#it's very warm where i am and beer is. cold.

[shift-shaping]

Do y'all think Wisdom was basically Solas's therapist so when it was murdered he was like "well time to be really unwell again I guess" and just really committed to never getting better

[corroded-hellfire]

no bc cockwarming with older!eddie is soooooooo

Oh I agree 100%. It’s something I need in my life but I guess I’ll have to settle for only having it in writing. Older!eddie my beloved 😍

Warnings: older!eddie, smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral, m receiving, cockwarming, brat and brat tamer

Words: 3.3k

Eddie was never a sports fan. Never interested him, never played nor watched. His needing to be home to watch a game had never been an issue you’d had to deal with in your relationship. So, when the day comes that Eddie is more focused on something that’s on the television than you, you’re not having it. 

It’s a Saturday night and the two of you had finished off the pizza that you’d ordered, and you’d gone to take a shower. Halfway through your time spent in the steam, you start to feel a little lonely and wish your boyfriend would join you. Calling his name a few times doesn’t seem to work, even though the walls are thin in his trailer. With a pout, you step out of the shower and wrap a fuzzy towel around your body. Still dripping little droplets of water on the carpet, you pad down the hallway to see where your man is. Nothing Else Matters is coming from the television, and you find Eddie sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand. You’ve heard enough Metallica through him to know that’s what’s on the tv, but you’re not sure what he’s so transfixed on.

“Whatcha watching, baby?” you ask.

His eyes flit briefly over to you before returning to the screen. “Metallica documentary.”

“Oh.” You take a few steps closer to the couch and cock your head to the side. “Didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. You okay?” Eddie’s words are very monotone. You don’t doubt that there’s real concern for you there, but he couldn’t sound less enthusiastic if he tried.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted some company,” you say coyly. There’s no reaction from your boyfriend. Figuring you’ll make it plain as day for him, you drop your towel, leaving your naked body on full display. He turns his head towards you, his eyes staying on the television until the last moment, then flickering your way as well. Arching an eyebrow, Eddie pats his jean-clad thigh and looks back to the television. It’s not exactly the reaction you were looking for, but you’ll take it. 

You stroll over to him and perch yourself in his lap. His hands rest on your hips, but he tries to look around you at the television. Your gaze is trained on him, not quite a glare but only a skosh softer. Eddie either doesn’t notice the way you’re looking at him or he doesn’t care. So, you rest your hands on his shoulders and gently press your nails into his t-shirt covered skin, adding pressure bit by bit until he frowns and meets your eye.

“Ow, babe,” he says. “What was that for?”

“You haven’t looked at me once since I sat in your lap. Am I bothering you?” It’s hard to keep the snark out of your voice, even though you’re aware you sound like a petulant child.

“No,” Eddie says with a soft sigh. “I just want to watch this documentary. I haven’t seen it, and you know Metallica is my favorite.”

A groan tumbles from your lips as you drop your head forward and rest it on his shoulder. Cold water drips from your hair onto his neck, sending a shiver throughout his body.

“You want a blanket?” he asks. 

His words have you jolting upright and, this time, full-out glaring at him.

“You want me to cover up?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie says, suppressing an eye roll – he knows it will only make it worse. “You just got out of the shower, aren’t you cold?”

“A little,” you say. “So warm me up.”

“Babe, this is over in an hour, can we just–”

“Fine.” You move to get off his lap, but his large hands keep you pinned in place. The overly cheerful voice of a woman trying to sell some new workout video comes from behind you and it makes you huff. “So now that there’s a commercial you’ll pay attention to me?”

“You’re being a real brat, you know that?”

Your eyebrows pull together as you frown at him. “I just want to get some lovin’ from my boyfriend.”

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says with a sigh. “So desperate for my cock, huh? Be a good girl then, get on your knees.”

With how fast and hard your knees hit the threadbare carpet in the living room, Eddie suspects you’ll either have bruised knees or rug burn. But you don’t seem to mind one bit as you stare up at him with wide, eager eyes. Your hands immediately fly to Eddie’s belt, and you’ve undone that and his zipper in the short few seconds it took Eddie to lift his hips so you could slide his jeans and boxers down. 

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen it—or stroked it, licked it, sucked it, had it inside of you, etc—the sight of Eddie’s cock still gets you immediately wet. The promise of the pleasure that he’s going to bring you. 

Being eye level with Eddie’s semi-hard cock has you licking your lips in greedy anticipation. Not able to wait one moment more, you lean forward and wrap your hand around the base of Eddie’s cock. His pubic hair brushes against the side of your hand with every stroke.

You push yourself up on your knees so you can let some saliva drip down onto Eddie’s cock, making it easier for you to work your hand over it. A groan slips from your lips as you eye the bead of precum gathering on the tip.

As if based purely on primal instinct, you lean in and run your tongue flat over the head. Eddie’s thighs tense around your head as you savor the salty tang that coats your tongue. 

You’re tempted to tease Eddie but with him already accusing you of acting like a brat, he might not let you suck him off. It’s been the toughest torture you’ve ever had to bear when Eddie makes you watch him get off all on his own. 

Not willing to take that risk, you engulf the head of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. One of Eddie’s hands rests on the back of your hair, not pushing, just lying there. It puts enough weight on your head to make you sink a little further down on his cock.

“Good girl,” Eddie drawls out. 

The praise does nothing to help the wetness that feels as if it will drool down your legs any second. You bob your head, taking a little more of him in each time you go down. Tears annoyingly pool in your eyes and you blink a few times to get them to roll down your cheeks; nothing is going to distract you from giving Eddie the best head you can. Just as you’re about to take him into your throat, Eddie’s fingers dig into your hair, rings lightly scraping against your scalp, and he pulls you off of him.

A whine of protest reflexively flies out of your mouth at the loss. Your brain hardly has time to wonder why your boyfriend pulled you off of him before he tugs your head backwards so you’re looking up at him. His attention is not on you though, it’s back on the television that you hear once again playing music you recognize as Metallica’s. Eddie is looking straight ahead, not sparing you a glance as you pout up at him.

“Get up here,” he orders as he drops your hair. 

“What?” you ask. Using the back of your hands you wipe the tear streaks from your cheeks and the saliva that managed to leak out of your mouth. 

“Get. Up.”

You push yourself up on unsteady legs and Eddie groans in irritation as you block his view of the television. A strong hand grips your naked waist and pulls you forward until you’re tumbling into his lap. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Eddie’s voice is low and husky, the dominance in it sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re going to sit on my cock and keep quiet until this show is over. If you’re good, maybe you’ll get rewarded. If you’re a brat, you can get yourself off tonight. Understood?”

“Yes, Eddie,” you reply, hardly above a whisper. 

Making sure to lean your torso to the side to keep out of his way, you straddle Eddie’s hips and reach behind you to line his cock up with your entrance. Slowly, you start to sink down on him, the initial stretch leading you to let out a low moan.

“Shhh,” Eddie chastises, never taking his eyes from the flickering screen behind you. 

Teeth gnash into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood to keep yourself from making any other noises. Tense fingers dig into Eddie’s black t-shirt clad shoulders as you fully seat yourself on his lap. After you’ve given yourself a moment to adjust, you start to lift yourself up again, but Eddie immediately slams you back down.  

A sharp whine is forced out of you, and you grip the cotton material of Eddie’s shirt in your fists.

“Wha—” you start to ask but Eddie cuts you off.

“You’re going to sit here, completely still. You’re not going to move around or make a sound.”

You drop your head forward and rest your forehead on Eddie’s shoulder as you let out a small whimper. This is pure torture. Being so close to everything you want, but not allowed to rock your hips to make the dream a reality. 

Metallica music continues to play behind you and when you glance up at the older man, he has his entire focus on the show. You almost slip up and let out an irritated groan, but you know you’ll regret it if you do. 

A few minutes pass by but it feels like an eternity as you just sit there, half listening to the loud metal music coming from behind you as you slump against Eddie’s body. Just as a song comes to an end and yet another journalist begins to talk on camera, Eddie’s hips shift, causing him to move inside of you. The unexpected jolt has you gasping and burying your face into Eddie’s neck.

“Relax, I’m just making myself comfortable,” he says. 

You highly doubt that but keep your thoughts to yourself as you try to calm your body down again. Eddie’s a little shit and you’d put money on this being only the first time he messes with you, looking to see how far he can push before you push back. Sure enough, just as you’ve let your guard down and let your mind wander, there’s a sharp smack to your ass. The sting makes you jump, and Eddie’s hands instinctively move to your waist to steady you.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “My hand slipped.”

He’s full of shit and you both know it. Eddie’s playing dirty now and you have to think of a counterattack. Anything too obvious and he’ll make both of you get yourselves off tonight, so it has to be subtle. 

Moving slowly so as to not interrupt his television time, you curl against his chest so he can feel it when you expand your lungs and let out a silent yawn against his neck. As you yawned though, there may have been clenching of your walls around his dick. You feel more than hear the growl that reverberates through his chest. Now when you bite your lip it’s to keep the smile off your face. 

You peer over at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall and see that this documentary should be over in about fifteen minutes. So close yet so far. The chill from your still wet skin is starting to settle in as well, which is going to make this quarter of an hour tick by even slower. 

Thankfully, the end of the show has some of the Metallica songs you’re more familiar with, so it gives you something to listen to while you wait for this test of wills to be over. With five minutes left you feel yourself getting antsy. Eddie just said until the documentary was over, right? Does that mean the second it’s done he’s going to start fucking you like you’ve been craving for what feels like hours now? Or will he be a prick some more and pretend like he doesn’t know what you’ve been waiting for this whole time. You’d place your bets on the second option. Eddie never turned down an opportunity to be a pain in the ass. 

The last song fades out and the show is over. You immediately sit up and look at Eddie with wide eyes. You did it. You had done what he asked of you and now you get your reward, right? Right? 

As nonchalantly as you’ve ever seen him, he raises his arms up over his head to stretch out his back and abdominal muscles. Usually, you’d take the opportunity to stare at his tummy when his shirt rode up, but with his cock literally inside of you it feels like a moot point. 

“Eddie,” you say. It’s not quite a whine, more like a poke—a nudge.

“Yes?”

He was going to drive you insane one of these days.

“It’s over, right?”

“It is.”

“So…?” you trail off.

“So, it was pretty good. Wish they had more metal documentaries like that.”

You’re two seconds away from putting your hands around Eddie’s throat—and not in the way he sometimes likes. 

“And I was good too, right?” You’re practically batting your eyelashes at him, and it takes Eddie a moment to compose himself enough not to laugh. 

“I guess you were.”

“So…” you drawl as you lean in to press soft kisses against the side of his neck. “Do I get my reward then?”

“What is it that you wanted, baby? Was it this?” Eddie rolls his hips up against yours and your eyes flutter closed at the feeling.

“Y-Yes,” you manage. “Need you, Eddie.”

“God, I love when you get all needy for my cock. Should I make you beg for it?”

He knows you will if he demands it. Eddie enjoys moments like this when he’s in full control, knowing you’ll do whatever he wants. That his cock drives you so wild that you become putty in his hands. It makes a nice change since in every other aspect of your relationship you have him wrapped around your little finger. 

“Please, please, Eddie,” you whine, fingers grasping at the front of his t-shirt. 

Eddie takes in your pouted lips and your widened eyes. He can’t help but smile at how utterly adorable you are; but somehow still the sexiest woman he’s ever met. 

“Alright, baby,” Eddie finally acquiesces. He reaches up and cups your cheek in his hand. Slowly and delicately, Eddie swipes his thumb right below your bottom eyelid. “Take what you want.”

The permission unlocks an energy reservoir you weren’t aware you had as you place your hands on Eddie’s shoulders for balance and push yourself up, almost letting his cock slip out. But at the last moment you lower yourself back down, the two of you moaning in tandem as he bottoms out again. You set a relentless pace as you begin to bounce on his cock. Eddie’s eyes hungrily watch your tits as they bounce along with you, providing your boyfriend with double the pleasure. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groans and drops his head back against the couch. Teasing you was definitely worth it with the way you’re taking his cock for all its worth. 

Your hands move up Eddie’s shoulder and slide around to tangle your fingers at the dark curls at the base of his skull. 

“This what you wanted, huh?” Eddie asks and pauses to catch his labored breath. He can feel how wet you are and that tells him this is exactly what your goal was. “Needed to have me deep inside of you.”

“So deep,” you mutter with a nod.

“Mm, what would you do without me, baby?” Eddie taunts, lifting his hands to massage your breasts. 

“God, I would die.”

Eddie chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Nobody could make you feel as good as I do. I know.”

“Uh huh,” you pant. 

Eddie notices your movements becoming slower, the strength draining from your body. Persistent woman that you are, you keep going, moving up and down to take what you want. One of Eddie’s arms snakes around the small of your back and the other comes up to cup your cheek.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” he says softly. Eddie turns to lay you down on the weathered couch and slides an old throw pillow beneath your hips. A loud whine of protest comes from deep in your chest when Eddie slips out of you as your positions change. “Love how desperate you get for me. Only me who gets to see you wrecked like this. So fuckin’ hot.”

As Eddie pushes himself back into your soaked, throbbing pussy your whines turn much more pleasurable. Your boyfriend holds onto the arm of the couch behind your head and uses the leverage to piston his hips. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you cry.

“Too much?” Eddie teases, slowing his hips. “Should I stop?”

“Fuck, no.”

A cocky smirk grows on the older man’s face, a breathy chuckle coming from him at your vociferous reply. His hips pick up speed again, just as eager to please you as you are to be pleased. The arm that isn’t holding him steady against the couch runs over your tits, up your neck, and his fingers meet your lips. 

“Open.”

You let your jaw drop, letting Eddie slip his middle and forefinger into your mouth. Just as you did to his cock before, you swirl your tongue around the digits, the feeling of something in your mouth only making you feel that much fuller. Reluctantly, you let Eddie move his hand when he starts to pull away, but not before letting your bottom teeth gently graze against the pads of his fingers. 

Eddie’s hand dips down between your bodies and rubs tight circles over your clit. The added stimulation has your muscles tightening, that familiar buildup soaring in you. Your right hand clutches Eddie’s arm, the grip hard enough to leave bruises that will linger for the next few days. 

“Eddie, fuck.”

“That’s right. Cum for me, princess.”

“W-Wanna cum with you.”

He dips down and trails hot kisses from your chin, all the way down your throat. 

“You’ve been naked for the past hour,” he mumbles against your sweat covered skin. “Never mind how long I’ve been inside of you. You really think I’m gonna be able to last much longer? Come on, baby. Cum for me.”

The urging is all you need before letting your orgasm wash over you, back arching off the couch, and pressing your tits against Eddie’s shirt. The clenching and fluttering of your walls around him has Eddie following right after you, spilling into you and filling you up. Wanting to make sure you take every single drop, Eddie fucks his cum into you even after his orgasm begins to wane. 

The weight of Eddie’s body pressing on top of yours is exactly what you need in the moments as your bliss fades away. Contentment fills the both of you as you breathe together, both sweaty and satiated. Eddie uses the last of the energy he has left to lift his head and press a few kisses to your shoulder. 

“I love you,” you whisper, reaching up to move some of the hair that’s sticking to his face. “I’d apologize for being a brat, but it turned out to work pretty damn well.”

“You are a brat but I’m good at handling it,” Eddie says with a soft smile. “And I love you too.”

“I feel like I need another shower,” you say, your sticky skin feeling attached to Eddie’s.

He looks up at you with those doe eyes and a cocky smile.

“Want some company?”

[justsomerandomfanfic]

What Am I Going To Do With You? - Logan Howlett X GN Reader

Title: What Am I Going To Do With You?

Logan Howlett X GN Reader

Additional Characters: N/A

Requested by Anon!

WC: 4,438

Warnings: Death mentioned briefly, X-Men canon violence briefly mentioned, italics, cursing, unconsciousness?, alcohol (beer), very brief mentions of poisoning, yelling mentioned, nightmares mentioned, confessions, strangers to friends to lovers, nicknames, banter, teasing, flirting, slight suggestiveness, slight angst, and fluff

The snow was falling softly outside, and a few puffy flakes were already starting their journey into the ground of the forested land that surrounded your small cabin in Hunter, New York. The air was cold and biting with each puff of wind that blew across the open landscape. It was early in the morning, on a Friday, when you would usually go out and cut up some new firewood for the upcoming days. It was hard work, especially in such cold weather, but it ultimately kept you warm for a week or two before you'd have to chop up some more.

In your oversized, white coat, you gathered as much wood as you possibly could fit into your arms before setting off through the thick snow, back to your back door. Kicking and knocking your snow boats against the slightly raised threshold, you shook your hair out as you nudged the door closed with your hip. The snow that had landed softly in your hair began to instantly melt into its liquid form once the warm and comforting heat of your house hit you. Setting down the wood logs on the small wooden table by your wood-burning furnace; you stood up straight, back slightly aching as you did so. 

Upon looking at your wood pile, you worried on your bottom lip before deciding to go out for a couple more from the large stack you had up against the side of your cabin. You weren't entirely sure that you'd have enough, so it was best to grab more wood than you'd need. You didn't want to freeze to death during the rest of your winter, and you didn't want to go out into the freezing cold more than you'd have to. 

With a short glance at your still-steaming coffee on your dining room table, you let out a sigh before stepping back out into the cold. Stuffing your mittens together to keep them tight on your hands, you rubbed at your chill-to-the-bone nose before heading back around to the side of your cabin. But right as you turned the corner, you froze, not literally. There, lying slumped in the thick and deep snow was a man. He definitely wasn’t there when you went out to get the first load of logs. He didn't move, possibly unconscious... Or worse... Dead. You couldn't have a dead man on your property... It would only bring trouble. 

Hoping, praying that his man was still alive, you dragged your feet through the seven-inch snow, standing within inches from him, you dropped to your knees. Eyes wandering his large figure, you bit your lip; he was breathing, his back rising and falling slowly. This man wouldn't survive long, him facing down like that. Tearing off your gloves, you quickly pushed him over, groaning slightly from how heavy the man was. What did he eat? Rocks?

Once upon his back, you let out a short breath, a small foggy plume escaping your lips as you looked over him. You couldn't help but stare, completely entranced by the man's striking features. His face, although covered in bits of stubborn snow, was a rosy pink, with a dark beard, and brown-curly hair. And though he was unconscious, he looked at peace, even though he lay in the middle of the cold snow. He reminded you of someone, but you didn't know who... Your mind began racing as you racked your brain to figure out where he might have been coming from, why he was unconscious, and why he would be out and about in just jeans and a flannel button-up?

Feeling the biting tingling on your hands from the cold you blinked out of your thoughts. And as if on instinct, you stood back up, your knees aching in the process as you moved around to his head. Taking hold of his arms, you grunted lightly as you pushed him forward, in a sitting position. Once you were satisfied that you had him positioned as he needed to be, you began to drag him to your back door.

It took you a long time, but by the time you had gotten the unconscious - handsome - stranger inside, you were well out of breath. You had to take a moment, taking a moment to catch your breath and calm your heart rate as you stared down at the man lying on your wooden floor. Tossing your gloves onto one of your couches, you quickly tore off your winter coat, hanging it sharply on the hook near your front door. Turning back to the man, you placed both your hands on your hips, huffing lightly. 

"What am I going to do with you?" You asked, mostly to yourself as you ran your hands through your hair. “I can’t call the police… They’ll only bring trouble…”

Thinking that now would be the best time to lay him down somewhere more comfortable before he woke, you grabbed the man again and pulled him over to your other couch, closest to the fire that was burning. You thought it would be easier to lay on your other couch than your bed; lifting the man was already hard enough - him feeling like he weighed a million pounds - but lifting him as you have up the stairs... No way. 

Staring down at the man, you worried whether or not you should get him a change of clothes, but that would be impossible. You live a good couple of miles from the closest shops and you didn't have any clothes that would fit the man; who you guessed was around six-foot-something. But you didn't want him to catch his death, so a good couple of blankets would hopefully suffice. You didn't really know… You had hoped so. Grabbing the throw on the back of the other couch, you carefully tossed it over the man before grabbing the rest of the blankets you had around the cabin. 

Upon placing the last blanket down on him, you stopped. Finally, away from the cold air and snow, you began to see the redness in his cheeks fade away slightly, and only then did you have the chance to take a better look at his face. Now that there wasn't any snow in his hair, you let your eyes run over his handsome features, noticing all the little details. From the way his eyelashes curled delicately, his short, dark brown curls became more pronounced as his hair dried, and the way his tanned skin seemed to glow under the artificial light of your lamps and the fireplace; he even had barely-there freckles upon the apples of his cheeks. Your hand twitched with the urge to stroke his cheek,.. Nope. Bad idea, bad idea... Maybe... You paused to think. Yeah, to check if he had a fever, you could do that. 

Reaching out, you softly brushed some of the stray hairs from his forehead - in awe from how soft they were from just the brief brush - your mind searing into you that having this unknown man in your home was dangerous. He could be dangerous. He was tall, obviously strong; he could easily break you in two with those large hands of his, but you ignored it. Finally, you pressed the back of your hand on his forehead, only to sigh in relief. No fever. Quickly, you pulled your hand away, making sure that he was breathing once more before you headed to the kitchen, grabbing your coffee from the dining room table as you did so. Maybe you could make some soup, for you, and possibly for the man that was in your living room. 

~~~

It had been a couple of days since the mysterious man had come into your life. And for the past couple of days, that mysterious man was still unconscious. You had been doing your best to take care of him, not really knowing what to do; though you read up on the few First Aid and Nursing textbooks you had found three years ago at a thrift store, but never got around to reading. Sitting next to the fire, in your old rocking chair that you got for the amazing price of seven dollars, a book in your hand, you decided to catch up on some reading. As you rocked, turning page after page, you occasionally looked up to make sure that he was still breathing, in turn, not fully paying attention to the words on the page. Looking over to the clock on the wall, you let out a sigh before standing and setting down your book on the rocking chair seat; the book was a bit boring anyway. 

Walking over, you sat on the ground beside the couch. Resting on your knees, you stared at the man, your mind wandering. Who was he? He looked so familiar. Like you had known him or had seen him before. But you hadn’t been out and about in - quote on quote - ‘the real world’ for years. You had been sort of living off the grid for the past couple of years. 

Reaching out, you went to feel his forehead for a fever again when his hand suddenly reached up, gripping your wrist. You gasped, eyes widening as you watched the man's eyes open, a small but gruff groan reverberating from his well-built chest. Slowly, he sat up, bringing your wrist with him, tightening his grasp slightly as he stared down at you with hard, dark brown eyes. You couldn't look away, both scared and lost in those eyes that were locked onto yours.

"Wha' happened?" He rasped, his voice rough and hoarse, "Who are you?"

You swallowed down your spit, trying not to let the nervous feeling overwhelm you. "Uh, I'm Y/N... Uh, I found you outside my cabin, unconscious." You spoke in a hushed tone, your voice quiet as you stared up at the man with wide eyes.

The man stared at you, his brows furrowing as he tilted his head slightly, clearly confused though he never dropped his slightly threatening demeanor. "Where am I?"

"You're- You're in my cabin... In, uh, Hunter, New York." You answered as you glanced from his dark eyes to his hand on your wrist, "Uh, could you please let go of me?"

His own eyes snapped to his hand, tightly wrapped around your wrist before quickly dropping your hand. Without another word, he stood, the pile of blankets falling to the side as he made his way quickly to the closet door. Staggering to your feet, you made your way to him, grabbing his flannel sleeve without really thinking. 

"Wait! You can't go back out there! It's freezing!" You exclaimed, his eyes staring down at your hand sharply before meeting your worried gaze once more.

"It don't bother me." He spoke, voice deep, sounding irritated, "I don't care 'bout no damn weather." 

"But you have no jacket, gloves, or hat... Or- Or anything! You'll catch your death out there!" At that, the man clicked his tongue, pulling his arm from your grasp, "Besides, the nearest town is miles away. Fifteen to be exact. You won't be able to make it. Especially after being unconscious for five days!" The man said nothing, walking the rest of his way to the front door, his large hand grabbing the door handle. Becoming slightly irritated, you grabbed his arm again, using enough strength to turn him towards you a little. "Listen here. It's freezing out, you just woke from some sort of small coma-like sleep thing, haven't drunk or eaten anything, and you expect me to just let you leave?" You growled, tightening your grip slightly, "At least stay a couple more days until the storm calms down. I have soup on the stove and a few drinking options in my fridge. Though, if you have a death wish, by all means, I can’t stop you, go on out there."

You stared up at the man as he stared down at you, his eyes moving around your face before he huffed, "Got any beer?"

"Beer?" You asked, slightly deadpanned, as the man looked back down at you and nodded, "Yeah... Uh, yeah, I got beer. Uh, just follow me, please." Breaking away, you turned and made your way to your kitchen, the sound of the man's heavy footsteps following close behind you. Reaching the stove, you grabbed a bowl from the cupboard before grabbing the large spoon and pouring a bit of mashed potato and onion soup into the bowl. Turning to the fridge, you grabbed one of the Coronas you had next to your hard lemonades before shutting the door with your hip. 

Turning, you found the man sitting on the stool, his lower arms resting on your counter. Clearing your throat, you set the beer and bowl of soup down before him before you grabbed your own soup. "Thanks," You heard him mutter slightly as you turned your back. 

Leaning against the corner of the counter, you stirred your soup around with a spoon, feeling very awkward. Glancing over as the man took a long sip of his beer, you spoke up once more. "Uh, may I know your name?" You asked, watching as he froze, spoon halfway to his mouth, "I mean, it's only fair. You know my name, and I've most likely saved your life and all. Nasty storm."

The man took another sip before setting the glass bottle aside, running his hand through his hair before glancing over at you, "... I'm Logan."

"Logan..." You repeated the name slowly, testing it out, "Well... What were you doing in my woods before you fell unconscious?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Logan shrugged, glancing away at the picture of a moose on your wall before taking another sip of his beer. Silence followed the question and you wondered why he hadn't answered. What was he hiding? Was he even hiding anything? Could he even remember? What did he know? What did he know about you?

"You live 'ere?" He suddenly asked, making you pause eating this time.

"Of course I do. What kind of question is that?" You asked, looking up at the man once more with an eyebrow raised before pushing off of the counter and tossing your empty bowl in the sink. You quickly rushed away from the kitchen, Logan watching you as you grabbed your winter coat from the hook and shrugged it on.

"Where ya goin'?" He asked as you slid on your gloves and grabbed your old messenger bag.

"Out to grab more wood for my furnace and fireplace." You answered simply. "It'll take a bit. So, if you're not here when I get back, I'll understand. But you should at least stay until the snow dies down and I can get you a ride into town."

Logan pursed his lips, finishing off his beer before speaking, "'nd ya think ya can trust me? Some stranger?" He asked as you made your way to the back door, shuffling your boots on.

You paused at the back door, hand on the door handle, "Yeah. I can trust you." You said confidently before turning to look at the burly man with a slight grin, "There's more beer in the fridge if you want it, and water too if you're still thirsty."

And with that, you opened and shut the door behind you, a waft of cold air hitting you in the face before you started walking along the thick snow to the side of your cabin.

~~~

"Logan! Could you help me in the kitchen for a moment!?" You called out aimlessly in the cabin from the said kitchen, hands covered in dough and flour.

Needing the dough, you smiled as you heard the familiar heavy footsteps make their way to you. Logan huffed, pulling his hands from his jeans pockets as he made his way over. "Wha' do ya need me fo'?" He grumbled, leaning against the counter. 

You rolled your eyes playfully, gesturing to the bag of flour on the counter beside the both of you, "Could you pour me some of that? I miscalculated how much I was going to need."

Logan grunted, grabbing the bag and dumping a small pile onto the dough, "That good?" He asked and you smiled with a nod.

"Yep! Perfect, thank you, Lo." You replied, smiling up at him as he stepped back, eyeing you curiously.

"What're ya makin'?" Logan asked, peering over your shoulder at what you were doing.

You grinned lightly, "Pie dough." You stated, glancing up at him.

"Pie dough?" He asked, "What kind of pie?"

"Cherry."

He stared at you, his eyebrows furrowed. "No kiddin'?"

"Yup." You giggled, grinning brightly at the man. "Didn't I tell you about it last night?"

Logan shook his head, "Nah, ya didn't mention it. Didn't say a thin'."

"Well," You began, "I'm making cherry pie. It'll be ready for dessert tonight. Just have to make it, bake it, and give it enough time to cool down a bit." You glanced up at him before finishing, "Wanna help me with this?"

Logan huffed, "I don't know… I ain’t good at bakin’." He began, watching as you tried to blow a couple of stray hairs from your face, "I was goin' to go out and get more wood for the fire." He answered, bringing his hand up to brush the stubborn hairs away from your face and behind your ear, making your face heat up as you smiled sheepishly up at him.

"We already have enough firewood in here to last us a few more days, Lo." You laughed out, looking back down at the dough on the counter.

"Fine. But ya owe me a beer," Logan answered, pouring a bit more flour over your dough before you could ask him to do it "And an extra slice of the pie." 

Your smile widened, chuckling lightly, "It's not like you take the beer anyway." You teased as Logan scoffed softly, rolling his eyes. "But, you may have an extra piece, maybe three pieces, since you're helping me and all."

"Fine by me," Logan muttered, "Whaddya want me to do?"

"Oh, uh, could you cut me up some of those cherries, and make sure the pits are out of them? Cherry pits have amygdalin."

“Amy-wha’ now?” Logan asked, walking over to the fridge and grabbing a beer.

“Amygdalin.” You corrected, “It’s what’s in cherry pits. Our body converts it into cyanide.” You answered as Logan took in what you were saying, his lips just pressed onto the glass rim of the beer bottle as he paused.

Logan hummed deeply before finally taking a sip of his drink, grabbing the see-through bag of pre-washed cherries with one hand. Glancing over at him briefly, you couldn't help but smile. It had been a little over a month since you found Logan in the snow. And the past month had been pretty amazing. After the initial awkwardness passed, Logan became really nice to talk to and even began to become a little fun to be around, though he was still quiet and kept to himself for the most part.

The only thing that ever seemed to truly change was when he would wake up in the middle of the night screaming from inside his guest bedroom. The first time it happened, you had rushed over to his room across from yours and came face to face with a set of claws. He didn't hurt you, but he apologized to you as if he did. He didn't really talk to you much after the first nightmare, and it took you a mighty long time to get him to open back up to you again. Though he was rather stubborn, so were you, and with a lot of reassurance, you finally cracked him out of his shell enough for him not to run away into the snowstorm. And after a long conversation by the fire, and with warm coffee filling your stomachs, you finally got some of his story. 

And though you feared that he was going to leave you, Logan stayed.

And the longer he stayed, the more you began to fall for him. Under that gruff exterior, Logan was actually a softie. A sarcastic, sarcastic, softie. It was one of the many things you loved about him. And you were sure that he might've felt the same, or at least something close to it. From lingering glances and the less-than-accidental touches, he was certainly getting close to you, or closer than he usually let himself get to anyone. He had thought about leaving, in the middle of the night, or in the early morning before you woke up. But if Logan had left, he would’ve felt guilty, leaving you all alone, only for you to wake up and not find him there. That tension was there. And that fear of accidentally hurting you was still there. And it scared him. It scared him at how close he was actually getting to you.

"Bub," Logan called out, making you jump slightly and look up at him as you snapped out of your daydreaming. Logan stared down at you, his eyes narrowed slightly, "Are ya okay?"

You nodded slightly, wiping the flour off the best you could before going over to wash them in the sink, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just lost in thought."

Logan watched you carefully, "What 'bout?" He asked and you tilted your head slightly as you thought.

"Hmm… Nothing really... Uh, it happens when I bake." You mutter sheepishly, reaching out for the dish towel on the oven handle only to find it right in front of your face, in Logan's hand. Giving him a thankful smile, you take the small towel, drying your hands off. "Thank you, Logan. Are those cherries ready?" You asked, looking over past his figure to take a look at the cherries he directed for the pie.

"They're ready," He answered, grabbing your attention again, "There's somethin' buzzin' around in that pretty head of yours."

"Hm?" You hummed, raising a brow curiously. "Somethin’ buzzin’ around?" You repeated questioningly with a smile.

Logan chuckled dryly, stepping closer to you, smirking, "Don't play coy with me, Y/N. Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?"

You flushed lightly, biting your bottom lip and shifting your weight uncomfortably under his gaze. Your heart fluttered lightly at his closeness. He looked so gorgeous today. Hair all clean from a fresh shower, washed-out jeans, and in his new flannel that you bought him. And that look upon his face, eyes narrowed playfully, filled with mirth; the chocolate brown speckled with hints of green. And that grin, encompassed by his freshly-trimmed beard. Why did he have to be so handsome... And smell so nice? And how did he shape his hair in that way, all cute and pointy? It truly fascinated you. 

"Uhhhh," You stammered intelligently, unsure of whether you should answer him. Or just keep thinking. Yeah, thinking sounded nice. Suddenly, you felt Logan's hands on either side of your body, your hands instinctively coming up to latch onto Logan's shoulders as he picked you up and onto the flour-free counter. "Logan..." You breathed out in slight shock and surprise. His hands wrapped around your waist, standing between your knees.

"If ya don't wanna talk, ya don't have to." He murmured lowly, his dark eyes scanning your features, making you shift in your seat slightly under his intense gaze. “I ain’t gonna force you to talk if ya don’t wan’ to.”

"And let me guess, it'll help if I talk about it?" You questioned with a chuckle, shaking your head slowly.

"It might." He answered confidently, nonchalantly.

You gave him a look, crossing your arms over your chest, "And what if I was just daydreaming? Is it so wrong to daydream?" Unable to stop the corners of your lips from twitching.

"Depends. Do ya daydream 'bout me?" Logan asked in response and you sighed exasperatedly, shrugging your shoulders slightly.

"Do I daydream about you, Lo?" You asked yourself as if you were thinking it over. "I don't know. What would you think if I did?" You then asked, gaining the courage to make eye contact. 

Logan raised a brow, his grin widening. "I'd be flattered, bub." He answered, as he watched you roll your eyes playfully.

"You would." You agreed, giving him a teasing grin.

"I probably would tease ya a bit." He continued, "Daydreamin' 'bout me and all."

"You would." You repeated, lowering your voice slightly with slight annoyance, glancing off to the side, right at your unfinished pie. You really needed to finish that pie… Maybe in the end you’d have enough leftover dough for smaller pies… That’d be cute…

"I'd probably kiss ya." Logan then said.

"You would-" You paused, blinking before turning to look up at him, eyes wide and face flushed. "Wait, what?" You asked, a confused look forming on your face. Did he really say what you thought he said..?

Logan's smirk dwindled, "Do you not want me to?" He asked, and you quickly responded by shaking your head.

"No! I mean, yes! I mean... Um…" You trailed off, trying to think of a way out of this embarrassing mess. "Um… I'd kinda… Like that…" You mumbled the last part, trying to hide how embarrassed you suddenly felt. You never expected him to say anything like that.

"Really?" Logan said, seeming genuinely surprised as he watched you nod. 

"Yup." You replied quickly, hoping that he wouldn't hear the faint squeak in your voice.

"You sure, bub?" He questioned. "Because, if this is gonna make you uncomf-"

Rolling your eyes, you uncrossed your arms, "Oh, shut up and kiss me, Logan." You growled, grabbing the collar of his flannel, and pulling him towards you, pressing your lips harshly against his own, making him pause for a moment before kissing back. Your hands went from his collar to tangled in his hair, tugging gently, while his grip on your hips tightened slightly. His fingers slid a bit under the hem of your shirt, burning against the small portion of your cool skin that he had found at your waist. After a few moments, you pulled back, panting slightly. "You taste like cherries." You muttered breathlessly.

"I may have snuck some when ya weren't lookin’." He grinned a toothy grin, looking down at you mischievously.

You chuckled slightly. "What am I going to do with you?" You commented, feeling his warm fingers brush through your hair as they rested on the nape of your neck before he leaned forward, capturing your lips once more.

---

Main Masterlist | X-Men Masterlist

[kentophilia]

𝐨𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬!

contains: character x character, alcohol consumption, smoking, frotting, anal fingering, sub!toji, dom!nanami, whiney toji, something something bisexual tojinana <3; word count: 2k

reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

minors, ageless and empty blogs will be blocked immediately!

the lock clicked and in stumbled toji and kento, both very drunk and very horny. they sported a fat boner each, feeling too awkward to look at each other despite being roommates for years.

they both took off their shoes and jackets, an uncomfortable silence hanging over them. kento was in the middle of getting them both a glass of water when toji blurted out: “wanna make out?”

the blond man could only nod.

toji had drunkenly confessed to kento that he thinks he might like guys too, in that slurred speech he always has when intoxicated. kento, a heavyweight in drinking and still feeling quite sober, was taken aback but also intrigued. so he stayed quiet.

“ah, forget i ever said anything, i’m just drunk.” toji had waved him off when kento wanted to talk to him about it later. “let's get more shots!”

well, those few shots later, toji had brought the topic up again, cigarette in hand.

“y’know, if i was gay, i’d fuck ya, ken,” he slurred. kento took a long drag from his cigarette, looking at his roommate with raised eyebrows.

“i mean, what's not t’like? y’r handsome, smart, come from a good family and you make people very happy from what i heard.” the black-haired man winked at him and took another swig from his beer. toji laughed boisterously when kento cringed at that last part and its insinuation. the walls were thin and the amount of times they had heard each other fuck was astronomical.

“thanks, toji. but who's saying you’d do the fuckin’?” kento retorted, causing toji to swiftly choke on his beer. when their gazes met, the tension started to rise, a spark waiting for a match to strike.

“i ain't no bottom.”

well, that statement was quickly retracted when, in their drunken stupor, kento and toji found themselves on their shared couch. lips conjoined, spit swapped and toji whimpering under kento's touch. toji was trapped under kento’s large build, his thick legs wrapped around the other’s waist and hips seemingly having a mind of their own.

toji leaned back, panting, “i've never had anything in my ass before, not even a finger.”

“y’sure you don't wanna try? feels good from what i heard,” kento murmured against toji’s wet lips. toji was flushed, crimson rising from his chest to his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “you tried it?” he whispered, scared to talk any louder.

kento nodded, pulling his shirt over his head. “only on my own though, but it did feel nice. and my gay friends can't seem to get enough of it, so there must be something to it.” he delved down to toji’s jaw, leaving gentle kisses in his wake.

toji whined, feeling out of his element since he usually did that part. taking care of someone, their pleasure, making them flustered and see stars. it was embarrassing for him to be in that position but not necessarily unpleasant. kento’s lips against his scorching skin felt… really good, actually. his hands were everywhere, on kento’s shoulders, in his hand, on his back, his hips, his—

toji sobered up very quickly there, apologizing profusely when he was interrupted by kento gently taking his hand, cold into warm, and placed it on his heavy bulge. he then placed his own on toji’s, forcing a whimper out of the mean-mugged man at the friction.

“it's okay. you can always say stop and we’ll stop. i won't do anything you don't want, toji. i just wanna make you feel good. because i am.”

as those words left kento’s lips, toji pulled him down, their lips crashing together once more. as their tongues danced around each other, toji pushed kento back, straddling him. he felt like he was going to explode, arousal thickening his blood to the point where toji couldn't think straight anymore.

they only parted for toji to almost rip off his shirt out of nervousness. as soon as the fabric was gone, he dove right back in, teeth clacking against kento’s. the blond man chuckled at toji’s eagerness. it was a little awkward, big hands and muscles everywhere but neither complained. the seams of their jeans created the most delicious friction on their restrained cocks.

“kentooo…feels so good,” toji whined, drool threatening to spill out of his mouth. kento could only watch with half-lidded eyes, watching intently where their clothed bodies met. he never in his wildest dreams would've thought that toji, his roommate, one of his closest friends, the loudest, rudest and most confident man he knew, would fall apart like this.

the heat between them felt like an impending supernova and they shed themselves of their clothes, trying to combat it. sure, they'd seen each other naked at home on accident – more or less – and after practice in the showers. but still, seeing toji’s build – and cock – right in front of his face made kento flustered. little did he know that toji felt the same.

the latter got comfortable on kento’s lap again, their dicks touching and twitching against each other. a warm hand wrapped around their lengths and kento started a slow jerking motion. a simultaneous groan of “oh fuuuck” erupted from their chests, their hips moving in tandem. toji let drool run down his lips onto their cocks, lubricating whatever kento was doing to him. toji didn't understand, mind too hazy from the alcohol and the arousal rushing all the way down to his dick.

“ken, please,” toji whimpered, “more.”

kento could only oblige, how could he say no when he was asked so nicely, all breathy and desperate?

he moved his hand faster, the friction becoming almost too much to bear. toji’s spit and their precum made it more slippery, adding to the intoxicating rush.

toji gripped kento’s shoulders, nails leaving indents with the ferocity he was holding onto the other man and kento groaned. the blond man leaned forward, lips attaching to toji’s collarbone, sucking on the damp skin.

“need, haa… need more, kento. please, wanna try it,” the raven-haired male whimpered, the alcohol making it hard to finish without added stimulation. kento could barely make out the words. but when his brain finally registered them, he gasped and gripped toji's face, squishing the latter’s cheeks. the hand that was currently jerking them off halted and toji cried out.

“what'd you say?” kento inquired, heart and mind racing.

“mmm – wanna try it. wanna have your fingers in me, please?” toji begged through smushed cheeks. kento paused, trying to sober up and bring himself back to earth. there were tears making their way to toji’s dark eyes at the silence that settled between them. scared that he'd asked too much of his roommate, toji tried to wiggle out of kento’s grasp, but to no avail.

“let me get some lube then.” kento’s gentle voice reached toji’s bright red ears and he was gently pushed off the other’s lap and onto the soft couch before kento sprinted to his room. he emerged soon enough, a small bottle in his hand.

“it'd hurt without it,” he mused, awkwardly wiggling it between his fingers. toji let out a huff through his nose, shuffling around. “how d’ya want me?”

they were back to their original position, kento hovering above toji, lube being warmed up between his fingers. toji spread his legs, looking away with a burning blush as he exposed himself.

kento gave him a warm smile. “you sure you wanna do this? and with me?”

toji gave a nod, his blush intensifying. “yeah. if anyone puts a finger in my ass, i'd want it to be you. and we already got this far,” he grumbled, feeling even more exposed under kento's attentive gaze. the blond man breathed out an “okay” before leaning back on his haunches. “i've never done this to another person before either so we're somewhat in the same boat.”

toji laughed, “oh yeah, totally the same thing.”

kento cringed at himself and got more comfortable, putting a throw pillow under toji's hips for more leverage. one hand was spreading the cheeks while the other found toji’s twitching hole, spreading some lube onto it. toji flinched and relaxed immediately, the sensation so unfamiliar to him. kento circled his finger around it, registering toji’s noises and reactions.

pushing past the tight ring of his entrance, toji let out a pornographic whine. one that made him slap his hands on his mouth out of embarrassment. kento smiled, peeling them off. “there's no one here, keep ‘em comin’.”

toji didn't know what to do with his hands, fingers twitching and rummaging to find something, anything to hold on to while kento provided him with pleasure. it was so unfamiliar, a little sting at the stretch but it felt so good. kento started thrusting his finger in and out of toji’s hole, his mouth agape and sweat running down his temple. toji started moaning unabashedly, eyes threatening to close but the need to watch kento was stronger. he was so focused on the way toji’s hole was sucking him in and toji swore he could feel his heart flutter.

kento started pushing in a second finger gently, feeling the resistance of toji's hole and slowly but surely edging it away. the black-haired man squirmed, gasping, “oh fuck, oh fuck!” at every gentle thrust.

kento started curling his fingers, seemingly looking for something in toji’s velvet walls. “digging for gold?” toji giggled and suddenly whimpered when kento pressed against a certain spot, precum running out of his swollen tip. “found it,” kento chuckled.

“wh-wha…what's that?” toji questioned, barely able to string a cohesive sentence together due to the white hot pleasure burning through his body.

kento grinned, adjusting their positions without pulling out, toji straddling him again on wobbly knees. “it's your prostate – s’posed to make ya feel really good,” kento murmured, still moving his fingers slowly. toji whined and started moving his hips, desperately trying to find that kind of pleasure again.

kento gripped both of their cocks again, a low moan emitting from his throat at the friction. toji kept grinding on his fingers, the ecstasy multiplied by kento’s warm hand and their cocks twitching against each other. “that's it, keep moving,” kento ordered and toji obliged, chasing his orgasm. the blond man started increasing the pace on his jerking, every tug more delicious than the last.

kento felt himself grow close. toji’s hole warm and clenching around his fingers, the cock hot and heavy against his and the sinful whimpers right in his ear had him spiraling quickly. he curled his fingers again, pressing against toji’s prostate and keeping the rough pads of his digits right there. toji reacted immediately, almost shouting at this point, white flashing behind his eyelids. his eyes were screwed shut, loud moans of “please, please – gonna cum” echoing in kento’s ears. he stored that away for later.

“go ahead, cum for me, toji,” kento whispered loud enough for the other to hear. toji’s burning gaze found his as he spilled all over kento’s hand, hole clenching and unclenching almost as rhythmically as his heart. a moan of kento’s name spilled from toji’s spit-slicked lips as he rode out his high, effectively pushing kento towards his. expletive groans left kento’s throat as he made an even bigger mess of them both, slowing down both of his hands as the overstimulation set in.

he let go of their softening cocks and pulled out his fingers with a lewd squelch, feeling toji slump against him. he quickly wiped his hands on the shirt that was thrown over the backrest before returning his touch to the man on top of him.

“i would've done this sooner if i’d known how good it is,” toji mumbled sleepily against kento’s shoulder. the latter chuckled and patted the damp black hair. “you always know better afterwards.”

“you know what would've made it even better?” toji murmured, heartbeat slowing down and drowsiness taking over. kento hummed in question.

“having a girl sit on my face.”

that was the last thing toji said about it before dozing off and kento struggling to get him into bed. though, he kept that information safely hidden in the back of his mind.

they never mentioned it again after that, acting like nothing had changed. but the underlying sexual tension never truly left their friendship.

a/n: this was only supposed to be a flashback for The Threesome but i got carried away >///< i'm still so proud of this as it was my first time writing character x character <3 @aiyaaayei

networks: @houseofsolisoccasum @interstellar-inn

© kentophilia 2024 — all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, translate, modify or steal any of my works.

[themultifandomgal]

Can I get a little something with either Kelly Severide or Matt Casey please where he sees the readers baby bump for the first time? Perhaps it becomes really prominent and he soon becomes obsessed with it

Kelly Severide- Little Baby Bump

YN and Severide wanted to have a baby for a while. They knew that as soon as they got married they would try for a baby, but unfortunately for them it took a lot longer than they thought for them to conceive. A year later after trying YN started to have pregnancy symptoms like morning sickness, swollen breasts, tiredness.. etc. Of course Kelly was immediately at the nearest shop to get some pregnancy tests and got home in record time. Within a few minutes they were celebrating the fact that they were going to be parents.

That was 5 months ago and while YN has been looking a little bloated there wasn't a prominent baby bump until today. The weather in Chicago has been rather nice recently, so YN gets dressed into a maxi dress. What she doesn't realise is that the dress being tight fitting shows off her small baby bump. YN leaves her shared bedroom with Kelly and heads downstairs into the living room where Kelly is sat watching the TV

"Is it just me or is it really warm?" YN asks

"Just you babe. Well it's warm, but not..." Kelly stops when he sees his wife. Kelly looks at her little bump

"What? Is their a stain on my dress" YN goes to look down

"No it's just, your bump is showing"

"What?" Kelly takes YN's hand and guides her back upstairs to their bedroom where there is a full length mirror "Kel what are you..."

"Look" Kelly stands behind YN rubbing her little bump "our little baby is in there"

"We've waited a long time for this" a tear falls from YNs eyes.

That night YN and Kelly lay in bed together, Kelly rubbing her bump ever so slightly before sitting up and little and then leaning down

"Hey little one. Mummy and daddy can't wait to meet you. Tomorrow we're going to paint your bedroom, well I am. Mummy is going to keep out of the room because of the fumes instead she's going to sort out the millions of clothes she's bought" Kelly laughs making YN chuckles. Kelly lays back down on his back, YN turns over so that she can lay on Kelly's chest

"I love you Kel"

"I love you too" Kelly replies before they both fall asleep.

The following day Kelly, Matt and Jay go upstairs to build the baby furniture and paint the walls while YN and Gabby sort through the already washed baby clothes and the ones that need to be washed. Again the weather is warm so YN is wearing another maxi dress with the air con on. She notices Gabby shiver a little

"Sorry if it's to cold, I've just been so hot"

"No it's ok don't worry"

"I'll grab you a jacket" YN gets up smoothing down her dress

"I bet Severide is excited about being a dad"

"Very. Last night he spoke to the bump, then all night he would either be holding my bump or stroking it a little" YN grabs a jacket off the back of the dinning room chair and hands it to Gabby

"You guys are so sweet. Your going to be amazing parents. Just remember I am godmother" Gabby jokes

"Of course. You want a drink? Bet the boys will want a beer"

"I'll just have a soda"

"Ok" YN goes into her kitchen and opens up the fridge grabbing 2 sodas, one for her and one for Gabby. She then grabs 3 beers for the boys upstairs. YN takes the beers let's Gabby know her soda is in the kitchen while YN takes up 3 beers.

YN opens up the nursery room looking at the sweaty men in front of her

"Beer anyone? It's cold"

"Thank you YN" Matt walks over to her smiling

"What are you doing in here? The fumes..."

"Won't hurt for a couple of minutes. The rooms looking good" Kelly wraps his arm around YN's waist rubbing his thumb up and down against her bump slightly

"How's the clothes folding coming along?" Jay asks taking his own beer

"Ok rather be in here helping you guys, but I'm way too hot" YN chuckles "I better get back downstairs, left Gabby folding"

"We'll be down in a bit" Kelly presses his lips to YN's forehead before kneeling down to place a kiss on her bump.

Since YN started showing, Kelly has been constantly touching and kissing the bump. Basically he's obsessed. Kelly is going to be one of the most amazing dads ever.

[roosterforme]

Right Girl, Wrong Time Part 10 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You missed out on a lot of things when you lived in Chicago, because you didn't want to do them without Bradley. On a very important trip, you and he both visit the city together.

Warnings: Fluff, smut and swears

Length: 1500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a sequel to accompany my story Old Habits Die Hard (you'll want to read that one first)!

Check my profile for my masterlist

Five Months Later...

"I can't believe we're willingly flying to Chicago in January," you complained with a bright smile on your face. 

"This was your idea, Sugar," Bradley reminded you, holding up both boarding passes for the airline gate agent to scan. "It's not too late to stay in Vegas or fly to Fiji like I originally wanted."

"No, no. We're going to Chicago together," you told him, taking his hand as you boarded your flight from Las Vegas to O'Hare. Bradley spun your rings around on your finger as you located your seats and settled in. 

"Chicago in January. Two days before a blizzard is due to arrive. Are we about to go on the shittiest honeymoon ever?" he asked, kissing your lips. 

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Listen, we just had Elvis marry us yesterday on the Vegas strip. We had a quickie wedding after being engaged for five weeks, and I'm not even pregnant. Now we're about to get snowed in together in Chicago. You'll be stuck in a room with me for a week. I don't think a conventional honeymoon is what we needed, Beer Boy."

Bradley tipped his head back and laughed. "Actually, now that you mention it, being snowed in with you sounds like a dream, Sugar. What am I even complaining about?"

"I don't know," you whispered against his scars. "You get me and Chicago deep dish pizza around the clock if you want it."

"I want it," he confirmed. "You can feed me pizza naked in bed after we have sex. And then I'll get hard again, we can have sex again, and you can feed me more pizza. It sounds like the perfect week. Chicago in January is everything I ever wanted."

You were shaking with silent laughter as the flight attendant went over the safety instructions, and soon you were in the air. And then you fell asleep on your husband's shoulder. Bradley jostled you awake in time to see the city all lit up against a snowy backdrop as the plane descended into Chicago. 

"Are you ready for this?" you asked, standing next to him with your bags, about to walk outside to get a taxi. "It's three degrees out there."

"Yeah, I'm ready," Bradley mumbled, but he looked scared. "No problem."

Once you and he were outside, he was practically crying as you took care of hailing a ride to the hotel. "You have thin Californian blood now," you told him as he snuggled up next to you in the back seat. You kissed his icy cold nose and forehead as you headed through the city where you lived for four years during grad school. "It's embarrassing, Bradley. I married a Californian."

He shivered in your arms and said, "We're both Virginians, Sugar. I just hate being cold."

You were playing with his hair and kissing along his ear as he melted into you. Every time you thought about the crazy juxtaposition that your life had become, you felt tears in your eyes. You had missed Bradley terribly when you were living in Chicago and still even after you graduated with your PhD. So it just felt right that he was here with you now.

"That's where I got my second tattoo," you whispered as the taxi drove slowly down a side street. 

Bradley looked out the window and smiled. "Should be a historic landmark."

Your laughter filled the small space as he kissed you. Then he paid the cab fare, and you had never seen him move as fast as he did when he hauled all of the luggage inside to the warm hotel lobby. 

"Let's go get a good night's sleep," you told him as he carried everything to the elevator and then into the hotel room. 

"We're not sleeping," he said, shaking his head. "You're going to snuggle with me until I'm warm again, which could take hours, and then I'm fucking you for the rest of the night."

He wasn't lying. You pulled him into bed with you, and held his body close, softly kissing him and telling him how happy you were. 

"I love you, Sugar. I loved you ten years ago, and I love you today, and I'll still be loving you ten years from now."

Slowly and meticulously, he undressed you beneath the blankets, touching and kissing each new bit of skin as it was exposed. He took extra time and gave extra attention to your tattoos, just like he always did. 

"I've been in love with you since the first time you wore my bathrobe," he told you before pressing his lips to the valley between your breasts as you giggled. "No, before that. Since the first time I watched you put a bottle of beer to your perfect lips." He kissed his way up to your mouth, lingering there until you were sighing against him. 

"You've been in love with me since you met me then? Is that what you're trying to say, Beer Boy?"

He groaned as he slid his length inside you. "God, I fucking love it when you call me that. Every single time. And yes, Sugar, ever since I met you."

You made love to your husband all night, your hands and eyes roving over his body as you told him how happy you were that you both ended up at your class reunion in Virginia. That he was at the same bar as you that night last summer. 

When you both finally fell asleep, it was a long time before you woke up. Room service had already switched from breakfast to lunch, but Bradley got them to agree to send up a pot of coffee along with your lunch order. You and he ate all bundled up in bed together with the curtains open, the first flurries of snow falling outside as the storm moved in. 

"We need to head out soon so we can get back before it gets dark," you told him as he sipped his coffee. 

His expression looked unimpressed, but he nodded anyway. "Yeah. Let's go, Sugar."

The taxi dropped you both off at the edge of the park as the sidewalks were getting slick from the snow. There were only a few people out and about, and even in the middle of the day, the sunlight was struggling to break through the heavy, gray clouds. Bradley had his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you approached The Bean together. You stood side by side, examining if for a moment in silence. 

"It's just a big, metallic bean," you said, leaning into Bradley as the wind picked up.

"I knew it would be dumb as hell, Sugar," he replied, gesturing at it with his hand like there was no good explanation for what they were seeing.

You wrapped your arms around his middle and looked up at him as you started cracking up. "I'm glad I didn't see it without you. It was worth the wait."

"You were worth the wait. The Bean, maybe less so," he replied, kissing you as you took your phone out. 

After you took a bunch of selfies and texted some to Nat, you looked at Bradley and hummed. His cheeks were bright pink from the cold, and the tip of his nose was getting red. He was perfect, and he was all yours. 

"Have you given much thought to a little Bradshaw bean?" you asked as snowflakes stuck on his mustache. 

"Bradshaw bean?" he asked. His brow was creased before it started to smooth out. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Sugar?"

You nodded and kissed his pink cheek. "Yeah, Beer Boy. A little baby Bradshaw bean. Just something to think about."

Both of you thought about it and talked about it as you stood in front of the giant bean in the middle of a blizzard. But you didn't need to make all of your decisions right now. You weren't planning on being without Bradley ever again. 

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

THANK YOU for reading along on this adventure with me! Beer Boy/Man and Sugar belong together, and I'm happy she gets to take him to Chicago, even if it's during a blizzard! I hope you had as much fun as I did! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

Please visit the one-shot The Grateful Dad for some more Beer Boy and Sugar!

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[lovermase]

AM I MAKING A MISTAKE?

Word Count: 4.9k words

Notes: this is a repost bc it got lost in the tags and I had to back a check the mistakes 🩷

He sipped lighty on the beer bottle that was perched in his hands. The taste of the cold alcoholic beverage chisels down his throat, warming his body up. His eyes wander mindlessly around the loitered room watching as everyone avidly conversed amongst themselves. His eyes narrowed in on you when he saw you standing by the refreshment table.

You’re talking to someone; a colleague he presumed from the familiarity of their presence around each other while they engaged in their conversation. You’re doing most of the talking, like you always does and he’s standing there attentively listening. You had that certain way of demanding everyone’s attention whenever you spoke or walked inside of a room. You was unsure of this effect or power but Mason was well aware of it.

It was effortless the way your beauty captured people’s attention, the authoritative way you walked in the room, your smile, wide and comforting. Eyes; beady and alluring. You were one of the most gorgeous women he’s ever laid eyes on.

You worked for Premier League itself and they had an event for end of season and you were busy talking to colleagues to busy to even notice Mason was here. In truthfulness you wouldn’t have thought he would’ve been here tonight but your suspicions were wrong.

The colleague you’re currently talking to must’ve obtained the same thoughts as Mason. As they were talking, his attention diverted from your eyes and seemingly began to linger lower, he stepped forward hovering his body over you. Y/N’s too busy talking to notice - it must’ve been important because Mason knows you would’ve kicked him in the groin had you known that he was currently ogling at you in a very inappropriate manner.

Bringing the bottle up to his lips, Mason chugs down the remainder of his drink then sets the bottle aside leaving it forgotten on the bar counter. He stands to his feet, sliding his hands inside the front pockets as he begins to walk over to the refreshment.

Y/N’s still talking away, while this guy seems to be inching closer in your surrounding, his hand now resting on your forearm. This causes you to pause momentarily in confusion, your eyes flicker down to where his hand was resting. You had parted your mouth to question him, intending on asking why he felt comfortable enough to touch you like this especially without you permission but Mason sliding behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pecking a simple kiss against the skin of your neck before you could even speak.

‘Sorry, the line in the bathroom took forever.’ He murmurs apologetically against your ear but still loud enough for you and the colleague to hear. He lifts his head, arm still wrapped around your waist. He narrows his gaze on the guy, giving him a condescending smile.

‘Hi. Don’t believe we met before. I’m Mason. And you are?’ This guy looked dumbfounded as he stood there, his eyes assessing Mason’s protective side coming out, the way he held onto you so intimately, the way you seemed to relax at his touch. It doesn’t take long for the realisation to finally occur to him.

‘Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t know she had -‘ He swallows nervously as Mason stares back at him, waiting with a raised challenging eyebrow.

The guy was coughing awkwardly as he rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. He turned to face Y/N. ‘I’m sorry.’ He muttered in a quick apology then hastily scurried away.

When he’s out of the view and somewhere on the otyou side of the room, Y/N whips around to face Mason. You shoves his hand off of you, folding your arms across your chest. ‘I don’t need you to defend me.’ You retort.

Mason chuckled wryly, shaking his head. ‘A simple thank you would’ve been enough, little one.’

You’re right, both of them know that you could’ve easily taken that guy down in a quick move had he done or said something inappropriate to you. Your agility and combating skills had seemingly approved thanks to the self defence course you had begun taking. But as always Mason only did it to rile you up and get under your skin. The way he knows he only does, especially when he calls you by that nickname.

‘I told you not to call me that. Only my friends get to call me that and we-‘ You gesture a hand between them. ‘Aren’t that.’

Your friends started to call you ‘little one’ as a joke because you were the shortest one out of all of them and that nickname just stuck til this day and you knew Mason only called you that to rile you up and he succeeded everytime he called you by that nickname.

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and tilting a curious head at you, Mason hums in amusement. ‘We aren’t friends but we are something much more intimate than that. Aren’t we sweetheart?’ He teases, the tone of his voice is flirtatious and that makes your stomach tighten and your toes curl.

His eyes pay attention to you, you shift under his smothering warmth of his scrutiny, cheeks flushing a rosy blush. You hope that he doesn’t notice how hot he’s gotten you. How hot you got just by the sight of his face. He looked good; clad in an all black suit with his hair freshly cut that was for the FA cup that happened a few days ago.

He looked handsome.

But you wouldn’t ever tell him that. You wouldn’t tell him that your breath hitched a bit when he slipped behind you, pulling your body against his when he hugged you from behind. You wouldn’t tell him that you felt him pressing up against you bum and that a breathy moan threatened to slip from you mouth when you felt the rigid outline of his erection prodding through the light material of his trousers.

No

You wouldn’t ever tell him any of that. Especially how he looked so damn hot and beddable right now and that you want to rip off his clothes and have him take you right here right now.

You know what he’s doing; trying to get under your skin. You wouldn’t allow him the satisfaction of achieving that tonight. It was more fun to see him beg and chase after you.

Licking your lips and curling your lips into a roguish smirk, you raise your eyebrows when you see his eyes quickly flick down to the outline of your lips then make their way back up to your face.

You’ve got him right where you want him.

‘You’re just someone I go to when I need to relieve my stress, nothing more.’ You answer with a shrug. It’s kinda harsh but you know that’s the only way to get him all riled up and angry.

Truthfully, he was just more than sex. As time progressed you found yourself actually liking Mason’s presence around you for more than your sexual desires. You chided yourself for developing feelings for him. This thing between us was supposed to be strictly sex only no feelings whatsoever. That’s what you initially intended when you first seeked him. Somewhere down the line however you found yourself falling for him.

You hated it.

Not because he was a bad person or anything. You were upset with yourself because falling for Mason Mount was simply not apart of the plan.

If Mason was offended by your simple trivialization of their relationship, he showed no indication of it. Instead he chuckled lowly and nodded his head. He stared at you for a brief moment as if he was contemplating on making a snarky response to your comment.

He decided against it because he only brushed past you, leaning down slightly to whisper ‘You look beautiful tonight.’ in your ear. You don’t miss the way your body shivers when you feel the warmth of his breath tickling your skin. He smirks as he walks off, disappearing into the crowd.

You could pretend that he didn’t have an affect of you but you would be blatantly lying to yourself. Damn him and his sexy face. You inwardly huffs, turning around to see that he’s perched himself back into his position in a stool at the bar.

His fingers tapped against the countertop as he waited for the bartender to finish with you current customer. He glances over his shoulder to see that Y/N was still staring at him. He grins at you, that signature boyish smirk spreads upward on his lips as he brings his hand up mid air and waves at you.

You hastily turns away, deciding to distract yourself with another glass of alcohol as you attempt to resist the urge of succumbing to your sexual thoughts with him.

He’s leaning against the wall outside in the hallway, mindlessly standing there with his hands slacked in his pockets when he hears the clinking sound of heels connecting against the hardwood floor.

He feels himself smiling when the familiarising smell of a citrusy perfume lingers in his nostrils. He’s smelled that same scent hundreds of times; especially when his face is nestled against your neck.

‘Missed me?’ He quips teasingly as he pushed himself off of the wall. He could see the outlines of your silhouette as you approached closer.

‘Don’t flatter yourself, Mount. I’m looking for the bathroom.’ You inform him, rolling your eyes at his arrogance. Your footsteps however stop and your standing directly in front of him.

‘Why are you out here anyway?’ You questioned.

‘Why did you stop here when you were supposed to be looking for the bathroom?’ He quips in a quick wit ignoring your question and causing another blush to colour your cheeks.

Touchè.

If he wanted to play this game, so could you.

‘Why did you even come tonight? You weren’t even invited.’ Truthfully, he had been invited along with the rest of the team.

‘Why do you keep talking to me when you claim not to like me?’

At this brash inquiry, You relent. Your taken slightly aback but you know the real reasoning behind your continued back and forth bantering with him and why you felt yourself being reeled back to him every time he was around you. You thought that your facade had been convincing enough to where he wouldn’t be able to tell that you indeed had harboured feelings for him.

But the weight of that inquiry, the innuendo blatant and apparent in his tone made you suddenly think otherwise.

Shit. Shit. Shit. You needed to think of a comeback. Great, he was looking at you now. His gaze was smothering you again, making it hard for you to form coherent thoughts. He had you right where he wanted you again.

Fuck.

Mason slowly walked up to you. He’s looking at you again; in that hungry way like he wanted to ravenously devour you. The thought of it makes you throb.

‘You know, little one,’ your nickname name rolls off of his tongue in a way so sexy that you didn’t even have time to berate him for using it again. He’s standing in front of you; the smell of his cologne fills in the air around you. His body towering slightly over yours a few inches. ‘I’m starting to think that you care about me more then you let on.’

He takes another step towards you. Eyes breathing you in again.

‘In your dreams.’ You say, but the comeback is so pathetic neither one of them actually believes it. He hums in amusement, reaching up to twirl one of your loose curls around his finger. You hold in a shaky breath you weren’t even aware that you were holding.

His eyes flick down to meet yours again. His hands leave your hand in favour of resting steady on your hips. He begins to descend his hand lower, the material of your dress is smooth under the palm of his hands.

‘Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.’ He murmurs huskily, his own breath hitching as his hand proceeds lower. A shudder rolls down your spine when he reaches the edge of your dress, hand now grazing along your skin as it peeks from underneath the large thigh slit on your dress.

His tongue swiped across his lips, wetting the plump skin. He hovered just at your inner thigh, tentatively, cautiously waiting to see if you wanted him to stop.

You nod your head, giving him approval and consent to proceed.

His hand is warm against your bare skin; goosebumps prickle all over your arms. His fingers brush lightly against your thigh as they continue their sinuous path upward and underneath the material of your dress.

Your knees nearly give in beneath you when you feel his fingers tug at the ends of your underwear.

You wanted this so damn bad but— you place a hand over his, stopping his movement. You breathe heavily, licking your lips. ‘Not out here.’

They were still in the hallway after all and the way your body was nearly thrumming in excitement just thinking about what they were about to do; you wanted to have the privacy of as loud as you wanted to be.

You latched your hand onto his forearm and pulled him down the hallway along with you. They searched down the long corridor, twisting door handles to see which rooms were unlocked.

You push him into a room at the end of the hall; spacious and unlocked. It was nearly vacant save for a large wooden desk and a single office chair followed by a plethora of boxes surrounding it. Y/N closed and locked the door behind them. You barely had time to turn around before Mason grabs ahold of your waist and is pushing you up against the wall.

His lips hungrily after yours, pampering against your mouth in a ravenous vigour. Your back pressed against the door, leg hitching up and tossing over his waist as he placed a knee between your legs. You moan filthily in his mouth at the contact.

Needing more, Mason crouches down a bit so that he grabs ahold of your other leg. He’s effortless as he slides it around his waist and pulls your body closer so that their pelvic bones are now brushing against each other’s.

Your lips are swollen, sodden from his dewy kisses. The wisped air between them is hot and rugged as he presses his tongue against yours, ravishing in the taste of your glossed lips.

Mason softly gnaws on your lower lip, teasingly tugging at the plush skin as the tone of your breathy moans were in the air. ‘Mase,’ Y/N murmurs against his lips, your whimpers becoming the death of him.

He responded by rolling his hips against yours in a dry rut. You gasp, squeezing your thighs together as you reciprocate the gesture, giving your own grinding thrust against his now hard erection that was prodding against your centre.

Mason groans gutturally in response, pressing his wet mouth against yours with a vigorous, caressing the milky skin on you waist as he hikes your dress up a bit. You cup his face within your hands and fluctuate with him with slow, sensual kisses that make the grip he held around your waist suddenly tightens.

The way you were grinding against his erection, teasing his mouth with these feverish kisses nearly caused Mason to tumble over. Needing to balance himself and you better, he holds onto your thighs as he carries you towards the office desk, absentmindedly kicking the boxes aside that were in his path.

He sat you down onto the coldness of the office desk, slotting himself in between your legs again.

He pries his lips away from yours momentarily to gaze in your heavy eyes. You bite softly on your bottom lip, nodding your head as you feel his fingers hesitantly hovering over the waistband of your underwear. Mason spreads your legs open as he moves the fabric of your black laced underwear aside. You inhale a shuddered breath, gazing down as you watch Mason insert a finger inside of you.

‘Oh,’ your mouth is agape, eyes flutter as he moves his finger along your sticky warmth. Your hips move in tandem along to the messy movements of his fingers, you grind down on them, biting at his shoulder as you chase your orgasm. Mason’s laboured breath is hot against your ear.

You find his lips again, capturing them within the grasp of yours. The sound of your leaked slickness nearly draws Mason to his orgasm. He feels you quiver against his fingers. The erratic movements become more precise as he is determined to feel you drenched milky wetness against his fingers.

‘Mason!’ You repeat his name repeatedly, feeling the wave of your orgasm suddenly swallowing your whole. It spews out of you, right onto his fingers. Your face is nuzzled against the crook of his neck, you feel a sudden warmth pooling on your cheeks. When you breathing halts from its rugged labouring, you glance shyly up at him, feeling the creases of your lips curl upward.

‘You gettin’ shy on me, Y/N?’ He asks, licking his fingers clean.

‘You wish.’ You murmur, grabbing him by the collars of his shirt and pulling him in for a deep kiss.

Mason’s lips pecked your lips thrice, moving lower, soft kisses against your collarbone and below your ear before eventually moving lower to suck and nibble on the exposed flesh of your neck. His puffed breath is hot against your skin, low and rugged. You feel him smirk against your neck, a throaty chuckle as he pulls back, just enough to glare up at you.

His lips are a pretty pink colour, plumped and completely kiss-swollen. His hair is tousled, from where your hands were tugging and pulling lightly. His face was flushed, cheeks were a faint pink colour, and the side of his neck was marked up with love bites.

You moan softly, your curly eyelashes flutter in content as he firms a grip on your bum and roughly squeezes each of your cheeks, bringing you against him and teasingly thrusting his hips forward, allowing you to feel the swollen erection that was hotly pressed against his thigh.

A broken moan fell from your lips again, hitching just in the apex of your throat. Your clit quivers at the contact, desperate to feel it again. ‘Please,’ you rasp; your throat heavy, voice too breathy to form any coherent words at the moment.

He hums, nodding his head as he leaned forward and nestled his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiarising scent. ‘I know,’ He says, now kissing your neck with fervour, fingers still splayed on your bum.

He understands your need, because he feels it too. His cock was straining against his boxers, wetness leaked from the flushed tip.

Their shaky hands worked together in tandem as he unzipped his pants and pulled them down along with his boxers. They pooled around his ankles as his cock sprang free from his pants; erect and leaking with precum.

Mason’s hungrily slotting his insistent mouth along yours, dragging his tongue against your lips, parting your mouth open. His wet tongue intertwined within yours as they wrestled for dominance. In dire need of skin to skin contact, he pulls at your underwear sliding them down yours thighs. Mason lifts your hips in assistance. He tugs the tightness of your dress up until it’s bunched around your hips.

He could feel his lips going numb, lungs burning desperately, begging them to part for air. But, he ignored it and continued to kiss you perfectly succulent lips, nipping and tugging at the plush skin as you let a few of moans rang out of you. Mason glides his hands down your body, his palm slides over the torso of your stomach and recedes lower until he reaches you waist.

‘Condom?’ You pant heavily against his mouth, tongue gliding over your swollen lips.

‘Were you planning on getting lucky tonight?’ You tease, tilting a head at him.

He shrugs, smirking as he rips it open. ‘Always gotta be prepared right?’ And you only hum in response. He slides the latex material over his cock, it snugs fittingly around him. He leans forward, placing one hand on the desktop while the other wrapped around your waist pulling you closer.

You kiss him again. Slowly. Softly. Unhurriedly. You scoot to the edge of the desk and spread your legs open further enough for him to settle in between. He grabs hold of his cock and aligns it at you centre.

Fuck. You hiss, eyes rolling to the back of your head, stomach tightening in recoil when his tip spreads your slicked lips open. He prodded slowly, disappearing inside of you inch by inch.

Shit. He murmurs in a curse, looking down as he watches himself. You’re so tight and warm around him that it nearly makes him cum at the feeling of you enveloping him whole. His breathing’s rugged as he shifted his hips downward a bit so that their pelvis are aligned.

‘Yeah?’ He inquired, wanting to know if you were ready. You don’t respond verbally, only incites a grinding hip thrust forward that catches him by surprise.

He swallows, he reciprocates the hips thrust, emphasising the rotation of his hips as he retracted and filled you in a steady pace.

Y/N wants to cry at how good he feels around you, how his cock curled inside of you like it was made just for you. You’ve never had someone make you feel like this; so good and sexy while also making you feel cared for. You could practically feel his emotions through every hip rut as his pelvis chafed against yours.

Mason balances his weight on the balls of his feet as he filled you deeply, he groans as his forehead falls to your shoulder. Because holy fuck; you’re so perfect. So beautiful. And he wants to tell you that he wants more, a real relationship with you. But he wasn’t good with words. Nor with relationships. And he didn’t want to risk the possibility of ruining this; not the sex, the time he spent with you.

It would make you run away if you knew how he truly felt. He would rather be around you, secretly pining after you than for you to know of his feelings and not want to be around him anymore.

He knew the rules of their situation when they first agreed to this. No relationship, no emotions. Though he fails greatly at the latter, he would continue to be used as something to help you fulfil your needs when you need a release.

‘Getting tired up there?’ You quip playfully, your voice soft against his ear.

Mason fucks hard into you, causing you to yelp loudly. ‘Does that answer your question?’ He smirks, fingers digging into the skin on your ass cheeks.

Asshole.

The desk creaks beneath them, the hinges becoming wobbly with each pounding thrust he gives.

You ran your fingers through his sweaty hair, pulling his head up. ‘My ass hurts on this. Get on the chair.’ He obliged without any retort because one, his feet were starting to hurt from standing too long and two, he loved the idea of Y/N riding him.

Pulling out of you sticky warmth, Mason eases into the spinning desk chair. He opens his legs widely, cock slaps against his stomach. Y/N hops off of the desk and approaches him. You hiked your dress up around your hips as Mason grabs ahold of himself.

You sit down on his thighs. You shifts your hips, dragging your milky wetness along his thighs as you straddle him. ‘Oh, fuck.’ He breathes. You lifts your hips, steadying your hands on his shoulders as you ever so slowly eased down onto his hard length.

You whimper at the same time he slurs a drowsy, ‘Y/N.’

Their chests heaved heavily, bodies shivered at the delicious feeling of his cock being nestled deeply inside of your clit again. His eyes narrowed, a line of sweat beads his brow, hands slightly trembled as he glanced down and enthralled at the sight of his cock inside of you, easing ever so gently inside of you.

‘Oh my god,’ you whimper, your head tossing backwards, mouth falling open.

Y/N swirled your hips forward, slowly, teasingly. Mason whimpered and his shaking hands instantly formed a hard grip on you waist. He recited his own thrust, lurching his hips forward with a shallow rut and lingered against you.

You make a breathy sound of pleasure again and he makes a mental note of it, keeping it in the back of his mind for the next time they have sex. ‘So good, Y/N. So beautiful.’ He mutters, his eyes now heavily focused on the sight of his cock extracting and reentering you, as you shifts your hips and bottomed him out completely until the tip of him prodded against your clit again.

You roll your hips in a whine and pressed your pelvic bone down onto his. You rise and lower on top of him, slowly, languidly.

You hike your legs up further, pulling them up until they rested around his waist. This elicited a sharper and deeper change in his stroke, You dug your fingers into his shoulders to steady yourself. You could feel your thighs clenching, your insides clamping around him.

He pulled his mouth to yours and you tongue into the wetness of his hungry mouth. You bite down on his lips when you feel your toes curl. He thrusts into you, grabbing your ass, pulling you already working hips closer to tousle him, pushing himself deeper.

You pause; chest heaving heavily when they hear the sounds of voices coming near. You wait to see if they would pass by, but the sounds kept getting closer.

It was no telling how long they would be out there but damn it, Y/N was almost finished and you could no longer wait. You reached down and picked up your underwear, stuffing them inside of Mason’s mouth. ‘Don’t make a sound.’ You whispered in caution, he answered with a head nod.

The chair, just like the desk, creaked, complains, beneath them and you know that you should care, but that caring, like everything else, has flown out of your head. Everything but the slickness of his cock filling you, the pressure against your clit every time he rolls his hips just so. The muscles in your leg stretch, right on the precipice of pain.

Their heavy breaths mingle and you choke back a sob once you feel your orgasm creeping up on you. Mason grunts as he thrusted shallowly inside of you. Your orgasm spills from inside of you and coats his condom covered penis.

Mason continued to thrust inside of you as he rode you through your orgasm, milking you completely dry. His hips jerk and it’s not soon before he’s filling you up with his own warmth, the evidence of their body fluids flowing down their legs.

Mason's face is flushed and sweaty, and his breathing is laboured. Mason's chest heaves as you come down from your ecstatic high.

You remove the bunched up underwear from his mouth. Mason kisses your shoulder, playful, and nips at your collarbone.

‘You okay?’

You can muster only a wordless noise of satisfaction as you sweep fingers through his hair.

‘Are you okay? You’re the one that looks worn out.’ You tease. Your legs burned and your body was completely spent. You knew that he too had been exhausted from their late night hookup.

His light chuckle is only the slightest bit smug. He shrugs a shoulder, hands reaching up to rub soothing circles against your back.

Something about it seemed so intimate. They didn’t do that. They didn’t cuddle after their hookups. They talked and made jokes but never cuddled. The fondness of it scared you.

As much as you did like Mason you couldn’t afford to get entangled with him or be in a relationship. You didn’t need distractions. You were at the height of your growing career, you didn’t want anything interfering with that.

‘I should get going.’ You announce amid the silence that hovered between them. You tap his thigh, nonverbally asking him to release the grip he had on you so that you could get up.

Easing his soft penis out of you, Mason watched as you slipped your pair of underwear that had been used as a restraint in his mouth no longer than a few minutes ago, back over your hips. You slid your dress back down smoothing a hand over it.

‘Hey, is everything cool? You’re acting weird.’ He’s worried standing to his feet as he pulls his own clothing back on. His usual teasing tone was absent and replaced with one of worry.

He pulled his pants on and zipped them up.

‘Yeah. I’m fine. I just need to get back before someone comes looking for me.’ You avoided his eyes, your movements were becoming more hurried. He frowns at the noticeable change in your demeanour.

‘Y/N-‘

‘I have to go. But we’ll catch up next time, maybe. I-bye!’ With that you hurriedly made yourself egress from the room, leaving Mason standing there dumbfounded.

Maybe he misread all of their flirtatious quips. Maybe you did just think of him as a meaningless hookup.

Are you making a mistake?

[lemonxdaisybby]

How about the Legends and Ichigang fellas taking shower by themselves and with their s/o? Just anything that comes up

Hello! Thank you for your request! 💕 Some mild NSFW hcs, hope that’s okay x

I’ve just done Ichigang guys for now because I am v dumb and wasn’t entirely sure who the Legends consisted of. I’m not sure if you mean Kiryu, Majima, Saejima, etc, but also didn’t wanna make any assumptions incase I got it wrong 😭 I’m so sorry, please free to send another request in if you wanna add more characters for this hc 💕

Ichiban:

When showering on his own, Ichi would be a fan of cold showers. He has one each morning, and he finds the cool water tends to wake him up properly, and makes him more alert. He only really has warm showers if he’s feeling ill, or if it’s especially cold out…or if he’s showering with you.

He would be so shy the first time you shower together, as he wouldn’t really know what to do with himself, or where to look. He wouldn’t want to come across as a creep so would actively try to avoid looking at you at first, until you laugh at him and tell him to chill out. Then he’s gonna relax and realise he’s been overthinking the whole thing.

Sometimes, showering with Ichi would end in sex, and other times it would just be completely innocent, with the two of you washing each others hair. There would be no expectations.

You two would probably be a lil goofy in the shower, styling each others hair to make it stick up at odd angles, or creating bubble beards with the shower wash. Very cute and sweet.

Nanba:

Man is frugal, and very conscious of his water/household bills. Showers are gonna be quick, speedy and efficient. He probably would be eager to shower with you because firstly, saves on water and bills, and secondly, he gets to see you naked. There is no down-side.

Likely uses the most basic of shower products. He doesn’t really have a preference for shampoos, soaps or shower gels/washes, and tends to just get whatever is on sale.

Showering together would never really get sexual. Nanba can’t see very well without his glasses, so likely would be a little clumsy when showering, and is definitely not up for attempting to fuck you in there. However, once you two are out the shower, well, that’s another story.

Honestly, showering together would just be quick and no nonsense. There wouldn’t really be any goofing around. He’s there for a purpose, to get clean. No shenanigans.

Adachi:

Hums and sings in the shower. Also, he just really enjoys showers in general? He is so happy when showering, and will always have a lil content smile on his face. Adachi has super hot showers too, the heat relaxes his poor old muscles.

He likely prefers baths, to be honest. As he can just lay back and close his eyes, and maybe even have a beer whilst he bathes.

He has a yellow rubber ducky just sitting on the side of the bath. He bought it because he thought it looked cute and funny. He won’t admit it to anyone, but sometimes after a hard day, when having a bath to de-stress, he finds himself absentmindedly telling the ducky about his problems. He wouldn’t necessarily talk to it, but he’d kinda lean back and just begin venting, glancing at the duck every now and again and telling it how lucky it is, not having to deal with everyday shit.

When showering together, if it’s in one of those shower cubicles, it would be a bit squishy, as he’s so huge and takes up a lot of space. If it’s a shower-head over a bathtub, it’s less squishy but you two will definitely end up fighting about who gets to stand under the shower head.

Horny man, so he probably adores showering with you, and often it does end up with sex. He’d lift you up and have your back pressed against the wall, with your legs wrapped around his hips as he slowly thrusts in to you at a relaxed pace.

Joon-Gi:

Joon-Gi takes hygiene and beauty regimes very seriously. He likely uses the most luxurious shower washes and shampoos ever, and has a careful shower routine to follow. He showers every morning and night.

Showering with Joon-Gi wouldn’t happen often. Showering is like his chill time. He likes to relax, unwind, and allow his mind to go blank. He takes it as an opportunity to pamper himself too.

However, on the occasions where you do shower together, he would help you wash your hair and body. He would not allow you to wash him or his hair though. He’s very particular and likes to do it himself.

He would have been pretty bashful the first time the two of you showered together, not quite knowing what to do with himself, or where to look.

On rare occasions, showering together can result in shower sex, but most of the time, it’s pretty innocent and he’s more focused on getting clean.

Zhao:

Zhao showers every morning, and is likely still half asleep when showering. There has been the odd occasion where he’s almost dozed off whilst standing under the shower head, the feeling of the hot water cascading down his back almost sending him to sleep.

Definitely smooths his hair back under the water like one of those fancy shampoo adverts.

He does jerk off in the shower when showering alone. The hot water has him relaxed, and also it’s easy to clean up after.

When showering together, it’s always going to end up with sex, with only one exception - when you’re ill. If you’re feeling pretty sick and weak, to the point where you’re struggling to walk or carry out daily tasks, he will shower with you. It would be so soft and wholesome. He’d wash your hair and body for you, and then help you dry afterwards. He’d be pretty good at taking care of you when you’re sick.

Any other time you shower together, you’re gonna end up with your front pressed against the cool shower tiles or glass, as he thrusts in to you from behind.

[ichigoromi]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧| 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

Hiii, it's been a long time since I've posted! I am back briefly, just to post a little gift that I have been keeping for some time😅 I hope y'all are doing fine!

Work has been busy, but I am taking time to write again...and it has not been going well.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi (timeskip) x Y/n (she/her)

Genre(s): Romance, some light angst(?)

Warning(s): mentions of drinking, y/n being drunk

Enjoy!

Sakusa Kiyoomi

Recently, your relationship with Sakusa has been going through a rough patch where you would start fighting over minor things. 

You started going on more business trips, and he travelled more often due to his activities as a national athlete. 

Today was the worst. He just woke you up abruptly and started a fight about you never keeping the house clean, and it all blew out from there. 

So, instead of sitting down and talking about the problems you two have, you went to the company’s weekly dinner, which you rarely did, and now going for the third round. 

Your subordinates are scared as you down the tenth(?) pint of beer at this place. 

And it was time for you to head home after seeing your drunken state. 

They haul a taxi for you, and soon, you are returning home to your place. 

Somehow, you managed to haul your drunken ass back to the apartment in one piece. You fumbled with the door lock, finally got the pin right, and entered your home. Sakusa was sleeping soundly on the sofa, waiting for you because it was unlike you to return home so late. 

You shrug off your heels and are about to leave it sprawled on the floor, but then your boyfriend hates it like that. In the darkness, you put your heels back in the shoe closet and walk into the living room. 

“Hmm? Why are you outside~? You should sleep inside, and where’s yer blanket?” He was asleep on the sofa without a blanket, and you knew he might catch a cold if he continued to sleep outside without the thick duvet. 

It was hard to walk straight while drunk, but you dragged out your heavy duvet and lay it over your sleeping boyfriend. 

“Night night, Mimi. I’m sorry, too~.” You leaned over and kissed his forehead, cheeks and lips before collapsing on the warm wooden floor, falling asleep almost immediately. 

.

.

.

.

[The following day…] 

Sakusa woke up to you holding his hand and sleeping on the floor, curled up to your golden retriever, who casually becomes your bolster. He saw that you were still wearing the clothes from yesterday and the duvet over him. 

He carefully moved your arms away and carried you back into the bedroom. Sakusa then proceeds to change you out of your clothes into a shirt of his because you love sleeping in his shirt, which he loves and hates because you look cute, but he is always running out of clothes. 

When he makes sure you are clean and comfortable, he heads to the kitchen to make breakfast and prepare a hangover cure when you wake up. 

You woke up with a splitting headache and dragged your feet to the bathroom to freshen up, but that did not help your hangover. 

“Jin? Mama is not in the mood to play now. Go find papa.” But your loyal companion continued to stay by your side. 

And you feel it. 

Sakusa could hear you emptying your guts in the bathroom; he turned off the gas cooker and rushed to you. He held your hair back while rubbing your back soothingly as you puked into the toilet bowl. 

Even though Sakusa is very uncomfortable with this, his precious girlfriend is very sick and needs him by her side. 

“I’m sorry, Mimi. I know it’s disgusting-” You were going to apologise to him, but he cuts you off immediately. 

“Don’t apologise. I’m the one who should be apologising. Are you feeling better?” Before you could answer him, you were puking again. 

He helps you up from the floor and passes your rinsing glass to rinse your mouth before getting your toothbrush. You brush your teeth thoroughly before gurgling mouthwash. Sakusa holds you close to him as you two walk towards the living room. 

After all that puking, you were exhausted and famished. Sakusa, he holds you close to him, and you lean on to him. 

“I think we should go on a date later tonight. I’ll reserve at that restaurant and get you-” You shushed him with a kiss. He instinctively holds your waist, eagerly bringing you closer to him. 

When you pull away, you start laughing. 

“I don’t need no high-class restaurant. Let’s catch a movie and go to the arcade, then have oden by the roadside stall and have a night walk with Jin, just like old times. That’s what I’ll like. I feel like because we are not spending enough time together or having talks like a couple, it causes us to drift apart. So, what do you think?” You suggested while looping your arms around his neck and straddling him on his lap. 

“I love it.” He leans in and pulls you into another deep kiss.

🍓's taglist — @wolffmaiden @mysterypotatoink @notamazinglizzy @daydreaming-bao @freaknerdanfie @coconut-dreamz @slurp-slurp-slurp @ushygushybaby @Gukksen @gukksldp @chloee0x0 @eclairia-monarch @lynvshuji @yurirhsk

Wanna join my taglist? Join here~!

It's not long, but I hope you guys enjoyed it! This is my last post of 2022, and I wish everyone a good year ahead and stay safe and healthy!

I miss you guys, and I will come back soon!

With lots of love,

Rosalie🍓

©️ ICHIGOROMI — Please do not plagiarise my work or re-edit and repost as your own.

Reblogs are appreciated!

[mazeinthemiroh]

ah omg pretty princess anon here 😞😞 so sorry i forgot to specify :(( ateez please ^_^ thank you love <3

ateez when their s/o asks them who they think the prettiest princess/prince is

genre: scenarios; fluff, crack

word count: 0.8k

warnings: idk most of them are a mixture of crack and fluff but MINGIS ONE IS SO FLUFFY, GOT ME IN MY FEELS AND EVERYTHING anyways enjoy ig

pls like and reblog if your enjoy! feel free to request anything <3

hongjoong

"joongie, who's the prettiest princess/prince in all the world?"

you asked this as cutely as you possibly could. however, you did have a terrible cold and had been sick with it for a couple of days now. your boyfriend was taking care of you for all this time and you felt especially clingy today.

hongjoong tried his best not to grimace as he passed you a box of tissues. "i couldn't possibly answer that now, my love."

"joongieeeeee" you whined before blowing your nose loudly, making him shuffle away slightly.

"i still love you though," he smiled and patted you on the head, to which you rolled your eyes.

seonghwa

"you're my prettiest princess/prince, of course."

seonghwa pressed a warm kiss on your forehead. he had you wrapped up in his arms and both of your bodies were messily on the couch of his dorm room.

"really?"

"yeah."

you could he hongjoong go 'eww' in the background, making you chuckle slightly. seonghwa peppered you with more kisses after hearing hongjoong's little remark, becoming more and more dramatic with each withdrawal of his mouth. you couldn't help but giggle at his actions.

yunho

"mingi"

"wdym mingi??"

this was literally a text conversation between you and your boyfriend, yunho. you asked him who the prettiest princess/prince was and awaited a very easily accessible compliment, only for yunho to reply with someone else.

you scrunched your face up, confused as you awaited his response.

"the other members agree too 😩"

you rolled your eyes at his response. well, there you have it. mingi is the prettiest princess and you just had to accept it.

yeosang

"you're so pretty," yeosang whispered under his breath as he watched you instead of the tv. undoubtedly, you were much more interesting to him.

"am i the prettiest princess/prince ever?" you fluttered your eyelashes at him and did your best pretty pose.

yeosang drew back in fake horror and whacked you with a pillow, "never do that again."

you, in turn, hit him back with your pillow.

"you're just jealous because you know i'm the prettiest!

san

catch sannie in a soppy and romantic mood, and you don't even need to ask him this question. he's already calling you these types of names, and more.

"you're my precious princess/prince. my prettiest person. my angel, the love of my life, my soulmate, my everything-"

how many beers had he drunk tonight? oh wait, no. he's completely sober."okay san, i get it," you cut him off, amused by your boyfriend's new mood.

"you didn't let me finish!" san gasped, pretending to be appalled. "you're my honeybunch, sugarplum. pumpy-umpy-umpkin. you're my sweetie pie~

"cut it out," you giggled as he sang even louder for you on purpose. you couldn't help but find it endearing.

mingi

"yes, you are."

mingi would reply to your question immediately and without any thought.

both of you say on your shared bed together, sheet face masks in your face and jade rollers at the ready. it was your skincare session, where both of you got to fully relax together and enjoy each other's company.

mingi looked at you dreamily and, god- you'd never thought you would get a man to look at you the way he did.

you pressed a long, slow kiss against his lips, masks still on. there was nowhere you'd rather be.

wooyoung

wooyoung obviously said he was the prettiest princess in all the land. which was actually really hard to argue with.

"i'm prettier than you," wooyoung said in the most childish voice possible before doing the most horrendous aegyo you'd ever seen.

"that was disgusting," you laughed at him hysterically and he shoved you a bit.

"you're not a princess, woo," you retorted when you saw him sulking, "you're boo from monsters inc!"

his eyes lit up at this comment, "oh my gosh you're right! hold on lemme get some hair ties-"

i think you won that argument.

jongho

"yes, you're the prettiest princess/prince," jongho replied to your question with a dull voice, not even looking up from his phone as he said this.

you crossed your arms over your chest and pouted slightly.

"you could be more enthusiastic about it, you know."

jongho shrugged at this and finally looked up. he liked doing this; teasing you was just too easy. "you already know you're pretty," he mused, looking back down.

"yeah, but it's nice to hear it from you once in a while," you pointed out, sinking into the couch next to him. jongho chuckled at your behaviour and reached out to hold your hand.

[trivialbob]

Last night Sheila and I went to a seafood place. For a cheeseburger.

Coastal Seafoods in Minneapolis is a fresh seafood market. It's a neat little place. When @littlerunnergurl visited us years ago she and I shopped there for ingredients of a seafood stew LRG made for us.

There's a small counter for hot food in back. Two four-tops and a small row of bars stools next to a cold window is the complete dining room. A Facebook page devoted to smashburgers had mentioned this place's burger recently. That's what got us over there.

We ordered one Coastal Burger. "Two 4oz Wagyu Beef Patties, Caramalized Onion Jam, Pickles, American Cheese, & Dijon Mayo on Toasted Brioche!" (images from the Coastal Foods website)

I also ordered the wonderful looking Connecticut Style Lobster Roll. "Warm Lobster & Seasoned Butter on a Toasted Tom Cat Bakery Roll"

The cook cut them in half so Sheila and I could try some of each. Both were fantastic. We didn't order French fries or any sides. The older I get the wiser I am about not ordering too much food. For sure if there had been a serving of fries in front of me I wouldn't have left until the plate was clean. As it was, we walked out feeling satisfied yet not needing to adjust the car seats back so we could fit in the Subaru.

I'd been wanting to see some dive bars. A block away is the Fraternal Order of Eagles #34. It's an appropriately dimly lit place where most of the customers seemed to know each other. We didn't order food, but I almost did just to purchase a cheeseburger for under ten bucks, a rare thing these days.

The bartender was friendly. She knew what to pour for people a few times without asking. I chuckled when she asked us if we'd be okay for a bit unattended when she went outside for a quick smoke.

It's located at the intersection of two similarly named streets. When I was a kid it was mind-blowing when I saw Minneapolis street signs with the same numbers. Sure, the Av and St make a difference, but it still seemed like division by zero to someone not yet accustomed to how cities named numbered east/west and north/south roads. Similarly, I was amazed when my dad pointed out the named streets in some places were in freaking alphabetical order.

After a bottle of beer (and a sunset) we drove south a short distance through the cold and dark night to the Schooner Tavern. It too is at an intersection of numbered streets.

It was a bit louder, but no less dimly lit, than the previous place. The two bartenders were very friendly. Sheila and I again sat at the bar for one beer.

We listened to conversations around us. It was only 5:30 PM but some folks appeared to have started the evening early. A frazzled looking guy (who was probably 15 years younger than he actually appeared) must have gotten the happy hour special on "fucks" which seem to have been a 20-for-1 deal. Whew, I got tired of hearing that word used as noun, verb, adjective, preposition, pronoun, article, and adverb.

The bottles behind the bar appeared to glow. If the bar had been quieter maybe I would have heard them hum.

Sometimes I want of those tiny Red Bull refrigerators with the glass door (as seen in the left side of this picture I took). Sheila doesn't think it would look appropriate on our coffee table no matter how well it fit. People would probably trip over the power cord she also claims. I still want one though.

We still enjoyed the atmosphere while we had one beer. After that we headed to the brewery by our house. It's at the intersection of one named and one numbered street, more to the sensibilities of my suburban mind.

We met up with one couple we know and another couple who were on a second date. The guy is a regular, the woman is new to that crowd. At first she seemed like she wanted to move to a private table. Soon though she warmed up to us, and the six of us had a great conversation.

I'm going to start looking up some more dive bars for another weekend.

[wheels-of-despair]

Fucking Fireworks Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie doesn't like fireworks anymore. Contains: Angst, panic attack, me torturing this sweet boy just so I can comfort him like the wicked witch I am. Word Count: 1.5k-ish

Fucking fireworks.

You've always hated them. They're loud, they're obnoxious, they're a waste of money. If you buy fireworks, you're basically just setting your money on fire for a few seconds of sparks.

In the past, you'd tolerated them because Eddie loved them. They were loud, they were obnoxious, they were free entertainment because they were everywhere.

Last Fourth of July, you'd brought a carton of ice cream and two spoons up to the roof and occasionally fed each other until the show began. Yeah, yeah, you two are so in love it's disgusting, you're aware.

Last New Year's Eve, you'd huddled with him under a blanket and kissed when his watch beeped at midnight, then laid your head on his shoulder and watched the fireworks from a distance.

But that was before.

Eddie doesn't like fireworks anymore.

He won't talk about it, but you see him flinch when a light bulb flickers or a barely-running car turns the corner while riding their squeaky brakes. He buries his face in your neck and squeezes his eyes shut during thunderstorms. He froze when some idiot kids set off a few firecrackers nearby on Halloween.

New Year's Eve was going to be a challenge. Trying to shield him from the fireworks without him knowing what you were doing was going to be a bigger one. You're familiar with the snap of "I'm not a fucking baby!" But he is. He's yours.

The snow worked in your favor. Too dangerous to get on a roof covered in snow, you could slip and break something. Too cold to go anywhere. You'd suggest staying home where it's warm and trying to sync Metallica's Ride the Lightning album with the countdown, so that "For Whom the Bell Tolls" would begin when the clock strikes 12. A genius idea that your sweet metalhead wouldn't be able to refuse.

He went for it.

You'd gone to Family Video and brought home a pile of his favorite movies to watch that evening, along with a case of beer, a bag full of snacks, and a pizza. At midnight, it would be just the two of you and the greatest album ever recorded. Loud. Very loud.

You'd timed everything almost perfectly.

The two of you had finished off an entire pizza and nearly half the snacks by the time the last movie ended at 11:27. You were scheduled to press play on Ride the Lightning at 11:48, so you even had a few minutes to clean up.

It was a great plan… until it wasn't.

At 11:43, while you were washing the last dirty dish, the power went out with a pop.

"Eds?"

Silence. He was on the couch a minute ago.

You fumbled blindly for the flashlight in the junk drawer, letting out a shaky sigh when your hand finally closed around it. You clicked the button and felt a flood of relief when it illuminated the kitchen. Pointing the flashlight at the floor, you made you way over to Eddie.

He was frozen in place on the couch, hands clutching at his sweatpants in a white-knuckle grip.

"Eddie? Are you okay?" you ask softly, sitting on the coffee table in front of him, careful not to shine the light in his eyes. He doesn't respond.

You envied the people in movies, who always made this look so easy. There's nothing easy about it. You feel helpless, because all you want to do is take care of him, and you don't know how. There's no guide book called How to Recover from Nearly Dying in an Alternate Dimension. Maybe you'd talk to Nancy about writing one next year.

Okay, what caused this? The dark. How do we fix it? More light. You suddenly remember a camping lantern that should be in the hall closet. "I'll be right back, Eds," you say with an eerily convincing calmness, considering the panic you felt inside. You lay the flashlight on the coffee table in front of him and angle it toward the hall.

Miraculously, the lantern is not only where it belongs, but it has batteries in it. This wondrous little contraption, received as a Christmas present last year and immediately banished to a cluttered closet, filled the small room with light. You brought it back to the couch, sitting in front of Eddie once more. "Eds?"

He blinked. Blinking is good. You slowly extend your right hand, palm up, toward him. He stares at it, and after a moment, releases a hand from the death grip on his pants and places it in yours. You exhale for the first time in what felt like hours.

"It's just your standard, run-of-the-mill, Hawkins-Sucks power outage, babe. It's okay. You're okay," you say with a smile you hope looks comforting. He's breathing normally, but his eyes are still stuck in a blank stare. Your thumb rubs circles on the back of his hand.

A few minutes pass, and you move a little closer, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, his hand still in yours. You can see a little color coming back into his face, courtesy of the greatest Christmas present anyone has ever received. You can also feel the inside temperature beginning to drop from the lack of heat.

"Eddie? You with me?" You squeeze his hand, and his eyes finally meet yours. There he is. Your face breaks into a grateful smile.

"It's getting cold. What do you say we move this party to the bedroom?" you ask, wiggling your eyebrows for effect. He gives you half a smile, and you feel warmth surge through your whole body. He's back. He's okay.

You hand him the flashlight and slowly rise with the lantern, still not letting go of his hand, and lead him toward the bedroom. You stop at the junk drawer again, shoving extra batteries into your pocket, just in case.

You're both in sweats already, so all you need to do is get him into bed and keep him occupied until the power comes back on. You reach for Eddie's flashlight before he crawls into bed. You switch it off, placing it on the bedside table near the still-lit lantern and spare batteries, and climb in to face him. The lantern fills the room with a comforting glow, the pile of blankets you're under is quickly warming up, you can handle this. You give him a reassuring smile and reach over to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear.

And then the fucking fireworks start.

His body tenses. His eyes widen. You are going to calm him down, and then you're going to go murder everyone who's doing this to him.

"Eddie. EDDIE. It's just fireworks. It's a new year. It's just people celebrating." He doesn't blink. He doesn't move.

What caused this? The noise. How do we fix it? Drown it out with more noise. Why can't we do that? Because the Hawkins power grid is a piece of shit. How else can we fix it? Think, idiot, think… if we can't drown it out with noise, maybe we can drown it out with silence.

"C'mere, baby." You roll from your side to your back and extend an arm, drawing him to you. You're a little surprised, but thankful, when he lets you guide his head to your chest. Your right arm wraps around his back, your left palm presses firmly to his ear to help drown out the sound. You hold him tight, because you don't know what else to do.

He seems to relax after a few minutes, and you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Your right hand begins moving up and down his back, and you press a kiss to the top of his head before resting your cheek against his fluffy locks. You'll stay in this position all night if you have to.

After what feels like an eternity, the crackles and hisses and pops begin to die down. You begin counting when you think you've heard the last of it, not daring to move until you get to 100. You have to restart the count four times before you're finally able to get there, hoping that whoever was supplying this endless exploding nightmare would blow a hand or a dick off. Finally, it's over.

You move your hand off his ear. Is he asleep? His breathing is steady and he hasn't moved in a while. A few seconds pass before his hand finds yours… and moves it back to his ear. You bite back a chuckle and squeeze him, kissing the top of his head again. He groans sleepily and nuzzles into your chest. He's still here. He's okay.

No thanks to those fucking fireworks.

[princess-glassred]

A short interaction I wrote between Henry and Butch about Patrick

Tw: Bruises, abuse, blood, cuts, Butch Bowers, toxic henpat

It was 11 AM on a saturday, and the Bowers house was still dark as a sewer drain. The warm sunlight from the windows hit the floor to illuminate the room, but even natural sunlight was not nearly enough to make the pig sty of a house feel like a home. Today was like any other day in the Bowers residence, everything was right where it was supposed to be, as if Henry and Butch had been plopped down in predesignated spots like dolls. They sat on the couch together, not talking, entranced by the cold blue glow of the tv. Nothing good was ever on tv at this time, not that public access television was ever that good to begin with, but at least on late nights you could find some decent adult programming. Right now it was all shitty kids shows, probably ran by people who shouldn't be within 25 feet from a school zone, so Butch and Henry were stuck learning colors and watching unfunny clowns preform for screaming kids on a bench until around 6 o' clock.

Henry wasn't too focused on the tv though, he was watching, but he wasn't really paying attention. He was much more focused on the bowl of oatmeal he was stuffing in his face, almost like he expected Butch to reach over and take it from him. He was pretty famished though, his stomache had been rumbling since he woke up, and lord knows Butch Bowers would never cook breakfast. That was a woman's job, and when there wasn't a woman around to do the job, it was Henry's. They sat in silence for a little while longer, until Butch suddenly turned his head to look Henry up and down. As per usual, Butch's eyes were only ever locked into one specific emotion whenever they landed on Henry: contempt. Suddenly his eyes stopped on one specific part of Henry's body, transfixed on his right wrist that he was currently using to shovel strawberry oatmeal down his throat. Butch cocked his head to the side and squinted at Henry. "You're not very sneaky son." He said plainly, and right on cue, Henry's entire body went stiff.

Despite the vauge statement, his son's suddenly panicked face indicated that he knew exactly what he was talking about, which only made it worse when he inevitably tried to deny it. "What-" Henry coughed, nearly choking on his food as he put his spoon back in the empty bowl with a clink. "What are you talking about?" He said, trying and failing to hide his terror. "I raised you, I know when somethings different about you. Your stupid braclets are on one side of your arm now, you've never done that before. You're hiding something." He grumbled, grabbing an open can of beer from the end table and taking a swig.

Henry blinked in shock then tried to deny it again with a nervous laugh "That doesn't mean-" but suddenly, Butch lunged for him, and Henry instinctively flinched. Fortunately for Henry, this did not result in a punch or slap like it usually would, but Butch did grab his wrist and pull it over to his side of the sofa. His muscular calloused hands squeezed down hard enough that Henry wanted to yell "you're hurting me!" but stopped himself. Butch wasn't a man who could listen to reason, and in fact, to Butch, "you're hurting me" was basically like saying "Good job!" and would have encouraged him to do it more. He used his fingers to scooch Henry's bracelets down his arm, his fingernails and the thick leather of the bracelets causing even more pain to him as they inched down his arm. After what felt like an eternity of burning, scratching, and writhing, the pain finally stopped, but Henry's shame quickly took it's place as Butch stumbled upon his secret, and there was no way for Henry to hide it anymore.

There were big bruises on his wrists, and even a big cut on the back, like some one wanted to cut him but didn't wanna risk slitting a vein open. Henry had attempted to cover up what the bracelets couldn't hide with make up yesterday, but that was now rubbed off too, and even then, Butch could tell. Seeing bruises on Henry was typical, in fact, Butch was often the cause of these bruises, but Butch was always very careful to only do it on the torso where they could be easily hidden. Whoever caused this had been sloppy though, real sloppy, maybe even wanted them to see the bruises for some weird reason. For a brief moment he considered the possibility that Henry might have done this himself, but that was quickly dismissed. Henry was too much of a pussy to ever hurt himself, he could barely handle Butch's beatings with out whining. Besides, Henry knew if he did some embarrassing cry baby attention seeking shit like that then Butch would have to buckle down and give him something to really cry about.

Eventually Butch unclenched his grip and allowed Henry to break away, leaving him to cower and rub his wrist on the far end of the sofa like an abused housewife. A twinge of shame and pain flashed across his face as he rubbed and whimpered like a scared dog, something Butch found both pitiful and incredibly annoying. Those bruises on his wrist could only be from one person in this stupid town, Henry might have been a little pansy but he was big for his age, so the only person who could hurt him like this would have to be some one taller than him, and more importantly, some one who he'd actually let hurt him. Butch crossed his arms and frowned, making the already humiliated and scared Henry feel even worse.

"So, who did that?" he asked, not a hint of concern for Henry's well being. "I... don't know." Henry mumbled, letting his voice go a little soft like he always did when his dad caught him in a bad situation. "But it was probably you, sometimes you get-" "Bullshit." Butch interuppted, insulted by the accusation. Butch might have been a crazy abusive drunk, but he could always recognize his own work on Henry, and those bruises were not his. "It's him, isn't it? It's from that Hockstetter fag you hang out with. I know it is." Butch said, so disgusted it was a miracle he didn't spit in his fucking eye.

Henry looked down to the floor, no longer able to deny the truth, but still desperate to cling onto his last shreds of dignity. Henry groaned, growing a little angry and defensive "it's not a big deal! He said he was sorry..." that was a blatant lie though, and Butch knew it, Patrick never apologized for anything unless it benifited him in some way. He'd apologize to adults anytime he got in trouble, but he never meant it, he was just very good at manipulating others to get what he wanted, and those manipulative tendencies leaked into every facet of his life, including sex. He got sex through manipulative means and the sex itself was a form of manipulation, but Henry just couldn't find a way to ever say no to him. Everything they did seemed to cross a boundry, and yet, everytime, Henry still found himself asking if it was really bad enough to warrant putting his foot down. It always started the exact same way too, first it would be pretty normal, then it'd get rough, and then it'd get violent, and then it'd be over before it ever really started, and Henry was beginning to like it less and less each time.

"Do you have pig shit for brains, son?" Butch questioned, catching Henry so off gaurd he thought he misheard him at first. "Huh?" he stammered, and Butch sighed at his own sons stupidity "I only ask 'cause i'd never be fucking brain dead enough to be friends with a guy who beat the shit out of me." he continued, getting up with a grunt to go get himself his third beer from the fridge. Whatever, it was certainly better than asking him to go get it, but it did kinda seem like the only reason he went to fetch it himself was so he didn't have to look at Henry anymore. To anyone else that would have sounded almost cartoonishly cruel, but for Henry that was just the kind of shit his dad liked to do, and had been doing to him for years.

Henry lowered his head and clenched his fists, beginning to quietly seethe with anger he would no doubt let out on Mike Hanlon or Bill Denborough later on. He shook ever so slightly as his rage boiled inside him "well- you hit mom and expected her to stay..." He mumbled, regret hitting him like a truck the instant the worlds left his mouth. Butch spontaneously let the beer in his hands slip out of his fingers, sending the bottle plummeting to the floor where it bursted into a big mess of booze and broken glass. The sound was so loud and out of nowhere, Henry jumped from his seat in fright and skittered away from the couch. He'd been afraid of that sound for a while now, ever since Butch got a little too drunk one night and threw an empty bottle at him, he'd found any kind of breaking glass noise horrifying. He thankfully missed him, but it was still a pretty fucking awful thing for a kid to experience, and it left some lasting damage on his psyche.

Butch whipped his head around to glance back at Henry while he knelt down to the broken glass, a difficult feat for some one as large and out of shape as him, but one he still managed to accomplish regardless. "That's different, women need to be hit so they don't get out of line, if they don't get hit they don't learn. You're just a fucking idiot who thinks when some one beats you it means they like you." butch shouted over his shoulder, poking at the shards of glass but never daring to actually clean it. Henry nervously swallowed and stared off to the side, racking his brain as he tried to understand it all. He furrowed his brows as his lip quivered, unsure of what to say but not quite content with the awful silence that filled the room.

He sighed and hung his head, still shaking and still silently enraged. "Yeah... wonder where I could have possibly gotten a stupid idea like that..." Henry muttered, letting his gaze drift down to the floor and away from his father. Suddenly, Butch rose up and put his hands on his hips, his face twisting into a repulsed grimace. At this point, Henry fully expected to be screamed at, beaten, and kicked out of the house, all in that order, but butch managed to do none of those. Instead, he just stood and stared at him in scornful silence to show his disappointment.

He glowered at him, balling his hands into tight fists ready to strike and shook his head "you know what? I take it back." said Butch, breifly catching Henry's attention again with the smallest bit of false hope. "Maybe this hockstetter kid has the right idea about you! after all, you were always a bit girly, maybe you need a good smacking every now to knock some snese into you." He elaborated, and that small bit of false hope Henry had flew right out the window, because of course it did. His father turned back to the broken glass and groaned, gesturing at Henry to look at it and do something. "God, Why don't you do something actually useful and clean this shit up? I'm sick of looking at it." he "asked", but really it was more of an order, an order he knew damn well Henry would never have the guts to say no to.

He hesitated there for a moment, shifting his weight from side to side on each foot before eventually giving up and giving into his fathers command. Even when Henry complied Butch didn't even have the decency to stick around and see him clean, he grabbed his coat and ran out the front door with out a word, probably off to go get wasted somewhere else. But that was fine, it didn't matter if he left or not, I mean, it did kind of hurt but Henry didn't really care, just like how he didn't care if Patrick hurt him sometimes. He was used to hurting, in the same way he was used to hurting others. Henry was durable. He was strong. He could handle himself just fine with or without his fathers input.... or at least, that's what Henry liked to think to himself. In reality, if all of that were true, then Henry wouldn't be in this situation right now. Groveling down on his knees, sniffling back sobs as he scooped little pieces of broken glass into a dust pan, the tiniest bits of blood dropping down his fingers with each new bit he tossed...

[darling-i-read-it]

Sorry

Phillip Graves x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: mw2 spoilers, spoilers for the new packs and online campaigns and things, (me knowing NOTHING about the military. I just be googling words. I am very sorry if they are wrong! I also didn’t play the online stuff so I had to read on that too. So much work for u philip), the reader leaving price and ghost behind technically, grief, heavy insinuation to smut, VIOLENCE like a lot. Reader kills people and has a mini extensional crisis about it, let me know if I missed anything! 

Author’s Note: me: i’m so normal about him.  Also me: writes a six thousand word fanfiction about my delusions 

Summary: You and Phil had been together when he ‘died’ in the tank. You’ve been grieving him ever since, not knowing he was still out there. 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

When he was up in the air, sometimes Phil Graves thought about home. He thought about the way the air felt in the south. The heavy humidity of a late night around a fire with family and friends. His childhood home, a two story house with some land. The feeling of flannels over his shoulders, wind against his face when he rode the truck late at night, stupid country songs playing through the radio. He only let himself have these moments briefly. When he was up in the air and everyone was quiet with anticipation. No one wanted to talk about the moments before a descent, the seconds before disaster. 

That was when he let himself think of home. 

He thought of the world he used to call his own. He loved his job and he thought he was doing good with it. But sometimes he wondered what would’ve happened had he stayed back after high school, instead of hoping on the military like it was a moving train. 

Whoever that was, he was gone now. 

Shadow 0-1. Commander. That’s who he was now. That’s who he was always meant to be. That’s who he had been when he betrayed 141’s trust. That’s who he was when he got out of it. That’s who blew up in the tank in South America. That’s who misses you. 

“You good boss?” Phil snapped out of his thoughts. He nodded once. 

“Golden, Sparks. Thinking about dinner when we get back tonight.” 

“You makin barbecue?” 

“I sure am. Got a damn fine steak to cook.” 

“You really oughta have more get-togethers, like old times.” Phil gave his subordinate a thin lipped smile. He fondly remembered the times when he would bring his closer soldiers around, cook for them, listen to shitty music, drink beers. In the back of his eyelids he could see you, handing him the tongs, making a joke about his dad barbeque. He would tease you about children. 

He had stopped having them after the mission where he left some behind. He hadn’t wanted to; the strain in his voice was clear. But he had. 

“Maybe when I’m legally back from the dead,” he countered. Sparks chuckled and Graves stood up. It was far better to be back in the commanding position with his guys, the same ones who would follow him into fire. It distracted him from the rest of it. The house he lost, the home he no longer had. 

He had this. 

-

You brushed your hair out of your face. You messed with the glass in your hand, rolling it around the ring on the wooden table. The ice had melted into the alcohol, making it watery and less effective. It was cold outside, fall finally taking hold. You were wearing a thin jacket that seemed useless. 

This drink was Phil’s regular. You remembered it like the back of your hand, ordering it when he was caught up behind the crowds. It tasted like his lips after a long night out. It was warm, like his breath on your skin. 

“You listinin’?” You lifted your head. You had been staring at your half drank glass. Simon Riley’s eyes met yours. They were objectively beautiful. You would never understand why he kept them mostly covered up. 

“Yeah. Sorry.” He let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I just got lost in thought. What were you saying?” 

“I was asking what you thought about Price going back out there so soon.” 

“You of all people know what it’s like to be married to your work.” 

“You aren’t irked he’s going without you?” His accent was thick. It was rare to get him to talk like this but you had known each other so long, it felt ormal now. He seemed unnatural when he clammed up in missions. 

You shook your head. 

“I’ll get back into it,” you told him. You cleared your throat. His eyes narrowed down, staring at you. His long face felt threatening, though you knew better. You stared back at him, tilting your head and raising an eyebrow. “Stop staring at me like that.”

“How many times does Soap have to apologize for you to get over it?” You bit the inside of your cheek, shaking your head. 

“Stuff it Simon.” 

“I won’t. It’s been a year. We’ve given you your time, we’ve apologized, we’ve been nice and cordial about it. You need to realize who Graves was and that what happened to him was warranted. There’s only so many times we can spell it out for you before we stop babying you.” As he spoke, your head continued to shake. It felt like the words were rattling around in your brain, bouncing off your skull. He was right, you knew that. But the words still stung.  

“You don’t understand,” you protested. He cut you off. 

“I know I don’t. You’ve told me.” You leaned back in your chair, your glass landing with a light clang. “Love,” he muttered, leaning forward. “It’s time.” 

You wished you could be done with it. You wished that his words could will all the pain to subside. You wished you didn’t have to suck it up when Soap followed Phil to the tank and blew it up. You wished you could forget about the moment you held your tongue, knowing that if you spoke up you would be a traitor too. You wished everything was different.

You didn’t want it to hurt anymore. You didn’t want to wake up and think he was next to you, even now. It got better as the time passed but it never fully went away. You knew it was never going to subside completely, always stuck to you like a stain you couldn’t get out. 

“I’m trying,” you promised. “I’m trying.” 

“You need to come to the next one.” Everytime you put on a headset you could hear Soap's words. Graves is KIA. How’s Price? He moved past it with such grace you almost missed it the first time. 

“I’ll try.” 

“You need to do more than that.” You swallowed hard. 

“I know.” -

“I’m glad you’re here.” Price's voice was low but gentle. Careful. Like you were an object that would break if he spoke to you the wrong way. 

“Me too,” you said, nodding. Your voice sounded fake and you knew it. You only agreed to this because you knew you had to. You had Price here and Ghost promised he would do all the heavy lifting. It would be nothing. The men you trusted would have your back when you flew out to enemy territory. “You didn’t have to lobby for me, you know.” You had become a liability the second Graves became a traitor. The already rocky relationship with the Shadows was broken clean in half. You were a problem now. 

“I wanted to. You’re one of my best shooters.” 

“Did Simon tell you to?” 

“He gently nudged me.” He had his helmet on, the strap under his chin. It had been a while since you saw him in uniform. 

“Where are we going again?”

“You should really read the debriefs.” You shrugged. You used to, religiously. You would tell Phil classified information like it was pillow talk. He would give it back to you after coffee in the morning. You cleared your throat. 

“I do. I just trust you more than the papers,” you joked halfheartedly. 

“Don’t worry too much. It’s all scouting, no shooting.” 

“Why’re you bringing me and Ghost then?” 

“I like hanging out with you guys.” You laughed, this time for real. He gestured forward. “Let’s head out.” 

-

You could only see the blocks of land below you in the plane. You wondered who was living in the little houses the size of dots. You wondered if they were happy. You could feel the sweat piling in your uniform. 

“There’s some guns held in a storage facility. They shouldn’t be heavily guarded but will be servilenced,” Price said. He spoke above the noise in the plane, loud and rumbling. “Ghost, you’ll go ahead. I’ll be down there outside the building, watching your six. Y/L/N, you’re up here on guns.” 

“It’s boring up here,” you complained. “Can’t I come with you guys?” 

“We need you on your A game to be on the ground,” Ghost said, coldly. You gave him a look but couldn’t read his expression with the mask. Price was avoiding your eyeline on purpose, you could feel it. It almost felt like a fake mission, something to get you back out there without putting you in real danger. Though you were vaguely insulted, it was nice to know they cared. You tried to shove your feelings aside. 

“Alright,” you said finally. “Fine.” 

“You’re good on guns,” Price said. “An Eagle eye will ensure everyone's safety.” 

“I already said alright Price,” you said as gently as you could manage. The plane started to slow down to a hover. Price stood up, using the railing above to steady himself. 

“You ready?” Simon questioned, coming up behind you as you stood up. You nodded once. Muscle memory would kick in before your panic would. Everything would be fine. 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

“You’ll be fine.”

“I know.” 

Ghost gave you one last pat on the back before he walked towards the back of the plane. You watched him go, his hand on his side, looped around his belt. Price followed behind. He turned back to look at you, the wind rushing towards the front. You tried to keep your face neutral, professional. Your bones ached with familiarity. This was okay. This would be okay. 

You turned towards the guns. The plane had a designated corner for them, buttons lining the walls. You zoomed in on the house that was holding the guns, turning it to infrared. You sat down at the chair, leaning over it. You didn’t need to put on all your gear to push some buttons but you refrained from complaining. 

“You hear me clear up there?” Ghost’s voice came through your ear piece. 

“Yes sir. Loud and clear.” You could see Ghost’s little figure as he landed. “I’m seeing two hostels outside of the building. On either side of the doors, they both have guns.” “Roger,” Ghost said. You followed his heat signature. Price had also made his way to the ground.

“What’s the house looking like?” he asked. You moved your camera along, narrowing in on the building. You could see men walking. Patrolling. You couldn’t help but wonder how many guns were being held there. The building was larger than Price made it seem. Were they in the heart of the building, with the clump of men? 

“Lots,” you admitted. 

“Give me a ballpark,” Price responded. You could see Ghost down there, taking out the men. He was always quick with it. Sometimes you forgot that the man you shared drinks with was a cold blooded murderer. You would not want to be at the other end of his knife. 

“Ten upstairs. Can’t tell how many downstairs. Probably 20?”

“That’s quite a few people for some guns,” Ghost chimed in. 

“No kidding,” you muttered. “I can see some on the balcony. I’m ready to hit whenever Cap.” 

“Roger,” Price responded. You went to hone in, aiming just in case Ghost needed back up quicker than you could aim.

The plane jerked right, causing you to lose focus. You cursed, shutting one eye to get a clearer view. You painlessly lined it back up. Just as you had it, the plane jerked again. 

“Hey man!” you called to the front. “Steady!”

“You seein this?” the pilot called. You turned back towards the infrared. Ghost hadn’t made it inside yet. You got out of your chair and pushed aside the door to the cockpit. Through the large window you could see another plane making its way towards you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. How could someone know you were here? 

“Enemy plane?” you asked. 

“Not on any paths,” he admitted. “I’m willing to bet.” You quickly pivoted back towards the infrared. 

“Hey boys, we got some company up here.” 

“We need to secure this area,” Price said. His voice had gone rough. Professional now.

“If they’ve got more men, we aren’t securing shit,” you told him. 

“I’m going through the downstairs,” Ghost added. With his voice you could hear gunshots and commotion. You cursed and sat back down. 

“Do I have permission to shoot Price?” 

“Yes,” he responded, quickly. You pushed down on the trigger, taking out the men on the balcony. They fell with ease. You looked back towards the cockpit. The plane was only getting closer. You could hear the pilot trying to contact it, like it was a civilian plane. The menacing figure loomed in the air. 

“How much longer?” you asked. 

“Five minutes,” Ghost responded. 

“Fuck,” you muttered. “We don’t have five minutes.” 

“Make five minutes.” You stood back up and went back to the cockpit. You put your hand on the chairs. 

“It’s an AC-130,” the pilot called. “Military.” 

“I’m going down,” you yelled. “Get me down there.” There was little protest from the pilot. You grabbed your gun off the chair. The back hatch lowered. The wind rushed towards you. The air was threatening with how fast it blew. It was like the whole world was going to be sucked into the plane. 

You took a deep breath. Life or death. Your friends would die if you didn’t do something. 

You turned back towards your safe spot in the plane. It looked more dangerous by the second. Each moment you hesitated was a moment wasted. 

You turned back towards the entrance. You grabbed the leftover parachute and buckled it tightly. 

And you jumped. 

There was a moment of sheer panic. You forgot the reason you were in the air, you just knew you were freefalling. You were rushing towards the hard ground, towards the sound of gunfire. Everything felt fake for about ten seconds. 

Then you pulled on the parachute line and drifted towards the ground. 

“What’re you doing down here?!” Ghost said in your ear. You wondered if he could see you through the window. 

“Helping!” you called back. Price was right. You were one of his best shooters, handicapped or not. You rushed forward, shielding yourself with a large rock. You looked down at the gun, the familiar feeling in your hand. You took a deep breath, checking to make sure it was loaded and ready. Then you turned around and started to shoot. 

There was so much going on that it was almost simple. You couldn't focus on one thing so you tried to just breathe. Each shot was a breath. You didn’t think about how that was a person's life. Each shot a family member, a father, a sister. You forgot all of that as you focused on your breathing and your aiming. 

“They’re deploying from the plane!” Price said in your ear. You still had no idea where he had gone. 

“We should call for backup!” you said back. “Gaz’ll be here in twenty minutes!” 

“Soap is closer,” Ghost said. He was in the house. You could tell by the amount of silence around him. He must have cleared the floor. 

“Call someone!” you yelled. Price’s voice started to drone on but you didn’t pay much attention. You moved closer to the house, sticking close to cover. Blood was smearing your clothes now. How many people were here? How many people would come? 

You looked up at the enemy plane. There had been a constant train of people but now they were slowly diminishing. 

You came to a startled stop beside a body that had landed next to cover. You reloaded, your back against the wood, your eyes looking towards the body without thinking. Your head snapped back up but when it registered something familiar, it looked back at the body. 

You kneeled all the way down. Your fingers brushed a Shadows patch, engraved on the lifeless soldiers' clothing. Your head started to blur. You hadn’t seen that symbol in months. Its patchwork was now smeared with blood, likely your doing. You ripped off the soldier's helmet. 

You recognized him. 

Sparks. He had come over for a barbecue. He helped Phil cook. The taste of brisket hit your tongue. The smell of a campfire. 

You scampered onto the ground, almost falling over to get away from him. The sounds of gunfire started to muffle. Your breathing grew ragged. Was someone speaking? You held your gun tightly, like it was the only thing holding you to the ground. Was that Price’s voice? You looked around, the sun suddenly blaring. You should’ve come at night. There were clouds. How dare there be clouds when people were dying? You wanted Simon. You wanted Phil. 

Someone came around your cover. You raised your gun, a fumble really. You raised it to the soldier in front of you, finger on the trigger, fully intending to shoot. The man in front of you had halted completely. His gun stayed on you, capable of killing you easily, but it remained. He had a helmet on. The glare of the sun covered his face. 

Your hands were still shaking. 

Suddenly things felt very quiet. A subtle movement of the soldier revealed a glimpse of his face. A face you knew very well. 

It all flashed in your mind. His morning snoring, the shitty dad jokes, his guttural laughter. The sound of his truck starting. His mom’s phone number. The first thing you bought for your shared apartment. The taste of his lips. The feeling of his hands on your skin. HIs eyes in the moonlight. The feeling that you could never shake when he died. 

He turned and ran. You stood up. You gathered your bearings and followed him, almost slipping on yourself to do so. He couldn’t get very far. People were shooting at you but you had him as a cover. You shoved him down and disarmed him. It usually wouldn’t have been easy to do. Maybe he let it happen. You pulled his collar so you could land behind a discarded car. He struggled against you as you ripped off his helmet completely, disconnecting whatever comm he was using. 

His hands reached forward for yours and he took it off, not even bothering to unbuckle your chin strap. His touch felt like a ghosts. The same calloused hands that promised you the world. Your eyebrows furrowed, recognition in your eyes. You reached forward, not thinking. You cupped his face, your fingers sprawled on his cheek and neck. 

“Phil?” you whispered. He couldn’t hear you over the commotion but he could read your lips. He knew what his name looked like coming from your mouth. 

He didn’t know you were going to be here. If he had, he never would have come. He can’t do this, he can’t blow his cover like this. He had been told maybe Price would make an appearance but you had been out of the field since his death. He was breathing heavily. He couldn’t come near you because he would cave. It was hard enough being without you, checking his phone like you would text him. 

“Y/L/N?! Y/N!” Your comm was going insane. It was on the ground though, forgotten. 

He was alive. Phillip was alive. His face was there and it was moving, all flesh and blood. You never thought you would see him again except in pictures and videos, ones where you had memorized all his movements. 

“Phillip Graves?”

“Yeah baby. Yeah.” His voice was quiet, like he was in disbelief too. You fought the tears rising to your eyes.

“How..how are you here?”

“Long story. “

“I wanna hear it.” 

“Your men are shooting my men right now,” he said, like it was a minor inconvenience. 

You snapped back into reality. Suddenly all the sounds became crystal clear again. Time resumed. You grabbed your comm and put it to your ear. 

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” you said. 

“Come back with me,” Phil said quickly. 

“What?” He grabbed your comm, putting it in his back pocket.. You reached for it like a child, even letting out a gentle unintentional whimper. 

“Come back with me,” he repeated. “Get in my plane.”

“You’re dead. You died in a tank in South America!” 

“You should know MacTavish couldn’t take me out.” He cupped your face with both his hands. You had never felt something so good. “Quickly. Yes or no.” 

He dreaded a no. He knew Shepherd would have you killed or kidnapped. You couldn’t go back to your friends, knowing what you now knew. They could come up with a retaliation before Graves had even gotten on his feet again. 

You had been waiting months for him to come back to you. The answer, despite your morals and your stress, seemed to slip off your tongue easily. 

“Yes. Yes I’ll go with you.” He smiled, a genuine smile, covered in dirt and grime. 

“C’mon baby. Follow me.” He put his comm back in his ear and grabbed your hand. He held it tightly, like you would slip away. “I’m going back up. How’re we lookin?”

“Significant casualties. The shooter on the edge is killing us.”

“I got her,” he responded. He looked back towards you and you both stood up. He nodded towards the plane, which still had the latter hanging down. “The guns?” 

“The house is being defended. We haven’t been able to break through.” 

“We can’t afford to lose those. Do what you have to.” He held your hand tightly, dragging you through the battlefield. You passed those that had died in the rubble. You wondered if you had been the cause. Your head was spinning, looking towards the house. You couldn’t even think yet, things were going so fast. All you knew was Phil and his hand in yours. 

He grabbed your hips, helping you onto the first step of the ladder. 

“I’m comin back up,” he said into his comm. “Someones ahead of me, foreign. Do not shoot. I repeat, do not shoot.” There was a muffled reply. He climbed all the way to the top with you, helping you up onto the plane floor. You pulled yourself up and stood in the middle of the hanger. There was barely anyone left up there. You looked towards the window. 

Price. Simon. 

You had left them. You hadnt’ meant to. You hadn’t even thought for longer than a moment about it. You put your hand flush against the glass, looking down. You wanted them to make it out okay. They would surely think you had died. 

You hadn’t thought this through. 

Your favorite ghost had returned and asked you to go to hell with him. You hadn’t even thought.

“Price. Ghost,” you said, quickly. You turned to Graves, panicked. “Let them go. Don’t hurt them.” 

“I need those guns.” You had heard his work voice before, the slur between charming and serious. At that moment, his voice was all game. He was giving you an order. 

“I need them to live.” 

“They shouldn’t have come.”

“I came.” Phil pursed his lips, chewed the inside of his cheek. He looked towards the pilot and the men still in the plane. Your eyes were back out the front window, seeing the plane you had just come out of. You had just been there, standing in that cockpit. The feeling was eerie, tingling in the back of your neck. “Phil please.” 

Graves thought for a moment. He looked towards you, your pleading puppy dog eyes. He could see you in the morning, when he said goodbye before work. He could see your back in the bathroom mirror, foggy from a shower. Your favorite cereal on his taste buds. The way you had your coffee. 

“We’re losing numbers down here!” a voice came in his ear. He looked back down towards the house. Ghost was taking his men out one by one. Price was likely sneaking behind them, sniping from somewhere. 

But Phil was a proud man. He wasn’t going to let those people die for no reason. 

“Those men are dead down there,” he said, evenly. He approached you. His hand gripped your arm. “They can’t have died for nothing.” 

“Let me call them off. Give me something to call them off,” you pleaded. He groaned in retaliation but gave you your comm back. You put it in your ear.

“I’m getting overwhelmed here!” Ghost exclaimed. 

“Get out of there! Get out of there!” you said, desperately. You turned back to the window. “There’s too many of them. They keep coming.” 

“She’s right,” Price said, voice gruff. “We need an exit. Soap is on his way.”

“To help?” 

“Not enough manpower right now. We have to take this loss.” You could practically hear Ghost’s annoyance. He had done all this and it would’ve been for nothing? He groaned. You stood there, deathly still. “Get to the southside of the building,” Price demanded. “Both of you.” You looked back at Phil, who was staring eagerly. You nodded once. He patted your back, turning back to the pilot. 

“Set up post.” 

-

Some men made their way back up to the plane. Others stayed down below to hold down the fort. The ones you recognized starred as they passed you, sitting in the front seat, just behind Graves. He made no comment on you being there. Didn’t talk on the way back to base. 

He knew he would have to face Shepherd about it. He just happened to figure he would win. Shepherd couldn't do shit with the Shadows until Graves got back. He was useful and he was a good soldier. Breaking this rule would be okay, he was sure of it. 

You followed him onto the tarmac, your body close to him. The plane landed unceremoniously. People gently spoke about their win. Most mourned their losses. No one had managed to get it in their head that you had probably killed their best friend. Most everyone just ogled you in confusion. 

“We’re going back to my room,” he explained. You wanted an explanation. You wanted to yell at him. You wanted to scream. 

“Okay.” 

He led you through the twisting turns of the facility. You had never been in the Shadows main buildings before. They were high tech and likely dangerous. 

Graves opened the door to his room. It was larger than the others, for being the Commander. He didn’t have to sleep in bunks or share a room when he was on base. He had called you from this room dozens of times. The phone he used had been crushed, unable to receive anything. He missed it. It had all the pictures of the two of you. 

The door clicked shut behind you. You wanted to fight him but in the moment, you could only melt. You wrapped your arms around him and he held onto you for dear life. His touch was fiery and aggressive. He was digging his fingers into your sides, breathing in the scent of your hair. He had missed you so much. More than he had been able to let on. He never wanted to live without you again. 

“I thought you were dead,” you whispered. You hadn’t realized the tears had steadily made their way back until you felt them on your cheeks. Graves had his face buried deep into your neck. “I mourned you.” 

“I know baby,” he muttered against your skin. “I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” 

He was crying. When was the last time you had seen him cry? He sniffled, though he tried to make it subtle. He pulled back, turning away to rub his eyes. You grabbed his shoulders, not letting him. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly. Speaking any louder than a whisper seemed like a crime. 

“Shepherd.” 

“You weren’t in the tank?” He shook his head. You let out a sigh of relief, despite the horrors you had been through over the months you had believed he was in there. He grabbed your hand. 

“I never wanted to leave you,” he promised. His eyes were red, stuffy. He wasn’t sobbing but there were clearly tears forcing their way through his hard exterior. “I did it because I thought it would keep you safe. It would keep you out of the way.” 

“You’ve just been out there?” you asked, voice hinting of betrayal. It broke his heart. 

“Missing you every second of every day.” 

“Did you know where I was?” 

“I wasn’t allowed on missions with you confirmed to be in it. It was supposed to be Price, maybe Ghost, maybe Soap today. It wasn’t supposed to be you.”

“I was a last minute addition.” 

“And thank God for that.” His hands were staying on you, lingering. “Bringing you back was selfish,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t leave you again.” 

“When they told me you were dead,” you started, swallowing your emotions. “I couldn’t eat for a week. Simon had to come force me. I had to pack up all your clothes in the closet, give them to your mother. I had to go to your funeral, the funeral of a federal traitor. I had to see the man who killed you everyday in the hallway,” you spilled. Your voice felt fluid. “I had to..I had to tell Price I was getting better when I wasn’t. I had your drink every time I went to the bar. I haven’t had barbeque in months. I had to go on shitty first dates with people Soap set me up with. I slept in your flannel. I..all my plants died.” 

Phil’s voice was quiet. He was pleading, lips wet. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He tried to grab your hands. Ground you. You let him. You stared at him, breathing heavily, reliving every moment you had without him. “I’m sorry.” 

“I can’t…I can’t do that again.”

“Me neither. Trust me.” You both were still covered in blood and dirt. You could feel the grime between your fingers. You could see the muck on his face, his perfect face. You put your hand on his cheek. 

“Promise me.” 

“I promise. I swear to God,” he whispered. 

And you kissed him. 

And things had never felt so right. 

His lips were frenzied, desperate. He had never tasted something so good in his life. You were all he had been craving, every moment of every day. His hands were practically shaking as he touched you. Long lost was his Commander front. He was just Phil. 

You hadn’t been so desperate for him since you first had him. Your anguish pushed forward onto his skin, holding him as close as you could get him. He tasted like beer and cologne and dirt. 

Phil turned you on your heels so he could sit down on the bed. You straddled him, hands cupping his face, running through his hair. You were both too bulky for this kind of making out. You hadn’t stripped of any gear, still wearing weapons of mass destruction. You pulled away, to verbalize this, but he spoke first. 

“Baby I need you. I need you,” he breathed. He kissed you chastly. “Please don’t stop.”

He used to hold back his pleading. He thought it made him look weak in front of you, unattractive. But he couldn’t do it now, when his defenses had been long shattered. 

“We need to take all this off,” you said. You looked down into his eyes. They were so beautiful and needy that it hurt your chest. You kissed his lips again, as a promise. “We gotta take off the grenades at least.” He chuckled. He had forgotten all about that. You brushed his hair back, out of his face. “Phil,” you muttered. “Philllip Graves,” you mumbled, a borderline moan. He groaned in need. 

“Quickly. Quicker than that.” You laughed. It was the first time you had heard your laugh in months. It was genuine and filled with life. It felt good. You slid off him and started to strip. 

He studied you with such intense eyes it felt like you were the most beautiful woman in the world. 

-

You almost couldn’t fall asleep. You traced his features with your gaze, even with his closed eyes. The scar on his cheek. You traced it lightly with your finger. His hair was still wet from the shower. You had both slipped and slid around the bathroom, limbs remaining intertwined. He had made it a point to always be starring or always be touching. You were his. You would never be anyone else's. 

He had an arm lazily around your side. You had so much to worry about, so much to do. Were you technically behind enemy lines? What would happen when you woke up in the morning?

Phillip groaned and pulled you closer, smushing you against his chest. 

“Woah there cowboy,” you whispered. He smiled, eyes still closed. 

“You remember when you used to take my hat?” he asked fondly. You did. The cowboy hat rule. If you wear his hat, you ride the cowboy. You giggled, nodding against the pillow.

“I do.”

“We should do that again.”

“We can do whatever you want,” you told him. “Whatever you want.” He nodded. 

“Go to sleep. I’ll figure it out in the mornin.” He put his chin on your head. “I got you.” You believed him. 

You hadn’t had such a good sleep since he died, exhaustion over taking your body and forcing you into darkness. 

[funny-upset-clown]

Write everyday, and that will be good enough.

I ripped myself from my cycle, from the sheets, the burning candle; cackling, waning, from the pale window side and the brownie pan, from the sulking desk, the blackening curtain that once smelled of turmeric and a spring dawn.

On the bus I felt the eyes and fumes of strangers, I felt winter loosening into its skin, the bus halt, go, halt, twist, accumulating hot air. I did not think of anything, nothing I can remember now, except that one mantra I shall not refuse:

I must become an acquaintance to that which passes through me and circles back, hour to hour, the pang of lost love, the image of love in a person who is now lost totally, or even the sneeze of peace, the forgiving hello of my life's image: multi-florescent and whole.

I cannot get out of my head the fear of what alienation cumulatively does to me. I cannot quite pinpoint the ideal exodus of my isolation. I imagine myself surrounded by church bells, I imagine myself grinning at climax - covered in saliva and sunrays, I imagine the lullaby that is pure curiosity as it butters my nerves with the first phrase of mystery. I imagine myself and a flower alone considering the sound. I imagine falling in love over and over again.

Perhaps I imagine being more open to the sensation of love wherever it may take me.

That is the secret of the time I was once most happy.

To recall that security, is to outline its absence in me now. I breathe in.

Sitting at the cafe where I will be reading poetry in a few weeks. I cannot afford a refill on my tea. The street lamps just turned on and the sky has shifted from a blinding pale gray to a shadowed cerulean that peels my very heart from me and it is just 4:40 in the afternoon. As for the hunger, I don't feel it in my stomach, I feel it in my lips and my spine, now in my nose with the whiff of a stew being boiled in the back. I wrap my thin sweatshirt around my bound torso and adjust my glasses, the window glass gets thinner and my fingers jump over the keys- broken by chill. I consider commuting home, I consider the waiting and shivering. I consider passing groups of friends and lovers seen through restaurant windows, feasting and laughing, I consider the light in eyes that will not look my way. I consider the jealousy and the building starvation. I also consider waiting here, writing here, then reading. Finding a way to resource any warmth, drinking the free water, my right leg crossed over my left swaying weakly and melodiously. Waiting until Coles opens. I wouldn't buy a beer. If I did it would fill me up like a meal and I'd feel warm for a moment. I consider being there, no money in my pocket, nothing to fall back on except the single day bus pass I dropped half of all my money on.

I consider my options. 

I could steal again. I'd steal a candle and a hot drink. 

I think about A and flinch to my surprise. A song plays that reminds me of when they bought me a bouquet of marigolds from out the car window on my birthday.

I imagine them walking in through the jingling door and feeling okay. I imagine their warm hands falling all around mine 

and now the cold is becoming too much to bear. 

The sky now looks like an oil spill in ocean waters. The door jingles, the train roars, my nipples get cold, my foot starts shaking faster. I don't need anybody to look at me, no I do not. All of this because I am practically nothing at all, especially as long as I am alive, and this is not to rouse despair. 

It is now 5pm, and I will prepare myself to find something new. I just have to gnaw the sting of wind and the blow of hunger. 

I am content to have eyes, I will record for this sake, for the sake of writing just to write everyday.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

hi Cal!

I'm mostly expecting this to be posted after the competition is through, but I am wishing the best of luck to you, Porto and Cassy this weekend ahead of time!

I'm very excited for every WIP you've got going this week! but particularly, I'm thrilled to see your style and flair there within one bed and bad things bingo, (especially more of this thread you and Chris are pulling out of Eddie,) so I'll start with those and see where the weekend takes things 😁💜

PS—any thoughts as to the emoji for the next square on your card? 👀

🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷

🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️

Hey! THANK YOU!!!

I appreciate that so much!

I'm not sure which square I'm going to do next but MAYBE something with a mouth?

54 for 🦷:

---

Buck is grinning ear to ear.

“I missed you so much!” He exclaims.

“I missed you, too, Buck,” Chris replies. “There’s no one like you in Texas.”

Buck chuckles and musses the top of Christopher’s hair.

“That’s why your dad’s never allowed to move back.”

“Yeah,” Chris agrees. “That’s true.”

Eddie feels warm.

“How’s your mouth?” Buck asks, stepping back from Chris a bit. 

“Crap,” Chris admits. 

“Rough go,” Buck empathizes.

“Have you ever had your wisdom teeth removed?” Chris asks him. 

“Nope!” Buck says. “Never became an issue for me.”

“Does that mean you’re wiser than Dad?” Chris asks, turning to smirk at Eddie a little.

Eddie chuckles. He’d explained to Chris that he also got his wisdom teeth removed, albeit later than Shannon, and now Chris. It had happened to Eddie during basic training. Before his first deployment. The whole recovery process had been cold and sterile and alone. Rushed, so he could get back to it. All a reminder of how young he was, really. He’d been desperate for a little comfort, but there was no one to ask. 

“Yep!” Buck replies cheerily. “But we already knew that.”

Once upon a time, Eddie would have rolled his eyes at that. Disputed it. Now he just shrugs. He thinks maybe it’s actually very true.

They fall back into the usual stride of things. Everything feels so normal for a moment that it leaves Eddie almost breathless. Video games and ice cream in front of the television. Teasing and laughter. A general sense of ease. Eddie wants to cry. He has been missing this so badly. 

Not everything is like before, though. And that’s… Well, Eddie thinks it’s good. Eddie thinks it means something. Eddie think it’s one of the big reasons things won’t fall apart the same way again.

Buck sits so close to Eddie they’re practically melting into each other. It’d be easy to blame it on the sudden reappearance of a third person on the couch, but that hasn’t seemed to matter for weeks. This is just what they’ve been like lately. Ever since Eddie sat him down tearfully after one of his therapy sessions and explained things. One of those broken, badly healed bones. Buck had held onto him while he fell apart, and he hasn’t fully let go since. 

---

42 for 🛏️:

---

The rushed, inexpensive couch he’d bought shopping with Natalia had not lived up to a couple weeks of sexual discovery and exploration with two large men. Whoops.

“I… I didn’t notice,” Eddie admits. 

“Hey, that’s okay,” Buck waves it off. “You’ve had a lot going on.”

And it’s Buck who has been dropping in on Eddie more often than not, lately. Making sure he’s, like, eating and moving and not totally catatonic. 

“The bed doesn’t matter,” Eddie says quickly. “I mean, if that’s okay. I don’t care about quarantine-style.”

They’d shared fine enough, for a few months in 2020.

“Fine by me,” Buck says. “Whatever you need.”

Neither of them mentions the air mattress sitting in a box in Eddie’s garage. 

🛏️

The first night, nothing happens, of course. Not that Buck is expecting anything to happen. He’s not. Obviously! Just, what he’s saying is, it’s basically normal.

They have a couple beers, throw on bad reality TV to get Eddie’s mind off things, and go to bed. Backs facing each other, unmoving. Eddie sleeps like a rock. Like maybe he hasn’t slept well in nights, and he finally is managing it. Buck wakes up a few times in the night, just to check. 

That’s all that happens.

ii.

Father’s Day is obviously harder. They’re working until ten in the morning, and then they go back to Buck’s loft together. 

Work hasn’t been great lately. With Gerrard instead of Bobby. It sucks for everyone. Buck least of all. Except, Buck does the worst job of hiding how he’s feeling. He has to today, though. Because today, no matter how miserable he’s feeling, Eddie is feeling exponentially worse. And it’s up to Buck to alleviate that in any small way he can. 

In fact, he makes it his mission. 

There are several reasons for this. One, he wants a way to distract himself from work. Two, he feels like it’s sort of his responsibility. Three, if he can be of any help to Eddie, then maybe it will translate into Eddie being able to get Chris back sooner. But the real and most pressing reason is that he adores Eddie, is devoted to Eddie, and feels Eddie’s pain like a knife in his own gut. 

So he makes it his mission to make Eddie feel a little bit better, if he can.