life leaving their eyes and draining from their body. The absolute power of being in control.

At the front door stood Mrs. Ignara, looking perfectly exquisite and holding a nice bottle of white wine with lobsters on the label, and next to her someone I had never met before. A man of perhaps ordinary height and firm but subtle build. He wore light brown slacks and a rosy button down shirt that had tiny crustaceans on it, only visible to those who looked closely. His right arm leaned on the frame of the door, very nonchalant but with a note of desperation, and his other hand rested gently on his side.

“Hey howdy hey there stranger,” Mrs. Ignara said. “Care for some company and wine?”

I smiled at the proposal. “Won’t say no to a good time.”

“This here handsome thing is Jude. You’ll like him. He’s,” she paused to glance over at him, “cool.”

“Hello,” Jude said. “I’m delighted to be joining you today.”

“Ah well the pleasure is all mine,” I say, leading them into the kitchen. “Have a seat while I grab some glasses.”

Mrs. Ignara and Jude sat down across from one another on the far end of the table opposite the kitchen sink. Grabbing the nice glasses from the corner cabinet, I turn to face my guests. The view was remarkable. A long, slender dining table of the finest maple trees fitted with three hideous floral chairs on each side and one at each head. They were upholstered with a wretched canvas fabric, a smothering of blue flowers of various shades and variety that exudes nausea and insanity, supported by shiny silver metal frames. Two guests sat at the end, one of whom I knew absolutely nothing and the other I desperately longed to know. And of course, for who could ever forget, the sunflowers in the vase on the table at the center of attention. My pride and joy. If I saw the view in front of me every day, forever, I would remember this time. I brought forth the glasses and easily poured the wine.

“I hope you don’t mind I made lunch. It’s impossible to know what everyone likes, but I’ve never failed with bass. They’re fresh from the lake in the back.” I left my company for a second and returned with two plates of fried fish.

“My, my, why aren’t you handy in the kitchen,” Mrs. Ignara said playfully.

“Oh, you charmer,” I said blushing.

“Won’t you join us?” Jude asked.

I waited for a moment, contemplating my response. He seems the right type.

“While I do apologize for not being the most courteous host, I am quite content from breakfast and have a most intensive dinner planned,” I gestured to the back counter where the dull, soulless meat lay. “I know it may not look like much, but I am talented with a knife and skillet.”

Jude looked behind me at the meat and honeycomb and pomegranates. For a moment there I thought I saw the slightest inclination of terror in his eyes, but it must have been the light because it was gone before I could be certain. This, whatever it was, lingered in the back of my mind, not my central point of focus but not so deep I couldn’t recall it. His eyes flicked back to my own and smiled at me knowingly.

“You have been nothing but delightful,” he said. “I can only imagine what wonders you can create.”

“That is awfully kind of you to say of me. Would the two of you care to join me in a stroll through the sunflower field? It really is rather quite magical and wondrous.”

“Oh! I would love nothing else!” said Mrs. Ignara.

“Fantastic. And you, Jude?”

“Thank you very much for the kind invitation, but I must decline; I’m not very fond of enclosed spaces and much prefer to be indoors.”

“You, my dear, will be missing out, but that is how life goes. Feel free to open any bottle of red wine up. Top shelf is the sweetest, middle the sharpest, and bottom the richest.”

With that, Mrs. Ignara and I left the kitchen and headed out to the backyard. We walked together in identical stride, passing the beehives on the left and the pomegranate trees on the right. Just before entering the sunflower field, Mrs. Ignara and I stopped for a moment. She looked to me for reassurance and I gave her a gentle nod of encouragement. Taking my hand, she and I stepped into the sunflowers. Immediately, I felt more relaxed. My lungs breathed clearer air and my skin felt warmer sun. The weight of whatever had haunted and plagued me was released from my shoulders. Mrs. Ignara squeezed my hand and I remembered where I was. The look on her face was pure ecstasy. She radiated elation and was the embodiment of joy. I have never seen such beauty. We laughed and spun about without fear of perception. Falling gently to the ground, we laid next to one another with a pleasant sigh. She looked over at me with an expression of bliss I had not seen in many moons. There was something about her that made me feel safe.

“What is it?” She asked, sensing something was wrong.

“What is what?”

“In your face, there is delight but in your eyes, there’s a note of hesitation.”

“You know me so well,” I said. “I love it in here. It’s a magical place with deep, strong, true feelings.”

“But?”

“But it doesn’t last forever. What is true is not always real.”

“Hey,” she whispered softly, bringing me in close. “We don’t get to decide what is true, but we have the power to choose what is real.” She touched her forehead to mine and we closed our eyes for a moment, then two.

When I opened my eyes on the third moment, Mrs. Ignara stood above me offering her hand. I graciously took it and we walked out of the sunflower field together, hand in hand. My knees felt like they had buckled when I took my first step out of the sunflower field. Evening had been birthed during the few minutes Mrs. Ignara and I spent with the sunflowers; the light of the world had almost dwindled away completely. We moved in identical stride to where we had previously been before, only to find something peculiar.

On the floor in front of the table where we sat not too long ago, laid an unfamiliar body. It had on a dark navy, long sleeve shirt and black slacks, both of which looked damp. Upon its head was a thick mound of matted brown hair. A thick pool of red had begun to seep from underneath the body, slowly spreading across the floor. I bent down and dipped my finger in the red. It was a warm, dark color. Slowly I brought my finger to my mouth, it tasted sharp and metallic, but was distracted by the sound of footsteps in the kitchen. As I stood up, the red dripped from my knees where I knelt down and had coated my hand. What I saw had brought a smile to my face and joy to my heart: Jude stood at the head of the table that was made of the finest maple trees. He held a plate in his hands, identical to those which had been placed on the table for Mrs. Ignara and myself opposite one another. They all had three rare cuts of newly inspired meat paired with a honey and pomegranate glaze. Next to each plate was a glass of red wine. The hideous floral chairs had become all the more pleasant, the supple canvas fabric had turned the loveliest shade of violet, and the multitude of flowers radiated euphoria.

I looked at Mrs. Ignara, then at Jude and melted. She and I walked to our designated seats on either side of him and sat down.

“Everything went alright?” I asked.

“Yes, very much so. Although, I do have to apologize for the mess; you see, as I was bringing a bottle of red from the middle shelf to the counter to pour a glass, it slipped right out of my hands and smashed to the floor.”

“Well isn’t this special,” Mrs. Ignara said, placing her napkin in her lap.

“Every meal deserves attention and devotion. Let’s have a toast,” said Jude lifting his wine glass. Mrs. Ignara and I followed suit. “To this meal, and all that contributed to it.”

We all gently clinked our glasses with one another and drank. As I went to set my rich red down, something in the kitchen caught my eye. What the back counter lacked in banal meat, honeycomb, and pomegranate seeds, it made up for with two skulls--one with gold dripping down the sides and a broken, blood spattered jaw; the other with a deep crimson stain, originating from the left superior temporal line and spreading outward. It was quite the satisfying sight.

In front of me, however, was much more impressive. Two guests sat with me, one of whom I had loved at first sight and the other I was learning to love. And of course, for how could they go unmentioned, were the elegant sunflowers in a case at the center of the table and the center of attention. At the peak of bloom, they set the mood for the rest of the night.

#okay so #i know i didn't need the indents at each para because tumblr breaks them with a space #but i put it anyways bc ~aesthetic~#lmao anyways #my writing #writing #ok to rb #pls rb #creative writing #txt

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the-weeping-author · 5 years ago

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Hate to Love Chapter 3

A/N: sorry if this chapters boring It’s a slow burn so yee yee but I hope you guys enjoy it overall cause they way I see it going it’s going to be good.

Warnings: a little angst, cussing and self blame. (I thinks that’s it.)

Tag list: @ahoy-stevieboy @thehair-ington @linkispink1995 @theworldisugly-22 @harringtown @phoebethepheebs @spiritsent @gardeniasandwhiskey @lxvesickreality @bluebellbrooke @harrington-ofhawkins

Please enjoy ☺️

It was Monday November 7th, 1983 but just a regular Monday morning, I got up and walked into the kitchen to see my brother Jonathan making us breakfast.

“Where the hell are they... Johnathan?”

My mom walked quickly in the living room and called out for my brother.

“Check the couch.”

Johnathan sighed and replied back to her.

“I did... ugh got them.”

I smiled to myself when I heard her keys jingle, She walked back into the kitchen.

“Alright guys I will see you tonight.”

Johnathan looked back and then turned his attention back to the eggs.

“Yeah see you later.”

She looked at the empty chair beside me and looked between Johnathan and I.

“Where’s will?”

Johnathan looked back at her.

“Oh I didn’t get him up yet.”

I looked at my mom and smiled.

“Poor kid must still be asleep.”

I said as I started to wipe the sleep out of my eyes.

My mom looked at both of us.

“Sara, Jonathan you have to make sure he’s up.”

Jonathan looked at her then started putting eggs on the plate.

“I’m making breakfast.”

I pushed my brown hair out of my face and looked back at my mom as she was walking down the hallway.

“Mom How am I supposed to make sure Will’s up if I just got up?”

She ignored my comment and continued walking.

“I’ve told y’all this a thousand times.”

She got to Wills door

“will honey time to get up.”

I let out a low chuckle when she clapped outside his room like a drill Sergeant.

She walked back into the kitchen and looked at us both panicked and started to sketch it’s way across her face.

“He came home last night right?”

I looked at Jonathan and he looked at me.

“Um yeah or at least I thought so, I could have sworn he was in bed last night.”

Johnathan looked at me then back at her.

“I don’t know I was working, Nate asked if I could take a shift, he was at the wheelers all day.”

She walked over to the phone and looked at us both while dialing the number.

“I can’t believe you guys, I can’t believe you guys.. sometimes.”

She put the phone up to her ear and I stood up and went to my room to get ready for school.

When I came back into the kitchen brushing my hair I threw on some pants and a tank top with a denim jacket and put my black vans on.

“Maybe he went to school early.”

I looked at my mom and saw worry cross her face and my stomach immediately went in knots. When she hung up the phone she just looked at us.

I arrived at school in my Chevy Impala, immediately I saw Barb talking to Nancy wheeler. I sighed, walked over to them.

“Hey did Will spend the night last night?”

They both looked at me. Nancy had a confused look on her face. Barb hugged me, while Nancy shook her head.

“No they left around eight last night, who are you again?”

I bit my lip and I looked at the floor when Barb caught our attention.

“Sara, you look smoking.”

I looked back up at her, smiled when I looked at Nancy, she genuinely looked shocked.

I didn’t want the attention I knew was coming to me especially with Barb, Tina and now Nancy. I adjusted my book bag, gave them a smile.

“Uh yeah I did, is it that noticeable?”

Before Barb could answer Nancy cut in.

“Uh yeah Sara it is, we aren’t the only ones who notice.”

I was confused until I saw kids looking at us.

“You went from lame to babe.”

Barb said which made me smile, I looked at them.

“Alright I know shit hasn’t changed around here but could you guys show me to my locker?”

Nancy nodded, latching one arm around mine. Barb latched onto my other arm. When we walked in school

All eyes were on us, I motioned the girls to get closer to me.

“Why are they looking at us?”

A smile formed on Nancy’s lips while Barb whispered back to me.

“They aren’t looking at us, they are looking at you.”

I looked at Barb biting my lip, walking by everyone I could hear the whispers along with the lingering gazes burning into me as we passed them.

After they showed me to the locker they somehow knew I’d get I was off to the main office to get my schedule.

On the way I saw the last three people I wanted to see. Steve “the hair” Harrington, Tommy H Along with his girlfriend carol.

I acted like I didn’t see them, but they saw me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Steve motion his head at me. Tommy and Carol turned to look at me, I felt like I was going to throw up.

I heard Tommy say something about competition which made Carol scoff. If Tommy told Carol she had competition he was wrong.

“That kinda looks like Sara Byers.”

I heard Steve say, Carol quickly replied mortified.

“No way that’s Sarah Byers.”

Tommy immediately spoke after her.

“Yeah dude I have to agree with carol there’s no way that’s Sara Byers. I mean you guys have to remember what Sara looked like.”

I smirked to myself as I heard them talk, I mean come on how stupid did you have to be. I only lost weight and changed the clothes I wore. It's not like I had plastic surgery done.

I continued walking to the main office when I heard someone coming from behind me.

“Hey new girl wait up.”

I shouldn’t have stopped but I decided to wait for the person calling after me, when I saw who it was my heart dropped. It was none other than the king of Hawkins high Steve.

“Hey what’s your name?”

I looked at him raising a brow.

“Why do you want to know?”

He flashed me a smile that did something to my stomach.

“Cause I want to be your friend is that okay?”

I raised a brow at him pushing the sudden knot in my stomach.

“No thanks, I’ve already heard about your rep around here, but my name's Sara.”

His smile turned into a sly grin.

“I knew it was you, you look great by the way.”

I let out a laugh at him, pushed some hair behind my ear.

“Well I’m glad you along with the rest of Hawkins high thinks so.”

He looked at me raising an eyebrow letting a sly smirk come across his face.

“Oh so the whole schools been watching you?”

I looked at me rolling my eyes, then looked back at him.

“Of course they have, I mean just look at me i've totally changed.”

He smiled at me looking over my body.

“You definitely have.”

He smirked, I rolled my eyes at his sudden mood change, I looked him right in the eyes.

“Yeah well Steve as nice as this conversation is Steve I’ll have to talk to you later.”

He waved his hand at me as if he was dismissing me, I swear it took everything in me not to punch him in his face.

“Alright Sara I’ll see you next time.”

I scoffed at his arrogance, shoulder bumping into him while walking away. A part of me was sad I could have hoped he had changed over the summer, I was clearly wrong.

As I continued my mission to the guidance counselors office to get my schedule I started to over think the things that took place this morning.

“What if Will not coming home is my fault, I should have been a better sister. Johnathan is right, I'm a bad sister. I drove my little brother away. I mean maybe my father was right, maybe it was too late to try and make things right. My grandparents warned me about guys like Steve, I never listened just like my mother didn’t. I’m selfish, my little brother is missing and probably terrified, here I am wanting approval from a grade A asshole.”

My eyes started stinging, my breath started to get shallow. I quickly wiped at them mumbling under my breath.

My eyes started stinging, my breath started to get shallow. I quickly wiped at them mumbling under my breath

“Right now is not the time for a mini breakdown.”

*time skip*

School seemed to go by faster than any regular first day, I think it’s because I wasn’t really paying attention. At lunch Nancy and Barb talked about Steve which I totally wasn’t paying attention to which concerned Barb.

She knew all about my crush on Steve since middle school, I didn’t have time for boy drama. I had to find my little brother. After all, I felt responsible for him running away.

I walked to my impala noticing the party, instead of getting in the car I walked over to them.

“Hey guys, have you seen Will at all?”

They all looked at me but Dustin was the first to speak back to me.

“Who the hell are you?”

I looked at Dustin along with the other members of the party but they looked just as confused as Dustin did.

“Oh my god guys it’s me Sara. Sara Byers.”

“Holy shit you’re skinny.”

Mike smacked Dustin on the arm, which resulted in Dustin smacking Mike back then they started arguing.

“Hey, Hey, Hey dipshits have you seen or heard from Will?”

They stopped what they were doing shaking their heads.

“Nope not since last night, wait so he’s really missing?”

I looked at them reassuringly, I pushed my bookbag strap back on my shoulder smiling softly at them.

“Guys just forget I said anything okay.”

They looked at me but Dustin rolled his eyes.

“Sara how can we just forget that one of our best friends is missing?”

I looked at them sighing.

“Forget I said that just please don't get in trouble.”

Mike looked at me raising an eyebrow.

“Chief Hopper talked to you too?”

I looked at Mike tilting my head at him.

“What do you mean Chief Hopper talked to you guys?”

“He was just asking us about will and he said that if we heard from him to report it.”

I looked at them kind of relieved that the chief was involved but something felt off, I didn’t know how to feel at that moment but again I just shrugged it off. After I made them promise me they would be safe I let them go home.

While I was walking to my car I noticed The Three Musketeers standing near Steve's car. Steve pushed off his car while Tommy along with Carol were asking where he was going. I tried to get my stuff in my car before Steve made it to my car, but I was moving too slow.

“So Sara what are your plans this weekend?”

I looked up at Steve smiling sarcastically obviously over this conversation.

“Well unlike you I’m busy.”

He looked at me, his smile dropping. He stood up straight pulling his jacket down some looking at me.

“Oh let me guess Miss.priss you’re just going to stay home and do homework all weekend?”

I looked at him rolling my eyes.

“Well Steve I'm going to help look for my brother.”

He raised his brow at me a look of concern shot across his face.

“Oh shit really anything I can do to help?”

I looked at him, my face softening letting my guard down. Just as fast as it was let down it went up just as fast.

“No thanks Steve as much help as we need I would only want people there who would actually help not just to uphold a reputation.”

He looked genuinely hurt by my comment but I honestly didn’t care anymore where was his sympathy for me when they called me humpty dumpty?

“Now if you'll excuse me i have to go home now my mom needs me.”

He looked at me, smiling sadly looking down at his shoes.

“Oh okay I-I understand I guess.”

I smiled at him, then got in my car buckling up switching the car on. Slowly backing out of the school parking lot then driving to my house, when i got there i saw chief hoopers car outside my house.

When I walked in I saw Jonathan and my mother sitting on the couch while Chief hopper was standing in front of them.

“Mom what's going on?”

She looked up at me and wiped her nose standing up.

“It's about your brother, they found his bike.”

My heart sank seeing his bike in the living room tears started prickling in my eyes.

“M- Mom what's going on where's Will?”

My mom wiped her nose with the tissue in her hand smiling while trying not to cry.

“Honey they’ve looked all through where they found his bike, but they didn’t find any trace of him.”

“What does that even mean mom? He couldn't have just vanished.”

Hopper looked at my mom then at me.

“Look kid we aren't giving up we just have no leads, we’ve looked everywhere do you think your dad would have taken him?”

I looked at Hopper confused. I mean what could my father have to do with this? He doesn't want anything to do with us but he was a suspect.

“Maybe I honestly don't know I don't see what he could get out of taking Will.”

A tear fell on my cheek, I quickly wiped it away trying to prevent my breakdown from earlier to seep through my poorly built berrier. For some reason the walls I built a long time ago have been harder to bring back up.

I know it's more than just my little brother missing, I know it's more than my ego. I think I'm finally starting to grow into the woman my mom taught me to be but I can't focus on that right now my little brother needs me and I will get him back.

A/N: I’m sorry if this was kinda boring. I swear I won’t be focusing around will for much longer so maybe it will get interesting for y’all I’m just trying to build to the story. Soo thanks for reading and letting me share my love for reading and writing with y’all. ❤️❤️

#steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington #steve harrington x sara byers #stranger things series #stranger things #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington series #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x imagine

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vegetacide · 5 years ago

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Whump●tober - Secret injuries

Veg-notables: This went in a direction I did not expect it to go.. As I woke up this morning inspiration hit me up the back of the head and I ended up rewriting the whole thing from a different perspective than I had intended. Scrapped over 1100 words as Kayo burst in the front door and demanded I write her instead of Scott and V… She can be rather scary and demanding..

Thanks @gumnut-logic for dealing with me filling your inbox through I know this is not what I originally sent you last night and well.. I am expecting various hard candies to be lobbed my way..

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning: Hospital room conversations, a little medical jargon and some emotional turmoil.

Characters: Kayo, Scott and a sleeping V.. yes he is out cold but only sleeping this time.

Whumptober - TaG’verse

Previous posts can be found HERE.

24.Secret Injuries

Enjoy…

oOo

When Kayo returned sometime later the room was quiet again, the only sound that of heart monitor and the ambient noise from the hallway through the door at her back. The shuffling of feet, the squeak of wonky wheel on an IV pole as it was pushed by, the laugh of a nurse.

Despite the lightening of the mood, the lessening of the dread that pulled the family down there was still a lick of something hanging like a fine gossamer shroud over everything. An inkling of apprehension that tickled up the back of her neck and had her checking blind spots and exits out of habit.

Drawing in a deep breath to calm her nerves, Kayo crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the thick wood paneling of the rooms only egress. Taking in the now familiar space and its two occupants with a critical eye.

A top-notch ICU room with all the bells and whistles that money could buy. Temperature controlled, recessed linear circadian optic lighting, drone docks hidden away behind remotely accessed ceiling panels, an alphabet worth of med scanners and monitor, heated gels filled bio-bed with anti-grav capabilities, the works. Helped that the family had made several large anonymous donations over the years.

If the donations had been anything but anonymous Kayo was pretty sure there would be a wing with the Tracy name on it but the Tracy’s weren’t the type to flaunt their charitable endeavors. Stroking egos was the last thing on their minds, their only goal was to save lives in anyway they could so they used their money. Considering they had enough to buy a small country several times over, the hospital had benefited greatly from their generosity.

Now the Tracy’s were benefiting for their own kindness and they had a fleet of some of the world’s top Doctors to go along with it which she was eternally grateful for.

Virgil; the man whom she had come inexplicable entangled with, was asleep again. Propped up amongst bleach white pillows and snoring softly. Her eyes instinctively watched his chest, counter the length of the rise and fall of his chest, the tightness in her own loosening as the information in her head computed back as safe, alive, still with her. Thank God.

She noted randomly that the bed had been adjusted, most likely in an attempt to alleviate the discomfiture he had been experience since rousing from his coma, that he was trying and failing miserably at hide from her. She was well acquainted with his penchant to spare those around him from worry but really, after everything that had happened?.. Men.

Shaking her head at her other half, she turned her attention to Scott.

He sat hunched over close by, eyes distant as he stared off at the middle distance in deep thought. Elbows braced on his knees, hands rubbing worriedly between his thighs as if trying to wipe something off them.

Kayo narrowed in on the movement, her mind conjuring up scenarios and only dark things came to mind as the bruised knuckles finally registered. She’d missed that in the drama of her world coming unhinged at the seams.

She pushed away from the door, stepped further into the room and Scott’s eyes finally shifted to her. No surprise on his expression at seeing her there. He hadn’t acknowledged her upon entry but he’d known she was there.

“The blockers are helping enough.” His voice though soft, was heavy with emotion but Kayo didn’t comment on it.

“I know.” She replied coming up the end of the bed and resting her hand on one of Virgil’s covered feet. A physical act of reassurance she couldn’t explain but viscerally needed.

“His speech..” He started and couldn’t seem to finish.

“I know, Doctor’s said there could be some neurological damage from the cerebral edema. He has no idea he is slurring or muddling up some of his words but it’s gotten better since he woke up. Swelling is still going down.”

Scott’s head bobbed up and down once. “Nurse came by.”

“I ran into her just outside, she filled me in. The neurologist will be by in a bit, she’s just getting out of surgery..” Kayo stopped, unsure if she should continue or not. Scott wasn’t doing so well and she didn’t want to burden him more. He already blamed himself for GlobalMax.

She needn’t had hesitated though, Scott already knew.

“They keep checking his pupil response every time they come in.”

Kayo closed her eyes, a despondent weight settling over her. The news she had secretly been dreading, fears that she had been right about voiced and confirmed by Scott with his concerned words.

“Did he say anything to you?” She asked, knowing that if Virgil hadn't told her about his sight the chances were slim that he would have mentioned it to Scott.

“Not a peep but I suspected as much. The Doctors did warn us.” Scott looked down, rubbed once more at his battered fists, flicked his glance at the growing medi-chart that hung off the end of the bed.

Kayo watched Scott worry away at his hands, his apprehension tightening his shoulders, distorting his usually impeccable posture. “Have you put any ice on those?” She queried, shock spearing through his eyes as they shot up to hers.

She leaned on the bed by Virgil’s feet, hands in her lap playing with loose thread of her sweater. “He might not be able to see the damage, Scott but I certainly can.” She waited a beat, “So can the others, mind you they won’t ask but they’re worried about you and so am I.”

Something flashed in his eyes at that, something she hadn’t seen in a long time as his vibrant blue gaze jetted up to hers and skittered away again.

Her own pulse kicked at the look but it was an instant only. Something that would never be followed through on or explored. It was from a childish youth years before she knew the truth of her adult self. The strength of her feelings for the sleeping man quietly snoring at her back. His leg resting against her spine, residual heat from his fading fever radiating through her clothing and warming her skin.

Had she known then what she did now, that wellspring of youthful emotion would have fizzled to non-existence but that was the journey of life. To experience its highs and it lows, and to see how far one could go in either direction without breaking or succumbing. She'd found her peak, the pinnacle of her high and it was interwoven intricately with the mind behind loving, steady, sable brown eyes.

Scott's athletic shoulders shrugged, not as wide as his brothers but just as able in a rescue. They carried many a burden, had sagged slightly under pressure but held firm time and again to whatever life threw at them. This time though she wasn't too sure as doubt glossed over their resilience, maybe this time it would be too much.

"You really should get them tended." She was well versed in the pain he was most likely experiencing having had her fair share of tussles over the years. Some she'd won, some she'd lost but the pain in one's hands was always the same. Bone deep and achy.

"I will..just…". His attention turned to Virgil. Scott hadn't left his side since his return from wherever he had disappeared to but Kayo had her suspicions. The haunted look in his eyes told her plenty.

"Scott," Kayo put a hand in his jumping knee, the one she was sure he hadn't been aware danced up and down when he was overly tired and distraught. It stopped its mad jitter, his piercing blue turned back to her. "When was the last time you slept?"

He'd comforted her during her time of need, now it was her turn to do the same in whatever small way he would allow. She knew it was hard for him to admit needing it, a task usually delegated to Virgil to suss out but he wasn’t up to it and it would be sometime before he would be.

"I'm doing okay, Tin". A childhood name, one seldom used and a testament to Scott’s current troubled mind.

"No, you're not."

His eyes shifted to the hand still on his knee and she lifted it, tucked it into the crook of her arm as she folded them again across her chest.

“I have to be.” For his family, for the commander he was forced to be in the absence of their Father.

"Grandma was asking after you, maybe you should go and see her. She’s gotten antsy since the Doctor’s veto’ed her access to force her to rest.” Kayo tipped her head towards the door. “I wont leave him.”

“She made you come in here to get me, didn’t she?” He knew the woman well.

Kayo’s lips perked, “You know Grandma, always looking after her boys.” She stood, offered Scott a hand. “It was either me or TI security and a tranq’ gun. I figured I was the better option.”,

Scott snorted, “You figured right since I could fire them all.” He took her hand, groaned as she dragged him up to his feet.

He stood in front of her a moment, close and she caught a whiff of his aftershave so different from Virgil’s but so Scott. An awkward beat and she stepped back swinging out her arm to gesture towards the door dramatically. “After you.”

A slight uptick of a smile, a flash of dimples before a quick glance over to his supine sibling. “You’re right.” He said as he stepped past her, long legs eating up the short distance.

He stopped at the door, back to her still. “Kayo…?”

“Yes?” Her fingers combing through Virgil’s hair, brushing the tangled mess back from his pale brow.

“..nevermind..” and Scott was gone, the door swinging shut quietly in his wake.

Not all injuries were visible but they hurt all the same.

oOo

Next post can be found HERE

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

#whumptober2019 #whumptober #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds fanfic #no.24 #secret injury #Kayo Kyrano #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #virgil/kayo #unrequited feelings #the prompt made me do it

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hockeylvr59 · 6 years ago

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Hurt || Jeff Skinner

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: So Jeff scared the crap out of me today and well it led to this. It’s kind of a companion piece to What Ifs but it’s not directly apart of that series because it doesn’t fit in the timeline.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1961

You always did your best to watch Jeff’s games even though you couldn’t be there due to the long distance aspect of your relationship. Today though they were playing the caps, a team you couldn’t stand and you were honestly so far behind on your school work that you needed to focus and try and get some things done.

It was all going pretty well for awhile, you did keep checking the score and the Sabres were winning. Then in the second period you were checking one of your group chats and someone mentioned that Jeff had been hurt and that it seemed bad. Immediately you stopped the reading you were attempting to get through and logged onto twitter knowing that it would be the fastest source of any updates.

Watching the play absolutely broke your heart. The way he was crawling on the ice and the amount of pain he seemed to be in as Jack and a trainer assisted in getting him up and off the ice. He wasn’t putting any weight on his left ankle and before you even knew what you were doing, you were digging in your closet for clothes and going into your bathroom for the necessities before throwing a few of your books and your laptop in another bag.

Within ten minutes you were out your door, tears pooling in your eyes as you set your GPS to Jeff’s apartment and just started driving. He was hurt and it looked serious and right now you cursed yourself for not being in Buffalo.

Though a part of you wanted to listen to the radio broadcast in hopes that they would give an update, if it was bad you weren’t sure that you could handle hearing it while driving. Instead you just listened to some old podcasts trying to distract yourself for as much of the five hour drive as you could.

Stopping once to get gas, you checked your phone and saw that the Sabres had won. At the very least that was good, though you couldn’t get the sight of your boyfriend hurt on the ice out of your head. By the time you arrived in Buffalo around 7:30, you couldn’t stop shaking as you feared the worst.

Pulling into the parking lot of Jeff’s apartment you finally got the nerve to text him needing to know whether he was home or possibly at the hospital. His response that he was just hanging out at home took a little stress off of you as you gathered your things and headed inside. If he was home that meant that the chance he needed surgery was lower, and that maybe it was just a clean break.

As you knocked softly on his door you vainly wiped away the fresh tears from your eyes. The door opened far more quickly than you expected it to, and you wondered if he had one of the guys over to help him.

Instead it was the gorgeous, sweet man you were head over heels for and his eyes went wide when he saw you, yours doing the same as you looked down to see no cast or anything on his leg.

The first thought that crossed your mind was that you had fallen asleep behind the wheel or had been involved in an accident and this was merely a dream. There was no way that he wasn’t hurt, you’d seen the play yourself, you’d seen how much pain he’d been in.

When he reached out to touch you though there was no way to deny how real it felt and stepping forward you collapsed into his chest, sobs racking your body as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Babe...hey...hey I’m okay.” He whispered into your ear, his hands rubbing gently over your back. After a moment, one of his hands shifted to draw your head back from his chest and he dropped his mouth down to kiss you, trying to calm the panicked feeling he could feel radiating off of you.

Breaking the kiss only when you couldn’t breathe, Jeff quickly used the pads of his thumbs to wipe your tears away before reaching for your bags to pull them and you inside. Once your things were set safely on the ground, he pulled you against him again, his lips dropping to the top of your head.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He mused, affection and awe lacing his words.

“You...you were hurt…” You murmured, confusion filling you at how he was standing in front of you completely fine. “I was reading and someone messaged me that you’d be injured and so I watched the play and it was so bad and…” Coughing as you nearly choked on your own saliva from the emotions inside you Jeff quickly pulled you over to his couch and then down onto his lap.

“I promise you I’m fine.” He said, fingers grazing over your skin as he cupped your face in his hands again. “I’m okay. Calm down sweetheart.” He urged. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Leaning forward you kissed him again, having missed his touch since it had been over two months since you’d seen him in person. He was here, right here, and he was smiling against your kiss, something that he wouldn’t be able to do if he was hurt.

“You really drove five hours for me?” He questioned once you were simply settled in his lap, your head tucked into the gap between his shoulder and neck.

“I didn’t even think twice.” You mumbled. “I just reacted and the only thing I could do was be here, no matter what.”

“You’re crazy, beautiful.” He declared. “Have you eaten anything?” He added and when you shook your head he sighed. “Alright, let’s find a take out menu to get some food in your stomach before you make yourself sick.”

Leaving you on the couch, Jeff walked to his kitchen, his gait a little strained but nothing major, considering what had happened earlier. When he returned it was with take out menus, a bottle of wine and two glasses. After pouring you a glass which you took gratefully, he slid back onto the couch, lifting your legs out of the way for a moment before dropping them back over his own.

Reaching for his hand as he rattled off food options, you brushed your fingertips over his palm and finally felt yourself relaxing a little. Jeff was your everything, no doubt about it, and you’d known for months that you loved him but sitting here it hit you that you were completely in love with him.

Once Jeff had placed the food order for delivery, you found yourself shifting to straddle him, your hands fiddling with the hair at the base of his scalp. His hands rested against your lower back and he looked at you with a mild level of confusion.

“I love you.” You whispered. “I am head over heels in love with you. I have never been so scared in my entire life and I am so glad you’re okay. I…I don’t know what I would have done.” Pulling your lower lip between your teeth you bit gently, shivering as one of Jeff’s hands slid up under your shirt.

Seconds later, Jeff’s mouth was on your own again, pulling your lip from between your teeth to kiss you again. Whining softly, you tugged his head closer and let everything go hazy for a moment at the feeling of him.

“I am completely, totally in love with you too y/n.” He assured you when he pulled back. Everything went quiet for a few minutes after that until Jeff’s hands shifted to move you to his side again.

“Now...I know you were actually planning on watching this Stadium Series game so how about we do that together?” He suggested, reaching for his remote to flip channels back to NBC where the game was airing. The fact that you had a million and one things to do was completely forgotten as Jeff kissed your head and rubbed a hand over your side while you focused on taking a few deep breaths and switching your mind to the game in front of you.

Neither of you moved until the food arrived, Jeff once again slipping away from you for just a moment before coming back and handing you a container.

“Thank you.” You said softly, a chuckle escaping him as he once again processed the fact that you were really here, had driven five hours just to check on him because of your fear of him being hurt.

“You’re welcome. This is much better than watching the game with the guys any day.” He teased.

After awhile, food containers were set aside and the two of you just snuggled together, Jeff pulling a blanket down over you. With the roller coaster of emotions you’d been through today you were already exhausted but you were determined to stay awake knowing that since he was truly okay the time you had to spend with him was limited. Just as you were thinking about having to drive home Jeff’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“So...is there anyway I can convince you to stay until Monday morning?” He proposed. “Coach is giving me tomorrow off and I really really just want to spend some more time with you.” Sighing you shrugged, thinking about it. You really didn’t want to even think about driving the five hours back tomorrow but you would be missing two classes Monday if you stayed and you really shouldn’t at this point in the semester.

“Can I get back to you on that in the morning?” You requested certain that you were likely going to end up saying screw it and staying the extra day, but needing to debate with yourself awhile longer.

“Of course.” He whispered. “And don’t feel pressured. I’ll take every minute with you that I can. That fact that you’re here right now already blows my mind.”

Crawling into his bed with him later that night your phone buzzed on the nightstand and when you looked at it you couldn’t help but laugh and glare softly at the man beside you. He’d posted a picture of the two of you cuddling, you looked like you were practically asleep and you definitely had been. It was a really cute picture, the caption was what had caused the glare.

Definitely may need to leave a game hurt more often if it brings the love of my life to my doorstep. Just kidding, sweetheart. I’m a lucky lucky man today though, both for my health, and to have a woman who will drive five hours just to be by my side.

“Don’t joke about getting hurt babe. Please.” You pouted, the expression turning to a squeal as Jeff pulled you under him, his hands tickling your sides.

“Fine. But I am the luckiest man.” He echoed aloud as he dropped down to kiss you.

“You better believe it,” You teased breaking the kiss to tug his shirt over his head. Your intentions weren’t sexual, not tonight, but you just wanted to be as close to him as you possibly could.

Snuggled into his chest, it didn’t take long for you to start to drift off again. And maybe you were dreaming but you could have sworn you heard Jeff whisper that he couldn’t wait to make you his wife so that he could fall asleep and wake up next to you every morning. So that you never had to worry about him being hurt and feeling helpless again. So that he could be there for you like you were there for him today.

#jeff skinner imagine #jeff skinner #buffalo sabres #buffalo sabres imagine #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #injury tw #injury cw #bsabres #011

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syntax6 · 5 years ago

Text

Date Night

(I have these bits of Hunter fic that currently live nowhere but my computer, so I am giving them a public airing.)

From her spot in the parking lot, McCall eyed the squat, brick, nearly windowless building and thought with some relief that it very much did not look like the kind of place that one went for a date. Granted, when Hunter told her to bring her bowling ball and meet him at the alley, it hadn’t sounded like a date then, either, but it was Friday night, they were a couple of unattached, opposite-sex adults, and the two of them were deliberately spending off-duty time together. For like the eighth Friday night in a row. With some Saturday nights thrown in for good measure.

Back in college, she’d had some girlfriends who claimed to have accidental sex on occasion. McCall was never sure quite how the accident was supposed to have occurred. Sorry, I tripped and didn’t see your penis there…apologies! But now McCall had, if not an understanding, an appreciation of how relationships could take an unexpected twist, almost without you noticing at all.

At first, it was very clearly not dating or anything remotely like it. She’d had a quarter ounce of metal dug out of her spine a few months ago, a tiny fraction of alloy with the power to change human history, even if she was the only human involved. They’d offered the bullet back to her once it was no longer evidence, and although she had held hundreds, thousands, in her hands, this one had felt impossibly light. She’d felt light, too, at times transparent like the ghost she might have been, tethered to the earthly world only by frustration and pain as she fought to regain control of her body and her life. But at other times, it was a different kind of light, a happy giddy kind as she realized she was still around to enjoy chocolate fudge ice cream, long bubble baths, and beating the snot out of Hunter at gin rummy.

It was natural back then that he came around on his off hours; he was working, she was not. They had ordered takeout and rented old movies, talking and eating and laughing until one or both of them ended up asleep on her sofa—or, if she were feeling particularly achy on that occasion, in her bed. She hadn’t questioned the physical intimacy because all sorts of doctors and therapists had been touching her at that point—she’d initially needed a lot of help—and so if Hunter helped her off with her sweater or rubbed the feeling back into her feet it was just more of the same.

Except then she got better and still they had movie nights. That was okay, right? Friends did that sort of thing. It wasn’t like she was hot to get back into the dating scene. She could only imagine how that would go:

So…what have you been up to lately? Oh, just having major spinal surgery and coming to grips with my mortality—yourself?

She figured eventually there would be a Friday when Hunter would rather chase some scantily clad blonde than sit on the couch with her, and that would be that. But so far, he just kept asking her out, and alarmingly, she just kept right on accepting.

Okay, it wasn’t alarming at first, she reminded herself as she got out of the car. It had only gotten weird last weekend after the pizza and that second bottle of wine at his place. An impromptu game of footsie broke out when he tried to steal her end of the ottoman, one that ended with his legs pinning hers down and her squirming and giggling.

“I knew you were trouble when I first saw you,” he’d said.

“You’re the one who came looking for me,” she’d reminded him as she had continued trying to get away, albeit not trying very hard. It was late and she was full of wine and pizza. “If I’m trouble, you like it.”

“Maybe.” He’d grinned and leaned over, ostensibly to stop her struggling, but it put him deeply in her personal space. “But you liked me back.”

“Actually, I thought you were a pain in the ass.”

“Hmm. What I’m hearing is that you were checking out my ass.”

She’d laughed. “No, that was you, checking me out. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Honey, you were standing on a street corner in hot pants. The entire world noticed.” His voice had dropped to a suggestive murmur, and she’d become acutely aware that he was lying almost on top of her, their legs intertwined and his mouth only inches from hers. Heat had flooded her face. “Besides,” he’d continued, sliding his hand around from her hip to the small of her back, bringing their bodies closer together. “I wasn’t checking you out. I was just trying to figure out where you kept your gun.”

It’s upstairs, in the bedroom. The response had been right there, so easy. She just had to say the words and see what would happen next. But she’d hesitated and the moment broke apart, Hunter rolling off of her and moving to turn up the lights. Show’s over, folks.

At least this Friday their non-date was on neutral, if strange, turf. Lenny Z’s bowling alley was dark and smelled like cigarettes and beer. The decor was tacky and weird--old bowling trophies, 70s movie posters, and what looked like a collection of water pistols mounted on the wall. She found Hunter waiting for her near the shoe rental, dressed in a dark gray T-shirt and the usual jeans that went on forever. He was holding a bowling ball bag and chewing a toothpick—my, the man certainly did like to keep his mouth busy, didn’t he—and he stuck out like a sore thumb as practically the only white guy in the joint.

“Hi,” she said, looking him up and down. “No ‘Slammer’ shirt this evening?”

“It’s at the dry cleaner,” he said as he tossed away the toothpick. “I see you brought your ball with you. How’s it working out?”

She hefted the bag with the ball in it, which he had gifted her with some months ago—after her other serious stay in the hospital. “I don’t know. This will be my first time using it.”

Hunter smirked. “Virgin ball, eh? You want me to oil it down for you?”

“Ew, no. Keep your hands on your own ball, thank you.” Around them, the place vibrated with the loud thunk of balls hitting the alleyway and the smack of pins crashing down. The crowd was heavily male and older, with an especially rowdy group or two over in the corner. One sported red shirts with black trim, and the other wore gold shirts with black lettering. “This is an…interesting spot you picked to get together tonight, Hunter.”

“I didn’t pick it,” he said, and before she could inquire further, a familiar voice called out to them.

“Sergeants! Welcome! Thank you so much for coming out on this fine spring evening.” McCall shot Hunter the ‘what the hell have you gotten us into now’ look as Sporty James approached, arms spread out as wide as his smile.

“Sporty,” she said by way of greeting. “I didn’t realize you were a bowler.”

“I am a man of many talents, McCall. Too numerous to mention.”

“Let’s not mention them, then,” Hunter said, deadpan. “You’re the one who asked for this meeting, Sporty, so get to it: what is it we’re doing here?”

McCall was interested in the answer, but her attention was momentarily drawn to the glint on Sporty’s bowling shoes. “Are those rhinestones?”

“Fashion first, last, and always, Sergeant.”

She noticed then that Sporty seemed to come from the red-shirted tribe, and up close, she could see that the lettering said ‘Black Cats,’ complete with a feline logo. “The Black Cats?” she asked him. “You didn’t up and join a gang on us, did you, Sporty?”

“You wound me,” he said, pretending to pout. “This here is my bowling league. Cats because we are of course hep cats, and black because, well…” He gestured at his face as though it should be obvious. “It’s the finals tonight, us against the Golden Oldies, and we’re going to take those suckers down.”

Hunter rubbed his face with one hand. “And you called us down here because…?”

“Because the Golden Oldies are a bunch of lyin’, cheatin’, no-good sleazy-ass—“

“We get the picture,” McCall said, interrupting him by laying a hand on his arm. “That still doesn’t explain why you called us.”

“They’re cheating. Doctoring the balls mid-game, I suspect, but I haven’t been able to catch them at it. That’s where I was hoping you two fine officers could provide some assistance.”

“We’re homicide detectives,” McCall said, folding her arms.

“Well, if they cheat us out of that trophy and the money, there’s gonna be a homicide, believe me.”

“Great, call us back then,” McCall said, and she moved to leave.

“No, wait, please.” Sporty shifted to stand in front of her, his hands out, palms up in a pleading gesture. “There’s 3Gs at stake here, and if they get it, that would be…theft, right? Grand larceny!”

“No, it would still be piddly ass cheating in a bowling league,” Hunter replied.

“Come on, don’t make me beg, man. You’re already down here, right? Just watch a few frames, see if you can pick up on what they’re doing.”

Hunter glanced at her, his expression a cross between amused and exasperated. “We’re already here,” he agreed. “And your ball has yet to see any action.”

McCall repressed a sigh. “Fine,” she said. “One game.”

They rented some shoes and took the lane next to the tournament groups, edging around the gathering crowd to get to their spot. “You want a beer?” Hunter asked her.

She scratched the back of her head. “I don’t know—are we on duty?”

“It’s Friday night, and I’m wearing shoes that could practically walk around on their own. I’m getting a beer.”

She grinned. “Make it two.”

Hunter brought back two foamy plastic cups, and she withdrew her ball from its case. The weight felt substantial in her hands, its curve as smooth and pink as a baby’s bottom. “Well? Are you ready for another devastating loss?” she asked, giving her ball a light smack for emphasis.

“You won by two points last time,” he replied with a scoff. “That’s hardly devastating.”

“I don’t know. The hour-long pout afterward suggests otherwise,” she replied dryly.

He frowned and waved her down toward the lane. “Beginner’s luck, that’s all. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She bowled an eight for the first frame, whereas Hunter got a spare. “There’s your two points right there,” he said, looming over her. “Are you devastated yet?”

“Shut up and keep bowling. There’s a lot of game left to play.”

After three frames, Hunter was leading by eight. In the neighboring lanes, the tournament was getting underway. Sporty caught her eye and gave her a meaningful nod toward his opponents in yellow, and she bit back a smile.

Hunter followed her gaze and shook his head. “He’s really taking this seriously,” he said.

“Hey, don’t forget there’s a trophy hanging in the balance here,” she said. She watched the men from the Golden Oldies idle around waiting their turns, but she didn’t see any suspicious behavior. “This might be the weirdest stakeout I’ve ever been on,” she muttered to Hunter as she leaned down to check the score.

“Hmm, yes. They’re watching us as hard as we’re watching them.”

She glanced over, and sure enough, a couple of guys immediately jerked their heads back around to their game, having been caught staring. “Well, we don’t exactly blend in,” she said. “This is not the typical spot people would pick for their date.”

She left him sitting there and took up her ball again, casting it down the alley in a swift, smooth motion. The pins toppled with a satisfying crack, all ten down in one try. She clasped her hands in glee and turned to Hunter to gloat. He made a disgusted face at her, and she laughed with delight as she retrieved her ball for another go. These days, physical motion only brought her joy.

When she was finished with the frame, she led Hunter by seventeen points. “Not bad,” he admitted grudgingly as she came to watch him total her score. “Also: this isn’t a date.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Earlier, you said people wouldn’t pick this spot for a date. We’re not on a date.”

She felt her cheeks go warm and hoped he couldn’t see it in the low light. “I know that and you know that—I meant what the rest of them think.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “You think they believe we’re on a date?”

“Well, what do you think they think?” She put her hands on her hips.

Instead of answering, Hunter got up and took his turn, and in the process, whittled her lead to six. He returned and took a long sip of beer before tallying up the score. “No way they think this is a date,” he said, his eyes on the paper, pencil in his hand. “You’re not selling it.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Me? Why do I have to be the one to sell it?”

He shrugged and looked up at her. “Because you’re the woman.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean? Because I’m the woman?”

“It’s just how it is. Everyone assumes the guy involved is always out to score some action, so his behavior is a constant. The only question is whether the woman is picking up what he’s putting down, if you get my drift.”

She’d seen plenty of women get his drift and then some. “Oh, is that so? The problem is that I’m not picking up what you’re putting down? So far, all you’ve put down is a losing score and a two-dollar lukewarm beer.”

“Hey, I gotcha that ball, didn’t I?” The gleam in his eye said he was teasing.

She repressed a smile and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Out of curiosity,” she said, “what would I have to be doing to prove this was a date?”

He straightened up in the plastic seat. “Well, for one thing, you wouldn’t be standing way over there.”

There was about five feet of space between them, and so she took a couple of steps closer. “How’s this?” she asked.

He frowned. “I think now maybe it’s like we’re distantly related. Like third cousins.”

She took another couple of steps, so that she was standing inches away from his leg. “How’s this?”

“Better, but…” He reached out and grabbed her hand, tugging her toward him. There wasn’t anywhere left for her to go except into his lap. “Ah,” he said as he sat her down on his thigh. “There we go. See? Now this is more convincing.”

The feelings from the week before came rushing back: the warmth at her middle, the way her skin prickled at his physical proximity, the heady, dangerous tingling that they were playing with fire. They were still holding hands. She let her thumb rub against the inside of his palm, and she swore she felt him shiver. “So, it’s a date now?” she murmured, turning her face toward his. She couldn’t bring herself to look directly at him.

“Well, it looks like one,” he replied. He reached up and touched her cheek with the back of his knuckles, stroking gently. “It checks a lot of right boxes. Two people, some sort of evening activity, alcohol and physical contact. I bet we’re pretty convincing at the moment.”

“But?” Her voice was a whisper now.

“Intent,” he said, dropping his hand with a sigh. It fell heavy on her thigh, and his fingers trailed over the denim in an absent gesture. “You need intent for it to be a date.”

“Ah,” she said, forcing a smile. “Motive.”

He smiled back at her. “Exactly. Motive is everything.”

She shifted in his lap so they were almost facing one another, leaning into the same shared space. “So if we wanted it to be a date, it could be.”

“Hmm, yes,” he said, sounding distracted. His hand was creeping up her thigh again, making her catch her breath. She put her hands on his shoulders, unsure whether she was going to pull him closer or push him away. He nuzzled her collarbone and she knew he must be able to feel the pounding of her heart.

Her eyes fell shut. “Hunter…”

“Hmm?”

A raucous cheer went up from the lane next to theirs, making her jump. She remembered this was show, that they were being watched. But when she glanced over, she saw instead a guy standing near the back with a bowling ball. He took something out of his pocket, a powder maybe, and surreptitiously rubbed it on the ball before shoving it back in his trousers again.

“Hunter,” she said again, this time on alert. “Did you just see that?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice full of regret. “Get him over here.”

She signaled for Sporty, who cast an anxious glance at his team before making the trek across the lanes. “Tense moment right now, McCall. Can it wait?” “We spotted someone doctoring a ball,” Hunter told him, and Sporty’s eyes grew big.

“I knew it! I knew it!” He was practically jumping up and down. “Which dude was it?”

“Not a dude,” McCall told him. “A cat.”

“Uh, say what?”

“That guy over there?” Hunter put his arm around Sporty and turned him so they could look together at the rotund man in a Black Cats jersey. “Check his pockets and you’ll find the goods.”

“But that’s Iverson,” Sporty said, confused. “He’s on our team.”

McCall raised her eyebrows and spread her hands. “Still want us to hang around and book someone for grand larceny?”

“Uh, no. No thank you. I’ll, uh, just have a private chat with the gentleman. No need to say anything to anybody about this, you dig?”

“Not saying anything to anyone about this would be the greatest pleasure of the whole escapade,” Hunter replied, deadpan, and McCall looked down so he wouldn’t see her smile.

Sporty hurried off, and they were left standing alone again on their not-really-a-date. Hunter gave her a ghost of a smile. “Where were we?” he said, and she willed herself not to blush. It wasn’t like she could just climb back into his lap now.

“You, uh, you were telling me your criminalistics theory of dating,” she said.

“Dates require motive.”

“Right.” He gave a short nod.

She scuffed the ground with her toes. “Do they also require premeditation?”

He tilted his head as he considered the question for a moment, and then he nodded. “Yes, one party has to ask the other party out, with intent, and that’s premeditation.”

“Okay,” she said, “but what if two people are not on a date but then the mood changes and they…you know.”

“I don’t know.” He looked concerned and innocent. “Explain it to me. Use vivid words.”

She gave him a playful shove. “You know—hook up. Have sex. Whatever. But with no premeditation. Is that a date?”

“No.” He paused for effect. “That’s a crime of passion.”

“Ooh.” She winced as he laughed at his own joke. “I think it’s time to get out of here.”

“Past time,” he agreed. “I’m starting to like these shoes.”

Outside, they were quiet as they crossed the parking lot to her car. She opened the hatch and set her bowling ball inside, and Hunter took the opportunity to set his down on the pavement. “Thanks,” she said, “for a truly bizarre evening.”

He chuffed a breath and looked beyond her into the night. “Yeah. Not the strangest Friday night I’ve ever had, but it’s up there.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then she fished her for her keys inside her purse. “I should get going.”

“No, wait a sec.” He caught her arm gently and held it. “I, uh, my cousin Andy is getting married up in Santa Barbara. July 17th. I thought maybe, if you’d like, you could come with me.”

She went completely still as they watched each other. His eyes looked black in the low light, and below, his fingers trailed lightly down the inside of her arm. Intent. Motive. Whatever you wanted to call it, it was right there in his gaze. She swallowed with difficulty. “I’d love to, but—”

“Oh,” he said quickly, drawing back like he’d been burned.

“Rick, wait.” She reached for him but he’d pulled far enough away that she couldn’t touch.

“Forget it.”

“I’d love to go,” she said again, “but I can’t. I won’t be here.”

He looked up in surprise. “What? Vacation?”

“No, I’m taking a summer forensics course from the FBI at Quantico. I applied before I got shot, and I didn’t think I would even get in—and in fact, I didn’t initially. I was wait-listed. I just found out today that I made it.” She tried a smile. “I think maybe taking a bullet to the spine might have upped my chances, you know what I mean?”

His smile was forced too. “You think they want to do a unit on you?”

“I was going to tell you earlier…”

“Forget it,” he said again, shoving his hands in his pockets, but she was sure she never would. “When do you leave?”

She bit her lip. “Next week, and it’s a six-week course. I’ll be back mid-August.” “Six weeks. That’s a long time.”

It hadn’t felt very long when she’d signed up for the course, back before she’d nearly died and come to life again. Now she knew. A lot could happen in six seconds, let alone six weeks. She reached out again, and this time, she found him there. She took his hand. “It’ll go by quick,” she said, sniffing back her own emotions. “You’ll see. I’m sure you’ll barely have time to miss me.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Ha, ha, very funny.” She noticed he didn’t pull away his hand.

“Okay, then, so the wedding is off. How about one dinner before you disappear on me?”

She had no business saying yes. For a hundred reasons. A million. The amount of packing alone she had to do this week—she didn’t even want to consider it. “Dinner,” she said, considering something else instead. “You know, Hunter, that sounds like pre-meditation.”

He yanked his hand back. “Actually, II was thinking Italian,” he joked. When she didn’t laugh, his smile vanished and he fidgeted with his collar.

She considered some more and gave him a slow smile. What the hell, she thought. If it’s awful, I’m leaving for six weeks anyway. “I think it’s a date,” she said, fingering one of his tiny buttons. He stopped squirming.

“It is?

“Mmm-hmm. I’m the woman, remember? I get to decide.”

***** Notes: if I recall correctly, this was a challenge fic that had a bunch of required elements, including bowling. ;)

#Hunter fic

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officialjameelajamil · 7 years ago

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I weigh

Today is my 32nd birthday.

This is the best birthday I’ve ever had because I’ve woken up to thousands of women sending me pictures and messages about the things they love about their lives, and the things they have done that they are most proud of. This has been going on for days now.

I was scrolling through “explore” on Instagram (always a certified mine field for one’s self esteem) and came across this disastrously damaging picture.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A group shot of grown women with their respective weights posted across each of their bodies, and the post asking what we think of their weights and then asking its followers, “What do you weigh?”

WHO CARES? What kind of crazed toxic nonsense is this? What is this post trying to achieve other than to induce anxiety into young women about something so entirely irrelevant? What are we teaching women about our value? Can it be measured using a metric system? Why do so many posts like this exist on social media? How is anyone supposed to get through the fucking day happy with themselves when we are given such unreasonable and shallow goals to achieve, falling short of which, no matter who we are, what we do, how many lives we save, how many children we raise, how many people’s lives we touch, we are not worth anything.

I snapped. I am just done. I’m so done with seeing this and letting it pass me by. It’s so dangerous and disgusting. It’s so belittling and abusive. We are subliminally bullied all day by the magazines, the side bar of shame, social media, and by each other. The onslaught is so aggressive that we are going to have to retaliate with 10 times the strength to undo all of the damage to the global psyche of women. So I posted this:

A small ode to the brilliant life that I am so lucky to live, that I built by myself from scratch, to the friends I am so lucky to have and to my self worth. This is how I measure myself. What I did, how I made people feel and how much I have enjoyed myself. It has taken me 10 years to get to the realisation that I am worth more than the digits on a measuring tape. And more importantly, the push back against body shaming shouldn’t just be about how much we love our flaws, it should be about something that isn’t really about the body at all. Self acceptance is important. But we deserve more than acceptance. Let’s step as far away from the conversation about our bodies as possible and make acclaim, integrity, achievement, contribution to society and kindness: Values worth shouting about again.

I posted it on twitter, and within an hour women started sending me their own ones. There were too many to keep track of. It happened so fast. The pictures were amazing. None of them were posed and filtered, nobody was contoured to within an inch of their life, or sucking anything in. It was women living their lives, writing down all of the things they were grateful for and proud of. All of the degrees they have, the babies they made, the cancer they beat or are fighting, their families they love, the disabilities they live with or help with, the relationships they have built, the companies they started. Just women waking up and remembering that they are valuable, and they do important, difficult, incredible things. Things that are more than just achieving the perfect lip liner, losing baby weight quickly or being able to EAT PIZZA WHILST AT A LINGERIE PHOTOSHOOT!!! (WOWWEE!)

Here are some of my favourites:

Women of every size and shape and age and background sent me their declarations of self love and clapped back at the shame they have been drenched in their whole lives. We are attacked by this beast our WHOLE DAMN LIVES. Bemused parents are writing to me that social media has their 8 year olds talking about diets and what they dislike about their tiny growing bodies. We are facing an epidemic of self hatred. Instagram while sometimes an amazing way for us to share, is in many ways, hurtling us at light speed towards the demise of what the suffragettes were building.

We lack focus because we are concentrating on the wrong things. Most of the women I know wake up much earlier than men to get ready, and spend much of their time and money on complete nonsense like manicures and pedicures, hair treatments, and waxing. Women bleach their bumholes. THEY BLEACH THEIR BUMHOLES. This is how far we have gone with our pursuit of perfection, that we are no longer satisfied with the natural colour of an area almost nobody in the world will ever see. We have to be thin, but with big breasts and bottoms, gravity free, spotless, hairless, ageless, light skinned but always with a year round sun kissed glow; we must be fun and eat pizza and drink beer but also completely cellulite free and we must all have tiny noses and enormous eyes and lips but with skinny faces, but our skinny faces must never look gaunt and old.

And after all this, and after all the work we do, that we do as much of as men, ON SUBSTANTIALLY fewer calories than we probably need, we get judged more and paid less anyway.

NO. I’m sorry but at some point something has to give. We have to object. We have to do it together. Rather than just complaining about it, lets fill the void of sense with some perspective and some regard for the lives we are so lucky to live. An education is a luxury and a beautiful thing, not afforded to millions of women in the world. Bringing children into the world and raising them to be happy and healthy and kind is a great achievement, that literally builds the world. Surviving illness and war and trials of mental health makes a warrior out of you. Fighting for the rights of those who have no voice is heroic and important. Reading and writing and filling yourself with knowledge makes you so much more fun to spend the day with. Travelling and being independent and supporting yourself is the sign of a woman in control of her life.

We spend our lives in pursuit of the approval of others when we don’t yet even really approve of ourselves. My opinion of me is now (and only very recently) the one that matters.

I remember being 15, miserable and so relentlessly disappointed in myself, thinking it didn’t matter that I had a full academic scholarship and that I had a job and good grades, a Grade 8 in piano and I was a good kid, because my hip bones didn’t jut out, I had a round face and my thighs were forever touching. I was taught nothing else mattered. And that my fat covered up my achievements. I am so, so aware of the damage the media does to a vulnerable mind, it ruined the first 20 years of my life.

I found this really sad old drawing I did of myself when I 16, with what I felt I had to look like in order to be accepted by girls at school, and society in general.

I can’t sit by and read the messages of self hatred that teenage girls send me, about how they hate themselves for not looking like Victoria’s Secret models. I can’t watch what happened to me, happen to them.

I hereby call out every newspaper run by a man that shames women about their appearance.

I hereby call out journalists who write passive-aggressive shaming articles about weight gain and congratulatory ones about women who lose weight.

I hereby MASSIVELY call out celebrities who don’t document what it takes for them to look the way they do. If you have had surgery, say something. If you have a strict diet and workout regime, say something. It is UNFEMINIST to push an image that was created in the fantasy lab of the patriarchy, essentially that of a sex doll, to other women, and pretend that it comes naturally to you, and that junk food and lying down in expensive hotel suites is what keeps you beautiful. You have a platform and have to use it responsibly.

I hereby call out the fashion industry for STILL after 10 years of being called out, perpetuating the idea that expensive clothing only looks good on stick thin, barely pubescent girls. (None of whom can afford your bloody clothes)

I hereby call out the women who troll other women online about their appearances.

I hereby call out the trolls that live in our own heads and eradicate all of our achievements and shower us in self-doubt and loathing.

In this uprising of female power we must realise we are being set absurd extra goals, thick and fast. The further we come as a gender, the more ridiculous the ideals we have to fulfil become. We are being distracted and exhausted and our eyes are being taken off the ball. Every minute you spend thinking about how thin or gorgeous you aren't, is a minute you aren’t spending on growing your business or your life.

I’m not saying it’s not important to watch out for your health. I’m not saying your BMI isn’t something to pay attention to. I do think it’s important to try to be active and put good food into your engine. But I also think the shame and feeling of failure is what drives us to the unhealthy eating habits we acquire to “comfort” us when we feel inferior and depressed. It’s a catch 22.

And by all means take pride in your appearance. Enjoy your looks, and your clothes and your sex appeal, but don’t make it your number one concern and selling point. It can be in your top ten, but it should never, ever define you. It isn’t important. We aren’t supposed to all look the same. And nothing good ever comes of self hatred. It will never further you. It will always hold you back.

Please think of the things in your life that you are proud of, that fulfil you, that make you happy and write them down somewhere, and look at that list every time you feel that you are failing, or that your jeans are tight, or you have a chubby arm in a group photo of a night out, or when you watch a video of a Hadid eating pasta.

Please remember you have every right to be here, and your life is important and it is precious, and on your death bed you aren’t going to be thinking about your love handles.

I love women and we deserve so much more than this. We can do better. We have to.

We can win the revolution against shame.

#blog

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panfics · 6 years ago

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“The only thoughts, Chp 1”

wow im not dead, anyway guess im writing again and this time, it has chapters, ill try to update every three days but no promises

The hospital was dimly lit by the fluorescent ceiling lights that gave off a low hum. Dr Schneeplestein was making his nightly rounds, checking patients as they rest when he overhears a colleagues conversation.

“ He only got the job because they needed to fill the space left from the doctor that went to Germany.” Said a nurse, sipping her coffee.

“Does he even speak English? Or is it just that Nazi stuff?” Asked a resident doctor with a smirk.

Dr Schneeplestein knew that he wasn’t the first pick of the doctors but he didn’t much care, nor did he care about the residents. He was abou to continue his walk, but before he started he heard a new voice interrupt their laughing.

“Cut it Brandon, you’ve been a doctor for six months, he’s been doing this for six years now. You could learn a thing or two from him.”

Brandon looked embarrassed as he shifted his weight from one side to the next. “Yes sir” he replied meekly.

The doctor started to walk away before stopping, and turning to say “Oh and i wouldn't make those jokes around him, he’s Jewish so, best not to call him a Nazi.” and with that, he walked away.

Schneeplestein watched the doctor walk away and smiled, before continuing on with his rounds.

As Henrik went to his locker, he checked his phone for the weather; twenty degrees with an eighty percent chance of snowfall. The doctor put his scarf, coat, and gloves before leaving the hospital. He had been in the country for around three weeks now and had finally set up his apartment and was ready to just relax at home with some tea and a book.

“Excuse me! E-excuse me! Doctor Schnee-” The man's voice lowers as he realizes he is unaware of how the name is pronounced. “Henrik!”

The doctor turned around almost instantaneously and replied “My name while in the hospital is Doctor Schneeplestein and i would much prefer that you refer to me as that while i am in the building, if you find me outside of work then you may refer to me as Henrik.”

“My apologies, Doctor. I don’t believe we have met yet, i am Doctor Iplier.” He stuck his hand out for the German doctor to shake it, which he did. “I hear that your down in surgery, i believe i sent a patient to you the other day in fact.”

“Why what did you do to them?” He joked before realizing what he said. “Im sorry, that was rude, who was it you sent down?”

“Her name is Amy Haus, she was down there for complications during birth, do you know how she is? Her husband just showed up today and wanted to see her.” He said.

This was the first time the doctor was able to get a good look at his fellow doctor, he had chestnut brown hair that matched his eyes, he wore a simple blue button down top, he still wore his scrubs from work, opting to get out of there quicker. It was understandable, after being in there all day any person would want to get out of there as quick as possible. After he made his observations on the doctor he replied “She's fine, in recovery right now.” He stopped to think for a moment and then continued “She will be out within three days, she is already permitted to see her son.” Henrik waited a moment for a response. “Is that all you had to ask me doctor…” he checked to see if he was still wearing his I.D. card. “Doctor Iplier?” he finished

“Oh, um yes that, that is all” he nodded and put his hands in his pockets. Henrik started to walk away before he heard the other man call after him again begrudgingly “Wait, no i actually do have more to ask you. Since your the new doctor around here i wanted to ask you if you’d like to grab a drink from the bar down the road, let you get to know some more of the staff here. You don't seem like much of a people person but i thought i’d at least try.” The doctor runs a hand through his hair while waiting for a response.

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I’m going home, i was on call for 18 hours today and if I choose to drink i have plenty at my apartment, therefore im going home to sleep, is that alright with you?” Henrik said in a monotone yet sarcastic voice.

Edward was taken back. “I mean yes, of course it's ok. I just wasn't expecting such a blunt answer, people usually make up some kind of lie to get out of doing things and…” His voice trailed off.

“Would you rather start a relationship with someone on the ground of lies doctor? I would much rather tell the truth and offend someone rather than lie to please them, now if you please.” Henrik gestured to the door.

Edward stood in front of him and looked confused for a moment before it seemed as if a light bulb went off in his head. “Oh! you mean like a friend relationship!”

“Sure” Henrik responded. “A ‘friend’ relationship, or as i would call it ‘work acquaintances’. Now excuse me but i truly must get a cab, have a good night doctor Iplier.”

“It’s I

Edward. You can call me Edward.”

“Well then Edward, guten abend.

#dr schneeplestein #dr iplier #markiplier #jacksepticeye #markiplier egos #jacksepticegos

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redheadedramblings · 6 years ago

Text

Lonely Holidays (One shot)

Title: Lonely Holidays Paring : Bucky x Reader Summary: “I know we hate each other but its Christmas Eve and your flight was cancelled please come inside.” word count: 5,053 warnings: fluff, swearing, concerned bucky? A/N : So i had this idea when I had gotten surgery and I needed something to take my mind off of it so here it is! Tell me what you think!

Masterlist

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Bucky hunched over the desk, his body leans slightly over the check in desk while a woman stares at him with a cheerful look on her face.

“All flights have been canceled sir.” she says with a crooked smile on her face.

“What? How am I supposed to get home?”

“I’m terribly sorry sir, but all flights out of the air port were just canceled due to the storm that is moving across the country.”

“What about another airline?” he asked impatiently.

“I am afraid thats not possible, all airlines are shut down until further notice, they just can’t put a plane in the sky in this kind of weather. I can try and help you get a hotel room in the city somewhere…”

“No, no, I don’t want to go to a damn hotel. I just want to go home. Its Christmas Eve! What am I going to do?” Bucky’s voice came out louder than he had expected.

“I’m very sorry Sir, there is nothing I can do. There is a line behind you. Again, I’m sorry there is nothing more I can do for you” Gently she motioned for the next person and Bucky took a couple steps back mumbling silent curses under his breath.

Bucky pushed through the sea of people, inch by inch he moved doing his best not to accidentally elbow someone by mistake. Eventually he found a quiet spot that was a ways past a newly departed gate, standing behind a pillar he stopped to take a breather. This day hasn’t been going well.

He was sent on a small recon assignment, something that was supposed to be small turned into a giant shit show with a bunch of former Hydra agents. The thing was, he wasn’t even supposed to go, but he volunteered to go figuring that it would be a quick in and out, and boy was he wrong. After a long chase, some big explosions, and a bullet grazing his head, he was finally able to get out of there with a bit of his dignity left. Some recon mission that was.

So here he is now, Bucky finds himself stranded in an airport on Christmas Eve with no way of getting home. Bags are beginning to form under his eyes and he drops his duffle bag to the floor while simultaneously grabbing his phone out of the pocket. Finding Steve’s name under speed dial he quickly hits call gritting his teeth together in anxiousness. The rings pass terribly slow and Bucky is instantly fearful that his best friend wont answer his call, but a wave a relief washes that away when he finally hears someone answer.

“Steve.” Bucky blurts out abruptly.

“Bucky?” Steve asks in confusion. “Bucky where are you? Aren’t you supposed to be on a plane right now?”

“My flight got canceled, I am stuck in Chicago.”

“Whens the next flight out?”

“All the flights are canceled. They said the storm won’t let up for a couple of days. Can you send a Quinjet over here to grab me?”

“Buck, there is no one at base right now, everyone is home for the holidays.”

“What about Stark?”

“Bucky…”

“There must be something you can do Steve! I am stuck in an airport! I’m am tired! I’m exhausted! And all I want to do is go home and crash in my bed and sleep till new years!” He knows he shouldn’t be shouting at his friend, but he has been up for way too long and he is a very grumpy super solider. Steve was quiet on the other end no doubt trying to figure out a plan for his best friend, after a long pause he finally spoke.

“You said you were in Chicago right?” Steve asked hesitantly.

“Thats right.” Bucky raised an eye brow at Steve’s suspicious tone.

“Well….Y/N lives in Chicago.”

“No.” Bucky states plainly.

“Bucky.”

“Steve.”

“Its either you go to Y/N’s place or you spend the night in a hotel and we both know how you feel about them.” Bucky shivered just at the thought of the scratchy carpet and the bed bugs. “Plus you probably won’t be able to find one open tonight.”

“I’d rather freeze to death on the street.” Bucky mumbles while looking down and nudging his bag with his foot.

“Y/N lives right outside the city, I will send you her address. Take a cab and go to her house, thats your best option at this point. We can figure this out in the morning, just text me when you get there and rest…Oh and try not to kill each other alright?”

“Fine.” Bucky groaned.

“I will talk to you later.” Hanging up he shoved the phone back into his pocket and pinched the bridge of his nose letting out a frustrated breath of air.

You weren’t exactly at the top of his favorite persons list, you didn’t even make the top ten, and Bucky doesn’t like a lot of people. The two of you would always bicker and harass each other, the team would often have to break up the little verbal quarrels that the two of you would get in quite often. As someone who wasn’t part of the team you sure hung out with them a lot and he despised the way you would always throw yourself into danger without thinking it over.

He hated you, he hated the way you would always laugh at Steve’s dumb jokes. He hated the way you were always able to calm him down from his rage episodes. He hated the way your hair always fell to perfectly on your shoulders, the way your eyes gleamed when you listened to someone talk. The way your lips parted before you were about to speak….

Immediately he shook his head. Yup, he hated you alright.

The car ride was unimaginably long as it took him away from the airport, the traffic was horrendous, the roads were icy and the weather seemed to be getting worse by the minute. Bucky was exhausted, annoyed but most importantly, tired, the only thing that was really keeping him awake was dread of having to show up at your home unannounced. He was taken out of the city after a long wait in seasonal traffic, Bucky was driven out of the city and soon entered suburban neighborhoods.

The driver drove slowly past all the houses and Bucky’s eyes roamed each one admiring the glows of the lights and decorations sprawled out on the lawns. Stopping at the end of the street the car came to a halt, on cue the solider unbuckled and hoped out of the car into the icy blizzard. The moment he opened the door a chill hit him hard and the snowy winds gave him goosebumps as he slug his duffle bag over his shoulder. Damn, he hated the cold. With chattering teeth he handed the driver a fist full of bills while simultaneously wishing the man a happy holidays, only to receive a grunt in return.

He watched as the driver slowly drove away and was long out of sight before looking back at the her house, it was small as it stood wedged in between two colossal homesteads. It was blue with a white trim around it, the porch on the front wrapped around the side and looked freshly shoved, however the pathway did not. The dwelling had two floors with only a few windows which had the curtains pulled over them hiding the insides from prying eyes. The only light he could see was coming from a room on the first floor and he was beginning to rethink his decision on coming here.

Inhaling deeply he slowly walked up to the front door, looking around again he noticed that her house was the only one that was not decorated in the christmas fashions. All the homes were decked out in holiday lights with knick knacks all spread around the yards, but hers was plain and baron.

The light in the window was dim and he was beginning to feel sick, what if you turned him away? What if you weren’t awake? It was cold and he turned his head to look down the street before shifting the weight from one leg to the other. Bucky was mere inches away from the door and took a deep breath before ringing the door bell and clenching his jaw in nervousness.

An excruciatingly long minute passed, until a light finally flicked on illuminating the front porch, the snow all around him began to twinkle from the rays. The door opened very slowly, too slowly for his liking, he held his breath and slowly he saw your figure step out of the darkness of your house.

Your body was cozied up in a sweatshirt while some long sweatpants covered your legs, a handmade blanket laid around your shoulders keeping you warm. Bucky flinched when your eyes met his and he could see your expression melting from a fake smile to an annoyed frown in a millisecond. He opened his mouth to speak but all of the sudden you slammed the door shut right on his face and he jumped.

“Y/N.” Bucky stated rolling his eyes and pushing out the breath he was holding in. “Y/N.” he calls about again this time raising his tone. He dropped his shoulders in annoyance from the lack of response coming from behind the door, even though he knew you were still there. “Y/N!” he called out once more and knocked hard on your door with such great force he could have sworn he heard the hinges rattle.

The door swung open and you took a step forward once more glaring at Bucky with irritation written all over your face. Bucky had to desperately hold back a laugh by faking a unpleasant cough as you crossed your arms and leaned against the door.

“What do you want?” the words were harsh as they left the mouth.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” Bucky replied with a cheeky grin on his face.

“What are you doing here?” your tone didn’t falter.

“I…Didn’t Steve tell you I was coming?” Bucky asked suspiciously.

You raised your eye brow skeptically and gave him a look over.

“I will take that as a no then. Well I was on assignment and I was supposed to fly back to New York but my flight was canceled because of the storm thats coming through. So I…”

“So instead of calling for a Quinjet you decided to come to my house.” your words interrupted him while you adjusted your form while keeping a stern look.

“There was no one at base.” Bucky mumbled in annoyance while scratching the back of his head and looking down at the ground. “Coming here wasn’t my first call to be fair, believe me.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I have no were else to go.” Bucky’s tone begins to become defensive. This isn’t going well.

“Why didn’t you just stay at a hotel?”

“A…A hotel? Do you know what day it is? You think I could find one that was open right now? I don’t understand why this all of the sudden turned into an interrogation! ”

“Look, I am just trying to figure out why you are here, Barnes.”

“If you want me to leave so bad, just tell me!” his voice raises slightly at your attitude.

“I am just trying to wrap my brain around the fact that Bucky Barnes is on my porch at this ungodly hour!”

“You know what? Fine!” Bucky throws his hands up into the air like a child throwing a fit and marches down the steps of the porch. Leaning your head back you let out a growl while running your fingers though your hair. He walks to the edge of the street and crosses his arms and begins to look down the street looking for nothing in particular.

“You are being so difficult!” You cup your hands to project your voice to him. Bucky doesn’t answer, instead he turns his head back to you for a moment and gives you a menacing glare before returning to look at the street once more.

“Now what are you doing?” The body leans against the door frame while you pull the blanket up further.

“I am leaving, what does it look like I’m doing?” His voice was being taken by the winds while he spoke.

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know, maybe I will die out in the blizzard. We are just going to have to wait and see won’t we? he shouts back in while you roll your eyes at the drama queen.

Smirking you now realize that the two of you look like angry toddlers screaming at each other out in a snow storm. He seems to realize it too because he turns back around trying to conceal a half angry smile while pouting on the street in the snow.

“Bucky, its like 15 degrees outside!”

“I don’t care! I’m the Winter Solider, Winter is my middle name!” he says while you catch him shiver.

“Bucky! ….God you are such a stubborn asshole.”

Looking around you take a large deep breath and let the air trail away in the winds, the snow is falling harder and your fingers are starting to feel numb. The temperature is dropping again and the strong cold gusts of air are nipping at your poor cheeks.

“The weather is getting worse….I know we hate each other, but its Christmas Eve and your flight was cancelled please come inside.”

He doesn’t respond at first and you fear that he may actually walk out into the storm and you wold have to chase him down. But he slowly turns around and instead of a “I knew you would give in eventually” look, he just looks a little dumbfounded while he stares at you in your doorway.

Steadily, he walks back up to the porch and up the wooden steps where you are waiting for him holding the door open wider and motioning him to come in. Carefully he takes a large step into your house and is immediately feels the warmth hit his body.

“You are going to catch a cold.” you say under your breath while he wipes his boots on the welcome mat.

“No I’m not, I am a super solider remember?” he glances over at you with a crooked smile.

“Well I am not a super solider, shut the door.” he sees you point to the door and he closes it shutting out the stormy weather. When he turns back around he suddenly realizes something off, he notices instantly that you are walking weird. Your body was stiff and rigid, your hands began to hold onto the walls as you walked down the hall. The legs wobbled as the feet took each step very slowly while you limped.

He opened his mouth to voice concern but he then closes it abruptly. Oh. Thats right, you had been shot. It happened early in November, when you were tasked to protect an foreign ambassador while he was on a diplomatic mission representing his state. There was an assassination attempt on his life and you nearly lost yours when you shielded him from the wave of bullets, while getting shot in the stomach in the process. The last time he saw you, you were being rolled into the ER while the doctors were preforming CPR. He was told you lived but he didn’t see you after that for you had turned in early till the end of the year. He had tried to get that memory out of his head. Guilt began to push up his throat and he now felt a bit guilty snapping at you in your condition.

“You want something warm to drink?” you ask over your shoulder.

“That would be great thanks.” he speaks softer while setting his bag on the ground without taking his eyes off of you. He steps silently behind while he follows you into the kitchen, he flinches and holds out his hands every time you wobble or slide. Rounding the corner he stands behind the counter while he watches you hobble over to some kitchen cabinets. Stepping on your tippy toes Bucky scurries over to your side in a flash, not allowing you to stretch your body as you reach for a mug. He is quick to grab it before you get a change to react, spinning around you lean back on the marble counter.

“I want this one.” he says playing it off. You raise an eye brow and looked down at the mug in his palm.

“Worlds greatest Aunt?” you as smirking.

“What can I say? I am the worlds greatest aunt.”

Letting out a huff in amusement you take the mug from his hands, he feels your fingers, they are freezing. He looks around the dark kitchen while you begin to pace over to the stove.

“Coffee?”

“Decaf, please.”

He sits at the table while a cup of hot coffee in his hands, he takes a few sips while watching you fiddle around cleaning things up in the kitchen. The atmosphere is very awkward, he doesn’t really know what to say to her an apology should be on the top of his list. But with his anxiety unfortunately building up with each passing second he remains silent with his lips pressed together in a firm line.

“Were you expecting someone else when you opened the door?” He finally speaks after an eternity passes.

“Pardon?” you ask while setting down a wash rag.

“Were you expecting to see someone different at the door? I mean you seemed a little too happy.”

“As a matter a fact, I was. The pizza man.” he hears you laugh.

“You ordered pizza? On Christmas Eve? At this hour? Isn’t everything closed?” Bucky chuckles.

“You would think. But this place is a 24/7 pizza restaurant, and its even open on Christmas Eve so I decided to treat myself to the cheesy goodness of an extra large pizza.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And I didn’t just order a pizza I’ll have you know, I also got some wings and some cheese sticks.”

Bucky lets out a loud laugh and throws his head back while you just stand there with the biggest guilty smirk on your face. A loud doorbell interrupts his laughing fit and he stiffens up to the sound as he watches you limp towards the door. “Speaking of a healthy Christmas dinner…” he hears you say. Leans his body off the chair slightly he watches carefully as you pay quickly for your food and the pizza boy scurries back into the storm.

“You hungry?” he hears you ask as you walk back into the kitchen with a few piles of boxes. The smell immediately runs into his nose and his mouth begins to water as you open each box on the counter.

“Nah.” he lies. A loud growl from the super soldiers stomach catches her ears and he slightly slumps in the chair embarrassed.

“Are you sure?” she chuckles.

“Shut up.”

“Well I guess if you’re not hungry… I will dig in then.” She begins to chew on a slice of pizza and Bucky’s hunger pains begin to get worse in his stomach. It doesn’t help that she is making slight moans when she eats with overly amplified chewing sounds just to get a reaction out of him.

After a few painful moments of watching her eat he finally stands up in his chair and stomps over to the counter. He rips the slice of pizza out of her hands and takes a big bite while she you just laugh with a mouth full of food. His body melts while he quickly devours the pizza and reaches for some cheese stick and chows them down.

The two of you sat on the carpet of the living room, the lights were dim and the flickering from the muted television illuminated the empty boxes that lay on the wooden coffee table. Your backs were pressed to the couch while warm blankets and pillows were scattered around on the floor. A christmas movie played silently while you both sat there will full bellies and tired eyes watching the quiet film.

“I think that was the best Christmas dinner I have ever had.” Bucky spoke up.

“Please, don’t be ridiculous.” you huffed out a laugh.

“I’m being serious. I am always by myself or with Steve over the holidays, and although I love Steve, I can’t stand his cooking. This is more laid back and familiar, makes me feel like I’m at home again.”

“Oh, you had pizza for christmas dinner in the 40s?” You mocked turning your head to look at him.

“Nah, we would always have an over salted ham and some beans that Ma made that I never cared for, I would have rather had this. I am gunna have to make this a tradition.”

Snorting you let out a laugh and he couldn’t help the feel of red creeping up his cheeks as he watched you giggle at his dorkiness. Bucky watches you as your laughs slowly die down, slowly you sit up slightly hugging your knees to your chest.

“What are you doing Y/N?” He says out of nowhere with sadness in his tone.

“What do you mean?” you asked him curiously.

“I mean, what are you doing here. all by yourself? Why aren’t you with family or friends?” Shrugging, you glance down and wiggle your toes though the blanket, Bucky feels wrong for asking that question so suddenly. He wants to take it back while watching you contemplate your answer in your head.

“I usually spend the holidays getting drunk very slowly and sleeping for days.”

“Oh thats nice.” Bucky lets out a breath of air. “How do you usually spend Christmas?”

“By myself. Well, Last christmas I spent it on an assassination job in Slovakia getting shot at but…I don’t have a family to spend it with, I have been by myself for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky states quietly and looks down at the floor.

“Don’t be. Don’t be going all soft on me now.” he feels you nudge his arm softly and he gives you a smirk.

“Doesn’t it get lonely sometimes?”

“I would be lying if I said it didn’t.” he sees your sad smile.

You throw your hands up in the air and stretch your limbs out, a satisfied groan leaves your libs and the arms fall back into place. “I am not much of a christmas person anyway…”

“Is that why your house is so dull compared to your neighbors?” he slightly teases.

“Thats right, just thought there wasn’t a point to celebrate it when I had no one to celebrate it with.”

He suddenly feels sad at your words and realizes that this whole time you have been living a lonely life with no one to share it with. He thinks back to all the recent Christmases he had spent with Steve only only to think that you were all alone that entire time. Bucky feels bad about complaining about what he had when he now sees that you had nothing.

“Well now you do.” He smiles at you.

“Yea.” you smile back. “In fact, this is the first time in a long time that I have had company over for the holiday, or even my house for that matter…”

Your voice trails off and you become silent, a bright commercial flashes on the screen and he watches you look around at the table distracting yourself from Bucky pitiful gaze. Standing up quite slowly you shed the blanket off your shoulders and throw it onto his lap while he watches.

“Well, I am going to clean up and throw these boxes away.” you speak avoiding his eyes.

“I’ll help…” he begins but you cut him off.

“No, no, its alright I got it. Its wont take long, I will be right back.”

Stretching the arms you reach to quickly grab all of the greasy boxes and stacking them on one another before limping out of the room. Grabbing the blanket he pulls it over his legs keeping your warmth intact for you while he listening to the awkward footsteps hobble down the hall.

Bucky knows something is wrong immediately when he hears a faint thump, the sound wouldn’t have been heard if he didn’t have enhanced hearing, but a thump is what he hears and he feels his guts turn the instant he heard it. You had been gone for quite a while, after a couple of minutes of hearing you wobbling in the kitchen he expected you to return right away but you didn’t and that made him uneasy.

Standing up fast, he listens carefully to the world around him trying to hear any other sounds. Suddenly he hears a muffled whimper and he darts out of the room, his heart beating hard in his chest as he rounds the corner. He stops fast when he sees you and panic fills him up to the core as he sees your crumpled form hunched over on the ground.

“Y/N.” he breaths out slow. He doesn’t get a response instead he hears a painful cry leave your lips.

In a flash he is next to you trying to pull you up to take a look at your face but the body is stiff and your head ducked low to the floor. “Y/N?” he asks while his hands roam your body trying to inspect any sign of damage. “Y/N?” this time his tone is full of fear. “Hey, hey, are you alright?” Bucky hears you say something under your breath but even his super hearing can’t make out what you said.

“What? Whats wrong? Y/N, tell me whats wrong.”

“…pills.” you painfully mutter out only to wince at your words.

“What?” he asks confused.

“pills…my pills.” he sees your hand shake as you point to the stairs.

“Where?” he asks sternly.

“…Dresser.”

He lets go abruptly and your body falls even more as he sprints up the stairs, finding your room he grabs a couple of pill bottles off the dresser and runs back down and kneels back down on the floor in front of you. “Which one? Which one?” he asks almost in a panic. Bucky sees you shakily point to the bottle with a blue lid and he practically rips the top off of the bottle to retrieve a pill. Putting the pill in your fingers he runs to the kitchen while the shakes fingers place the pill on your tongue. Running back he carries a cup of water in his hand and lifts up your chin and places the cup to your lips to help you drink. After a moment of watching you breath, he sets the items down and props your body up against the wall. Anxiety was still laced in his system and he had to take measures of his own to calm an impending panic attack.

“What happened?” He finally asks after calming down.

“My medicine wore off… I tried to catch myself before I took a digger. But I guess I ended up eating the floor.” He knows you are trying to play it off, he sensed embarrassment in your tone but also pain. Bucky sees your eyes closed shut as the head leans back onto the wall, your fingers grip at your gut hard while a fake smirk is plastered on your face. He scotched next to you and leans his head back against the wall spreading his legs out on the floor of the hallway.

“Its my fault.” He regretfully says though his teeth. The eyes open and you turn to look at him.

“What it?” you ask softly.

“Its my fault that you got shot.”

“What? No its not, what are you talking about? You didn’t shoot me, you had nothing to do with it.”

“I was supposed to be assigned with you that day, but I refused because I didn’t want to be teamed up with you because…” he trailed off. “…instead I sent a rookie into the field. I though that it would a good learning experience for him, but he ended up getting killed. Its all my fault. Its my fault that you got shot, and its my fault that you are in so much pain.”

“Bucky.” you said sternly, he turned his head to look into your eyes. “There was nothing you could have done, Yes, maybe if you were there I wouldn’t have gotten shot, but something else could have happened. Who knows? But none of that was your fault. Don’t put the blame on yourself. I didn’t die, I’m still here, and now…” You pointed to your stomach. “…..I have a good conversation starter dinner parties.”

“You’re so stupid.” he laughs and turns away. “You don’t go to dinner parties.”

“Well, if I ever did, thats what I would lead with.” you smiled up at him with beaming eyes.

Bucky carried you back to the living room for the legs were too weak to move, he placed you on the couch and covered you with the handmade blanket. Slowly the body begins to stop shaking and he seats right down next to you with his arm around your shoulders as you snuggle into him. Its late and the chimes from the grandfather clock fill the house while the snow silently hits the windows from outside.

“Looks like that storm isn’t going to pass for another few days.” he says looking out the window.

“Thats alright I have room, we can wait it out.” you smile and he tucks some hair behind your ear.

“I am glad I got to spend the holidays with someone, even if its with someone I hate.” He teases beaming down at you.

“I hate you Bucky.” she smiles and her head falls on his shoulder.

Bucky pulls your hair back and kisses your forehead.

“I hate you too. Merry Christmas Y/N.”

“Merry Christmas Bucky.”

-End!

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noplceinheaven · 7 years ago

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Prison/Sick or injured with hamburr :3

Disclaimer: I’ve never been close to a prison or even watched a prison-based show. Do I look like I know anything? I sure as hell don’t.

Burr doesn’t have much of a reputation at the prison. He’s been there for about six months, and pretty much no one knows what’s his deal. He hasn’t said a word to most other inmates; he’s tried to keep to himself.

The new kid, Hamilton — Alexander Hamilton seems pretty determined to make him speak up. He’s brash and loud and Burr has no clue what the hell Hamilton is there for. It could be anything, really. He seems twenty-four, twenty-five years old. Considering Burr is twenty-seven, it’s not much of a difference. They’re both young and in prison.

“Burr,” he starts, sitting next to him in the cell after lunch. “What’s your deal, Burr?” He has this lopsided grin that drives Burr mad, and fuck, he wants to know what Hamilton’s deal is, too.

“None of your business, Hamilton, piss off,” he replies.

“Oh, you almost swore at me!” he exclaims, voice bordering on sarcastic. Burr finds it kinda cute. “Now that’s some progress.”

Burr curses under his breath and decides to ignore the man. “Why does everyone want to know why I’m here?” he asks to the floor.

Hamilton either doesn’t catch he doesn’t wish for an answer or he just wants to piss him off. “Because you’re awfully quiet, Burr. Almost everyone here has threatened to punch me because I’m annoying as shit.” The words aren’t even said bitterly — it’s like he’s taken as a fact that he’s annoying. Considering Burr is able to tolerate his company, and even enjoy it sometimes, he isn’t really annoying. “Meanwhile, you? They changed me to this cell and you’ve barely said a few words to me.”

“You’re not annoying,” Burr mutters instead of talking about the matter at hand, and he realizes he said that out loud, and his body freezes up. He looks up, not meeting Hamilton’s gaze. He expects teasing or a laugh or a shake of his head.

Instead, Hamilton’s face is flushed pink, eyes a little wide with disbelief. “I am, Burr,” he says. And he sounds so sure of it, it makes Burr wonder (even if for just a second), what caused him to be so sure that he’s an annoyance.

He doesn’t reply. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, he curls up on his bed. Hamilton climbs onto his own bunk, and Burr takes his own book. He reads for a few minutes until the lights are turned off. He falls asleep fairly quickly, trying not to think about what got him there.

It takes a few days until Burr and Hamilton have another conversation that lasts more than two exchanges.

Hamilton comes back to the cell with a black eye and a bloody nose, and Burr gets up from his bed, putting his book down. He looks at him with wide eyes and a worried expression but doesn’t manage to get a word out.

Hamilton doesn’t seem like the person to start a fight. Okay, he kind of does, but the man has at least a bit of common sense — he wouldn’t start a fight in a prison.

“Did you punch back?” Burr asks, and Hamilton looks up. He’s pressing tissues against his nose, to stop the bleeding.

“No,” he replies. He’s so uncharacteristically quiet it scares Burr a little.

Burr shifts his weight on his feet. “Who was it?”

“Laurens.”

Burr hums. Laurens is one of the biggest assholes in the prison, angry and quick to throw a punch. He’s not dangerous, not at all, but he is terribly annoying. More annoying than Hamilton has ever been. Laurens has sat next to Burr a few times during lunch and he’s managed to piss him off, although he’s never acted on it.

“Sit with me,” Burr says.

“Huh?”

He swallows his pride and insists, “Sit with me.”

Hamilton gets up and sits down next to him, pulling the tissues away from his nose. Burr rubs his side, in an attempt at helping him relax. He goes lax after a few minutes, closing his eyes.

“What caused it?” Burr asks.

“He found out I’m here for narcotic possession, threatened me, I didn’t reply, he called me a pushover and then threw a punch when I didn’t seem to care.”

“He’s like that with everyone,” Burr tries to comfort him. Hamilton laughs a little. “And you run your mouth, so it’s no surprise he threw a punch.”

“I know, I know.” Hamilton huffs and fixes his hair. It’s long; down to his shoulders. Burr doesn’t wanna admit he wants to tangle his hand on it, twist his fingers around it. “What are you here for, anyway?”

“Manslaughter,” Burr replies. He’s comforting the man, he might as well admit what he’s doing here.

Hamilton stiffens and he looks at him incredulously. “You’re kidding.”

Burr didn’t expect that response — back in high school, everyone said he looked capable of killing someone. Maybe he’s mellowed out, who knows. “I’m not. A guy broke into my house and I stabbed him with a kitchen knife; he didn’t get medical help. Didn’t intend to kill him.”

“Oh.”

Burr licks his lips. “Yeah.”

“Well, now I know something nobody else in this hell of a place does.” Hamilton smiles smugly and lifts his leg up to rest it on Burr’s own. Burr’s face burns, but he’s not embarrassed, exactly. “Isn’t that intimate, Aaron Burr?”

Oh.

Hamilton’s flirting with him.

He opens his mouth, eyes widened. He struggles with words. “I-I’d say so?”

“Would you like to kiss the punches Laurens threw better, Aaron Burr?” He’s got his lopsided grin back on his face, and his hair is long and the blood in his lip makes him look even more attractive. Burr’s heart falters for a second.

Burr tries to grin.

“You’re smiling,” Hamilton says, “I’d never see you smile before. It’s attractive.”

His face burns even more. “Thank you, Alexander Hamilton.”

Their lips meet — Hamilton cups Burr’s cheek with his hand, tan skin contrasting with dark brown — and Burr for once doesn’t care for the consequences of his actions. It’s a slow kiss for maybe five seconds before they’re kissing fiercely, all teeth and tongue.

Once they pull away, Burr’s heart beats hard against his rib cage, and he thinks he’ll die.

“You’re beautiful,” Burr says, tangling a hand on Hamilton’s hair.

“I know.”

Burr lets himself scoff before kissing him again, and again, and again. He takes Hamilton’s shirt off, and he runs his hand down his chest. Hamilton is kind of stiff; like he’s expecting something. Burr takes a bit to notice the small scars near his armpits. He blinks a little.

“Where you got these?” he asks.

“Top surgery,” he replies. “I’m lucky to be in a men’s prison.”

Burr nods, playing with Hamilton’s waistband absentmindedly. He kisses him again before going down, kissing his neck, his collarbones, his pec. He’s so stunning it drives him into silence.

“You don’t…?” Hamilton doesn’t finish the sentence as Burr takes his shirt off too, exposing the scars along his chest. Hamilton blinks, and for a second or two he’s rendered speechless too. “Oh.”

They kiss again, and Burr smiles against Hamilton’s lips. He pulls at his hair a little, and he’s pleased when Hamilton’s eyes flutter shut and he lets out a soft whimper.

“Well, at least we would’ve met at the women’s prison too.”

Hamilton laughs — Burr decides he can live with someone seeing them when he pushes Hamilton’s pants down.

#hamburr #aaron burr #alexander hamilton #hamilton #hamilton fic #oh they fuckin #my fic #nonbinarylafayette #r; i couldn't get the boy to kill me

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