#i'm even considering stopping reading it before i start crying omg | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

almostempty · 5 months ago

Text

You might be a fast runner or a sharpshooter, but young girls aren’t known to fare well on the battlefield.

(But what if I had a 🗡️)

Obviously, you’re gorgeous

I’m blushing.

You rarely stop to mingle with Colleen

But but I need to know Colleen’s nail tech

His first interaction with you aside from your initial greeting, begins with a headache

lololol this is about me

Do you want Advil? I have some in my purse

YOU KNOW I always keep that thang on me or at least have a couple loosies

Hold out your hand unless you want me to feed them to you,” you say jokingly

!! Feed him !! Feed him !! Put your fingers in his mouth

“You’re a fuckin’ angel, you know that?”

Didn’t know I needed him to say that to me but now I’ll never rest

Depends on the underwear, he thinks

Heheheheh

Javi, stupidly, has forgotten that you're not privy to any of this, so you endure 25 minutes of conversation time before asking, "Who's Connie?"

I cackled at this hahahahah

"Okay, fine. I was not listening…”

He’s such a shitass I’m giggling weeeeee

Really, Javi's a mopey zoo lion if anything

HAHAHAH stop!!

there is a mutual knowledge and acceptance that Steve is cock-blocking Javi. It's for everyone's benefit.

Honestly cockblock!steve is such a real one, he’s always just curmudgeonly and self absorbed enough ya know? Hahaha

"We can still go out, right, Javi?" you ask

Me preparing to cry rn if he says no 🥺

It takes only one word to seal his fate, but he gives you five.

I love that line, it’s got me silly smilin’

so he can't put his arm around the back of your seat and you can't lean on him when you start to feel tipsy

☹️☹️ how does he know my fav moves, come over here and lemme leaaaaan on you bb

he keeps his hands – respectfully, protectively, friendly – on you. Just an arm around your shoulder, or your hand in his at most scandalous.

YEAH YEAH!! Yeah!!

You leave him with a kiss on the cheek, and he hopes that it means less to you than it does to him.

They are stronger than me �� respect

Watching you get whisked away by the bartender, Javi sighs a little too loudly, prompting Murphy to inquire, “you jealous

AHHHH I LOVE WHEN THEY GET JEALOUS

I’m a simple lady ok

“No. I’m gonna go… mingle,” he says

NOOOOOO I HATE WHEN I GET JEALOUS

“Okay, I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk about it.”

“Fuck off. We agreed that I’m not sleeping with her – I did not take a vow of celibacy.”

I can picture these two and their attitudes perfectly heheheheh

“Tell him I left to fuck his wife.”

Hahahahah

You keep your eyes pointed at your feet and he keeps his hands by his sides. It feels like you’re strangers who happen to be walking at the same pace, to the same destination. There’s nothing more to say

Owww can you remove the dagger from my soft heart

“Oh, so we’re not good enough for you? I’m offended,” Javi says, sarcastically, but there’s a grain of truth deep down

—me when I flirt and expect someone to read between the lines then complain about miscommunication

Each outfit has a matching set of lingerie, so you have to see that too in order to accurately judge

OMG I LOVE HER

He has the tendency to get attached even in the most casual of situations, so he’d never dare make an occasion out of sex

We know he falls in love with everyone 💗

Javi is stupid enough to think that this means you'll skip the date

“Yeah. How do you want me?” he asks

HO BOY LET ME GET MY LIST - unfurls comically long scroll 📜

He does the right thing the first time – he calls up Gabriela and fucks her like he hates her, tips her real well afterwards

Brb I gotta touch grass real quick

"I need to forget," you tell him, and he knows exactly what that means

💗💗💗💗💗

if you consider sex a party

Heheh why not

"I'm gonna cum."

"I know. That's the goal.”

Stop!! (Don’t) the attitude is making my laugh like a looney, too good!!

He doesn't wait for an answer before lifting you over his shoulder

Pls lug me to your cave Javi 🙌🙌

The second time you say 'fuck' is when Javi tells you he'll go grab a condom from his wallet – which is in his jeans, which are somewhere near the front door – and you say 'fuck it'.

!! Chanting and shaking the bars of my enclosure

"Make me forget."

Yes yes yes

"I want you to hurt me."

I don't want to hurt you

AHHHH

Good" is the only word he says, though it's clearly not 'good' because Steve looks more pissed off than he's ever seen him

HEHEHEHEHEHH

Stay," you say, tugging him by the hand, so he falls back into bed

Yes yes yes yes

For him, it's deeper than that. You're deeper inside him than he ever was inside you.

Owwwww hurts so good

He wakes up beside you, feeling hungover despite not having any alcohol the night before. It's the vague sense of guilt and confusion, the way he feels more awake than the night before but less awake than he should after a full night's rest.

I can feel this SO viscerally

His eyes linger on you for too long while he fantasizes, long enough for you to notice – for you to begin to see him for who he is.

CAN you come over and hold my hand while I read this and scream with meee over all of it

You sleep together again, but you don't have sex

OOH not the infinitely more intimate version of sleeping together fr

I'd do anything for you

Same

You call periodically at first, but the calls get more sporadic until they disappear entirely

OWWWWWW

There are two open barstools, one on each side of a woman he can only see from the back. He chooses the one to her right. She looks like you, he thinks, just a slightly different haircut.

EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Yeah, I will be, once my boyfriend gets our bags

NOOOOO GIRL WHYYY IM ON MY KNEES

uhhhhh, that was fantastic and I had totally casual and normal responses while reading it. hurt me again pls bb

my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder

pairing: javi p x reader

cws/tags: angst, p in v, oral, idk? drinking? canon death mention? javi pov

summary: reader, a dea agent, arrives in medellin (season 2 time) and quickly forms a bond w javi. are they just friends or is it something more?

a/n: there is a part 2 which will give the full picture (hopefully)

wc: 8.6k

taglist:

@gothcsz @onlyasimp4-2dbitches

There was Helena, and then, Gabriela, before that, Vanessa, and certainly some others here and there, but with all of them, Javi had his expectations set upfront. Or at least, he thought he did, he tried to, but he'd be lying if he said Helena only came to mind when he was lonely in the middle of the night, naked and unable to sleep.

Elisa was a mistake, an unfair mistake that was dropped off at his doorstep before he could tell himself that this doesn't mean anything. There must've been some self-preservation instincts in him that held him back from begging her for more, from moping around after she left. He risked a lot for her, but he would've risked more if she'd let him.

Prostitutes and wanted communists are one thing, but you are something else. Javi can't quite put his finger on what that something else is yet, and it’s too late once he figures it out.

In the beginning, Javi was skeptical of you, mostly because you came to Medellin with Messina and crew, and he falsely assumed that being her subordinate meant you would take her side if there were ever to be conflict between her and Javi – and there was from their very first conversation.

More than skeptical, he was intrigued. Being sent to Colombia to participate in the fight against Escobar was usually reserved for higher-ups with a much longer tenure, or fresh meat for the front-lines. As a newcomer, that meant that you were either a highly-skilled agent in the field of investigation or you volunteered yourself – likely unknowingly – to be slaughtered. You might be a fast runner or a sharpshooter, but young girls aren’t known to fare well on the battlefield.

Once he’s determined that you’re not a threat, you’re a coworker. You keep to yourself. You don’t seem shy, just focused, and for that Javi is grateful. Considering the fact that he’s forced to work with the people he deems to be ‘RIP’ and a fuckton of bureaucracy, you make his life easier.

Obviously, you’re gorgeous. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder or whatever but he sees the way others look at you. He notices because he is also looking. You walk with confidence, but not arrogance. You traverse the halls with purpose, but not urgency. You rarely stop to mingle with Colleen and only exchange cordial glances with men who would melt if you gave them any more attention than that.

His first interaction with you aside from your initial greeting, begins with a headache. It’s the phone ringing, then the keys clicking on the typewriter, even the tick of the clock gets to him. He groans - somewhat dramatically - and puts his head in his hands.

“Agent Peña,” you pipe up from beside him. “Are you okay?”

“Just a headache. I’ll recover.”

“Do you want Advil? I have some in my purse.”

“Yes, please.”

You dig through a sizable bag until you find a small bottle. You carefully shake two caplets out and pour the excess back inside their container, closing the cap tightly before putting it back in your purse.

“Hold out your hand unless you want me to feed them to you,” you say jokingly.

He opens his palm and takes the offering, greedily swallowing the pills dry.

“You should really take those with water,” you say.

“Does coffee work?” He presents the near-empty mug on his desk to you, swirling the contents.

“Here,” you say, giving up your water bottle.

“You’re a fuckin’ angel, you know that?” he says, before taking a gulp of your water, tasting the chapstick on the rim. Cherry. It leaves a pink stain that matches the color of your nails.

When he returns the bottle to you, you seem oddly flustered. He meant angel as in miracle worker not as in divinely gorgeous woman, though both could be used to describe you. You should know that, he thinks.

“Not really,” you say with a breathy laugh. “I’m just prepared for any surprise Aunt Flo could bring me.”

“Huh?” Javi’s a man without sisters, daughters, or a wife, he’s never heard the expression.

“My period.”

Honestly, he’s impressed at how plainly you say it, shameless as you should be.

“Ah.”

“She makes me more of a demon than anything, but it means I’ve got a whole pharmacy in here.”

“Got anything fun?”

“Not unless you find enjoyment in a handful of tampons and a spare pair of underwear.”

Depends on the underwear, he thinks. They’re probably modest, but you’d look good in fuckin’ granny panties. By the end of the day, he’s imagined you in just about everything.

At the time, Javi's not interested in flirting with you. It's not a conscious effort not to get involved, he's just so caught up in everything else that there's little time to think about romancing you.

Even the night he and Steve first invite you for drinks, it's sheerly for the sake of camaraderie. In fact, it was Steve's idea, not his. Murphy thought you looked lonely – in retrospect, Javi thinks it might've been projection. Javi agreed to invite you out of pure interest in what you'd be like outside of the office.

Nice. That's the best way he could describe it. Likable.

You all get drunk. Javi watches your professional facade slip as you’re swaying in your seat to the rhythm of the current hits on the radio. Your skin, dewy with summer sweat, makes you glow like an angel in the dim light of the bar.

It takes Steve a drink and a half to bring up his marriage problems. Javi, stupidly, has forgotten that you're not privy to any of this, so you endure 25 minutes of conversation time before asking, "Who's Connie?"

"Steve's wife," Javi says.

"Where is she?"

"Miami."

"I've never heard you talk about her before."

"Because he's in hot water," Javi, again, is the one to answer.

"I can answer for myself, thank you." Steve insists.

And so Javi lets Steve talk - he's probably heard it all before - and he lets himself have a break. Just a little break, no one will notice if he lets his mind wander for a second. Really, he's mostly listening, he thinks.

"Javi." Murphy's voice from across the table is oddly stern.

"What?" Javi mirrors his tone.

"What do you think I should do?"

"About what?"

"Connie."

"I don't know."

"Were you even listening?"

"Yeah, of course."

It takes one long stare to get him to break. "Okay, fine. I was not listening. Tell me one more time."

You excuse yourself from the table to use the restroom, and it feels like you've fed him to the wolves – rightfully so.

"You like her." It's not a question. It's a statement, whispered as if Murphy cares about the confidentiality of Javi's love life or lack thereof.

"It's not like that." But Javi can't meet his eyes.

"I know sleeping around usually works for you, but I don't want you to fuck this up. Not right now when we're so close."

What he means is: do not fuck her. It should be simple – and to Steve's credit, he's right. But the thing is that Javi doesn't just want to fuck you. It's not like that.

"What do you think I am? An animal?" Javi asks.

Yes, he absolutely does. To him, Javi is a tiger, waiting to pounce on whatever prey he can get his hands on. Really, Javi's a mopey zoo lion if anything.

When he notices you making your way across the room, he changes the subject. "Anyway, I think you should call Connie, and tell her how you feel. Just be honest."

"That's what I said," you beam with pride, as if you've gotten the answer right.

Looking into Murphy’s bloodshot eyes, he adds, "But you've gotta sober up first."

"I agree," you say, and Javi only notices now how you slur your words.

He convinces you both to go home with the promise of a second hangout next week. It's an empty promise – he just needs to get you home safe. He assumes you won't remember in the morning. But come next Friday, you approach him, and ask if you're going to the same bar you went to the weekend prior.

It was an empty promise, but one he decides to keep.

It becomes a weekly thing. The three of you. You all get along perfectly well, but if this were any other circumstance, if you were any other beautiful woman, Javi would've pulled Steve to the side and told him to pound sand. But there is a mutual knowledge and acceptance that Steve is cock-blocking Javi. It's for everyone's benefit.

Your group hangouts typically begin and end at the same bar down the street.

The friend group arrangement works until it doesn't. Until Murphy has plans.

"How the fuck do you have plans? Your wife is in another country," Javi asks bitterly.

"Unlike you, my life isn't centered around women I want to sleep with," Steve says with less bite because he knows he's won the conversation.

Fuck Murphy. Javi was tired of hearing him bitch about Connie anyway. But you. He could never get tired of you.

"We can still go out, right, Javi?" you ask, and he's fairly sure it's the first time you've ever called him by his first name.

He doesn't have time to find an excuse to say no when he's pushing away every knee-jerk flirtation in his mind.

"Yeah," he says, "of course we can."

It takes only one word to seal his fate, but he gives you five.

That evening he sits across from you rather than next to you, so he can't put his arm around the back of your seat and you can't lean on him when you start to feel tipsy. Instead, he has to try to pay attention while you're looking him in the eyes, smiling at him and no one else.

When you decide to call it a night, and you stumble on your way out the door, Javi grabs hold of your arm, steadying you.

"I'm gonna walk you home," he says. Not an offer, a statement of fact.

"I got it," you say, patting him on the chest in thanks.

"No, you don't." He sighs as he leads you against your will, trying not to let your stupid grin get to him.

As you walk past the lit-up buildings filled with young singles dancing with their bodies pressed up against each other covered in sweat and spilled drinks – the nightlife of Medellin, a song escapes one nightclub that you recognize, and you begin to sing along. Your tune isn't bad, but your lyrics are far from correct.

Javi laughs heartily, unable to hold it in.

"What? You don't like it?"

"No, I love it – it's original. I love the way you've completely changed the lyrics."

"You're so mean, Javier!" You playfully shove him – or attempt to, but you end up falling into his arms.

He takes your hands in his, holding you upright.

“It’s ‘hold me closer, tiny dancer’, not ‘hold me closer, Tony Danza’,” he says.

“Okay, fine,” you say, hands still clasped in his, swaying a bit, coaxing him into dancing with you slowly.

Halfway through the song, he’s leading you, step-by-step, twirling you like a ballerina because he loves the way you laugh when he does it.

Though you’re the one that needs help standing, you keep him on his toes too. The words are no longer ‘Tony Danza’, nor ‘tiny dancer’ - it becomes ‘hold me closer, Javi Peña’.

For the rest of the walk, he keeps his hands – respectfully, protectively, friendly – on you. Just an arm around your shoulder, or your hand in his at most scandalous.

It takes you a moment to unlock your door as you fiddle with the keys – their clinking metal being the only sound echoing through the halls of the apartment building. Anticipatory silence. He won't come into your apartment, he knows that. You're too drunk to consent to anything. You leave him with a kiss on the cheek, and he hopes that it means less to you than it does to him.

“It’s kinda like Cheers when you think of it,” you note off-handedly.

“In what way?” Javi asks like he’s challenging you.

“Well, we’re always at the same bar.”

“Oh yeah? ‘Where everybody knows your name’? The bartender still calls you ‘señorita’.”

“He calls me ‘gringo’,” Steve mumbles into his glass.

As it turns out, the bartender does know your name, and just as Sam Malone would, he makes out with you in a room marked ‘employee’s only’.

Watching you get whisked away by the bartender, Javi sighs a little too loudly, prompting Murphy to inquire, “you jealous?”

“No. I’m gonna go… mingle,” he says, turning towards the area that has become a dancefloor over the course of the night.

“Okay, I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk about it.”

“Fuck off. We agreed that I’m not sleeping with her – I did not take a vow of celibacy.”

Murphy doesn’t stay to watch Javi find an eligible woman to suck him off in the women’s room. Instead, he closes his tab and asks the bartender – the one not making his way from second to third base with you - to relay a message to Javi when he inevitably comes looking.

“What do you want me to tell him?” The man – unamused, but bored enough to entertain him - asks.

“Tell him I left to fuck his wife.”

The bartender seems to think it’s funny enough, especially when he already harbors certain negative feelings towards Javi for reasons that may or may not be justifiable, depending on who you ask.

Javi learns of this later when he closes out his own tab, but before he does so, he has a mission to see through.

Barely concealed by a stall door that could use a new coat of paint and some WD-40 on the hinges, Javi is about to tell this woman - whose name he’s already forgotten - not to leave any marks above his collar, but then, he remembers you, and says nothing, only groans when her teeth scrape the skin on his neck.

He brushes this need to ‘conquer’ off as a typical rivalry between friends. When your friend exits the room to go hook up with someone, it’s your duty as a man to find a mate of equal social stature to theirs, and engage in at least some heavy petting by the end of the night. Or at least, that’s how it worked back in college – which, come to think of it, was about a lifetime ago for Javi. Looking back, he realizes that those nights taught him the infinitely valuable skill of bullshitting his way in and out of situations.

Though, he tells you the absolute truth of who, what, where, and how it all went down for him that night on your walk home. He only omits the why.

“Are we going back to the same place next week?”

“I thought we already established that we go there every week, just like they do in Cheers,” he says.

“Can we go somewhere else next time?”

“Why? It seemed like you were having a good time back there,” Javi teases.

“I guess…” you mumble, kicking gravel aimlessly down the sidewalk. “But he wants to see me again.”

Javi hums as if he understands.

“I just don’t wanna get caught up in anything serious, you know?”

“Oh, but I’m the asshole when I say I’m not good at commitment?”

“That was Steve, not me, and to his credit, you said you left someone at the altar. You committed and then you backed out. You broke a promise – that’s why you’re an asshole.”

“Then, she dodged a bullet by not marrying an asshole like me.”

The rest of the walk home is silent. Tense, and not the good kind.

This is not the climax of the movie where Javi pushes you up against the wall next to your apartment door, and you engage in the steamiest makeout session allowed on cable television – the kind where you pull away panting, take one look into each other’s eyes and realize you’ve been in love all along.

Until you reach your apartment, and when the two of you part ways, you say to him, “I’m sorry I called you an asshole.”

“It’s okay.” I’m used to it, he thinks. “People have said a lot worse about me.”

With Connie and Olivia back in Miami, Steve has a spacious apartment to himself, which is where the three of you decide to congregate after your little hook-up with the bartender the week prior.

Buying a case of beer from the convenience store is much more cost-efficient, and Steve can easily talk to his wife on the phone when he gets a little too drunk and misses her, leaving you and Javi in his living room together.

Briefly, you both listen to him murmur into the handset, cradling it like a baby. If it were someone else, you might gossip, at least speculate, but there’s nothing salacious about it, and despite the fact that Steve will one day return home to his loving wife, beating all of the odds currently stacked against them, it’s not a tale of epic romance. Not that Javi knows anything about romance anyway.

You and Javi sit in the living room, chatting about nothing important, mostly bitching about work and how there’s never anything good on TV anymore. But then, out of nowhere, as if it’s nothing special, you mention a man – a colleague, but the DEA is a large organization, so Javi is unfamiliar with him.

“He asked me out.”

“Did you accept?”

“Yeah, I figured, why not? You know? I feel like I should get to know more people. I really only hang out with you and Murphy.”

“Oh, so we’re not good enough for you? I’m offended,” Javi says, sarcastically, but there’s a grain of truth deep down.

“You know you’ll always be my favorite, Javi.” You lean your head on him and he hadn’t realized how close you were sitting until now.

“Yeah, yeah.” Javi nudges you with his elbow, pushing you away despite himself. “Now, tell me about this guy you’re going out with.”

“He’s really sweet, and like super polite… a gentleman,” you decide.

“Oh, so you like a ‘nice guy’? Someone you can bring home, someone who holds the door open for you…”

“I guess. He’s pretty handsome, too. He’s got brown hair, and pretty brown eyes – kinda like yours.”

You smile, so he smiles. But, how can you say that with such levity?

Because he’s just a friend to you.

You've truly formed a bond with Javi by the time you step into the dating scene in Colombia. So much so that you ask Javi for his opinions on what you should wear for your third date – just as you did for your first and second.

"Either you're great with fashion advice or you're my good luck charm," you say. "So, I need you to tell me which looks best."

"Okay. Go put on outfit number one before I get bored and fall asleep on your couch."

"I'll be quick, I'll be quick. You can pour yourself a drink if it'll keep you awake."

He's never been one to turn down a drink, but what keeps him awake is your 'fashion show'.

"This is outfit number one," you say, smiling in your classic little black dress.

"Beautiful," he says honestly.

"And then," you say as you begin to unzip your dress.

"Whoa-"

"What?"

"Why are you getting undressed?"

For the first time, he's nervous to see a woman naked.

"Each outfit has a matching set of lingerie, so you have to see that too in order to accurately judge."

He gestures for you to continue and tries to keep his expression neutral. And his dick soft.

It's torturous to see you stress so much when he knows the guy doesn't deserve the sight of you like this. Neither does he, for that matter.

"You really like him?" He asks.

"I mean, yeah sure, he's nice, and he's good-looking"

"But you're not over the moon about him." He can hear it in your voice. You don't deserve to settle.

"No, but you can have sex with someone you're not over the moon about - you, especially would know that, Peña."

"Yeah, but I don't dress up all fancy just to have sex."

He has the tendency to get attached even in the most casual of situations, so he’d never dare make an occasion out of sex.

You sigh. "I guess I do, or else I wasted a shit ton of money on lingerie."

"Fuck the money. Do you actually wanna fuck this guy? 'Cause you know you don't have to. It's not a written rule."

Javi surprises himself with how much of his dedication to making sure you're making the right decision is out of genuine platonic care for you and not jealousy for the man who might get the chance to sleep with you.

"I know I don't have to, but I want to, and I want to look good for him because I want to make a good impression."

He shrugs, dissatisfied. You don't get it, you'll make a good impression no matter what you wear. Any guy would be lucky to get the opportunity to sleep with you, he could say, but it would come off wrong.

His silence allows you time for thought, for worry. Seemingly, apropos of nothing, you ask him if he's ever had sex with a woman who was 'bad in bed'.

"Sort of, not really. Nothing really bad, but I've had times where we're both pretty drunk and it's just… not great. One time I hit my head on the wall." He smiles at the stupidity and you laugh.

"Sorry. I'm sure it hurt."

"It hurt like hell, but it wasn't totally her fault. Another time, a girl's phone would not stop ringing, and she eventually picked it up and it was her mom telling her that her grandma died."

"Did she kick you out or did you stay to comfort her?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'comfort'."

"You did not continue fucking her."

"I did. But, as you can imagine, the mood was kind of ruined."

"Luckily both of my grandmas are already dead, so that won't be an issue."

"See? There you go. Just don't drink too much, make sure he doesn't hit his head and maybe take your phone off the hook."

But you continue to spiral through worries, telling Javi each and every one of them while he sits at the foot of your bed.

Will you bring your date back here? Is the only worry in his own mind.

Eventually, he asks you, "do you like him? Yes or no. And I mean really like."

"Yes."

"Do you trust him?"

"I don't not trust him."

"That's not the question I asked."

"It's hard to make a blanket statement saying that I trust someone. Trust him with what? To save my place in line, a briefcase holding a million dollars, my life?"

"Let me ask you this way then, who do you trust?"

"My mom, my sister, Murphy, you…"

"When you say you trust me, what does that mean for you?"

"I've trusted you with my life many times before and I'd do it again. But in our jobs we have to put our lives on the line."

"If he had my job would you trust him like you trust me?"

"Not as much as I trust you."

And somehow Javi is stupid enough to think that this means you'll skip the date, maybe even schedule one with him, but you go as you planned to – if he were able to look at you dressed in lingerie and keep his opinions completely detached and as objective as possible, he would say you should go with the red set because it looked the best. But he hopes, selfishly, that you saved it for his eyes only.

As most relationships do, that one ends. The man - whose name Javi rid his mind of - breaks up with you. You lament over it for about a week and then move on.

Javi lets you cry it out with your face buried in his t-shirt, staining the fabric with mascara tears. It was his favorite, but he rubs your back and holds you closer instead of telling you to stop using him as a tissue.

“It’s his loss,” he says along with all the typical phrases one expects to hear after a devastating breakup.

But what makes you feel better is when Javi suggests you watch the episode of Cheers he’d taped earlier that week.

“Can I lie down while we watch?” you ask.

“Yeah. How do you want me?” he asks because the couch is the only piece of furniture facing the TV, which means you’ll have to share it.

“You wanna lie down behind me? You could be the big spoon.”

He nods, lying down on his side, leaving space for you to curl up beside him.

He wraps his arm around you lazily, resisting the urge to run his hands down the side of your body, to touch you everywhere.

“Can you see from back there?” you ask.

“Mm-hmm,” he lies. He’s already seen the episode, he’d much rather fall asleep with his body pressed up against yours. It’s the closest he’s ever been to you.

Javi has practiced the art of keeping himself hidden. It's a useful trait as both an agent and a reluctant hopeless romantic. He never gets too drunk, not like you and Steve. He never reveals what lies below the facade of a grouchy, sometimes disobedient but wholly dedicated agent on your Friday night hangouts. He disguises himself as a womanizer, an asshole, until he can't anymore.

You find him in desperation. Post-tragedy, a traumatic incident that he can't quite shake. It makes him vulnerable. He does the right thing the first time – he calls up Gabriela and fucks her like he hates her, tips her real well afterwards. The second time is when he makes the mistake of seeing you, not just looking at you when you cross paths, but seeing you.

He knew things were bad after seeing Murphy teary-eyed for the first time. It brought the first incident to the forefront of his mind again. A cigarette and some fresh air would help, he thought. But when he steps outside, he finds you.

"It's late," he says.

"Why are you out here?"

"I can't sleep."

"Me neither."

You won't look at him. Why won't you look at him?

"I heard what happened today."

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"I'm not asking you to talk about it. What I'm saying is, I know what you're feeling."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do, and you know it. We were both there when-"

"I don't wanna talk about that either."

"Good. I don't either. We should go inside. It's not safe for you to be out here right now."

"I'm not a fucking baby."

"You know what I mean. I'm trying to help you, okay?"

You ask him to stay with you – that's what will help, you say. He shouldn't, but he's too weak to say 'no'. You make him weaker.

"I need to forget," you tell him, and he knows exactly what that means.

It means sex. It means throwing away the future he could've had with you. Not the romantic kind – that was already gone, that's been gone since before you came into his life. He won't have a white-picket-fence-two-and-a-half-kids-in-the-suburbs kind of future with anyone. But he could've had a friendship, he could've gotten the gift of existing near you without any tension, something light and untouched even if it meant keeping himself at a distance.

But, you need this. You're begging him to fuck you, and if he chooses not to, it'll only make things worse – you'd withdraw from him entirely in embarrassment from his rejection because there's no way he can tell you that it's not because he doesn't want to have sex with you. God, no – he wants to have sex with you. In his ideal scenario, you get drunk once – on a business trip, at Steve and Connie's house, at the celebration of Escobar's demise – and you make the "stupid mistake" of sleeping with each other, and it becomes an inside joke between the two of you.

In his dreams, you get married on the beach or at city hall or even at a church if that's what you wanted. But dreams are dreams for a reason. They're distinctly different from reality. They don't come true.

In reality, Javi says the best thing he can, which is "okay", and he lets his lips collide with yours.

When your frantic hands begin to strip him of his clothes, he wants to tell you "it's okay, we have all night" because he wants to take it slow. He knows he won't last long when he gets inside you.

He tries to balance eagerness with gentleness when he takes off your clothes. He wants to be close to you.

"Let's go to your bedroom," he mumbles into the crook of your neck.

You don't bother to pick up your clothes, which are strewn near the doorway, so Javi doesn't either. He can tell you're impressed when he undoes your bra with one hand, and it makes him laugh, a little proud too, despite the fact that it's no more than a party trick (if you consider sex a party).

But his need to be the best you've ever had has him dropping to his knees in the hallway, and it's milliseconds before his hands are gripping your thighs and his nose meets the fabric of your panties.

He looks up, and asks, "can I take these off?"

"Yeah," you say, assisting him by slipping them down your own thighs.

With how quiet you are in the office, he expected you to be the same in the bedroom but you're not. The moan you let out when his tongue meets your clit is loud and unashamed – his favorite kind. It spurs him on.

"Javi, Javi, Javi - wait - I'm - hold on-"

So, he stops. "What's wrong?" He massages your thighs while he speaks, soft and sweet.

"I'm gonna cum."

"I know. That's the goal."

"But I'm gonna fall over."

"You're not, baby. I'm gonna hold onto you. But, if you want, we can finish this in bed." He doesn't wait for an answer before lifting you over his shoulder.

It makes you gasp, just like his lips did moments ago, but this time it makes him laugh. Only you could make him smile on a night like this one.

He doesn't tease you, he dives back in, lapping at your folds, more desperate for your orgasm than you are. If Javi is one thing, it's dedicated, and the bedroom is no exception.

You're still panting when you ask him to fuck you. It might be the first time you've said 'fuck' in front of him. "Fuck me" is Javi's line.

Utterly captivated by the sight of you disheveled beneath him, he agrees.

The second time you say 'fuck' is when Javi tells you he'll go grab a condom from his wallet – which is in his jeans, which are somewhere near the front door – and you say 'fuck it'.

And, utterly captivated by the sight of you, he agrees.

"How do you want me?" he asks.

"Rough," you say. "Make me forget."

You say it with such conviction that he sighs and says, "Okay. Turn over."

He buries himself to the hilt in a single thrust and since Javi can't see your face, he can't tell if the moan you let out is pleasure or pain, so he leans in and whispers into your ear, "Tell me if I'm hurting you."

"I want you to hurt me."

I don't want to hurt you.

Something holds him back from saying it. He's not one to disappoint, especially in this facet of life. So, he saves the kiss he wants to place on your cheek for later. Instead, he drags his teeth along your soft skin and bites the flesh.

He fucks you hard, the way you want him to – holding onto the headboard, hips slamming into yours from the back at a merciless pace, and maybe if you weren't you, he'd feel different about this. But, instead of staring into your eyes and trying to cover up the immense fondness he feels for you, he looks at the pictures that hang on your wall, held up by clothespins on a string–you're smiling with your friends, blowing out birthday candles, laying on a beach towel in a bikini. He is in none of these photos. Why would he be? You've never taken a photo together. He's not a part of your life like that.

All the while, he keeps an iron grip on your hips and keeps a steady rhythm. Your moans turn into sobs, and he doesn't know how much longer he can take. Both because hearing your cries makes him feel conflicted about everything and because your walls are so tight around him, you're soaking wet and your legs are trembling. It's not long before he feels your pussy spasms and your whole body jolts – you have the sense to scream into your pillow, but he can still hear it.

Finally, he pulls out and jerks himself off, letting his release spill onto your ass, and once he's let go of you, you promptly flop down fully onto the mattress.

With the room finally quieter, you hear banging on the front door. You're about to get up but Javi stops you. "Stay there. I'll deal with it."

He slips on his boxers and flings open the door, and it's the person he least wants to see. Steve. Not because he hates Steve, but because Steve will bring this up.

He doesn't even have to say anything.

"Sorry. We'll keep it down," Javi says.

"Good" is the only word he says, though it's clearly not 'good' because Steve looks more pissed off than he's ever seen him.

He tells you it was a neighbor, but doesn't specify which one. He cleans you up, and prepares himself to leave. That's how this goes, right?

"Stay," you say, tugging him by the hand, so he falls back into bed.

He falls asleep with his bare skin flush against yours but this time it's gentle. He gives you a kiss on the temple before you turn out the light. You're silent but you smile.

The hurt comes the next morning. For you, it's physical, but can you really complain? For him, it's deeper than that. You're deeper inside him than he ever was inside you.

He retracts his hand from your body, hoping he can slip away before you notice but you turn to him, fully-awake.

If life were different – kinder, he would smile at you and you would try to kiss him.

"Mm-mm. I have morning breath," he'd say.

"I don't care," you'd say, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him towards you.

He'd pull back, just to argue because he likes the way you pout and the way he falls for it every time. You'd settle for a kiss on the forehead with the promise for something more after Javi brushes his teeth.

The quest for better breath would all be for nothing since he'd have coffee and a cigarette for breakfast (you'd tell him to eat more, of course), but you'd kiss him anyway.

His eyes linger on you for too long while he fantasizes, long enough for you to notice – for you to begin to see him for who he is.

Murphy brings it up at work when you're out of the room. Javi can see it in his eyes before he says anything.

"Sorry for keeping you up," Javi mutters, straight-faced and honest.

"Nothin' else to say?" Murphy probes. He seems more curious than angry.

"Nope. Is there something you think I should say?"

"You fucked her," he whispers.

"Yes," Javi whispers back.

"How? Did it just happen? Or have you guys been a thing for awhile now and I just haven't noticed?"

"We're not a thing."

"You're not not a thing."

Javi doesn't have to admit to Steve that he's right because you walk into the room.

He is forced to silently admit what you are to him when he fails to hold back a rare smile upon seeing your face.

He sees Gabriela again, and though he's slept with her more times than he's slept with you, it still feels like he's cheating.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks while he stands by the window with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"Work."

"Bullshit." She exhales a breathy laugh.

"Yeah."

"It's not something, it's someone. Isn't it?"

He turns, silently.

"I could tell you were thinking about her when you were fucking me - I thought it was just a sexual fantasy, but you're still fantasizing… and we're not fucking anymore."

"You'd be a great shrink, you know? In case this doesn't work out for you."

"It's working out fine." She flashes him the wad of cash he handed her before they got in bed together.

"Right."

"Maybe I'm supposed to be offended, but you were sweet this time - gentle. If you keep fucking me like that, I don't give a fuck who're you're thinking about."

"You liked it?" He asks with a flirtatious glint in his eye, opting for indulgence as distraction.

"I did. In fact, I think you could get a second round. On the house."

His cock springs to life and he slips out of his jeans. He fucks her slow, pressing kisses down her spine. She cums twice and he feels like a god.

But not like a lover, not like her lover.

You sleep together again, but you don't have sex. You're tipsy off whiskey in his apartment one night, trying to shake off the past week.

The DEA, being of the USA, only knows violence as conflict resolution, so you and Javi aren't trained to solve any problem that comes after the fighting is over. Distraction is the best you can do and alcohol is often one of the greatest methods.

"I wish we had something stronger than whiskey," Javi remarks.

"When in Medellin…" you say, swiping a finger under your nose.

"I think the amount of coffee I've had today is probably equal to a gram."

Doubtful, considering Javi is dozing off in his chair.

"Javi," you say, snapping your fingers to get his attention.

Startled, his body jolts awake. "What?" he asks, frantically.

"Nothing. You're just falling asleep."

"Sorry. I didn't sleep well last night."

"I figured. Everyday for the past week, you've looked like you're going to keel over. Are you okay?"

He takes a deep breath. Shakes the magic eight ball in his mind. Try again later. "I've just been having a lot of nightmares recently. It hasn't been like this since I was a kid."

"Well, how'd you get them to stop back then?"

"My mom used to sleep in my room with me."

He smiles at the thought of his mother. He doesn't often think of her because the funeral comes to mind. But sometimes, when he's lucky, she'll come back to him in memory - now, he sees her through a childlike lens, her face bright despite the bags under her eyes. The love he felt for her was so simple and pure.

His love for you is the most complicated kind.

"I'm not your mom, but if you want, I can sleep over."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course. I'd do anything for you."

You say it so flippantly that Javi barely has time to process it. It's better that way.

Finally, he gets a good night's sleep. But that only makes him need you more.

You both go on pretending things are the same until Carrillo dies. He was always the catalyst.

"I don't do funerals," Javi tells you.

You nod, pursed lips, accepting his decision. Giving in easily, which is unlike you.

"I'm thinking about leaving," you announce abruptly.

"You should go home, get some rest, especially if you're going tomorrow." To the funeral. Javi can't stand the word either.

"No, I'm thinking about leaving."

"Leaving where?" He already knows.

"Colombia."

"Are they reassigning you?"

"No, I'm quitting."

"Have you told Messina?"

"No. You're the first person I've told."

He nods and takes a deep breath. "Is that what you want to do? Quit?"

"I don't know. I wanted your advice."

"It's your choice, not mine." I'll miss you.

"I just can't do it anymore." You reveal yourself. You shatter.

"Hey." He places a hand on your shoulder, but you fall into his arms. "That's not true. You're strong. You know that you're strong."

I need you, he means.

So, you stay.

There is something about the grief that fuels you both to fight harder. You're no longer just fighting for justice, you're fighting for vengeance. It makes you both colder, more numb to the cruelty.

But physically, neither of you are much stronger. You overestimate yourselves, run through the streets with handguns after blood-hungry sicarios.

In his pursuit of one of the men, Javi fails to see a shooter on the roof with a gun aimed right at him. You see it, and shove Javi out of the way.

The bullet only grazes you, and Javi leaves with a few scrapes and dirty clothes. And guilt.

A shopkeeper who seems all too used to crisis situations grabs a first aid kit while Javi sits with you.

"You're not gonna call for backup?" you ask.

"No use. They got away. Let's just focus on this right now, okay?"

"This" means the wound on your side.

"It's not a big deal," you say, though you're clearly on the verge of tears.

"You got shot. The number one priority is making sure you're safe."

"Didn't you say that we can't focus on the casualties? That Escobar wins if we waste time mourning our dead?"

"Neither of us are dead."

You'll need more than the basic first aid that Javi can give you, nevertheless, he uses an antiseptic to clean the wound.

You break down in tears at the burning sensation.

"You're doing so well," he tells you, "I'll be done in just a moment."

When the ambulance arrives, he insists on accompanying you to the hospital.

They ask him who he is and he flashes his DEA badge, knowing that "friend" doesn't mean anything in this case.

Friend isn't enough.

You don't need surgery, just stitches – and some pretty decent pain pills. The kind that makes you sleepy.

Once the two of you are alone, after the doctors have finished with you, Javi tells you - finally, "Thank you, by the way, for saving my life."

"Who's to say it would've been a fatal shot?"

"Still." He leans down and kisses you on the cheek in lieu of saying anything else, knowing how badly he could fuck this up if he lets himself say everything he's really thinking – if there are even words for his feelings.

Luckily, there might not be.

"Javi," you whisper.

"Yes, hermosa?"

He rarely calls you nicknames, so it seems to fluster you a bit.

"Can you kiss me for real?"

"How much of those drugs did they give you?"

You look like you're holding back a batch of giggles and Javi can't help his stupid grin.

Before his cheeks hurt from smiling the most he has in a while, he leans in and kisses you – for real.

Breathless, you pull back and ask him, "do you think we could get away with doing it here?"

"Are you serious?" There's no way you are, he thinks, and yet he considers the option. "No, cariño, we shouldn't risk it."

He does take you home with him, but again, you don't have sex.

In the morning, you tell him confidently, "I'm leaving."

And he knows you don't just mean his apartment.

"I just can't do this anymore – the constant fear of dying was bad enough, but now…" you point to the bandages covering your stitches.

"I know." It doesn't matter what he says. You're going to leave anyway.

And, he feels guilty for convincing you to stay anyway. You should've left before this, but he was selfish and wanted to keep you a little longer.

He doesn't say goodbye in the way he wants to. He lets you go with a kiss on the forehead after waiting with you until you're called to board.

"Goodbye, Javier," you say.

He can't say anything back or he'll cry. The kiss is all he can give.

You call periodically at first, but the calls get more sporadic until they disappear entirely.

Javier is used to falling in love. So much so that he expects to feel the same way about the next woman he sleeps with. He gets attached to one woman, and then moves onto the next, loving her the same way as the last. The process of forgetting involves ending up in the same mess, feeling the same thing for someone who is blonde instead of brunette, or brown-eyed instead of blue, maybe a cup size larger in the bust. Something old, something new. There is more to the phrase, but the idea of commitment began and ended with Lorraine back in Texas.

Texas. After all is said and done in Colombia, he goes home. Like you, he can't do it anymore. His mind is already rattled with nightmares and his body is worn out.

There's an airport in Laredo, but he can't get a flight there until Monday, so he decides San Antonio is close enough.

The airport bars tend to be filled with people waiting to depart, not passengers who have already arrived. But, Javi decides to have a drink before calling a cab. There isn't any rhyme or reason to it. His feet lead him there, not his brain.

There are two open barstools, one on each side of a woman he can only see from the back. He chooses the one to her right. She looks like you, he thinks, just a slightly different haircut.

He barely glances at you before trying to wave down the bartender.

"Javier?" It's your voice from next to him.

He turns his head so quickly he swears he might've given himself whiplash. He's speechless, but smiling.

"What are you doing here?"

"On my way home. To Laredo."

"You left Colombia?"

"Yeah, I quit."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't know you wanted me to."

It's been years since we talked, he thinks. The last conversation was about you leaving.

"Are you on your way home or…?"

"Yeah, I will be, once my boyfriend gets our bags."

Boyfriend. Boyfriend who gets her bags. Boyfriend who sits next to her on the plane. Boyfriend whose spot is beside her.

"Oh."

"I feel like I've been sitting here forever."

"It's hectic down at baggage claim."

"Yeah, there's a million suitcases and none of them are mine. I really hope it's not lost. My favorite necklace was in there."

"The gold one… with the pearl?"

"Yeah, that one." You grin, excited yet surprised. "You remember that?"

I remember seeing it on your bedside table. I remember you taking it off with everything else. The one thing you didn't tear off, the one moment you slowed down.

"Yeah, you wore it all the time."

"And you stared at my tits a lot, so…" You wink, sipping your drink.

"I did not… not all the time."

A man walks up behind you, lugging two suitcases.

"Hey, babe," he says, kissing your cheek.

"Oh!" You beam at him. "This is Javier. My coworker from back when I worked at the DEA."

Coworker. Not even friend.

'Eric' – as he introduces himself, extends his hand to shake Javi's, and it feels like he's making a deal with the devil. Promising your love – something he doesn't even have – to this man for nothing in exchange.

"I'll see you around," you say.

And he thinks it's just politeness, an everyday lie, but you call.

You invite him to your housewarming party.

“Eric and I just got our own place,” you tell him.

Javi congratulates you, and it’s an empty platitude. He says it because he has to – why else would he be here if not to celebrate you and your new home? He knows why.

He shouldn’t have come at all, but he had no excuse that he could give you. The reason why wants to see you and the reason why he shouldn’t see you coincide, but after years of knowing you, and years being apart, he still can’t admit that reason.

You were right to call him a coworker – it’s an undeniable truth. You might have been friends too at some point back in Colombia. To make the best out of the situation, Javi brings a bottle of wine – that’s what a friend would do. It’s a nice red blend, something too expensive for Javi to buy for himself. He managed to save money by not buying you a bouquet of roses. It’d be too romantic a gesture coming from a friend, let alone a coworker.

The party is an intimate affair. Everyone he speaks to is friendly, even your boyfriend, and while he wants to be happy for you, he can’t help the fact that it irritates him more than anything else. He is no better than this man – in fact, he’s worse.

Over the course of the evening, he meets coworkers and friends of yours. “I love you all,” you tell them, “but Javi’s my favorite.”

Everyone tells him he’s a hero for taking down Escobar, including you. He feels like a fraud, but accepts their thanks humbly because it’s easier not to talk about it.

He’s happy when the attention is taken off of him. Eric makes a toast. It’s to you, to your future.

A wave of nausea hits Javi as he watches your boyfriend become your fiance.

He shouldn’t drink anymore, so he goes outside for a cigarette. You appear by his side and the sweetness of your voice pains him.

“I thought I lost you,” you say.

“You could never lose me,” he lies.

When you show him the ring, he takes your hand in his, gently, pretending to care deeply about the shiny new diamond, but it’s just a rock, an obstruction, something hard covering your soft skin.

It’s beautiful, it suits you.

You linger on the balcony with him. You show him the ring, you let him touch it.

You must know that the goodbye hug you give him will be the last time you’ll touch him.

Despite the ring on your finger, you kiss Javi on the cheek one final time. Your fiance won’t mind. Because it doesn’t mean anything.

Javi doesn’t kiss you on the cheek. Because kissing you would mean something. It always has.

#javier pena x you #so good

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someone1348 · 3 years ago

Note

Heya! So after reading your headcannons for prison Dream I went and read that “Security Watch” fic, and I was struck with genius.

Little space Dream.

When he breaks out he’s so touch starved and socially awkward that he regresses often. He regresses to about 5-7 years old and he’s just a big brat, but he’s also incredibly soft.

Lee moods are often accompanied with little space after the break out, and Techno becomes his occasional caregiver. He can’t leave lil’ Dream alone because either A) he’ll fuck with shit to be a pest or B) he’ll have a panic attack.

I can come up with so many possible scenarios with little space Dream, this has like opened a new world for me. Thoughts?

OMG YES!!!

I AM NOW OBESSED WITH THIS CONCEPT!

I am so writing a fic on this! I'm adding that to my list!

These are going to be little space/lee dream headcannons!

Little dream/lee dream:

(Before/In Prison)

-I 1000% agree that he would regress from the ages of 5-7 years old!

-He is either a huge butthead /lh or the softest boy that you will ever see

-His favorite color other than green is blue because it reminds him of George

-Being away from people for so long when in the prison dream had become extremely touch starved and with all the thinking he has to do to pass the time the regression started

-He didn't even know what has happening at first until he physically felt his brain go into a smaller, childlike state

-He wasn't unfamiliar with the concept of little space considering he knew a couple of littles himself that roamed the smp

-However he didn't ever think he was one until that very moment

-He wasn't complaining though, this felt right, he felt comfortable for once but he was also scared in that moment "what if sam came in" thoughts like that filled his head and caused him to lay down, curl up and wipe a tear from his cheek

-To his unfortune, Sam did come in to bring him food, seeing his state he questioned the green man, Once Sam heard his voice, all rational thought went straight out the door

-Sam didn't care how bad dream was the minute he realized he was in little space Sam's caregiver instincts took over and he made sure dream was okay before he left

-"How old are you kiddo?" Sam softly asked as dream held up 5 fingers

-Sam calmed Dream down and gave him his food before leaving, he stated that he will be watching from the monitor if he needed anything else and that he won't be going far in case Dream started to cry again

-Dream was fine though, he just stuck his tongue out at Sam, called him a meanie and ate some mash potatoes while giggling

-While in the prison Dream had tended to regress more when he was under a lot of stress or sad

-However there were more than one occasion where he would slip into that headspace while in the middle of a big lee mood

-The giggly aspect of a lee mood makes an easy entrance for little space, the two together and you get Little Lee Dream!

-When Dream was in a lee mood and he was in little space there was no way he wouldn't be a menace

-Normally Dream is pretty figity and hyper, mainly because of his adhd, but also because that's just him/his personality, which we stan besides the point, if Dream was hit with the two L's at once, Little and Lee! There was no stopping him

-He will do whatever is necessary to get tickles!

-In the prison it was breaking stuff, dream broke a lot of things, as well as being an overall butthead to Sam, he would do it all just to get wrecked!

-Sam caught on pretty quickly to what was happening but he was all good with playing along and humoring the kid

-Dream fell asleep every single time after he got wrecked, The poor thing needed the rest if im honest

•After the prison things were so different!

-The first time Dream felt himself slip after the prison he was again in fear, he tried to fight it back but he couldn't anymore

-He just cried until Techno came back and gathered together what was happening pretty quickly, after seeing him and hearing his voice it was clear he was in little space

-Techo was very well versed in Littles, he took care of a few before so he was on top of things pretty quickly when it came to Dream

-He asked him his age, calmed him down, rocked him back and forth for a while, made him feel safe and made sure he grabbed the essentials on his way back, he made Dream come with him because he didn't want to leave the little one alone

-Techo took on the role of being Dreams Caregiver extremely quickly

-Dream added this onto the things that he owes techno for big time but of course none of them minded one bit

-Dream was calm with Techno and when he would slip into a lee mood as well he didn't break stuff or go to the extremes like he did with Sam, The most he would do was just poke him until Techno gave in

-Or make Techno chase him it's extremely adorable!

-Dream giggles a lot when he is in little space, but especially if he is in a lee mood so it's easy to pick up on what is happening

-The only other person who has seen Dream go into little space after the prison is Sapnap

-Sapnap takes great care of him as well, though he definitely prefers Techo to do it! He said and I quote "Sappy doesn't know how to cook, I fear for his kids one day" which earned him a proper wrecking by the firey one who "can't cook"

-Dream is more playful with Sapnap, it is great

-By the time everyone got comfortable around Dream again he started letting more and more people see his little side

-Things got better for everyone

-And Even though there was no way Dream was going to go back to the prison there was no stopping little Dream from going to pay Sam a visit and possibly break a few things

-I love little Dream! Ahh!

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

If ya'll want my take on little Dream specifically or anyone else who you think would be a little or if you want some of my Caregiver headcannons for anyone those are now open too! I hope you all enjoyedd!

-K :]

#k's random thought of the day #k's headcannons #Little!Dream #lee!dream #mcyt tickle #dream smp tickle

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enhypia · 3 years ago

Text

SN ; bestfriends

bestfriends answers questions with the choice of drinking instead of answering

pairings: kim sunoo x gn!reader

genre: fluff

words: roughly 1.3k

masterlist ⸺ series masterlist

~guides and warnings~

italics - reader speaking

bold - sunoo speaking

[enclosed] - interviewer speaking

italicized bold- both reader and sunoo speaking

[enclosed bold or italics] - question (depends on who's speaking)

heavily inspired by: rec.create lie detector games, cut truth or drink

warning: contains and mentions of !!! drinking and swearing

i don't promote underage drinking, save your livers

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

hi i'm sunoo!

and i'm (y/n)

and we're bestfriends~

[okay, you guys were invited here today as bestfriends for a fun little drinking game, you guys aware of that right?]

yup!

we'll probably answer everything honestly

but we're still drinking

*they high-five

[how long have you guys been bestfriends?]

for about 5 years now?

6 years if you include our dead period

*sunoo laughs

[dead period?]

it was a time where our label as 'bestfriends' was basically dead

it was a year where we weren't in the same class and both of us found new friend groups

we still talked but i could count all the times we hang out that year in one hand

honestly we still considered each other bestfriends, we just didn't look and feel like bestfriends

then the 'dead period' joke was born

[did you guys fight during the 'dead period'?]

there was just tension at first but then we talked about it

like the mature adults we are

*sunoo rolls his eyes

it was a period of growth too, so we didn't fight, we just understood each other better

yeah if it happened years earlier, we would probably hate each other right now

[how did you guys become bestfriends?]

*both burst out laughing

i'm not sure if we can say that on video

no we're not cowards, we can say it

*they have the classic bestfriend eye conversation

we shared the same dislike towards a person

*(y/n) laughs

dislike is putting it mildly

shhh *sunoo does the shush gesture

so that was the main reason and then we just got to know each other better and here we are

still hating on the same people

shhh *this time (y/n) shushes sunoo

don't expose us too much

*both laugh

[how about we officially start the q&a between you guys?]

*both nod and played rock paper and scissors to determine who gets to ask first, (y/n) wins

let's see *(y/n) picks up a card and laughs after reading it

[if your significant other and i don't like each other, will you be on my side?]

you better choose carefully kim sunoo

first of all,

*sunoo drinks

okay, friendship over i guess 😒

let me finish, gosh 🙄

first of all, why would i even date them in the first place if you didn't like them?

very true, but still, you know i won't hold you back from a person just because i don't like them

yeah but i'd be on your side if ever that happens

*(y/n) grins

*sunoo picks up a card to read

i already know the answer to this one

[if i got arrested and needed 10M won, would you pay for it?]

HELL NO ?!?

*both burst out laughing

that's like 8,500 dollars? i could buy a car with that

i wouldn't bail you out too honestly

bestfriend who? idk them

*they take a shot for fun

[did you like me when you first met me?]

probably ?

i didn't like you when i first met you

who asked?

*they roll their eyes at each other

[why didn't you like him?]

because he was so bright and sunshine-y ?? and i'm always sus of nice people

they have bad history with fake nice people

but i eventually learned that he wasn't like that

awwww

his halo is held up by thorns

*sunoo's mouth drops in shock while (y/n) laughs at his reaction

*(y/n) pats sunoo's head as he pouts

it's okay i accept you for who you are

yah~ !

[have you ever considered to stop being friends with me?]

nope

*sunoo does a heart to (y/n)

you know too much about me

*sunoo is shocked again

i would never release anything you shared to me even if we stop being friends !!!

*he is pouting your honor, don't tease him

*(y/n) laughs at sunoo's cuteness

i know, i know, i'm just kidding, i'll stop now.

[is there something that i could change to be a better friend?]

*sunoo drinks as revenge

*(y/n) :OO

if you stopped teasing me 24/7 then maybe i'd think you're a better friend

yah! you act like you don't do the same to me

once he-

*sunoo cuts (y/n) off by clamping their mouth with his hand

let's drink to that bestie, cheers!

*he removes his hand from (y/n)'s mouth and basically forces them to drink with him

i told you, halo held up by horns

*sunoo grins widely as if he was innocent.

[would you slap me for 10M won?]

do i even have to answer that?

let's use the 10M won to travel

let's go to paris

and then i'd slap you as well so we both have 10M won

i like the way you think

*they high five and takes a shot together

[regardless of sexual orientation, will you ever date me?]

*awkward silence

aha ha haha

*both reach for a shot, they even clink their glasses together

*after, they just smiled at the camera

[if we're still single by 30, would you agree to marry me?]

man would we even reach 30?

that's what i was thinking

if we're both single, i might think about it

let's get married and enjoy the benefits from various marriage laws

what if we end up like in those crime documentaries where you get life insurance

then you kill the partner for the money

... .. .

no murder in this household please

*they burst out laughing

[question for both: what's something you want to say to each other?]

do i go first or?

yeah, you first

okay but don't look at me

*sunoo rolls his eyes but looks away anyways

we rarely talk about our friendship because once one starts, the other teases

*sunoo laughs while nodding his head in agreement

okay uhm, you know i would never say this on a normal day but i really am thankful that you gave me the chance to get to know you, despite my initial slight hostility towards you. thank you for being by my side no matter what. and even if we constantly clown the word "bestfriend" there's no one i'd really call my bestfriend other than you.

*sunoo smiles softly

your turn. *(y/n) looks away as well, purely because they will combust if sunoo looks at them with that soft loving look

just like you said, there's no one else i'd give the title of bestfriend other than you. thank you for giving me the chance as well and for trusting me. i'm not one to talk much about what's going on with my life but you're always there to make sure i don't pile it all up and explode. thank you for being my rock.

*both eyes are glassy

don't cry, if you cry, you'll pay for my food for a whole week

don't ruin the mood, (y/n)

*they both laugh, instantly lightening up the air around them

oh wait that was the last question

we still have alcohol left

can we take this home? *(y/n) holds up the bottle of alcohol

*the crew laughs

[we'd allow it, if you answer one more question}

okay! let's go~

[was there a time where you felt just the tiniest bit of butterflies because of each other?]

*sunoo and (y/n) look at each other, both holding in laughs

*they reach for their glasses and take a shot

and that's the end!

bye~ thanks for having us!

»————-　♡　————-«

bonus: youtube comments

masterlist ⸺ series masterlist

a/n: for this one i wanted to keep the feelings for each other thing kind of open?? like the vagueness in those moments are up to you guys if you want to give it meaning or not. you guys are free to think if you want those feelings to be romantic or platonic.

also!!! this series is about to end omg :(( i can't believe we're down to one post before it ends aaak. thank you so much for all the love so far!! ni-ki's will be uploaded next! please look forward to it~

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #speak or shot #enhypen series #enhypen x gender neutral reader #enhypen sunoo #kim sunoo scenarios #kim sunoo imagines #kim sunoo x reader #sunoo imagines #sunoo #kim sunoo #sunoo scenarios #sunoo x reader #kim sunoo fluff #sunoo fluff

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gardenerian · 3 years ago

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You are such a good writer. I've really been enjoying reading these 5+1s. Here's a request if you'd like: 5 things they worry about + 1 thing they don't have to worry about.

omg! this is brilliant. thank you! i'm so glad you're enjoying them ❤️ cw for: talk of meds, food, and light non-explicit nausea in #3, exercise and health anxiety in #4, talk of frank's memorial in the +1

there's too much shit in their cart.

mickey watches in quiet horror as ian picks up a bag of eight dollar granola, quirks an eyebrow at the flavor - coffee and hazelnut - and then drops it in their cart with a shrug.

between the granola, the almond butter, the olives, and all the other shit ian keeps picking up, their bill has already surpassed a hundred bucks.

they haven't even made it to the fruit yet, and mickey's starting to sweat.

and this isn't even their normal grocery run. they did that yesterday, rolling up to their usual, decently affordable place to do their weekly shop.

no, this shit is all extra. a trip to the whole foods after work, "just to see what we can find," as ian had said.

it's a far fucking cry from the stolen box of pringles and ding dongs mickey is used to. and it's a far cry from the bulk cereal and boxed mac and cheese he knows ian's used to, as well.

it's fancy, all this shit. mickey's not sure he even knows what almond butter is. and moreover, it's expensive.

he's never really had to think about money before.

no, that's not quite right. mickey, like everyone he knows, thinks about money all goddamn day. one way or another, the hole in his pocket has always made itself known. the water bill, rent, bail for his entire fucking family - there was always something.

even as he scammed his way through life, skipping out on as many payments as necessary, mickey has always been thinking about his next move for cash.

that's how it went for all of them: you need cash, you get some cash, you spend that cash, then you find another way to get more cash. he spent all their wedding money because he knew he could hustle up more.

what it really is, is that mickey has never had to think of money like this. this longterm, forward-thinking, savings account, future college fund insanity. he's never had to plan what to do with his money. he's never had enough for it to matter.

no one taught him how to prepare for this.

they're learning how to run the business on the fly, borrowing books and begging lip for advice. there's so much shit they'd never considered. apparently, it's not enough to show up and do the job you agreed to do.

they're constantly reevaluating, trying to figure out taxes, health insurance, licensing, advertising, retirement plans - not to mention dealing with a fucking ambulance.

and that's just the business. suddenly they're paying for rent, internet, gas, electricity - all things they used to split a million ways with the other gallaghers. they even applied for credit cards last month.

and now, there's eight dollar granola.

mickey rubs his hands down his face as ian studies a thing of maple syrup. he's gotta put a stop to this. they've never had money to spare before, and if they're not careful, this will all be over before they've really begun.

"we already have syrup, you know," he informs ian, who just hums absently in response.

"ian," he tries again, reaching out to grab the syrup. "we don't need this shit."

"i know," ian answers, letting mickey put the bottle back. "i'm just havin' fun looking, aren't you?"

"done a lot more than look," mickey grumbles, looking pointedly down at their cart.

"yeah, i got a little carried away," ian laughs, "but we're good for it, aren't we?"

they're good for it now. ian ripped off some shitty budgeting software so they could start keeping track of their expenses. they've got line items for fucking beer and soap now. almond butter and olives aren't part of the deal.

"we won't be good for anything if we buy a bunch of fifteen dollar syrup," mickey snaps.

"mick," ian sighs, turning to face him fully. "we're doing fine. and we're not gonna come here all time! we can splurge a little, can't we?"

"but what if - "

"if it's no good, we'll rework the budget and i'll never come back here again. but today i wanna get us some nice things."

"whatever man," mickey huffs, "you're the one always goin' on about the future and a better life and shit. just tryin' to do what you wanted."

ian shoves their cart out of the way and reaches out to run a hand down mickey's shoulder.

"exactly," he says. "i want us to save up and be ready for the future. i want us to have a good life. but i also want us to live a good life, mick. we don't have to live off ramen noodles and wonder bread forever."

mickey has spent the last two and half decades waiting for life to really start. to feel secure. to feel like there is a life to live. he's been trying to buckle down, to build up to this life ian wants them to have.

he hadn't realized, really, that it's already begun.

"alright," he sighs, "get the syrup. and i want some of that fancy ice cream we saw back there."

ian leans back against the tub, sinking slightly beneath the bubbles. the steam rising from the water soothes his throbbing head, the heat easing his aching muscles.

what a fucking day.

he'd thought that moving away might remove slightly him from his siblings' respective dramas. really, it just made for a longer commute as he went to get sucked back in.

ian would never let them fend for themselves. he loves them too much to let any of them struggle alone. the problem is - they know that, too.

mickey knocks on the door as ian shuts off the faucet with his toe. he pads quietly into the bathroom - already in his pajamas - and sits on the toilet seat, handing ian a beer.

"long day?" he asks quietly.

"god" ian groans. "you got no fuckin' idea."

"you wanna tell me about it?"

"that girl debs was seeing is a real bitch," he explains, sitting up slightly. "long story short - we had to track her down, and then we had to track down all the stuff she stole from carl and lip and pawned off all over town."

"jesus."

"yeah, it was fucking insane," ian tells him. "we didn't even get everything back. lip wants to go out again tomorrow." he pauses for a moment, letting the day wash over him. "shit, i'm wiped."

mickey eyes him warily. "you know you don't have to go, right?"

"what do you mean?"

"you can tell them fuck no," he says sternly. "lip's a smart boy, he can figure this out alone for a day. not everything has to be this big gallagher family caper."

ian considers this for a moment, takes a sip of his beer. this is just the way it's always been: someone fucks up, something goes wrong, and they all figure it out together. it's what families like theirs do.

"what happened to family's family and all that?"

"yeah," mickey agrees, "family's family and you should be there for the big stuff. but they don't need ya for every little thing."

and maybe that's what ian's always been afraid of.

that they won't need him. that he'll lift right out and they'll move right along. fiona held them together for so long, they needed her for so long, but it took barely a day for them to figure it out without her.

so he grumbles when they call and he complains when he gets back home, but ian would never consider not going. as long as they reach out for him, he's going to reach back.

as if reading his mind, mickey snaps his fingers in front of ian's face. "hey," he barks, "they're not gonna forget about you if skip out on one gallagher crusade. everyone calls fiona at least once a week, right?"

and he's right; he's usually right. they don't need fiona anymore. but they still love her. they all still want her. maybe that's better anyways. as long as they keep choosing him.

"okay," ian agrees. "yeah, i'll stay home with you tomorrow."

"good," mickey purrs, eyeing ian's dissipating bubbles. "now, you got any room in there for me?"

when ian swallows his meds down, mickey doesn't think much of it. it's nice, how routine it all feels: the day is winding down, they're undressed and ready for bed, and so it's time for meds.

but then, it occurs to him -

"you didn't eat much dinner," mickey notes, watching as ian screws the cap back on his bottle of lurasidone.

"i know," ian sighs. "too fuckin' tired after this day."

it had been a busy day. a full schedule of pickups, followed by franny's soccer game and dinner with the whole gallagher clan. they'd all gone out together, descending on some buffet like locusts.

and ian had only picked at his salad bar plate.

mickey almost doesn't say anything. they've reached such a peace with ian's meds. but it nags at him as ian crawls under the covers, until he can't sit on the concern any longer.

"you can't take those pills on an empty stomach, man," mickey reminds him, bracing immediately for an attitude. if there's anything ian hates, it's people telling him shit he already knows.

but the fallout doesn't come. ian's either not too bothered, or he's too tired to snap back.

"yeah," he says instead, "i know. might be feelin' a little rough in an hour or so. but i just wasn't hungry enough."

it's more than that, though. yeah, ian didn't eat enough calories before taking the antipsychotic and now it's gonna wreak havoc on his digestive system. but what's more - the pills won't even be absorbed properly. a wasted dose.

ian knows all that, though.

ian knows all that, and ian would tell him that he'd rather feel a little crappy than skip it altogether. he'd tell mickey that he'll just try to sleep through it, tell him to just get in bed and cuddle him to sleep.

comparatively, it's such a small thing. it doesn't matter, in the grand scheme of it all. but ian will be feeling bad tonight, and mickey can't stand it.

"lemme make you some toast," he offers.

"mick - "

"no, c'mon, just a couple of pieces. if you're sick tonight it won't be as bad with some bread and butter in there."

ian looks up at him, considering. "alright," he says, "if it'll make you feel better, i'll have some. thanks."

it'll always make mickey feel better to make ian feel better.

and maybe he'll always worry a little bit. he'll always watch ian, just as ian's always watching him. it feels good, to worry like this. to worry and soothe and care, and to know it's not the end of the world.

it's the kind of worry he's always wanted, worrying for his husband.

"you sure you don't wanna come with me?"

mickey pokes his head out from the covers, hair wild from sleep. "yes," he grumbles, "i'm fuckin' sure. was sure when you asked me ten minutes ago, too."

ian sighs as he laces up his running shoes. every morning now, he asks mickey if he'd like to join him at the gym or for a run through the neighborhood.

and every morning, mickey says no.

mickey says fuck no, to be precise.

the morning is crisp and cool as ian starts up his pace. the sun is just rising; businesses and homes are coming to life as he passes by. mickey will be back to sleep by now.

mickey's never wanted to come on his runs before, and ian never really bothered with trying to convince him. they always had too much shit to deal with. people to scam, brothels to run.

but then they got married, and now ian wants mickey to live forever.

he's always wanted that, of course, but it never really felt like his responsibility before now. it's a job ian takes seriously. mickey is his own man, but ian wants to keep him around until they're dust. in sickness and in health almost feels like a challenge for them, and he doesn't want to tempt fate.

the garden is a big part of that. they'd never had much fresh food growing up, mickey especially, and ian knows that mickey will be more willing to change his eating habits if the food comes from ian's own hands.

if it'll make ian happy, mickey will try it.

but if mickey starts to feel judged, he'll shut down. so ian's never been able to get him down to the gym.

they've been married just over a year now, and ian just wants to stretch it out for as long as possible. he wants mickey thriving for as long as possible. he's working the fruits and veggies into their diets, eliminated (most of) the guns from their workspace, and corralled them into a safer neighborhood. all in the name of their lives together. of living together.

but mickey still won't come run with him.

ian goes for his workouts every weekday, spending an hour or so jogging or on the machines. when he comes back for a shower, mickey is already dressed and working on breakfast.

on weekends they do down to the pool together, or walk leisurely around their neighborhood. it's not rigorous, but it's better than nothing.

he knows that not everybody relaxes the same. running doesn't soothe mickey like it does ian. where ian feels freed, mickey just feels hunted.

ian doesn't feel very soothed today, though. he's on edge, thinking about mickey's health. they need to quit smoking. and when's the last time they had their blood pressure checked? what's their cholesterol like? they just got health insurance, isn't it time to start learning this stuff about themselves?

he doubles back and heads home early, unable to stand the worry any longer.

and he finds mickey ass up in the living room when he gets back.

"the fuck is this?" he breathes, blinking incredulously at the scene before him.

mickey scrambles out of downward facing dog at the sound of ian's voice. some woman keeps talking from his phone, instructing him to shift into warrior one.

"what're you doin' back here? you're usually gone for longer than this." mickey's hairline is damp with sweat; he sways a little nervously on a mat that ian's never seen before.

"since when do you do morning yoga?" ian gapes.

mickey closes out of the app on his phone and sighs. "just been tryin' it out," he shrugs. "knew you were gettin' anxious about exercising and shit. jill wouldn't shut up about this app so i downloaded it last week."

"do you like it?"

"s'alright," mickey admits. "thought i'd fuckin' hate it. i'm loose as hell though, which rules."

ian steps closer to him, taking in his flushed skin, his lightly heaving chest. "this is good, right?"

"guess so," mickey says. "you're never gonna get to run, man. and kev fit was a goddamn nightmare. but, i don't know. i guess i could find something i like."

"you don't have to run," ian promises. "we can swim more, or dance, or walk, or - "

at mickey's unimpressed look, he walks back a little. "or you can find your own thing," he offers. "i'll run and you can do whatever feels good for you."

mickey nods and ian feels the worry in his gut start to settle. they may not live forever, but they'll live so well.

"now," he asks, "just how loose are you?"

mickey doesn't hate their new neighborhood.

he doesn't.

he can see why ian wanted to try it out so bad. maybe the beer costs too much and it's quiet in a way he doesn't understand, but he doesn't hate it.

he just doesn't know it.

mickey was serious when he told ian that he couldn't move here if he didn't know the escape routes. but then ian went and signed the lease before he had a good enough chance to figure it out.

so now that they're living here, mickey is fuckin' jumpy.

he peers down alleyways when they've walking around, trying to figure out how best to cut over to another street if they need to bolt. he looks over his shoulder when they're at the pool, mentally mapping out the property so he knows how they can get to the L fastest.

if they're in this place for the next year at least, he needs to know how to keep them safe here.

they're sitting on the couch after a day of work, lounging in front of the television for a bit before dinner.

well, ian's watching the tv.

mickey is staring at the window, wondering if the lease would allow him to install an escape ladder. if something goes down, there's no way he's waiting for an elevator.

"relax," ian murmurs, trying to pull mickey close.

"can't fuckin' relax," he huffs, and ian sits up at his tone.

"what d'you mean?"

"i don't get this place," mickey snaps, "i can't relax if i don't get it."

to his credit, ian doesn't argue. he takes mickey's hand, rubbing his thumb over his skin.

"you really don't feel safe here? even though there was always danger for us over on the southside?"

"at least there i knew what the danger was," mickey tells him. "i knew how to handle it. plus, terry's dead, so..."

"i didn't think the danger there was physical, mick," ian admits. "just thought we could use a fresh start. but, like i said, if you wanna go - "

"we don't gotta go," mickey sighs. "i just gotta learn."

ian nods, considers.

and he wakes mickey up so fucking early the next morning. "come on," he says, shaking mickey lightly, "we gotta go out."

they wander around the neighborhood, scoping out L stops and the major through streets. mickey paces around in front of the closest hospital, looking up stats and ER wait times. he finds a spot that sells decent pocket knives.

maybe he finds a bar or two to check out.

when they get back to the apartment, ian walks him around the fence that borders the perimeter of the complex. it's sturdy enough. they check out the fire escapes, plan their own route from the apartment.

he might always need to double check the locks before they go to bed. he's always going to want to know how to get ian away, how to duck and flee and fight back if he has to.

he knows they're safe. but he wants to keep them safe.

when ian comes home with their own killing bat and stashes it in the closet, he's reminded that they're on the same team.

they come back to a quiet apartment after frank's memorial.

it was a hectic afternoon, all booze and grudges and laughter and memories, but they hadn't said a word since leaving the alibi to go home.

mickey unties his laces while ian shrugs out of his jacket. one of the sleeves gets stuck as he pulls it down, and mickey silently moves to help him.

he looks at ian: his tired eyes, his drawn lips, his creased forehead. and ian looks back. mickey wonders what he sees.

he tries to speak, to ask if ian's doing alright, but the quiet dominates. instead, he leads his husband over to their new couch.

they stretch out together, ian under mickey's arm.

and there are many things they could say tonight.

mickey could tell ian that he knows how this feels, to realize the loss of man you resented, hated even. a man that was indifferent to you at best, and despised you at worst. a man who let you down at every turn.

ian could tell mickey that he's tired. that he's worried about lip and liam and everyone else. that he didn't want to leave fiona's arms today. he could tell mickey that he's confused, that he's not sure how he feels. he could tell mickey that he's scared about what happens next. he's scared of what he might feel tomorrow.

mickey could say that this is all normal, that it's okay, that it's going to be okay.

and ian could say he loves mickey, god, he loves him. he could thank mickey for being there today, for holding him steady while his siblings reminisced in a way ian never could.

they could talk all night, give each other promises and reassurances. but they don't. they already know, anyways.

they lie quietly as the room gets darker, and then once the sun is set, they move to their bedroom and hold each other there.

they'll say everything they need to say.

but there's always tomorrow for that.

#can you tell i've had a terrible day filled with many of these worries?#nice of ian and mickey to worry about them for me #we'll all be okay tho #ty for the outlet anon!#that granola is real and it's actually $11 #but i thought even ian wouldn't go for that lol #shameless #tumblr writing

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callsignspark · 1 year ago

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I'm so glad you liked it!!! (apologies for any tears and the heartbreak, I'm right there with you.) thank you for all your kind words and reactions, my heart was so full reading your thoughts!

god I’m already bracing for the punch to the gut I’m expecting. Just me waiting for that shoe to drop… - I really started off painfully strong with the foreshadowing huh?

oh oh oh, this 🥺 I’m so soft over this. Mav coming to take care of them. Pls my heart - that's his family!! he's done everything he can for them since Goose passed!!

oh bless, I just know it looks terrible in that way that all teen boys are like FACIAL HAIR= MAN NOW BEHOLD ITS GLORY. But tbh I’d still probs be crushing even if it looks as terrible as I imagine it to be. - oh it's so bad. Slider makes fun of him but nothing will stop him and his three mustache hairs. (they're just all glad he's not attempting a beard)

well fuck me, him giving Goose the rundown was NOT on my bingo card and now I’m entirely too tender. NOT HIM TELLING HIS DEAD DAD THAT HIS MOM ISNT WELL EITHER I CANT - this was the first part of writing where I was like "is this too far? too much?" and then pushed ahead with no changes

it’s the burden that’s not a burden, that he’s forced to grow up quicker and take on these things and give up that last bit of his youth because he wants to be the support system. He wants to take care of her because he’ll trade all of that if she can just get better 😭 - all the adults were in shock that he immediately was prepared to push off college and then the heartbreak that followed when he was told no. he would have done anything to help.

the LOVE in this gesture, the sacrifice. - Mav really has gotten the short stick in all of this but he's giving so much, it's so hard to see him lose more and more with each passing year

HE JUST WANTS HIS MOM 😭 that poor boy already misses his mom. He knows he knows he knows he knows - this si the second point where I was questioning if I was doing too much

having my own Barbie movie montage here - this is literally the highest compliment omg

oh and that she knows it and feels to too. God I’m crying now. That she want to give him one more day of normal, they’ve 12 years of first day of school photos, there’s a routine. That everything else is out of her control but she can give him this 😭 - now I'm crying because I don't think I fully considered the impact of Carole's determination to finish the tradition omggggg

that there’s a game plan is breaking my heart. That boy is so strung up in knots, every minute must feel like an hour. And how can he listen and learn over the sound of his pulse in his ears? - Carole and Ice are planners (me projecting) and it was supposed to make everyone feel better because they wouldn't have to scramble to figure things out. but it really just made things worse for Bradley since it made his anxiety worse on her bad days, knowing what it means if he gets called down.

I love Mav!Dad moments, and thinking about what they’re bond must have been like before Everything™️ - their bond before the betrayal was so close. they were so close. on the rare occasion they got to spend time with Viper he would call him lil M (maverick), not baby Goose like al the other '86 guys. because to Mike, that's Maverick's kid even if he looks like Goose.

me trying to take this advice too because the tears won’t stop. But also, these moments with his FAMILY. That there was so much between him and these men, and the after of it all just makes me tender. - *hands you tissues* the relationship between Bradley and the men that stepped up to become his family after his dad died are so important to me. they really did all they could for that kid!!

The thing that makes him parentless three times over. - the way this made me cry omg that's exactly the worst part.

no words for the Carole/Mav POV just tidal waves of emotions - it was the hardest part of this to write!! to try and capture the devastation of this from the adults' perspective!

Bradley’s emotional needs being gently tended to makes me so, so soft. That he knows he’s not alone, that there’s a safe place for him to land 😭 - she loves him and knows that he's so strong but this is his weakest point. he was just a kid and he's never fully healed, so she handles him with extra softness and love.

1) curious about this surprise and I hope it involves planting a whole garden for Flora, 2) the whiplash of living a happy life and loving where you’re at but then being reminded of those hard moments. Forgetting and then feeling guilty for forgetting. - (1) the surprise is Flora-related, it's not a garden but now you're giving me ideas!! (2) he's usually really good about remembering but sometimes it sneaks up and this year was even worse because it's a big anniversary. 20 years goes by so fast and so slow at the same time.

THEY BOTH HAVE THE NIGHTMARES ABOUT EACH OTHER I CANNOT - it's so bad. they (were) the only family each other had left so the dreams about losing the other just really hits them hard.

i love how quick she is to try and put him at ease, but that she comes with the facts is even better. Like the tangible things that she can give him to help stop the spiral. - she knows from experience that physical touch and concrete reassurances help him calm down. so she tries her best to do both ASAP when he's having a rough time.

thank you so much for all your kind words!! it was emotionally tough to write but I'm so freaking proud of how it came out!

Bradley and Mary

straddling your partner's thighs

look at what you've done, anon. I've gone and written something ridiculously long.

send me a physical intimacy prompt for any of my Dagger, Sword & Shield couples!

your lap is my safe place - part i

pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Mariella “M&M” Vertucci (fem!OC)

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, uterine cancer (discussions of a terminal illness and treatment), death due to cancer (established universe death), grief over losing a parent, funerals, panic attacks, vomiting, you don’t need to read Mar[r]y Me to read and understand this but you should anyway

word count: 7.1k

part ii - coming soon

note: originally, this was supposed to be a short, simple prompt answer - one part sad and one part smutty - but it's gotten extremely out of hand due to my inability to be brief. so this is part one (the sad part), and the smutty sequel will be coming (ha) sometime early next week. and when I say this part is sad, I mean sad. some of this is very much based on my experience with loved ones who have had cancer and/or were terminally ill. it was very therapeutic to write, even if I did cry a whole lot.

Tuesday, September 3, 2002 | 06:35 A.M.

Bradley wakes up to his alarm clock blaring in his ear, feeling like he’s going to throw up, which is weird for him. Mav says that he’s never met anyone with a stronger stomach. Eighteen-year-olds have stomachs of steel, his mom jokes when she’s having a good day.

He stumbles down the hall and hangs his head over the toilet. Nothing comes up. The nausea goes away in a few minutes, but his gut still feels twisted. He brushes his teeth and decides the likely culprit is the new recipe Mav attempted for dinner last night. He choked down a few bites of the horrible fish tacos before his uncle called it a failure and ordered pizza.

Back in his room, it doesn’t take him long to finish getting ready, pulling on his new first-day-of-school outfit and shaping his mustache. He doesn’t care what Slider says; it’s looking good, much thicker than when he started growing it in April.

“It’s my first day of senior year, my last first day of school. Until the academy, anyway. But with the summer training, the first day of classes probably won’t even feel like a first day.”

His father’s official Lieutenant-JG portrait stares back at him. Unanswering as he fixes his hair.

“Mom is getting worse… She’s getting weaker; I don’t think we have very long before she has to go into hospice. I really want her to get better - I wished for it - but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

He swallows hard and fights back tears, remembering his birthday just a few months ago. Everything hadn’t seemed quite as bad then as it is now.

“I hope she can make it to Christmas. I almost have enough money saved up to buy her that pair of earrings that look like the ones Princess Diana had at her wedding. They’re not real pearls like hers, obviously, but the lady at the jewelry counter told me they’re replicas, so I think she’ll like them anyway.”

Brown eyes identical to his own stare back at him. Hints of the mischievous, prank-loving man visible in the polite smile captured. The old photo is carefully tucked into the edge of his mirror; it was his mom’s first, but she gave it to him when he was eight. She had caught him staring at it every day for a week, quietly talking to it about his day.

“Wish me luck, Goose. It’s gonna be a big year.”

Downstairs, he’s greeted with the second weird thing of the day. First, his stomach, and now his mom is flipping pancakes. She’s hardly had the strength to use the bathroom by herself in the last six months, but this morning, she’s standing at the stove, singing along to the radio, and making his favorite breakfast.

She’s always said that bad things happen in threes, but strange things happen in pairs.

He thinks she might be right, but if she feels good, he’s not complaining. She never feels good anymore.

“There he is! Oh, Mav! Look at my baby boy, all grown up and ready for his last year of high school!”

“Ma…” He groans, and without prompting, he bends down to let her kiss and pinch his cheeks like he always does.

He’s not sure how many good days she has left, so he tries his best to behave and make her life easier.

He doesn't complain when she asks him to take the garbage out after he already did; her memory hasn’t been as good since she got sick. He keeps the anger inside when everyone forgets his baseball games because she had chemo; it’s more important for Mav and Ice to take care of her than to watch him throw a ball around. He even offered up his college fund to help pay for another round of treatment. He was denied before he could even finish the suggestion, but he just wants her to get better more than anything in the world.

Needs her to get better.

She sets a stack of pancakes in front of him, and again, he has the urge to cry when she kisses the top of his head. Her perfume takes over his senses, and if he closes his eyes, it’s almost like he’s little again.

A massive stack of fluffy, perfectly round pancakes, slathered in butter and syrup, filled with his mom’s love.

Mav sitting across the table from him, drinking the worst black coffee to exist on the planet.

His mom humming off-key at the stove, her beautiful, golden hair swishing as she gets into a song.

But then he opens his eyes, and he’s not little anymore.

The pancakes are still covered with butter and enough syrup to give him a cavity, but they’re not the same. They’re flat and mishappen; her arms aren’t very strong anymore, so Mav must’ve had to help her.

Mav still sits across from him, terrible black coffee in his mug, but now he looks old. Too old for someone in his thirties. They’ve been lucky he’s been able to be here this past year. After Mom got sick, Ice and Viper pulled some strings to get him assigned to a shore-duty desk job. Bradley knows he hates it. Can see it in the way he watches every plane that passes overhead - civilian, military, it doesn’t matter - his fingers twitching to be the one controlling the powerful engines. But he never complains, is steady and strong, taking Mom to appointments and Bradley to school.

His mom is humming at the stove for the first time in a long time, somehow more in tune than she’s ever been. He wants to make a joke about how the treatments must have fixed her tone-deafness, but it would just make everyone sad. A reminder that it’s the only thing her treatment has fixed.

It’s taken everything else away.

Her skin, once bright and youthful, is now dull and gray-toned. Her energy has been zapped; she doesn’t even have it in her to make it through their Sunday movie nights. Her body is frail. She was always slim, but now she borders on gaunt, her appetite nonexistent most of the time. Her hair was the first thing to go, a rotation of brightly colored scarfs and hats replacing the blonde strands that used to reach her shoulders. He looks at today’s choice. A bright red scarf that matches the white sundress and red cardigan she’s pulled on.

She looks pretty.

“You look pretty, mom.”

It grabs the attention of both adults, the two of them staring long enough that he squirms in his chair.

“Thank you, baby.” Her pleased smile tells him it was the right thing to say. “You don’t want your pancakes?”

“I do. They look great, but my stomach kinda hurt when I got up, so I don’t want to eat right now. I’m sorry. If you put them in the fridge, I can eat them for dinner.”

“Oh, don’t be silly! It’s a special day; we’re going to have something special for dinner! Something that Mav won’t be making.” The teasing smile she sends to the table makes the knot in his stomach unwind some. It makes him feel good enough to take a small bite.

The shape is wrong, and they’re not fluffy enough, but the taste is the same. The flavor melts over his tongue. The pressure in his chest, the one that showed up around the same time as his mom’s cancer diagnosis, lightens a little bit.

I should fake sick and stay home.

The thought comes out of left field, but he’s immediately on board. She hasn’t had a good day in forever, and he doesn’t want to miss it. Who knows when the next one will come. If there will even be another good day. He wants to spend time with his mom while she knows what’s happening.

“My stomach hurts; I don’t think I can go to school.” He groans and grabs his stomach, trying to look as pathetic as possible to sell his story.

He’s forgotten how sharp his mom is, how well she knows him. “Nice try, honey. You were fine two seconds ago, and you’re not missing your first day of senior year. Now, c’mon! It’s photo time!”

Carole is marching towards the front door before he can argue, so he tries to sway Mav in his favor. But the dark-haired man just shakes his head and avoids eye contact, grabbing the camera off the counter. Bradley stands in the middle of the kitchen, the knot retwisting itself.

He suddenly realizes that his upset stomach has nothing to do with yesterday’s tilapia trying to get its revenge and everything to do with what he overheard in the waiting room during his mom’s last checkup.

“I know, I heard. Isn’t it terrible? He'd been sick for a while, but it seemed like he was getting better. He even took his kids on a bike ride, and then - BAM! - he was gone the next day!”

“Oh, that happens a lot with people who are sick for a long time. Toward the end, they get this sudden burst of energy. It’s like God’s way of giving a happy memory to them and their loved ones. Letting them have one last good day before they go.”

He’s actually going to throw up this time.

Bradley drags his feet all the way to the front door, delaying his departure as much as possible. He doesn’t want to leave, but he knows he’s not going to win any fight against her right now - he’s going to school, come hell or high water. And he doesn’t want to fight with his mom; instead, he chooses to commit the moment to memory.

The gentle touch of her hands as she fusses with his hair, making sure it’s just right before any photos.

The brightness of her smile, how it’s the one thing that’s never dimmed despite everything she’s gone through.

The teasing barbs she exchanges with Mav, the man who has been family to her for longer than Bradley has been alive.

He looks at Mav, the man who has done his best to help raise him. Tried so hard to be a fatherly figure in place of the man who was lost too soon. Mav looks tired, Bradley wonders if he’s thinking the same thing as him.

She’s going. She’s going, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Just like every year since kindergarten, they squish together on the porch, his mom wrapping her arm around his waist. He thinks about how she used to have to squat down so their heads were together. Now, she’d have to go on her tiptoes, and he’d have to crouch down for that to happen.

He knows his smile looks fake; he has to force himself because this might be the last photo he gets with his mom, and that makes him sad beyond words. Carole quickly fixes that, tickling his side on that one spot that always gets him. He giggles and tries to squirm away, his smile turning happy and real as she laughs at him.

“You’re just like your father; he was ticklish in the exact same spot.”

Even the talk of Goose doesn’t bring them down like it usually does. Today, it lifts everyone’s spirit to realize how much he’s like the father he didn’t get to know.

After Mav has taken an ungodly number of photos, Bradley asks for the camera and stands next to his uncle. He snaps photo after photo of his mom, hoping that if he takes enough, he won’t ever be able to forget this moment. Then he shuffles Mav on the porch and takes photos of the pseudo-siblings. He rearranges them one last time, setting the camera on the porch railing and hitting the timer.

He doesn’t know it yet, but that photo of the three of them standing in the yard with the Bronco just visible in the background will be the last photo taken of his mother. As an adult, it will be tied for first place with five others as his favorite photo of all time.

After the last flash, Carole pulls him close. “I am so proud of you, Bradley. Your dad would be so proud of you. You’re such a good boy. I love you so much.”

He hugs her tighter than he should; he can’t help it. The little gasp she lets out at the intensity of his hug makes him feel a bit guilty, but he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t want to let her go.

“I know, honey. I know. It’s okay.” She tries to soothe her baby, who isn’t a baby anymore. He’s a full-grown man who is so much smarter and wiser than any 18-year-old should ever be. He’s been through so much more than any kid should ever have to go through. She feels bad about how quickly he’s had to grow up. “Everything is gonna be okay.”

No, it’s not going to be okay. But he holds back his tears because he doesn’t want her to cry when she’s having a good day. He reluctantly lets go and slips on his sunglasses - aviators, just like Goose - before heading for his car, knowing that if he doesn’t go now, he’ll never be able to make himself leave.

With his stomach in even more knots than he thought possible, Bradley heads off to school, waving as he pulls out of the driveway. Trying to burn the image of his mom waving, one hand on her hip as Mav nudges her and makes her laugh.

From the moment he parks the Bronco in the seniors-only lot, the entire school day feels like torture. He can’t even enjoy the beginning of his senior year, something he had been waiting for.

Senior year means graduation. Graduation means going to college. College means packing his stuff for Annapolis. Annapolis means he can finally start working on his dream.

He’ll learn how to be an aviator while roaming the same halls as Goose while he learns the ins and outs of aeronautical engineering. He might even be lucky enough to get placed in the same dorm room. Being an aviator means he’ll be just like his father. And Mav. And Ice. And Slider. And all of his other uncles from the class of '86. But he can’t bring himself to be excited like usual.

Instead, he’s on edge the entire day. Waiting to get called to the nurse’s office. They all had agreed as a family - Bradley, Carole, Mav, and Ice - that if she passed when he was at school, they would have the front office call him down to the nurse’s office. Ice would pick him up, Mav likely busy dealing with the doctors and the funeral home and everything.

He can barely eat the lunch his mom packed. A peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, cut into triangles like when he was little. Chips, cucumber slices, and a chocolate chip cookie round out the meal. He tosses most of the food but is careful to keep the little note she had put in the brown paper bag.

I love you, Bradley. You’re going to do great things.

He presses it between the pages of his calculus textbook before he goes to gym, making sure he doesn’t bend the pink sticky note, preserving her swirly handwriting as best he can.

Finally, the bell signaling the end of the eighth period rings. Relief washes through his body. There’s been no call from the nurse, and his school day is over. He hastily packs his bookbag and practically skips towards the parking lot, waving at some friends still in class. He’s one got free period during ninth period, and as a senior, he gets to leave early if he has no class.

He’s planning his route home - he wants to stop at the corner store to grab a treat for his mom - when he skids to a stop where the concrete sidewalk meets asphalt.

Ice is leaning against the bumper of the Bronco.

“Happy birthday, Bradley!” His mom yells before blowing a kazoo.

He couldn’t be happier. It’s his birthday, his mom is having a good day, and he just got the keys to the Bronco. It’s officially his, just like he always dreamed it would be.

“Your dad’s dream was for you two to fix it up together and give it to you on your eighteenth birthday,” Mav explained. “I know I can’t replace him, but we had a good time working on it, right?”

Bradley nods and hugs his uncle. Mav will never be his actual dad, but he’s the closest thing he has to one. He helped raise him. He had sacrificed so many weekends to spend time with him, showing him how to fix the Bronco or throw a football with a perfect spiral. He’d even taken him on motorcycle rides, but they agreed not to tell Mom about that.

“Okay, knock it off, you saps. It’s time to blow out your candles, Baby Goose!” Slider enters the dining room, looking ridiculous with a crooked party hat on his head. He’s concentrating hard to balance a cake that’s much too big for the six people in attendance at his birthday dinner.

It’s set in front of Bradley, and he laughs when he sees the cake is covered in little plane toys. It looks like a cake made for a little kid, and he loves it. Aunt Sarah lights his candles and starts singing. He sits there for 30 seconds, watching his family sing off-key and thinking about how he loves his family so much his heart hurts.

“Okay, baby! Close your eyes and make a wish!” Carole smooths a hand over his hair.

He smiles up at her. “Only if you help me, ma.”

She bends down, doing a quick countdown before they close their eyes and blow out the candles together. For the first time in years, Bradley actually makes a wish.

Please don’t let my mom die. I need her.

Ice is talking to Slider, who’s parked in his white Jeep, and even from this distance, he can tell they’ve been crying.

Slider has obviously given Ice a ride to school, and now they’re waiting for him. If Ice doesn’t have his truck, that means he’s going to be driving Bradley. And that can only mean one thing.

She’s gone. My wish didn’t come true.

His backpack hits the ground at the same time as his knees, and he throws up. It’s not a lot; he’s barely eaten today, and by the time his uncles reach him - their feet pounding on the pavement - he’s just sobbing and dry heaving into the grass.

“Breathe, Bradley. You gotta breathe, buddy.” He can’t tell which one is talking; blood is rushing in his ears, and he just keeps crying.

“Bradley.” It’s Ice, holding his face up. “Listen to me. Your mom is not dead. Do you hear me? She’s not gone. But she had to be taken to the hospital; we’re still waiting for the test results. We’re gonna go there right now, but you need to breathe first, okay? You gotta breathe.”

He does his best to stop crying and take in air. His body literally shudders on the first breath, his lungs greedily sucking in the oxygen. After a few breaths, a water bottle is shoved in front of his face. He doesn’t even know where it came from, but he drinks, his throat raw.

Slider pops a mint into his mouth before helping him stand. “It’ll help your throat and your stomach.”

He races to the car, throwing the keys to Ice, who almost drops them. Both adults speed out of the parking lot, heading directly for the hospital.

Halfway there Ice has a chilling realization. The car is silent. If he’s learned anything in the last twenty-odd years, it’s that a car ride involving a Bradshaw is never silent. There’s always talking and laughing. Usually, you can count on singing and bad seat dancing, but today, it’s silent. There’s not even the sound of crying. And when he looks over at Bradley, he’s startled to find him catatonically staring out the windshield, his face bone dry. He looks like a statue, and it freaks Ice out how quickly he’s shut down. He hasn’t attended Sunday service in a long time, doesn’t even know if he believes in a higher power, but at that moment, he sends off prayers to every deity he can name, hoping that one of them can pull off a miracle for the boy who’s already dealt with so much.

It’s even worse at the hospital, Slider nabbing the spot next to them seconds after Ice shifts into park. The three of them hurry towards the ICU, where a nurse lets them all in after she hears who they’re visiting. Technically, only Bradley and Pete meet the requirements to be allowed in, but the entire ward is aware of the situation and are prepared to let as many people visit as needed.

Bradley freezes halfway to Carole’s room, Slider almost running him over. A priest is walking out of her room. He shakes hands with Mav and somberly nods at the frozen trio when he passes.

Mav watches as his best friends gently nudge his godson forward. His heart feels like it’s splitting in two as tears start streaming down Bradley’s face. A face that looks so old and so young at the same time. Maverick feels like he’s watching his 18-year-old nephew transform into the little boy who just lost his dad. His lower lip trembles just like it used to when he would fall and scrap his knee. Except this time, there’s nothing Mav can do to make it better. There’s no antibacterial spray, no Spiderman band-aid, no over-dramatic kiss with magical healing powers. This time, there’s only a young man who’s now taller than him. He stands in the doorway with red eyes and a mustache that makes him look so much like Goose.

“What happened?” Bradley croaks, afraid to enter the room. He hates the way his mom looks when she’s hooked up to all those machines. The beeping hurts his ears. “Why was the priest in here?”

“I don’t know, kid. We were about to eat lunch, and she collapsed. The doctors don’t know either; the test results didn’t show anything that’s telling them what’s going on. Everything is just suddenly worse.” Mav gets choked up; he can hardly continue. “They uh- they said this is probably it. That we should say our goodbyes. That’s why I had the priest come in. When we talked about her final wishes a while ago, she made me promise she would get her last rites.”

Bradley tackles him in a hug before he finishes talking. They cry together, mourning the loss that hasn’t happened yet.

The four of them have been sitting in silence for hours, listening to the beep of the heart monitor, when Bradley speaks up from his post beside his mom. “What else does she want? I know she wants to be buried next to Goose, but what else? She didn’t tell me.”

“She wants yellow carnations in her arrangements. Her wedding band stays with her, just like Goose, but her engagement ring goes to you. She wants to be wearing that blue dress she wore when she first met your dad.”

“That’s it?”

“There are a few more legal things, like with the house and the cars, but that’s laid out in her will. She made me promise I’ll take care of you, which I was always going to do no matter what.”

And she made me promise I’ll never let you fly.

Mav doesn’t add that final promise to the list; it’s not the right time for that conversation. He’s not sure it’ll ever be the right time.

Carole can feel herself getting weaker, but today is a good day; she feels good. Strong.

“Peter Howard Mitchell! Listen to me, you stupid, stubborn, obnoxious jackass! We don’t have a lot of time before Bradley gets back, and we need to talk about this!”

Bradley had felt guilty about leaving to go to the movies with Tessa Richardson, but Carole had insisted - he’d had a crush on that girl for years. It was about time he had his first kiss. And she was 95% certain it was going to happen today. Her motherly instincts were tingling.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Carole! I’m sick of every conversation we have being about you dying!”

“You think I like talking about it? Knowing that I’m leaving behind my little boy?” She gets in his face, yelling with every ounce of strength she can summon. “You think I like knowing that my body is giving up? That I’m dying? I can feel it happening, Pete! I can feel myself drifting away! And nothing the doctors are doing is helping! I know that it’s scaring Bradley, scaring you, but it’s scaring me most of all!”

Maverick catches her, and they sink to the ground; she sobs in his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry; I’m so sorry, Carole. What do you need me to do?”

“Bradley can’t fly.” She pulls back, wiping her eyes. “He can’t fly for the Navy, Pete. I know he wants to, but you can’t let him.”

“But Carole, it’s his dream to-”

“To die just like his father?” Her words shock him. “I love Nick more than anything, Pete, you know that. But do you know what I would do to have him here with us today? Do you realize I’ve lived three times as long without my husband than I did with him? It’s been fifteen years - almost sixteen. I only knew Nick for five, and we were only married for three before he was gone. I would do anything to have Bradley know his father.”

“Care…”

“You’ve been incredible, Mav. You’ve done your best to be a father to him; he loves you so much. I love you so much; you’re my best friend. But I've missed my husband every day for the last fifteen years. He was the love of my life, and I miss him so much my heart hurts. I’m not going to be here, but I can’t stand the thought of the same thing happening to Bradley. I won’t let that happen to my baby. So, you have to promise me, Pete. Promise me you won’t let him fly.”

They sit on the floor in silence, staring at each other. The internal debate roars inside Maverick, hurting his chest. He loves the Bradshaws more than anything. He would do anything for them. He still feels guilty about his best friend’s death, knows it was his fault, even if the investigation said he was innocent. The guilt of Goose being gone eats away at him, little by little each day.

Carole is right.

He can’t - he won’t - lose Bradley the same way.

“I promise I’ll do my best to keep him out of the air. But Carole, he’s almost an adult. Soon, there won’t be much I can do to control him. I can’t stop him from applying to the Academy or joining the Navy.”

“Yes, you can. Get Ice to pull some strings, indebt yourself to Viper. Do whatever you have to do. Do everything you can to protect him, Pete.” Her voice is cold and emotionless, knowing it will destroy her son, but at least he’ll be alive.

It was the one and only time they had talked about it, but every time Bradley excitedly talked about his future, Carole would look at him with this face that made Mav feel awful. It’s her request, but he was going to be the reason Bradley’s dreams were crushed.

Mav leans over in his chair, guilt and hopelessness consuming his body. The knowledge that his godson was about to be more like him in all the ways he never wanted.

Orphaned. Mother dying, with a broken heart, years after his father was killed while flying.

Denied entrance to the Naval Academy due to something beyond his control.

“She doesn’t want anything else?”

“No.”

It’s the last word spoken. A lie.

Slider and Ice spend the night just outside the door in some extra chairs an orderly had been kind enough to scrounge up. Mav shifts between standing at Carole’s side to hold her hand and sitting ramrod straight at the foot of her bed.

Bradley stays by his mom’s side the entire night, clutching her left hand. He plays with her wedding band, twisting it around her finger like he used to when he was little. He thinks about how different everything is going to be. He’s going to be alone a lot more now. He’s legally an adult, so when Mav gets deployed or transferred, there won’t be a need to scramble to make sure he’s taken care of. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with the house or if it’s even his to worry about. Mav, Ice, and his mom had taken care of the legal stuff without him. He wonders if Slider would loan him some money so he can get those earrings. She won’t be able to appreciate them, but he still wants her to have them. It’s the last thing he’ll be able to do for her. They’ll go nice with her blue dress, he thinks. He sits there and thinks. He’s there the whole time.

He’s there, wide awake, when Carole takes her last breath at 3:14 AM on September 4th. He’s there when the doctor comes in to declare her dead; he shakes Bradley’s hand, giving him the first of the thousand condolences that will follow. He’s there when the nurse comes in to turn off the monitors and unhook the IVs; she gently asks if he wants to leave while she cleans his mom up, but he refuses. He doesn’t have a lot of time left before he’ll never see her again; he can’t waste any time. He’s there for another hour, trying to say his goodbyes through sobs. He’s there until his uncles drag him out, promising him that he’ll see her again before the funeral. He’s still there, mentally, when he goes to sleep at Uncle Tom’s house. He and Pete are sleeping over, neither of them ready to face the house.

He’s there three days later, shyly asking the funeral director if it would be too much trouble to change his mom’s earrings. When he asked Uncle Ron about the money, he put them both in the car, drove to the mall, and paid for the earrings without question. The two of them hugged for a long time before they went home. He’s there at the viewing, next to his mother’s casket for hours, numbingly accepting condolences and hugs from hundreds of people. The one bright spot is being reminded how many people loved his mom. How wonderful she was to everyone she met.

He’s there at the graveside service, the first to place a rose on the polished wood. He stays there once it ends, refusing to leave, watching as the casket is lowered and the hole is filled with dirt. He’s there to place a bouquet of yellow carnations, her favorite, on top of the fresh earth. He pats the dual gravestone, one half still blank, before he lets Mav pull him to the car. He looks back one last time, and as the sunshine dries his tears, he swears he can hear his parents' laughter in the wind.

As an adult, now with two dead parents and one estranged, he’s there every year that he’s not deployed. He clears away any weeds and leaves before placing a bouquet of yellow carnations on the gravestone that now bears two names. Sometimes, there’s a single red rose already there when he arrives. Those are the years he knows Mav beat him to saying hello. He’s there for hours at a time, sitting with his parents and eating a bag of trail mix with extra M&Ms added - Goose’s favorite.

The first year that he and Mary are together, he’s there alone. He trusts her implicitly, and she knows the whole story. He told her what happened with Mav and everything that followed; it was a conversation they had early on. But this is something too raw, too personal, to share so soon in a relationship. He’s spent so many years doing this by himself that he’s not sure how he would handle having another person with him. Even if it was someone he loves so much.

Mary understands.

“Of course, you understand, you’re perfect.”

“I’m not perfect, Bradley. I just care about your feelings.”

“You’re perfect for me.” He kisses her before she can protest. “Thank you for caring about me.”

The day of, she kisses him softly as he leaves, pushing a sandwich bag of trail mix into his hand. Her only ask is to tell her when he gets home safe if he needs space, letting him know that her house is always open if he doesn’t want to spend the night alone.

He spends that first year catching them up. Now that he’s stationed in San Diego, it’s easier to visit more often, but several things have happened since his last stop. Usually, he talks for a bit and then sits in silence, choosing to reminisce on the happy memories. This time, he spends most of the time talking. Telling his parents about Mav, the shenanigans of the Dagger Squad, about Mary. He tells them all about Mary. How much he loves her, how he hasn’t said it yet because it’s only officially been two months, how he’s pretty sure she can tell anyway. He goes on and on about her eyes, her kindness, her intelligence.

“I love her so much; I’m going to marry her.” He blurts it out, a small gasp following his declaration to the etched granite stone. It’s not the first time he’s had the thought, but it’s the first time he’s said it out loud. And now he can’t stop thinking about it.

Mary in a white dress with a veil sitting on her pretty brown hair, a gold band on her ring finger. The two of them committing themselves to each other in front of all their loved ones. Twirling her around the dance floor to their song, dipping her at the end to kiss her and make her blush. Everything that would follow. A house. A dog. A few kids. Diapers and dance recitals to gray hair and wrinkles.

“Holy shit… I’m going to marry her.” The breeze ruffles his hair, and he knows it’s his parents. “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll make sure we’re married before I get her pregnant, unlike you two.”

He decides to stay the night at Mary’s, feeling better than he ever has on this day. He goes to find her the moment he enters the house, using the key she recently gave him. She’s on her office floor, organizing her bookshelf, when he presses himself against her, devouring her in a kiss. Bradley’s added weight throws her off balance, and the two of them topple over, sprawled in the paperbacks.

When he finally pulls back, he’s pleased to see that she’s flushed and her chest is heaving.

“I’m not complaining, but what was that?”

“I’ve never had someone to come home to after visiting them; I’ve always done it alone.” He talks into her neck, enjoying the way her fingers tighten in his hair when his lips brush her skin. “I’m just really thankful I have you.”

“Oh, Bradley…” Mary doesn’t know what to say. She loves this man so much, and she knows it’s too soon to say that, so she shows him. The night ends with a shower and papercuts in places where papercuts should never happen.

The day sneaks up on him the second year they’re together. They’ve been busy; between work, helping Jake with his surprise, and preparing to move in together, August went by in a blink. It leaves him with no time to mentally prepare.

Bradley jolts awake, sweat covering his temples and his heart thumping. It’s the worst nightmare he’s had in months. It was a twisted mess of awful moments. Some real, some imagined. Reliving his mother’s death but worse, almost dying on the uranium mission, losing Mary to cancer, same as his mom. He woke up just as a doctor was telling him she was gone and he wasn’t allowed to see her.

“No, sir, I’m sorry, but you can’t go back there. Her husband doesn’t want anyone else back there. You’ll have to wait for the funeral… if you’re even allowed in, asshole.”

He whips the covers off and trips his way to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before his dinner makes a return trip. The commotion wakes Mary, and she quickly makes her way to him, finding him laying on the floor, his shirt whipped into the tub.

His chest is so tight it hurts. He can’t believe he’s having a panic attack. He hasn’t had a full-on panic attack in years. There’s been anxiety, moments where he can’t easily catch his breath and his heart beating faster than it should, but nothing like this. He feels like he’s drenched in sweat, his heart is pounding, and he can’t breathe.

“Bradley? Look at me, sweetie.”

Mary.

“Can you look at me, Bradley?” He can hardly see through the tears. “I know it’s hard because you’re crying so hard, but look at me.”

It takes all his strength to turn his head, but he does it because he knows she’s worried.

“There you are. Okay, baby, I need you to breathe with me.”

He’s not exactly sure how she does it, but she helps him calm down. His body listens to her instructions before his brain realizes.

It takes a while, but he can breathe normally again. She helps him sit up, propping himself against the tub and letting his head fall back. He hears the sink run before there’s a soft touch on his shoulder.

“Gonna touch you, that okay?” He nods, appreciative of how considerate she is, always thinking of him.

Mary gently wipes his face, cleaning it of tears and sweat before brushing the washcloth over his arms and chest. It helps ground him, feeling more inside his body than before.

“What time is it?” Bradley rasps as she rinses the cloth.

“Late. Or early, depending on how you want to think about it.” She peeks out of the door, checking the time. Her face is somber when she comes back to him. “It’s 3:20, honey.”

“Twenty years… she’s been gone for twenty years.” He reaches for her, and she easily complies, straddling his thighs when he tugs her hand.

They sit in silence, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms.

“I had a nightmare.” He starts, answering her silent question. “It was her death and the uranium mission back-to-back, losing her and then him.”

She hums, encouraging him to continue. She doesn’t know the details of that mission - her clearance level is high but not that high - but she knows that he and Mav barely made it back. Both of them brushing hands with death multiple times.

They have nightmares. Less frequently now that they’re a few years down the road, but they still happen. Mav dreams that he doesn’t save them, that one of the bogeys gets them before Hangman reaches them. Bradley’s feature him missing the helicopter, having to watch Mav bleed out.

“Then it was you. You were sick. It was the same thing as Mom, uterine cancer. And I couldn’t even say goodbye. You married someone else, and I wasn’t allowed in.”

She takes a sharp breath. That’s new.

“I don’t want to lose you, Mary. I love you so much, I think it would kill me.”

“Oh, honey.” She cradles his face, forcing him to look at her. “You listen to me, Bradley Bradshaw. You are the best thing to ever happen to me. I love you more than anything. In two weeks, we’re going to be living together. When the time is right, we’re going to get married and have a family.”

She can't help but press a quick kiss to his mouth. “And I’m healthy. There’s no history of uterine or breast cancer in my family, and I just had my annual appointment last week. All the tests came back negative for bad things. Nothing is wrong. I'm totally healthy, okay? I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“You’re right, I can’t. We can’t control everything, and sometimes bad things happen. But I can promise you that I will do everything in my power to make sure I don’t ever leave you.”

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and scratchy. “I know it’s hard with what I do, but I promise you’re my number one thought when I’m in the air; coming home safe to you is my top priority.”

“Now, I’m gonna cry, Bradley.” They both let out watery laughs. “You’re such a sweet man.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now let’s go back to bed; I need my beauty sleep before I meet your parents.” She pulls him up, and they fall asleep quickly, tucked together as the early morning light peeks through the curtains.

When they get to the cemetery the next afternoon, a red rose sits on the headstone. One step in front of him, Mary picks it up and brushes some leaves off the base. He watches as she places the flower back in its spot, plucking a few dandelions before she stands.

“There,” she says, brushing dirt off her hands, “that’s better.”

The wind picks up, twisting her long hair around, and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, Mom, I know. She’s very pretty. I’m working on proposing. We gotta do some stuff first, but it’s coming.” He mutters under his breath.

“What was that, honey?”

“Nothing, baby doll. Want to help me put the blanket down?” His hat blows off, and he scowls at the tree that’s nearby, smiling when he hears her muffled giggle.

Miss you, dad.

part six will be coming next week! have a great weekend everyone!

fic tag | Mar[r]y Me masterlist | credit for dividers here

#you're so kind <3 #comment reblog

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strawnarrries · 3 years ago

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Hi love !!!! Can you do one where Niall and y/n are together and they go grocery shopping . They separate in the store and y/n goes to female isle while Niall goes to check something up . She grabs what she needs and goes to buy her fashion magazines. While looking and deciding , a man is hitting on her , telling her she is beautiful and all those lame lines and he doesn’t leave her alone . Immediatly she texts Niall to come and that a man isnt leaving her and flirts with her . Niall comes and tells the guy to back off and starts a talking fight with him. Y/n tells him to stop and they leave . She is a little shaken off by the whole situation and her anxiety is through the roof right now and she starts to feel not so good . They go home and Niall takes care of her and showers her with kisses , snuggles, cuddles , hugs etc and he is sorry that he picked a fight and that is his fault that she is feeling like this now . Y/n is really emotional and starts to cry and knows that is not his fault and that she is so lucky to have him . You can go from there . Thank you so much . Always looking forward to read your imagines , love your writing !!!💖❤️

ahh omg yes I love this idea!!! this is also def how i would react to that situation too! id get such bad anxiety and get so upset hahah. this ended up turning out to be a lot longer than i expected (def too long to be considered a blurb so i'm making it a one shot) but i had so much fun writing it so I hope you enjoy!!!!

It was a lazy, Sunday afternoon. The day was full of house chores and spending time together before the busy week ahead of you both began. You and Niall decided to go grocery shopping together. You currently were in the pasta aisle when you remembered you were running low on girly products.

"'m gonna go get tampons, okay?" you told him.

"kay, babe," he hummed, eyes scanning the shelves for your all's favorite pasta sauce.

You walked to the feminine aisle and began searching for your favorite brand of tampons. Once you found them, you picked them up as well as some pads and panty liners too, not knowing if you were running low on those too, but having an extra box or two wouldn't kill. Making your way back towards Niall, you spotted the magazine aisle and decided to take a look at some of the new fashion magazines. While browsing through a couple of them, you felt the presence of a strange man walk up to you. You ignored him, hoping he was just browsing just like you, until he spoke up, "Hi there."

You looked over at him and smiled sweetly, "Hi."

He looked about 25 years old and he definitely wasn't your type at all. He had patches of facial hair spread throughout his jaw, and his dark brown hair was slicked back with one too many scoops of hair gel. He was around 5'9 and wore a pair of black, Adidas sweatpants, matched with a dark blue t-shirt and a pair of old, beaten-up gym shoes.

You turned your attention back to the magazines in front of you, trying to give off the obvious hint that you weren't interested in talking to him.

"I don't wanna come off too forward but you're honestly the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and I just had to let you know that."

"Aw well thank you," you smiled, flattered by the compliment but immediately averting your attention away from him.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Y/N," you told him without looking up at him and instantly regretting telling him your real name, wishing you had just said a random one.

"Y/N," he repeated, "that's a beautiful name," he says and you started to get extremely uncomfortable, not even bothering to ask him what his name was because you didn't care at all.

You smiled slightly at him, slowly inching away from him as you browse through the magazines, but of course, he followed you, taking steps closer and trying to talk to you.

"You have a beautiful accent. Where are you from?"

"America."

"What's a pretty girl like you doin' here in London?"

"My boyfriend lives here," you replied, glad you could easily slip Niall into the conversation, hoping that after hearing you were taken, the man would leave you alone.

But oh were you wrong.

"That's a shame, I bet I'd treat you so much better than he does."

You didn't even acknowledge that comment, not wanting to give him anything to work with.

"You into fashion?" he asked, nodding towards the magazine you were looking through.

"Yeah," you replied softly, not saying anything else.

"Was thinking about startin' to up my fashion game. Maybe you could teach me a few pointers."

You just fake giggled at him, not knowing what to say to that. You didn't wanna be rude but you also didn't wanna give him the impression that you wanted to talk to him, not that he was taking that hint anyway.

"Do you work in fashion or anything?" he asked.

"No."

"Just a hobby?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. My sister's into fashion too. There's a lot of fakeness in it though. I like a more natural girl like you. No plastic surgery and you don't cake on the makeup like those models do."

What the fuck is he talking about?

"You're natural and I love natural girls," he stated.

You fake chuckled at him again, having no clue how to respond to that. It went on like this for what felt like forever. It didn't matter how dry you were being with him, or what such obvious hints you tried to give off, he would not leave you alone. He continued to try to talk to you and flirt with you. You gave him absolutely nothing to work with, yet he would not leave. He even started to make some borderline creepy comments and that was when you pulled your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket and started texting Niall, come to the magazine aisle this man won't leave me alone.

"Maybe if I get your number we can hang out sometime and get to know each other a little better," he stated after seeing you pull out your phone.

"No, I'm sorry, I already told you I had a boyfriend," you slipped your phone back into your pocket, praying that Niall sees the text ASAP.

"I don't see any boyfriend around here."

"He's over there," you said blankly, pointing to the direction that Niall was in.

"Who cares? He's not here right now, he doesn't have to know about us," he smirked at you, a devilish look in his muddy, brown eyes.

You felt sick to your stomach and giggled nervously, "No I'm sorry, I'm not comfortable with that."

"What? You go through each other's phones or something?" he chuckled back.

"No, I'm just not looking for anyone else," you replied.

Just as you said that Niall immediately turned around the corner, pushing the cart holding your things and you felt instantly relieved knowing he was here to save the day, "Hey! What's goin' on 'ere? Babe, ya know this man?"

You shook your head no.

"Is he botherin' ya?" he asked.

You shook your head yes.

"What? C'mon, 'm not bothering you!" the man defended himself, throwing his hands up in the air for effect, "If anything you should take it as a compliment that I'm trying t' get with you."

"If she says yer botherin' her, then yer botherin' her. So back the fuck away," his voice was low, but he came off strong and intimidating.

You put everything you were holding in the cart and crossed your arms over your chest, standing back intimidated as you watched Niall deal with the man.

"I wasn't fuckin' bothering her! I was complimenting her, she loved it," the man fought back.

"Can ya not take a fuckin' hint? 's obvious that yer makin' her uncomfortable, look at her," Niall growled at him before glancing over at your timid stance.

The man didn't say anything, he just rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"Did ya tell him ya weren't interested?" Niall asked, his harsh voice now softening as he talked to you.

"Yeah," you nodded

"Seriously mate?" Niall asked, shocked by this man's behavior, "When she says no, that means no. Don't keep goin' at 'er like she owes ya somethin'. Ya don't even know 'her! Yer not gonna get a girl bein' an asshole like that. And that doesn't jus' go fer her, that goes fer every other woman ya come across," he preached, taking a step closer to him.

"Jesus, you're gettin' all worked up over nothing, I'm sorry. There."

"Ya shouldn't be apologizin' t' me, should be apologizin' to her," Niall stated, glancing back at you.

"I don't feel like I have anything to apologize for, I didn't do anything wrong, this is ridiculous." he retaliated.

"It doesn't take much t' be a decent fuckin' person," Niall started and you could see he was getting angrier and angrier by the second, his accent thickening and his muscle tensing.

"Oh fuck off, I didn't do shit to 'er! She's just being a fuckin' baby tryna get me in trouble with her little boyfriend."

You could see something switch in Niall. He was angry earlier, but now he was livid. The fact that this man wouldn't leave his girl alone, made her extremely uncomfortable, and was now insulting her pulled something out of him that he didn't even know he had. He couldn't remember the last time he was this angry.

Niall would never physically fight anyone, of course, but the angrier that Niall got, the angrier the man got and you didn't know what this man was capable of. You didn't wanna see it go any farther then it already has so before he could even react, you spoke up, grabbing Niall's tensed up arm and pulling him back towards you, "Niall don't."

"Ya dont ever treat a woman like dat ever again! Ya hear me?" his voice began to rise and people began staring.

"Niall, please stop," you begged, digging your nails into the skin of his arm to get his attention more, just wanting the entire situation to be over.

"Go. Leave." Niall snapped at the man, pointing to the front of the store.

"Whatever, fuck you both," the man spat before turning around and walking away from you both, muttering bitterly under his breath, "she's not even that hot anyway."

You felt relief wash all over you as you watched the man walk away. Niall then turned to you, his hands wrapping around you to pull you into a tight hug, asking, "ya okay?"

"Can we go home, please," you whispered against his chest, feeling the strong urge to just start bawling, but you didn't, you held it in and stayed strong.

"Yeah, c'mon," he hummed back and you began following him and he was pushing the cart towards the front of the store to check out what you all had picked out, planning on doing the rest of the grocery shopping another day.

You checked out and loaded up the car before beginning your journey home. Once settled on the road, he placed his hand on your thigh and glanced over at you before asking again, "ya okay?"

"Mhm," you nodded, trying to ignore the pressure in the pit of your stomach and the urge to pick at your skin from the anxiety you were experiencing.

Niall could see right through you, he knew you weren't okay and he knew you were shaken up by this entire situation. He knew you would talk when you were ready so he stayed quiet and lovingly rubbed the skin of your thigh with his thumb as he drove you both home. Once arriving home, he turned off the car and looked over at you, "let's put da cold stuff up then we can cuddle okay?"

You nodded and got out of the car, helping him carry in a couple of bags of groceries. You both put up the cold stuff, leaving the pantry stuff out on the counter, planning on putting it away later, just wanting nothing more than to have Niall love on you for the rest of the day. He took a step towards you and cupped your jaw, aiding you in looking up at him.

"Y/N," he hummed, looking directly into your glossy eyes, "ya okay?"

And that's when the waterworks began and you did everything in your power to keep them in, but you couldn't. You shook your head no and the tears began to fall. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, swaying you back and forth as you allowed yourself to cry. He rested his cheek on your head, feeling awful that you felt this way.

"Baby, I'm so sorry, 's my fault ya feel this way, I shouldn't have picked a fight wit' 'em, should've just grabbed ya and left,"

"Mm-mm," you shook your head, "it's not your fault. You were just trying to protect me."

"I was, but still," he sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"He's the one who wouldn't leave me alone."

"Fuckin' prick" he whispered under his breath and you chuckled softly at him through your tears, loving how protective he got over you, "he made me so fuckin' angry. ya shouldn't have t' deal wit' assholes like him babe, 'm sorry."

"Thank you for taking care of me," you sniffled.

"I'll always take care of ya, darlin'. ya know that right?" he asked and you nodded, "good. I'll never let anyone hurt ya. love ya too much t' let anythin' bad happen t' ya."

You felt your heart melt at his words and you squeezed him tighter, wanting to be as close to him as you possibly could. He dipped his head down and began to slowly pepper the side of your face with sweet kisses, his scruff tickling your skin.

"Look at me" he hummed, slipping his index finger under your chin to aid you in lifting your head to look at him.

You looked up at him with irritated, teary eyes. using his thumb, he wiped away a stray tear on your cheek, a smile rising on his lips, "yer cute when ya cry."

"Stop," you giggled shly, letting your head fall back down to his chest before he lifted it up again.

"'m serious though, babe. I will always keep ya safe."

"You're so good to me" you whispered, closing your eyes as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"I love ya."

"I love you too."

Pressing his lips to yours for a sweet kiss, you melted into him, feeling extremely safe and so lucky to have such an amazing man to call yours.

"Let's go upstairs, I'll give ya some of me famous Horan cuddles."

You loved this man to death.

#niall blurbs #niall horan blurb #niall horan blurbs #niall blurb #one direction #niall #niall horan #one direction blurb #one direction blurbs #answered #katyhoran02

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haveyouseenthisskeleton · 3 years ago

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What if the skeletons (UT, US, UF, SF, HT) have an S/O that bakes an absurd amount of cookies, cakes, pastries, etc when stressed?

Excuse being: "It's just in case someone might feel a bit peckish, I'm not stressed, AT ALL."

Undertale Sans - You can bake everything you want as long you're not touching his chips and his ketchup. Sans is looking at you from the sofa, at first concerned, but man, watching people is hard when you didn't sleep for ten minutes. He'll gladly help you eating everything though.

Undertale Papyrus - So, at first, he tries to stop you. But then, seeing you walk back and forth stressed him too, and so he decided to help cooking so you can both calm down. You can't possibly eat everything afterwards, so you give some to your friends and Sans.

Underswap Sans - Omg, is it what it's like to see him always walking and running everywhere ? He hates this so much. He can't follow you, you're far too energetic, even for him. So when he has enough, he's dragging you to the sofa for a hugging session, even if Blue doesn't like that. You both forget about the cookies in the oven. Honey's scream of horror when the oven goes on fire is not the way you would have ended that session, but things happened.

Underswap Papyrus - Nope. He's carry you back to bed, happy or not. It's 2 am god dammit, he's sleepy and there's no way he's sleeping without hugging you like a koala. He can even read you Hide and seek with Fluffy Bunny a hundred times until you stop moving. He's patient, you'll be tired before him.

Underfell Sans - "It smells good, babe. Ya know what else I would love to eat right now ?" He's giving a weird look at your butt. You sigh loudly. It doesn't help, Red.

Underfell Papyrus - All you can hear is a gasp of horror behind you. What have you done ?! His perfect healthy kitchen is now full of grease and sugar. If you were so hungry, he could have make you a salad or something. There's no way he's eating sugar at this hour of the night. Edge prefers to lay in the sofa in fetal position and cry for how sugary his kitchen is smelling. Red was so tired of eating salad he's kissing you when he discovers what you did during the night.

Horrortale Sans - He's in heaven right now. You cook something, you put it on the table, he is eating it, then you do it again. He's fascinating about how many cookies you can create in one night. He doesn't care. Today is free cookie day. He prefers to have a stomachache than stop eating the cookies. He regrets it later.

Horrortale Papyrus - A bit like Papyrus, you make him too nervous and he starts baking with you. But Willow is actually worst than you. You ends baking a huge cake for at leat 20 people, a mountain of cookies, your lunch and diner, and even carot cupcakes for the bunnies and the chickens. You don't need to cook for like three days.

Swapfell Sans - Did you just use his extra dark luxurious and expensive chocolate to bake stupid cookies right now ? Sigh. He's going to kill you. He imports it from far away, and you're baking stupid things with it. He's so pissed and offended right now. Don't talk to him before a few hours. It's too early for this and if he can't have his coffee before, he might actually consider murder for real.

Swapfell Papyrus - Well, you cooking cookies, he's selling the cookies in front of the house and keeps the money. Such a good deal. But... Uh... If he's getting caught by the police, he's taking you down with him, even if you have no idea what he's doing with your cookies. He can give you a fair discount of 10% if you want to eat your own cookies though.

#undertale #underswap #underfell #swapfell #horrortale #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines

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astro-rain · 3 years ago

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delicate; b.barnes

chapter nineteen - “tomorrow”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2.8k

synopsis: reader is faced with a very distressing ultimatum and has to deal with the consequences.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

authors note: omg pls listen to “water under the bridge” by adele after reading this it’s fits so well

Muted. She felt muted - but not necessarily in a bad way. Everything in her was dialed down and dulled. Over the last couple days, Y/N had toned down her emotions, feeling less. Call it a coping skill. Call it a stress response. Whatever. It wasn't like she was sad about it. In a way, in was comforting - not having some overwhelming internal angst.

It had been a week since that fight she and Bucky got into. The mature part of her was telling her to find him and talk it out like the adults they were. But here's the thing. Over time, before they even had the fight, the number of therapy sessions they were having was less frequent as his treatment was improving. The sessions were more intermittent now, and there wasn't one scheduled for a while. Until then, she felt no desire to talk to him.

Was she mad? Sad? She wasn't sure. She just avoided thinking of things that caused her a considerable amount of distress. At this particular moment in time, Bucky was one of those things. Ergo, she made a constant effort to ignore all thoughts of him.

Though, she somehow couldn't entirely ignore the ever present lack of... Bucky. She had gotten so used to having him close by, used to having someone to talk to, laugh with. His proximity had become a constant. A comfort. She refused to admit to herself that silence didn't feel like silence anymore; it just felt like the absence of his voice.

She found she needed to keep herself busy.

Bucky handled it a bit differently. He had lots of intense emotions but he didn't mute them, per say. He didn't ignore them. He felt them, he definitely felt them. He just kept them bottled up inside and talked about it to no one. It was a very strange change of routine. Whenever he had some sort of emotional turmoil, he would always go to her - therapy session or not - to vent, rant, ask for advice, or just talk through a stream of consciousness. Now he just had to sit with it.

He spent most of his time alone. He missed her.

"Hey Shuri," Y/N greeted as she entered the princess' lab.

"Hello," Shuri smiled. "Come sit."

This wasn't a routine visit. Shuri mentioned wanting to talk about something else this time. Something important. She was reminded of this when she walked in to find two Doras sitting with Shuri at a lab table.

"So," Shuri started, "The trigger word experiment. We're here to discuss safety and security."

Shit. That awful thing. It had slipped her mind these past couple days.

"Alright. What are we thinkin'?"

"Well, the Doras don't think it would be necessary to have two of them there with you, but if you would feel safer with two, then that's fine as well."

"I think one is fine. I trust your judgment," Y/N nodded to the Doras.

And I'm not afraid of Bucky, she thought but didn't say.

"We also have a special location to run the experiment," one of the Doras, Ayo, added. "Away from people and secluded in the case of an emergency."

"Okay. That sounds good."

"We understand Barnes is now equipped with the vibranium arm, yes?" Shuri asked.

"Yes, he is."

"Then you need to know something for the experiment."

Y/N's brows furrowed, confused. Was she missing something?

"There's sort of a fail safe built into the arm," Shuri began.

Fail safe?

"There are a series of pressure points when, if hit correctly, will disengage the arm. It will just drop to the ground. So if anything were to happen-"

"I'm sorry, what?"

The expression on Shuri's face changed immediately when she heard her partner's tone. Y/N looked bewildered and almost in disbelief.

"It's there as a precaution in case Barnes needs to be put in check."

Suddenly, every emotion she had been "muting" rushed back into her head. Every feeling for Bucky returned, as well as her compulsion to protect him.

"Building that into the arm shows a complete lack of trust."

"You know what HYDRA did. It's unpredictable, and I'm sorry but we just can't be sure."

"We need to be careful with this so it doesn't blow up in our faces," Ayo said.

"I understand having that precaution for this test, I do. But it isn't just this test. Given it was successful and everything worked out, he was supposed to keep the arm. Right?"

"Right."

"So we fix the HYDRA programming and he's free, but leave the 'fail safe' in so after all of this, he still has someone in control of him."

"The arm is a gift," Ayo stated. "He should be happy he has it at all."

"I understand that, and believe me, he is so grateful. But a gift is for someone else to keep and use as their own. How are we supposed to help him and work with him for months, building trust and aiding him in healing to just tarnish all of that with deception?"

"It's what's best for the protection of all."

"Even after the experiment if it's successful?" Y/N cried in disbelief. "I should say when it's successful. Shuri, I've been seeing his progress for months and working with you on his neurobiology data. Can't you tell how much skill has been put into this? It's us. It's going to work."

"Even still."

"I can't stand for that. I would understand if it was just for this test, but after? We haven't come this far just to not trust our own work and Bucky's deprogramming. He deserves to have someone on his side."

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but it's already been done. The arm is already built and being used."

"This is the plan," Ayo declared. "Either you are on board, or you are free to leave Wakanda. We can fly you out as soon as tomorrow morning."

"I can't knowingly be a part of this. It's wrong."

"As I said. Free to leave."

She refused to be a willing participant in perpetuating the loss of Bucky's autonomy. He's been through enough, had enough taken from him. She would not play a single role in taking more away.

"I guess I have to go then," she said, standing from her chair.

She couldn't believe the words coming from her own mouth.

Shuri sighed. "That's very unfortunate, my partner. I'm sorry we couldn't agree on this."

"I am, too. But please. Please consider what this will do to him. It's like saying 'even though we've all been working with you, we don't actually believe that you're not still a weapon.' What is he supposed to think of that?"

"Barnes isn't going to have to think anything about it..."

"...because he isn't going to know," Ayo finished the thought.

"No..."

"It's the way it has to be."

"No it's not."

"Y/N..."

She took a couple steps back, preparing to leave the room. "No, I'm sorry. I can't. He needs to know. I'm going to have to tell him."

"I'd advise against it if you care about your job," called an unfamiliar voice.

Y/N turned to the other Dora, whom she didn't know.

"What?"

"What would your employers think if they knew their doctor had certain... inappropriate relations with a patient? And a very infamous one at that."

She froze, face burning. Her stomach dropped and her breathing stopped dead.

Did they-? Who else-? How did they-? What did they-?

She couldn't form a single coherent thought.

"You are more than free to leave quietly, without any worries" said the Dora, "but if Barnes knows about this, you can be sure that the rest of the world will know about you and your... relations."

It was then when she could feel almost every piece of her world come crashing down. She could feel every test she took, every research project she was a part of, every hour she spent studying for the career that took years to build. The thing she was most proud in this world, the part of herself she most loved. She felt the job she loved and all the things she had learned and accomplished begin to crumble around her.

This career... it was her life. It was her passion. It was all she had. Now she was in immediate danger of losing it. All she could process was fear; she shut down.

Finally, she managed words.

"Okay," she conceded, her defeated voice barely above a whisper. "I'll go... quietly. I'm sorry."

With that, she turned around and took the remaining steps out of the now silent room.

- - -

When she was in the hallway, she felt like she was dying. The guilt was overwhelming. How could she betray him like this? She tried to fight for Bucky to get the truth and now she has to hide it from him and leave him. She has to lie to him.

Y/N was still in shock, completely immersed in her own fear. It felt as if she wasn't in her body. She knew she was moving - walking down the hallway. But her body was just on autopilot; she was gone.

She couldn't tell if she was crying but she could feel a twinging in her eyes and a burning in her nose. She was also hardly breathing so if she was crying, it was nearly silent.

In a faraway echo, she thought she heard her own footsteps. She wasn't sure where they were taking her, but she wasn't sure if she cared.

She walked, and she kept on walking for a long time. She could feel the ache in her feet once she sat down in front of the water. She hadn't planned to go to the waterfall - that waterfall... their waterfall. It just sort of happened. Perhaps it was a long enough distance away to feel safe.

She finally let herself think for a moment.

What the fuck had just happened? Her exact fears had come to be. Somehow, someone saw or figured out her and Bucky. It felt worse than she thought it would. Exposed. Embarrassed. Guilty. Humiliated. Distressed.

It was numbing. So numbing that she stared at the little pool and let the white noise of the waterfall clog her ears until she was able to lose track of time.

She had no idea how long it had been when he approached her.

"Y/N!" Bucky's voice called as he jogged over after catching sight of her. "I've been looking for you! Can we please talk?"

His voice snapped her out of it, but her gaze remained fixed on the water in front of her. She wasn't sure what to do, how to engage with him; she froze.

When she didn't even turn her head, Bucky guessed she was still upset with him. He didn't want to be a bother, but he needed to talk to her. He sat down right next to her.

"Okay..." he started, carefully. "I know things aren't great between us right now, but-"

She turned her head to him and the words died in his throat when he saw her face: bloodshot, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks. He forgot whatever he was going to say, cupping both sides of her face.

"Oh my god, what happened!? A-Are you alright?"

The cool metal of his hand on her cheek made her want to scream, reminding her of what she could not tell him. Reminding her of the searing guilt. Trembling hands reached up to touch his arms. And then he saw the quiver in her lip.

"Oh, honey," he cooed, worried. "Hey... Hey, talk to me. Talk to me, what's wrong?"

He was so concerned and so sweet even after they had a huge blowout. If possible, it made her feel even worse. She didn't deserve his kindness anymore. She just stared into him with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen.

Bucky had never seen her like this and he was scared. Was it because of him and their fight? He supposed so. What else could it have been?

"I'm so sorry, please don't cry," he caressed the back of her head with one hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of what I said, I was just mad. You were right. I feel awful, I had no idea it upset you this much."

Their fight was the very last thing on her mind. Looking back on it, it seemed like such a trivial thing compared to now. But he thought this was his fault. She wanted to break into a million tiny pieces and let the wind blow her away.

She shook her head. "Bucky, no. It's not that. It's not you."

He looked so confused. She felt so bad.

"Then what... what's wrong?"

"I'm leaving."

Bucky leaned back, perplexed, and his hands slid down to rest on her forearms. "Leaving? You're leaving Wakanda?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry."

"No, no, hey- You don't have to leave. We can figure something out. We were too risky, you were right. I understand that now. We don't have to do that anymore. We can make sure that we're always completely in private from here on out."

She shook her head, staring down at the grass below her. "I'm sorry, I can't... I can't do that. I have to leave."

She could barely look him in the face.

"You don't, it's okay," he implored. "I know it worried you, but it really only was Steve. And I know, I know it could have been anyone and I get that. I thought about it, and I get it. We don't ever have to... sleep together... again. We won't be distracted, and-and we'll be careful."

She clenched her eyes shut, trying not to let her burning eyes release more tears. It didn't work.

"Bucky..."

"Baby doll please," his voice cracked while he tipped her chin up to meet her eyes again. "We can just-... we can just go back to the way it was before. In the very beginning. We can- we'll only see each other in sessions, we don't-... No more lake trips or all-nighters or anything just-"

He sharply inhaled, beginning to ramble as his breath became unsteady.

His voice shook just slightly. "You can barely even talk to me if you don't want to- just please don't go..."

She thought a part of her cracked and died at that moment. She sprung forward and held him as tight as she could. Instinctively one of Bucky's arms was around her back and the other cradled the back of her head.

She thought maybe if she held tight enough, she could keep them together and she wouldn't have to leave him there alone. Of course he would be fine, but he would spend the rest of his time feeling like it was his fault that she had gone.

She couldn't let him think this was his fault.

"Buck, I don't wanna leave you. But I have to do what's best for the both of us. You'll be just fine without me. I promise."

He didn't think so.

"I'm putting your treatment and my career in jeopardy if I stay," she continued. "I just don't want anything bad to happen to either of us. I'm sorry if you hate this and I'm sorry if you hate me for doing it."

He mumbled something in the crook of her neck, but she couldn't hear it. She pulled back from the embrace.

"What?"

"I could never hate you."

Despite the fact that she was so internally distraught, despite what happened with Shuri and the Doras, with having to tell Bucky she was going to leave him, with having to watch him beg her to stay, despite the extreme dread and guilt within her, she still looked at him and felt so much love.

She was doing the very thing he feared and all he could do was care for her.

"God, I'm gonna miss you," she breathed before grasping his jaw, and pulling his head to hers.

Bucky tasted salt and he couldn't tell if it was his or her tears mixing into their lips.

As much as he wanted her to stay, he could sense how serious she was about this. He wouldn't be able to convince her to stay even if he tried. And he already did.

He could only soak up as much of her as he could before she left, and be with her until she had to go. He had no idea how much time he had. Wait-

"When are you leaving?" he broke the kiss as soon as the thought arose.

She was silent for a moment when another tear dripped down her face. "Tomorrow."

delicate taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance @ilovespideyyy @xpurpleglitter @bluelakeee @darkacademic2 @eclipsedplanet @paradisedixon @crazy-beautiful @coffee--writes @lilithknight1111 @buckybarnesishot310 @softladyhours @alwayssandy @those-sea-green-eyes @hero-ically @devilswaldorf @cc13723things @small-death-and-codeine @avengersgirllorianna @cataves @thatbitchsposts @talktomeaboutthestars @surrealpsycho @headheartbellarke @bubbly-moonwarrior @bluemoon-icecream @buckeyecreates @augustbucky @itsthemaree @undiadeestos

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itsclydebitches · 3 years ago

Note

Hey there! Admittedly I'm a little bit nervous since this is my first ask, but I'll try to not be too rambly.

So, recently the main subreddit, r/RWBY, made a ban on active users of the r/RWBYcritics subreddit. As a result there's been discussion around bad-faith criticism in the latter subreddit. What are your takes on bad-faith criticism?

For me personally, I think a bunch of people are misusing the term "bad-faith" and using it as a way to shut down criticism, but I'm curious to hear your thoughts on it.

Hey there, everyone! We woke up to some drama this morning, huh? And hello to you too, Tortoise! I'm so glad you decided to send in an ask, even if it's following some pretty tumultuous events...

Right, I'd like to start with a story. The story of how I personally don't spend time on Reddit, but I have plenty of friends who will occasionally cross-post something for me to see. Yesterday (or the day before? Idk time is meaningless) a friend told me about a post — which, significantly, I'm now having trouble finding — that covers RWBY's inconsistent writing and the fandom's tendency to try and explain away those missteps. They'd thought I'd be interested because I'd just had a conversation here on tumblr where I made that exact point to someone who, also significantly, vehemently disagreed with me, but in a very civil fashion. Given everything going on, I feel like this side point needs emphasis: we debated, we did so in a sometimes heated, but nevertheless respectful manner, it was clear neither of us was going to sway the other, and the conversation ended. The two "sides" of the community interacted without Armageddon coming about.

But back to the purpose of this tale. I went to take a look at this point and found that it no longer exists. There's just some vague message about it not obeying the subreddit's rules. "What happened?" I asked. "Why'd they take the post down?" "People were getting too heated in the comments," my friend replies. So, given that the comments were still visible, I proceeded to read through them, expecting personal attacks, slurs, harassment, etc. Any number of things that would justify deleting the post itself to put an end to such behavior. Instead, I found a thread of people having a conversation. Was the conversation heated at times? Sure. Did one or two individual posters edge into the realm of petulant, "No. You're wrong and stupid" responses? Yes. Was any of this remotely what I was expecting given the post's removal? NOPE.

"This isn't allowed?" I said. "Well then what is? People were being civil! Or at least as civil as hundreds of strangers ever get when discussing a series they're passionate about online."

Then, this morning, I hear that the entire critic subreddit has been banned.

So to answer your question, Tortoise, I don't actually think that "good faith" criticism exists. Meaning, it's not just that fans are misusing the term "bad faith criticism," but rather that there is no unified, agreed up method of writing criticism that will meet their standards. It's not possible and we know it's not possible because fans have been trying to meet those elusive standards for years:

A fan posts nothing but praise for RWBY until changes make them criticize the show as it is now. Their entire body of work is dismissed as the product of a "hater," despite the overwhelming gap between positive and negative reviews.

A fan posts a review that's a pretty balanced mix between praise and criticism. They're dismissed because it's still too much criticism.

A fan posts a review that's 99% praise with 1% criticism. That's still too much, with fans focusing on the single problem they had with the work and using it as an excuse to dismiss the entire review out of hand.

(As an aside, the argument that critics are "obsessed" with only saying negative things and that the only problem here is that they're "too" negative ignores the argument that... RWBY has a lot of flaws nowadays. Few are willing to acknowledge the possibility that it's not fans insisting on making things up to be mad about/ignoring the good parts of the show, it's the that show is, as of now, legitimately more of a mess than it is a praise-worthy product. If I'd been writing recaps in the Volumes 1-4 days, my work would have been skewed far more towards the positive. The critics' stance is that RWBY has gotten worse, which yes, results a higher volume of critical posts. To say nothing of how criticism takes far longer to explain, likewise resulting in posts focused primarily on that side of the divide. I really enjoyed the image of a crying Jaune reflected in his sword. I did not enjoy that moment's context. Saying that you liked an animation choice is a one sentence thing. Explaining the complexities of Jaune securing emotional moments, the problems with Penny's second death, the hurt many fans experienced watching an assisted suicide, etc. takes a whooole lot longer. Hence, you get massive, multiple posts about these nuanced topics and fewer, smaller posts about the details that are working well.)

A fan talks about a topic that has been metaphorically banned by the fandom as a whole. They have something good to say about Ironwood. They dislike something about Blake/Yang. They enjoyed Adam as a character. They have a problem with Ruby's leadership, etc. There's a whole list of topics nowadays that will result in an automatic dismissal, regardless of the point the fan is trying to make or how well they make it.

A fan talks about the minority representation of RWBY — its black characters, its queer characters, its disabled characters, etc. — and as a result has something to say about the biases and missteps of those writing these characters. This is considered an attack on the writers and, therefore, automatically bad.

A fan talks about how they enjoyed RWBY as it was years ago and is having trouble reconciling the dark, complicated story with the simple, hopeful one we started out with. This is seen as an attack on Monty's vision and an unwillingness to accept that "everything is planned."

A fan does as asked and ensures that their post is meeting all the requirements of "real" criticism. They have an argument to make. They have a point. They provide evidence. They recommend a solution. They keep their tone respectful. They don't attack the creators. They provide disclaimers in every single paragraph about how they do not hate RWBY. It doesn't matter. They're considered too negative.

I have, quite literally, seen every one of the above examples on multiple occasions. I have had many of the above accusations leveled at my own work. When fans say that they're fine with criticism provided it's not "bad faith" criticism, they don't actually have a specific post-type in mind; a checklist of behaviors another fan can emulate and, provided they do that, no hate will come their way. Or, if an individual fan does actually go, "Yeah. That criticism I'm fine with" that response is in no way universal. One person's "They make a good, civil point" is another person's, "Omg stop bashing the show!" Because "bashing" has come to mean everything from curse-laden insults towards everything RWBY has ever done, to posts that just happen to say something other fans don't agree with.

It's a rigged game. There is no way to post criticism about RWBY in an agreed-upon, appropriate manner. This recent ban is proof of that. I think it's incredibly telling that almost immediately after I was going, "Wow. A pretty calm debate about the flaws of RWBY in the main sub. That's great to see," all posters from the criticism subreddit were banned. The main sub literally just had the sort of criticism that they claim to accept — people respectfully posting analysis-based arguments resulting in calm debate — and yet they implemented the ban anyway. I'm not going to pretend that I've never gotten too heated on my own posts, never made snarky comments when I'm frustrated, never used exaggerated reaction GIFs that can come across as insulting... but I'd say on the whole my RWBY work is precisely the sort of "good faith" criticism that other fans are supposedly looking for. I never make an argument I don't think I can back up with evidence. I try to allow for the nuance and differing opinions of complicated topics. I try — even if I don't always succeed — to write in a clear, respectful manner. Yet none of that work has stopped people from telling me I'm a "bitter... raging asshole," a "deranged, delusional psychopath," telling me to set myself on fire, threatening to smash my head in, or just messages to straight up kill myself. If someone like me who legitimately works hard to create fair, defendable criticism and who only ever posts on a personal blog that people can easily block, who never engages in debate until someone else starts it first, never seeks out other fans I disagree with to harass them about what they like... if someone like me is still a "bad faith" critic who "deserves" that kind of hate mail... then what kind of criticism do people want?

Nothing. That's the answer. No criticism whatsoever, of any kind, no matter if it's delivered respectfully, is making a good point, whatever. That's why "RWDE" was created. That's why the critic subreddit was created. The community at large has demanded a complete separation between Praise and Anything That's Not 100% Praise, which has now resulted in this ban. Any other explanations we see are excuses, which becomes glaringly obvious when you look at the mods' supposed reasons for implementing the ban:

"Constant arguments with r/RWBY users" - As opposed to the arguments surrounding things like shipping that never, ever happen?

"Vote manipulation and comment brigades" - The subreddit with 3,000 participants, with around 200 on at a time, is manipulating the votes of a subreddit with 155,000 participants, with over 1,000 on at a time? Those numbers just do not check out. If a positive post is downvoted, or a critical post upvoted, maybe that's because large swaths of the community actually agree/disagree with that assessment, not because the incredibly smaller group is somehow manipulating things.

"Attacking and harassing those they disagree with" — Again, as opposed to those non-critics that never, ever harass people? This is an individual problem, not a community problem. Both critics and non-critics have their sub-groups acting in ways they shouldn't. If anything, the main sub will have more individuals harassing other fans, simply by virtue of being so much larger. As the above examples attest, it's not other critics who have told me to light myself on fire and, just to be clear, the asks I've responded to are a miniscule number compared to the amount I've received. I delete the lion's share for my own sanity and to save my followers from reading the really graphic threats.

"Months-long NSFL spam brigades" — I am, admittedly, not sure what this is referring to. Spamming of NSFW content? If so, that's also an individual problem.

"Homophobic, transphobic, and racist attacks towards our users" — See the above points. Again. If someone is being homophobic, transphobic, or racist, then yes please, ban them. Don't ban an entire community for the actions of a few. It's like walking into a store and banning a customer for causing a scene... but then also banning everyone else who happened to be shopping at the same time. It's guilt by association.

The silver lining to all this? The community as a whole isn't pleased. At least according to the main subreddit comments and a few individual voices like MurderofBirds. Despite the increase (from my perspective anyway) of critical voices post-Volume 8, criticism of RWBY is still very much seen as taboo. As this ban showcases. But it's really reassuring to see so many fans, critics and non-critics alike, going, "This was a mistake." A community is meant to include all aspects of engagement: praise, criticism, and the gray area between. If anything, fans like the mods of the main subreddit should be creating a separate subreddit that is specifically for praise. In the same way that there should have been a tag for RWBY praise, rather than trying to eliminate any and all criticism from the main "RWBY" tag. The majority of fans, even those who claim to hate critics and all they (presumably) stand for, recognize that a blanket ban of all criticism is not the way to go, especially when "criticism" has come to have such a staggeringly broad definition. If you want your RWBY experience to be nothing but sunshine and roses (ha), then cultivate your own internet experience to reflect that. Create your own pockets with rules about how this is the space for praise and if you're not up for praising RWBY right now, don't interact with us in this particular space. Don't try to make the entire community — the main tools used to discuss the show online — conform to your preferences. As established, there is no "good" criticism that everyone in the fandom will accept, which just leaves a fandom with no criticism at all. I'm glad to see I'm far from the only one who, when presented with that extreme, is going, "Nope. No thank you."

#rwby #mymetas #suicide tw #rwde

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