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snaileer · 3 years ago

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Chips & Salsa - Chapter 9

“-remember-?”

Who was that?

“Do you-”

What are they saying?

Why does my head hurt?

Light burst into Lance’s eyes with the pain in his chest.

He jolted forward, stuck, hurt-

Haggar.

He could see her glowing eyes now. Staring at him from just under the darkness of her hood. Even without pupils, he could tell that she was focused solely on him. As if he would tell her anything.

Lance jerked against his restraints. Restraints? “What do you want from me, you hag?!” He shouted, pulling against the metal cuffs again. Though they already felt bruised. His head pulsed with similar aching.

“I said, What..” She creeped forward, clamping her hand around his chin, “Do you remember?” Her voice crawled out of her throat like slime coating his skin.

What do I know? He tried to pull away from her again, “What the hell are you talking about, you freak!?” She was asking about his team, his family… Voltron. “I won't tell you anything. You’ll never get your hands on Voltron!” He struggled for lucidity against another flash of pain in his ever-growing headache.

An odd mix of satisfaction and anger flitted across her face, curving it into a sneer. “We will see about that yet, Paladin.”

He had no idea where the satisfaction came from. The anger, he understood. He’d seen plenty of his math teachers with the same expression; but satisfaction? She had nothing to be satisfied about. Not if she thought she could get anything from him.

“You’re not going to be able to break me, not in this lifetime or the next. I’ll never betray my team!”

A strange hissing growl came from her as she pulled her hand back and turned to the other druids. Other druids? Why hadn’t he seen them? He should have noticed them. Was he really that focused on just Haggar?

“Take him to the cell,” She glanced back at him out of the corner of her eye, “Leave him there for a while. We’ll see how he responds when I come back with further improvements from this information.”

He barely had time to panic before a druid had placed a purple hand on his arm and he felt magic course through him. It wasn’t electricity, thankfully, but it tensed every muscle in his body, paralyzing him in place.

God, the cramps he would get from this. He needed a massage. With coconut oil. And music. Hell, at the very least, a hot bath and copious amounts of bubbles.

When the other druid reinforced the magic to carry him out of the room, he came to the unfortunate realization that he would be getting neither any time soon.

The hallways faded past him in a blur. A tingling feeling niggled at the back of his neck, You should remember this. Pay attention. Listen! It screamed. This has happened before! SOMETHING’S WRONG! It whispered.

It sounded familiar.

Lance tried to pay attention to his surroundings, he really did. He knew it would be important if he wanted to escape. To know where he was going. But every time he tried to focus, the directions and pathways slipped from his mind like sand through a net.

What felt like seconds later, Lance was thrown into the darkness of a cell. And suddenly, feeling rushed back to him in a tsunami. Pain, pins-and-needles, sharpness, bruising, the sting of wounds rubbed raw at his wrists.

The druids moved away, uncaring at the shout he gave in shock when he hit the floor. The door closed behind them unceremoniously.

Lance groaned from his place crumpled on the ground, “Nothing like little torture and paralysis to get ya’ kickin’ in the morning, amiright?” He sighed to himself.

Displeasure sunk into him as the grime crawled its way into his pores.

Reluctantly, Lance pulled his hands and arms under his body, pushing up from the floor. At least he could lean against the wall, presumably less dirty than the ground. God, his head hurt. And his arms. Everything was sore, the thick manacles on his wrists feeling heavier by the second.

With a series of grunts, Lance finally settled himself into a corner of the cell. There was very little light, and most of it seeped in from the space under the door or the half dead purple-lightbulb-in-a-cage right above it.

Still, when he rolled his head to the side in exhaustion, there was enough light to catch on something written- no, carved into the wall next to him.

He raised his shaking fingers up to it, trying to feel what marks he couldn’t see.

D-n--or--g-t

-o--for--

No, there was a space in between there.

Do-t- fo--q-t

He squinted at it, leaning closer. The light caught on the curves of some of the letters. The ones he couldn’t accurately feel. It was an ‘N’, a ‘G’, an ‘R’ and maybe.. an ‘e’?

Oh.

Don't Forget.

Lance dropped his shackled wrists to his lap and huffed a laugh at his efforts. At himself. And then he spoke to the darkness.

“Oh don't you worry, creepy wall carving, I think it’d be pretty hard to forget this.”

-x-x-x-

Lance sat in the darkness for hours, days, however mind-numbingly long it was that allowed him to actually recite his entire family tree through 4 and a half generations. Extended family included. He even started including hypothetical nieces and nephews based on what he thought his sisters would name their kids.

He absentmindedly wondered if all of them were still hypothetical. How long had he been gone? What had he missed?

What had changed without him there to see it?

Something rumbled in the back of his head. It felt hidden behind his absolute monster of a headache now coming back.

Except… wait. No. He recognized that rumble…

Blue?

Blue! It was the Blue Lion! His Lion!

Something broke free in his mind, a small section of fog lifting.

Her presence and his own pressed against each other in his mind. A piece he hadn’t quite noticed was missing.

How could he ever have forgotten Blue?

Her presence purred, the vibrations automatically soothing him, comfort pushing through his bond. Something still felt… off. The bond felt farther, more strained, even though he could feel Blue on the other side. Feel her desire to come closer, feel the worry tinging the edges. Something still kept a distance between them.

He didn’t know what it was but something in his own mind told him to leave it be. It was important. It had to be like this.

Whatever this was.

Lance wasn’t able to figure it out soon enough, their mental conversation interrupted by the harsh grinding opening his cell door.

“Get up,” a discourteous voice commanded.

He looked at them with hooded eyes and a forced smirk, “Don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt somebody?” Not that they knew he was having a conversation, but still… point stands.

Their glowing eyes narrowed, “Get up, or suffer, Paladin.”

“Didn’t anyone teach you manners? I didn’t even hear a please. Honestly, people these days have no- AAH!” Lance’s scream cut off his own words as purple lightning struck his body.

The druid barely even moved their hand and pain ran through his muscles. When the lightning stopped, Lance was left heaving for breath on his side.

He felt like the Extra Crispy option on a fried chicken menu. Was God trying to make him go vegetarian through sheer number of shared experiences? Screw that. In fact..

Lance glared back up at them and forced out the words, “Screw. You,” from between clenched teeth and struggling breaths.

He wished he could see the fury he knew was behind those masks.

The druid lifted their hand again and though Lance tried to fight the flinch, he wasn't sure if he succeeded. Instead of lightning, he felt the tight restraints of their magic envelope him and lift him up. He couldn’t even struggle out of it.

“Bite your tongue, child, or Haggar may decide to teach you some manners,” The druid growled and turned around, making their cloak swirl dramatically. Lance wished he could scoff at them, but the paralyzation made that difficult.

“And she will not be as merciful as I was.”

He settled for a particularly scathing, derisive glare. Lance thought they got the message anyways.

He was so focused on trying to burn a hole through their back that he almost missed where they were going. Almost. He hadn’t thought any of the directions stuck through his headache, but now… they were going back to the same room as before.

To Haggar.

He knew he was right when he spotted the Lady Hunchback herself leaning over a table. Seriously, when was the last time that woman stood up straight all the way? When she finished sharing tips and tricks with Satan and Hitler?

“I’d hate to be your chiropractor, lady. I bet it’s costly to find someone even able to tolerate your presence.” He was hoping for at least a twitch as the Druids forced the manacles into place on the table.

Instead, it was his heart that skipped a few paces upon realizing it must have been the same table he’d woken up on.

“I can’t imagine anyone would willingly come near you, despite being paid,” He sneered. It worked as a good enough distraction from what he knew was gonna happen. At least, it worked until she turned around.

“Quite the contrary, little Paladin,” Haggar reached her hands out to his head, clawed fingernails keeping him from leaning away, “I think you and I are going to get very close.”

Lance screamed again as pain shot through his skill. It felt like needles being shoved through his eye, he couldn't even-

It burned. It burned. It burned!

Please! Please Somebody! Help!

I can't-!

“Show me your team, Paladin,” A voice whispered, “SHoW ME Voltron!”

Pain surged again in time with his screams. Idly, some part of him wondered if he could burst his own eardrums.

His thoughts were crushed beneath crashing waves of searing, hot, burning, hot, it’s too hot, it hurts, it hurts it hurts, please please I can't do this I don't want-, somebody please!

Sharp claws cut a path through his mind. These ones didn't hurt.

No.

These claws came from soft padded paws. Metal and yet somehow gentle. Cold and soothing. He walked towards them, down the path they had laid for him, desperate for whatever small relief they could provide. Some distant piece of his soul recognized his bond between lion and paladin. But she was so far away. He could see the doors opened for him, welcoming him home, home to the water. But the path was so long and so dark.

He glanced down.

Dark?

No. It wasn't meant to be dark.

Burning tingled at his fingertips when he looked harder. His lion was blue. A gorgeous sky blue, ocean blue, ice blue. Then why….

Why was there purple leaching its way across it?

He looked behind him.

The heat worsened, pain closer than he remembered it.

His footsteps were clear behind him, each one oozing sickly, purple slime that curled its way around the light. Covering every inch of the gentle blue.

This wasn’t right. Something wasn't-

Sharpness spiked across his skull, snapping his head forward.

“Focus. Focus! Closer. Get closer! You cannot resist me! Not weak like you are!”

Something forced him forward and he stumbled on the path, falling to one knee. He reached to steady himself on the path; and different worlds flowed through his mind.

You’ve done this before, Cub. You can do it again.

They were his words. And they were Blue’s.

But he knew what they meant. He remembered it now. How Haggar was trying to get to his team, to Voltron, to Blue.

What she wanted from them. From him.

no. No. No!

“You cannot have her, Haggar! Not ever!” Lance turned around and moved away from the doors. The bond. Away from Blue.

Fresh agony layered on his skin. Heavier and thicker and stronger with each step.

He could hear Blue behind him now, calling out for him in mewls and cries. She wanted them to do this together. But he couldn’t, they couldn't do it together without endangering her. Endangering everybody. So he kept running. Pushing through what felt like thick slime until he was struggling to keep moving.

The smog pressed itself down his throat, burning, scalding and tearing him up on the inside.

Haggar was shouting out behind him too. She could only go so far, only get so close to her goal with him.

“I will take control, Paladin! You cannot stop me!” Claws grabbed his upper arms and pulled him back. They left deep gashes on his biceps and shoulders, but he pushed against their leverage.

“You don’t think I can stop you Haggar!?” He glanced over his shoulder at her glowing yellow eyes, “Watch Me!”

He turned around and reached into the darkness of her body without form, clutching onto the thickness he felt inside of it. Even as its essence burned like hot acid on his skin.

And then he threw his body backwards, taking her with him.

Away from the doors and through the barrier of Haggar’s magic. Away from Blue and through the pain.

Off of the path.

Almost immediately he felt Haggar get thrown from his mind.

He gathered what little peace he could find. The crashing waves came to a standstill for just one moment. It was enough.

It had to be.

He wanted to cry. Tears welled up in his eyes. He knew this was the best chance he would get to do so, but he couldn't. Not until it was over. Then he could break, could cry, or do whatever the hell it is that is supposed to come after this.

He looked back to stare through the thick, writhing purple of Haggar’s magic. He could see the glimmer of his bond with Blue. Of the ‘path’ they had laid that first day together.

It was dimmed now. Not just by the smoke obscuring his view, but by the purple sludge seeping into its bricks.

She’d gotten farther this time. Closer. More so than Lance had ever wanted Haggar to get. He knew he was struggling, struggling to keep the distance between his bond and her corruption.

It was weird. To be able to look back and remember himself forgetting something. Forgetting how many times they’d had this battle. This push and pull in his own mind.

He still didn't know just how long he’d been fighting back to keep her away. Just that he had. And that he’d keep doing it.

But he was losing.

A traitorous part of his heart told him this couldn’t go on forever. Something had to give, and as it was, Lance was not liking his odds. Something would have to break eventually.

But not yet.

He couldn't let go of her yet. He couldn't. Even if that made him weak, he couldn’t.

Not yet.

He just wanted to stay here a little longer. Stay with her a little longer.

The corrupted magic clearly disagreed with this prospect. Its char-colored surface rippled back to life. Waves were heard in a distance that did not exist.

They were not the bright, colorful waves of his home, nor the cold but fierce waves of his lion, these were riptide waves. Powered by the undertow and ready to pull him under. Drowning and suffocating him, farther, farther down.

He lost sight of the glow at some point, and the darkness snatched him under instantly.

-x-x-x-

The druids stared at the body of their mistress over the Voltron Paladin. So many times before, it had been the same. The same resistance and weakness from him. The same ignorant stubbornness as he protected what their Emperor deserved. He would fall to their magic eventually. As the one before him, and the countless subjects before that. He would fall.

But there were doubts.

They watched as Lady Haggar was flung back from the Paladin as she had been so many times before.

The doubts stood still. Ever wavering, faltering but not falling.

Lady Haggar lifted herself up and neither druid so much as twitched to help her. They knew better.

“He thinks himself strong, thinks himself righteous,” She crowed in that tone that said he so clearly wasn’t, “But his naivety costs him. I grow closer by the day.”

They saw barely a flash of white when Lady Haggar bared her teeth, “But that Lion keeps reminding him, keeps undoing my spells. He needs to be broken; and soon.”

The Druid refrained from mentioning that the spells for the invasion of his mind could only be broken by the strength of ones own quintessence. Reminded of strength, yes; but not given it or shared.

He was a Paladin of Voltron for a reason, though flawed that reason may be.

Lady Haggar finally turned attention to her druids, to fulfill their purpose under her command.

“Rid him of his weaknesses. No weaknesses, and nothing to chance.” She growled as low as a female galra could, “I will get that Lion from him, one way or another.”

As Lady Haggar stepped back, the druids stepped forward, up to the helpless paladin. His face was clear, unburdened and untense. That would change soon. They reached out with their arms and their magic, delving into the surface mind of this Paladin. Only the surface, Lady Haggar would do the rest.

The druids looked to each other, then to their mistress. He was ready, the spell prepared once again.

And from the front of the table, magic shot forward from her fingertips, into the mind, body and quintessence of the Child Paladin.

Their druid magic was nothing to the level of Lady Haggar, the Dark Witch of the Galra; and yet, it was their magic that ripped into his mind and made it possible for her to latch onto his memories.

They laid him bare, and she took what she needed.

The Paladin could do nothing. Would continue to do nothing. Not in the face of the empire’s power.

Then why must we keep repeating this process. The doubts whispered.

The druid ignored the words, focusing instead on the drawing of their power for the spell. When it was finished, the Druids stepped back once more, and Lady Haggar drew forward.

How would the Paladin awake this time?

His face began twitching. Slow, just as the last time.

“What do you remember?”

Nothing.

“Do you remember?”

Why did she ask him this? Their spell would only fail at the interference of the Voltron Lion. It was infallible to tricks of the mind.

The Paladin’s consciousness came closer to the surface. Still too slow. Always slow, this paladin. Magic was infallible and uncompromising, but Lady Haggar was not as patient.

She threw a spark of her magic onto the boy’s chest and instantly, he awoke. He jolted forward against the cuffs, no doubt hitting bruising from the pain of his struggles during Lady Haggar’s procedure.

Recognition flashed across his face. Focus drawn only to their Mistress, just as he was meant to. This was important, his mind still laid open for her to search, she drew her eyes onto his as her magic probed for information. Voltron could not hide forever.

The Paladin jerked forward once again, as if he had not learned the first time, “What do you want, witch?!” He shouted, pulling against his restraints. They would hold, this child was weak. Too weak.

“I said, What..” Lady Haggar creeped forward, clamping her hand around his chin, “Do you remember?” Her magic crawled forward, coating the recesses of his mind as she worked to pull forward his thoughts, his knowledge on Voltron.

His efforts to pull away were futile, though expected, “What the hell are you talking about, you freak!?” Voltron. Voltron. The Other Paladins. Tell us. Tell us of Voltron, the magic chanted.

“You won't get anything from me, I won’t betray Voltron!-” Lady Haggar pushed deeper and pain flashed beneath his eyes, “You won't find my team, not through me!” The trench opened in his mind began to close, Lady Haggar’s magic pulling back.

Accomplishment flitted across her face in pairing with irritation. He was still resisting then… surprising but not irreparable. “We shall see if that is true, Paladin.”

The Paladin seemed confused, but then again, he always did. He was weak and feeble-minded after all, nothing more could be expected.

“I’ll never betray my team and you'll never be able to make me! That will never change!” He shouted. So loud, so foolish.

Lady Haggar pulled back her hand as the last of the Druid’s spell closed, they would have to try again. She looked to the druids, and drew the Paladin’s eyes to them as well. He had not noticed them. Poor awareness, weak yet again. This is why the spell worked so well on young, unguided minds. It led them to purpose. The Empire’s purpose.

“Take him to the cell,” She looked back at him slightly, “Leave him there until I summon for you again. We shall see his results after I have viewed the information gained. Succession is at hand.”

“Vrepit Sa,” Both Druids nodded and turned to the Paladin, their hands coated in magic. A paralytic, they were too close to risk escape with this prisoner.

But you have been ‘close’ for a while now, haven’t you?

The paladin’s eyes widened, his heart jumped pace and his quintessence fluctuated before being frozen by the spell. As if the body could fight it, the spell was instantaneous with contact. Simple and complete.

The Druid’s magic worked in concession to lift the Paladin and disconnect his restraints without removing them. Silently, they began the walk to the cell.

They could see the panic and confusion in the child’s eyes as they turned each corner. It was pitiful that the magic coating his mind would leave him helpless for hours. Still, the effort was commendable. A sign of potential perhaps.

His eyes started to glaze over dim, perhaps not then, if he lost presence that fast. He held little use past his title as Paladin.

It was with this thought that they tossed his unpresence into the cell. Without a fight, this Paladin was nothing more than knowledge to be collected and tested.

The Druids moved away, uncaring at the shout when the Paladin came back to himself as he hit the ground. They closed the door without mind.

Then stepped to the side.

Magic made one weak if you allowed it to. Weakness made one vulnerable and vulnerability was to be exploited. So, they waited; to see if the Paladin had changed in the hours under Lady Haggar’s influence.

His groan echoed quietly through the metal door. After much hesitance, and many pauses, the Paladin began moving. His shuffles were quiet, but his vocalizations of his pain were not.

Lady Haggar had left marks on him this time, his upper arms and shoulders were marked with scratches like a wild Krelshi.

They listened to him rest again, presumably sitting rather than laying now. As he always was when they came back.

The metal of his cuff clinked softly against the cell walls. The druids looked to each other, a wonder if the Paladin would remain the same in his patterns.

Indeed, not a minute passed until they heard the unsure sounds of his untranslated, broken language whisper through the air.

Neither of them understood it. These were not words. They could not be translated. They were just sounds. Gripped by craziness or something else, they were still just sounds.

Then, a small laugh. A chuffing. Even in a place like this for the prisoner. Always the same.

“Oh don't you worry, creepy wall carving, I think it’d be pretty hard to forget this.”

Always the same, the paladin. Always the same.

-x-x-x-

In some other world, Lance might have wondered why the words carved into the wall were written in English.

He may have even noticed that the handwriting looked scarily similar to his own despite the pitch black darkness.

This was not one of those worlds.

And he did not notice.

First Chapter: https://snaileer.tumblr.com/post/613092735756402688/chips-and-salsa-chp-1

Next Chapter: Not Out Yet! But Soon!

Also double-posted on fanfiction.net and Ao3 under the same name!

58 notes · View notes

themattgirl · 4 years ago

Note

Hiii, I was wondering if you could please do another part to breathless? I would like to see where she confronts the friend please?

Hii, I‘m sorry that this came so late. The past year has been shit and I just couldn’t motivate myself to write anything because i knew it’d be something depressing and I didn’t want to do that because that would result in me being even more depressed sooo anyway... I‘m finally back and ready to deliver. Enjoy, my lovelies! ✨

Please read Breathless first to understand this if you haven’t already.

Relentless

Sequel to Breathless

Right in front of the door a white Tesla is waiting for Y/N. The guy sitting behind the steering wheel is looking out of the rolled down window with a cigarette between his index and middle finger, facing the street opposite Y/N’s and her boyfriend’s living place. He jumps in shock when he turns his head to face the person who cleared their throat only to find Harry standing there bent down and looking down at the smoker.

“This spot isn’t for you to park your car in, sorry.” Harry speaks after the boy’s face doesn’t look like he just saw a ghost anymore.

“I was waiting for her actually,” he tells him a little nervous and points to Y/N behind Harry. “We’ll get lost in a sec, c’mon babe, get in.”

Harry turns around and looks at her just so the guy doesn’t see the smirk he can’t keep at bay. Y/N hides hers by licking her lips. Harry faces forward again, but points over his shoulder with his thumb. “Oh, you mean Y/N? Why would she get in your car? How do you know her?” he asks questions he knows the answers well enough to.

“We’ve been friends since forever. We were gonna hang out today, but I don’t understand how that would be any of your business.”

“Ah, sorry, yes. You don’t know me. Let me introduce myself.”

Harry walks around the front of the car to the passenger side, Y/N right on his heels. He opens the car door and slides himself into the seat, not shutting the door yet, but holding his hand out for the boy to shake. “I’m Harry Styles,” he puts on a smile that shows his dimples while Y/N climbs onto his lap, now straddling him.

She cups Harry’s face and turns it so he faces her and leans down to lock their lips. It was just a simple kiss, lips meeting lips.

“I’m Y/N’s boyfriend,” Harry tells him, the smile turning into a mischievous smirk when he feels his girlfriend’s lips on his neck. “Who are you?” he keeps talking as if Y/N isn’t sucking a hickey right below his ear.

“I-I didn’t... uhh. Woah, s-sorry I–” the boy stammers with wide eyes, his cigarette long fallen from between his fingers to the ground out of the window. Y/N doesn’t seem to care about anything he has to say, because after kissing the dark red spot on Harry’s jaw better, she grabs his face and turns his head to her again so she can connect their lips again. This time she uses her tongue, too. It’s not a simple kiss anymore, they are full on making out in the car of someone who only came because he expected to have his dick sucked in the next 20 minutes.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, I was told you give head for free,” the poor boy seems very confused.

Y/N separates herself from Harry and faces the third wheeler, “I do, but that deal only applies to that one here, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” Harry laughs.

“He’s right, I’m really not sorry at all.”

“Wait, so–” The guy starts but cuts himself off to think before deciding to speak again. “So, does that mean I’d have to pay? How much–”

This time it’s Harry who interrupts his talking, “No, you prick. It means the only dick she swallows is mine.”

He has been friendly throughout this whole exchange, but this is the moment he was waiting for so patiently. The moment this scumbag proves he is a scumbag. How dare he assume that precious Y/N would seriously do anything with him, that she would want to do it with him? How does he translate her sitting on Harry Styles’ lap, making out with him, giving him hickeys and even saying she doesn’t do whatever he heard she does into it meaning she’d suck his little thing for a ridiculous amount of money?

His stupid question got Y/N just as mad, he can see it in her face and hear it through the way her breathing changed. And as much as Harry wants to just punch that wanker in the face and cut the top of his head off to check if there’s a brain inside, he promised Y/N he’d let her handle it herself. She didn’t tell him what she was thinking of doing though, so he’s curious to see what her crazy mind came up with this time. He is also kind of apprehensive because he knows when Y/N gets mad, she gets mad mad. And to see the put on guilty look on her face already meant trouble for the tosser in the driver’s seat.

“The only person whose dick I take into my mouth is Harry’s and honestly it’s more than enough for me. He’s quite big, you know? He fills me out completely and not only my mouth, you should see us fuck. Oof. Look, I don’t usually have to gag from anything but sometimes when he’s fucking my mouth it just happens. I gag around him and I can’t help it, it’s just too much sometimes. Do you think your little friend would make me gag?” She speaks lowly, but somehow still sounds innocent in a way. Harry squeezes her hips in question after that last sentence but Y/N rubs his cheek with her thumb as a way of telling him she knows what she’s doing. He trusts her enough to relax again. She continues.

“Hm, we can’t check that obviously. But do you think I’d be overwhelmed if we tried? Imagine my lips wrapped around your cock, my hands gripping your thighs-” she places one hand on his thigh, “-because I can’t keep my balance from how hard you’d fuck my mouth. And tears starting to make my vision swimmy because you keep hitting the back of my throat with the head of your dick. Would I gag? Oh gosh, the imagination is starting to make me wet.” She starts rubbing his thigh, very close to his crotch but not quite where he needs her hand to be.

“I wish I was in a bed right now, getting fucked. Sex with Harry is incredible, he’s very good in bed. Are you? Do you think you’d hit all my right spots? Well, Harry knows everything about me already so I guess it’d be unfair to compare, right? In fact, he knows me so well he can make me cum with his fingers in only fife minutes. Oh and one time – actually, it was more than once – it took him only seven minutes with his tongue on my pussy to get me there. It was phenomenal. God, I remember how hard I came. I doubt you could do that to me but I bet I could bring you to cloud nine really fast.” She hears his breath picking up and getting heavier.

“I won’t do anything with you obviously, but still. I know I could. Oh my God, maybe you could watch? Wouldn’t that be nice too? Me and The Harry Styles getting each other to cum multiple times? Do you like it soft or rough? You look like someone who likes rough sex. Maybe you could watch Harry tie me up and fuck me until I’m screaming. Or would you rather enjoy it if we’d tie you to a chair and make you watch us doing all the things you wish you could do. Yeah, you’d like that, huh?”

Finally, when Y/N looks down on his lap she sees the bulge in his jeans and retrieves her hand from his thigh. She leans more into him and notices his eyes fluttering shut. When her mouth hovers in front of his ear she whispers, “Go get yourself someone else to take care of your little problem here because I surely won’t.”

She pulls back, pecks Harry’s lips once and gets off his lap and out of the car. Harry throws in a quick “It was nice meeting you” and hurries after Y/N who is already walking in the direction of her own car.

Once he catches up to her and they both get in the car, he waits until she drives off before he speaks.

“What the fuck was that?”

Y/N knows he isn’t mad, but she can hear how thrown off he is. He certainly did not expect this.

“Got him hard and left him to go home with blue balls. Good, huh?” she smiles, but doesn’t take her eyes off of the road.

Harry is silent for a few long seconds, which worries her a little, but then he laughs out loud, even throwing his head back and clapping his hands twice. “Amazing!”

Y/N relaxes and chuckles along with him.

“You said you were getting wet, though. Were you?” he asks when the laughter dies down.

“Ew, no. Are you crazy? I probably would have if it wasn’t for him being there and me bringing up his dick throughout the whole... story.”

“Yeah, same.” Harry agrees.

“You would’ve been hard from what I said?” Y/N smirks and glances at him for only a second before watching the road again.

“Shut up,” he laughs. “Where’re we going?”

“Kickin’ ass.”

Once in Y/N’s ex-best-friend’s dorm room, their mood changes completely. The first thing they see is a poster on the wall next to the small single bed with a shirtless Harry Styles on it.

“Oh God,” Harry murmurs behind his girlfriend.

“What are you doing here?” Jade, the owner of the room asks.

“You hang up a poster of my boyfriend right after I move out?” Y/N ignores her question and throws in one of her own instead.

“Not a poster of your boyfriend. A poster of Harry Styles, the singer I have liked ever since I discovered music.” Jade tries to explain.

“The singer who happens to be my boyfriend. And it’s a shirtless picture, for fuck’s sake. If it was anyone else’s room I wouldn’t care to look twice and laugh about it. But the facts it’s you just makes it weird.”

“It’s not weird, it–” Y/N cuts off whatever bullshit Jade was about to say.

“It is weird and you know it. Or else you wouldn’t have waited until I was gone to hang it up.”

“Why are you here anyway?” She asks when she fails to think of something to say to Y/N’s fact.

“Get the rumours out of the world,” Y/N crosses her arms over her chest while demanding it, Harry doing the same behind her.

“Or what?” Jade has the audacity to ask.

“You don’t want to risk finding it out. Do what I said.”

“I’m not scared of you, princess. And how would I even do that anyway?”

“The same way you started it, princess. I don’t care how you do it. Go on, I’ll wait here until it’s done.” she leans back against Harry who is quick to wrap his arms around her from behind.

“If so then you can move back in, ‘cause I won’t be doing shit. It’s your problem, not mine.”

“Oh, is that so?” Y/N smiles devilishly. That’s exactly how she expected this conversation to go. Honestly, she hoped it would.

She walks further into the room and sits down on the chair by the desk, Harry behind her with his hands on her shoulders and Jade’s open laptop in front of her. She closes all the open tabs – and if there was an unsaved 28k word document then oops – before opening Twitter. Luckily Jade was logged in, just like she expected.

“I wanted to give you the chance to choose what you want to say to clear things up, but it looks like I’m gonna have to do it myself. And it’s gonna end up bad. For you, obviously.” she chuckles quietly before she starts typing away on the keyboard of the laptop in front of her and reads word for word out loud for Jade to hear.

“Get your hands off my stuff!” Jade steps forward to try and stop Y/N but Harry quickly gets in the way. He doesn’t even have to touch her, all he does is block her way to Y/N.

Y/N types and reads, “Hello dear twitties.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ridiculous, right? That’s how she starts off every single one of her Tweets,” Y/N laughs with him. “Anyway, how should I start this?”

Jade tries to get a word in but Harry speaks over her. “Make her admit she’s a liar and make her sound like a crazy bitch.”

“Mmh, I like that,” Y/N turns her head and smiles up at him, “Gimme a kiss.”

Harry leans down with a smile and does so.

Y/N faces the laptop again and starts typing, “I’m sure you all remember my post about Y/N giving BJs on campus for free. This is embarrassing to admit, but it was a lie. So I would like to apologise to her and to all of the guys who got turned down by her because of that lie. I have some good news for you, though. I did it because I wanted to see if there would actually be people contacting her and now that I’ve seen it work, I’d like to announce that I’m taking her place. I’ll be the one to suck you off. Please leave her alone and call me instead.”

“Wait, I’ll give you her phone number,” Harry suggests and fishes Y/N’s phone out of her jeans. Once the number is typed beneath the text she clicks the Tweet button so it’s for everyone to see. Then she closes everything again, but before she can shut the laptop, the picture Jade has saved as her screen wallpaper catches her eye. Not only is it a picture of Harry, but one where she herself is edited into it so it looks like he is kissing her cheek.

“Alright, this is getting too weird. C’mon babe, let’s get outta here.” Harry pulls Y/N up off the chair and leads her out of the room.

“This is a joke, right? She can’t be that sick,” Y/N murmurs more to herself than to anyone else.

“Let’s just go get you a new phone number, please.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles request #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabble #harry styles smut #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles filth #harry styles writing #harry chats

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morphituu · 5 years ago

Text

Milagro

Chapter 20: Patterns

Ch: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19

“Oh my god we’re traumatizing him,” Nick distressed, Leo’s kicking foot yanking from his meager grip once again.

“You gotta hold him tighter,” Callie laughed, already done with her half of the body as their son went on to scream and wiggle whilst the warm rags were dragged across his form to rid him of the sticky afterbirth.

“He’s too strong!”

“Just- gimme,” she grinned, stepping in to go about wiping down his heaving chest, then sticky legs, all the way to his round toes. “Newborns are sturdier than most think,”

It didn’t make him feel any better; this had nothing to do with Leo- this was Nick’s inability to do anything right so far, it seemed. “I suck at this,” Nick intoned, earning a sour glare from Callie.

“Enough of that. I’d be in the same place if I didn’t have practice and that’s exactly what you need,” she scolded, punching his chest with her other hand on Leo. “Can you hand me his onesie?”

This time Nick watched over her shoulder before sticking his hands in there again, and learned that although babies grew seriously rigid when they were angry, they still had joints that could bend into the onesie he didn’t think would be big enough, and more importantly, Leo screamed just as much when Callie was the one disturbing him.

“His first outfit,” he smiled, pulling his phone out to memorialize the moment, his loud cries settling into short grunts and angrier chuffs under Callie’s working hands moving up the stretch of buttons. By the time she was combing his sandy stripe into a little point, Leo was dozing in her arms, his jaw dropped open in soft breaths, properly exhausted from such an experience. Nick helped pull his beanie on, smoothing aside the swoop his hair made. She smiled as he leaned into her arms to kiss him, sliding the knuckle of his finger over his cheek.

“Wanna take him?” she asked. “I need to clean this room up and shower,”

“Are you- can you move around that much?” he asked, cradling Leo against his chest once he’d been handed over.

“Standing hurts less than sitting actually,” she clarified, gathering the used towels and stained blankets.

Nick made his way over to the rocker beside the bed carefully, lowering even slower into the seat. Thankfully Leo wasn’t so big that he couldn’t fit across Nick’s forearm when he reached to grab a pillow, folding it under his elbow so he could finally cozy him up to his chest. Not without a few long kisses and sniffs to his cheeks, however. “Oh my God he smells so good,”

“Like that soft baby smell right?” she smiled, organizing their clothes.

“He smells so clean and fuzzy,” he groaned. “Like you, too,”

They idly chatted as she waddled from corner to corner of the room, sometimes stopping to kiss Leo’s hand when she moved around Nick. The TV murmured below their soft words passed back and forth, and with the hospital phone pinched between his cheek and shoulder after Callie propped it there, Nick ordered dinner while Leo suckled on his finger, clamping down hard enough to concern Nick as to just how brutal it must’ve felt around a nipple.

He reached to hang the phone on the bed railing. “Food will be up in about forty-five minutes,”

“I think I can shower in time,” Callie huffed after squeezing her dirty clothes into her bag.

“What if he starts crying?” Nick asked nervously.

“Walk with him. Talk to him. If he gets hungry again he’ll just have to wait until I’m done but I’ll be fast,” she reassured, grabbing clean clothes and her toiletry bag.

Before shuffling to the bathroom, Callie brought Nick’s attention upwards with a soft touch to his cheek. His eyes fell shut when her mouth caressed his deliciously, consumed by every second of it; from the moment her eyes captured his to her last warm peck on his hungry mouth.

He chuffed when she came up, his eyes heavy.

“I love you,” she squeezed his jaw endearingly, her touch smoothing to the back of his head.

“I love you more,” he promised, watching her walk almost like a gingerbread man to the bathroom. A few deep breaths brought some clarity back to his sight, in addition calming the wild hammering of his heart. A hard clamp around his finger brought him back to a dozing Leo, his eyes barely open. “But I love you the most.” Nick hushed softly down at his boy.

After that small interruption however, Leo was awake and peeking at the world around him, his limbs moving sporadically until Nick moved him into a more freeing position. His thumbs stroked Leo’s round cheeks where his palms cupped his head in support, his frame laid across the length of Nick’s forearms. Loosely he squirmed in the blankets draped over him now that Callie finally gave him up long enough to shower, but he wouldn’t hold the hoarding against her. Both of them were eager to smother him with love, but her fervor was likely greater than his.

But now I got you, he smiled to himself, leaning in to press his chest to Leo before scooping him up and leaning back into the rocking chair. It seemed warmth was what Leo had been craving, for he settled quickly, his rapid breaths tickling Nick’s neck where his head was tucked under his chin.

Nick only pushed off his heel to rock the chair agiley, the warm beams of sunset coming through the lowered shade and illuminating the quiet room that only Leo’s soft grunts filled.

The worry that he’d start wailing while Callie was away bridled his mind, but Nick continued to remind himself if it wasn’t today, there would be another time that he would find himself in the same predicament, alone and unknowing of what to do or how to help.

“I gotta learn all these noises,” he mumbled, rubbing his back. “You beefy little thing,”

More sleepy wiggles and a hard kick made Nick chuckle, moving his face down to peck his cheek. “No wonder your mama was always in misery. You kick like an ox,” he mumbled, fixing his beanie. “You look just like her, you know that?” he poked his nose, smiling when it scrunched. No matter how many times Nick would trace the wild patterning of his arm or leg, he couldn’t get over how their colors came together in such an intricate maze that was already immortalized in his memory.

Of all the possibilities, every single thing that made Leo so unexpected and beautiful, it was these ones that made him who he was.

It left Nick utterly speechless and in complete awe.

Never did he think he could help make something so perfect.

The latch of the door clicking some time later brought Nick’s eyes up in time to grin at Callie as she waddled in stiffly, her wet hair hanging around her shoulders and her bloody nightgown now replaced with a camisole and sweats, complete with her worn and tattered slippers.

“How’d he do?” she whispered, leaning over to touch Leo’s cheek before kissing, calling to him when he jumped.

“Sleepin’ and kickin’,” Nick grinned, rubbing Leo’s chest when his little arm shot up to stretch.

“Mi corazon,” Callie said against his cheek. Her hands wiggling flat between Leo and Nick’s arms made him tense up, resisting Callie’s pull.

“Hey hey it’s still my turn,”

“I’ve been in the shower!” she frowned.

“You’ve had him all day and everyone else was passing him around last night,” Nick argued stubbornly. Callie groaned, looking down at Leo who was already settled back into the crook of his father's arm, his arm draped over his face.

“Fine,” she whined, fixing the loose blanket around him before moving to her bed. Carefully she crawled to her spot at the center and lowered gradually, hiding her discomfort.

“How’s your kitty?” Nick asked, cringing when she shook her head.

“It’s a massacre,” she sighed, opening up her toiletry bag.

Nick swallowed, looking back down at Leo. “I’m sorry,”

“Hush,” she paused to soak a cotton pad with toner. “I knew what to expect. I’d do it again if I had to,”

That was a relief to hear, but Nick still expected some less than neutral complaints to eventually come up, especially after pushing out the thick nugget that was chuffing in his sleep. Nick chuckled, pressing his nose to Leo’s and letting out his own. “I wonder if he’ll have tusks,” Nick pondered aloud, pulling Leo’s chin down with his fingertip to expose his rosy gums and tongue.

“When do orcs start teething again?” she asked.

“I think my mom said something like two or three months,” he said through bared teeth, stretching Leo’s cheek until he growled in protest. “I don’t know what to look for,”

Callie rubbed lotion into her arms and loose belly when looking at him, a sense of worry spreading over her. “Would you be mad if he didn’t?”

“Mad?! No, no, I don’t mind either way… but it would be kinda cool to see,” he explained shyly, rocking when Leo started to fuss. “He’s tryin’ to bite my chest,” he chuckled.

“That means it’s my turn,” she popped her cap back on her chapstick, swiftly tossing her tiny bags aside and propping pillows under her arm all in the time it took Nick to stand and walk over. Nick smiled everytime she talked to him; words of praise and pure adoration, and of course hundreds of kisses to follow her loving words. Even as the beginnings of angry, crackly cries would start to bubble up in his chest, she’d be there holding him up, peppering kisses into his face while she egged him on lovingly.

Now was Nick’s time to literally step back and let her handle this. It had only taken a full twenty-four hours to see that breast feeding wasn’t the breeze most made it to be, and Callie, who was slowly coming down with her hormones, flustered easily, and quickly, and when that happened she wanted no one to bear witness to her new struggle with motherhood.

The first time they’d finally persuaded her to accept a visit from one of the hospital's lactation consultants only ended in some heated words from Callie’s corner of the ring and the consultant kicked out. Nick understood the misunderstanding, but he also didn’t like how pushy she had been when trying to coach Callie. He probably would’ve snapped if someone was that rough with him, too.

That was the last of any visitors- including nurses- present when she fed.

A hard exhale from her turned Nick the slightest bit from his hands digging through his bag in an attempt to appear distracted, not to mention Leo’s heightening cries.

His ears twitched. “Can I help?”

“He’s screaming instead of biting, what would you do?” she snapped.

Nick reluctantly nodded, continuing to search for nothing, but it was the only thing that kept from standing and staring at them. Despite the tone she’d taken with him, her whispers were of pure patience as she spoke to Leo, more than likely glancing at the door anxiously.

At last the screaming boy found his target, immediately falling into a soft, grunting state of serenity even though his beanie had fallen over his eyes during his fit.

Callie exhaled softly, better situating her arms and her head dropping back into the pillows. Tears brimmed her glossy eyes, but they were blinked away before Nick would ever know. She looked to him, knowing whatever he pretended to search for in his bag was in fact not there. A small smile crept to her lips; such a considerate man, he was.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, staring sheepishly at him by the time he turned to grin.

“Hush,”

She grinned, blowing a kiss back to him when he sent his own.

“You okay?”

She nodded, taking another breath as she smoothed her hand over Leo’s head. “I think it’s the most frustrating thing I’ve ever had to do,”

“I hate to admit it but… he’s kind of being a jerk about it,” Nick shrugged, feeling a little guilty for throwing his newborn son under the bus like that but he sensed she needed the pick me up more than ever right then, and her withheld giggle and stubborn smile confirmed that.

“Don’t say that,”

“Yeah yeah,” Nick waved, turning back to put his bag away. “So who’s coming today?”

“Rosie should be here soon with Daryl and your parents said they’d come in a couple hours,” she winced, her toes curling when Leo clamped down. “That one made me see stars,”

“There better be a boob left when it’s my turn with those,” Nick said below his breath.

“Huh? What was that?” she barked, glaring at the back of Nick’s shaking head.

“I said we got a lot of painting left in Leo’s room,” he mislead.

“Oh yeah, sure, and here you are still messing with the laundry instead of painting,” she sighed, smoothing the pad of her thumb down Leo’s face by the time Nick turned to look at her in mild annoyance. He was foolish to think he could poke fun at Callie without any torment in return.

��My mom and cousin offered to fix it, asshole. I wasn’t gonna miss out on Leo’s first few days,”

She gasped, eyes growing wide. “Daddy said a bad word,” she whispered.

“Oh shut up,” he rolled his eyes, reluctantly grinning with a cocked brow when she winked at him. “He looks like he’s getting restless,”

Callie chuckled. “Eager to hold him again?”

“Duh, hand him over, selfish,” he pouted, arms outstretched by the time he made it to her side to scoop up their partly conscious son who had stopped suckling some minutes ago and was squirming against Callie’s chest.

“He’s got a milk mustache,” Nick noticed, chuckling throatily when he lifted Leo to kiss him a few times before finding his spot over Nick’s shoulder. A wide palm had just cupped Leo’s little bottom when a few soft knocks came from the door, and once turned he faced Rosie who was coming in quietly with Daryl in tow.

“He’s not sleeping,” Callie said first once Rosie scurried right over to Nick.

“Hello my love! Hello hermoso! Are you awake? Are you looking around?” she doted, kissing Leo’s small hand over Nick’s shoulder while he was burped. “You look so handsome in your onesie!”

“He’ll stare at you if you talk long enough,” Nick said softly against the back of Leo’s head, praising him when he burped.

“No shit?” Rosie asked, a little perplexed.

“I thought newborns couldn’t track,” Daryl stepped beside Rosie, cracking a smile when Leo grunted and wiggled his face down into Nick’s shoulder.

“Halfling perk,” Callie grinned.

“Ooh I see those big eyes opening,” Rosie smiled, bending at the knees to catch early sight of them. “Oh dios mio look at those eyes!” she reveled, softly stroking his cheek when his golden orbs peeked from behind sleepy, blinking lids. “You’re gonna stop people in their tracks with those,”

“He’s got big ass eyes like you two,” Daryl teased, grunting when Rosie swung back into his gut.

“Language,” Rosie hissed. “Tia’s turn?”

“I suppose,” Nick groaned reluctantly, letting her expertly slide him off his shoulder and onto her chest where she could maneuver him into the crook of her arm.

“Oh he’s so hefty, you’re a big boy,” Rosie keened, swaying side to side when Leo protested the sudden change in cushion.

“How much did he weigh?” Daryl asked, his finger locked in Leo’s grasp.

“Ten pounds,” Callie answered as she slowly and with discomfort swung her legs over the edge of the bed to stand. Now that both of their arms were free, Nick hastily offered his hands in support, securing at her sides even after she stood straight and assured him she was steady.

“Where ya headed?” he asked, offering an elbow.

Callie tittered, slipping her lithe hand into the crook of his elbow to grip his thick bicep. “Restroom, please,”

“If you weren’t a human gusher right now I’d throw you over my shoulder so you didn’t have to walk,”

“WOW,” Daryl shouted, eyes pinched shut and shaking his head.

“Shut up, you’ve witnessed it first hand,” Rosie scolded, though her tone was of complete enamore while she gazed down at her nephew who was still whining lowly.

“The visual, though,” he shuddered.

Callie’s hand followed the length of his arm until their palms met as he moved aside the curtain and opened the heavy restroom door. Before he released her nimble fingers, his lips met her knuckles in a warm kiss, smiling when she did.

“Call if you need anything,” he reminded, at last letting her go.

Her nod and flush was almost drunkenly, but his charming gesture was the cause.

Nick wandered back to their visitors, still completely enamored with Leo who’d woken fully and was talking up quite the storm.

“He’s such a chatterbox,” Rosie cooed, nodding enthusiastically in response to every loud shout he made.

“He’s been catching up on all the gossip from Callie and the nurses,” Nick grinned, rubbing his cheek before moving to a seat.

“Oh chismoso!” she giggled, turning to follow them to the chairs. “How’re you two doing? Gotten any sleep?”

Nick’s lips pursed as his brows pinched together in hard thought, honest to God fuzzy when it came to pin-pointing what exactly he’d done between the times he was doting over Leo. “I think so,”

“Soon you’ll start losing track of days of the week,” Daryl nudged his elbow while shaking his head tiredly, recalling the days that blurred together when his own children were newborns. “Almost lost my job I was so drained,”

Nick’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Callate, gringo. Nick, don’t listen to him. As long as you don’t lose track of Leo you’ll adjust,” Rosie buoyed, her cheek pressed against his sons when she smiled.

“Punch a pillow when you get angry, not Leo,” Daryl piped in again, but Nick couldn’t help but snort.

“Thanks,”

“If either of you are ever having a bad day you can always come kick it at our place for a while,” he went on to offer. “Got some Indica that’ll-” he flattened his hand to cut through the air horizontally. “Chill ya right out,”

“He doesn’t smoke,” Rosie reminded.

Daryl scoffed. “Wait a while,”

Callie’s shuffling steps turned Rosie, and Leo was showered with kisses from his mama before she made it to Nick’s side on the pull-out sofa, finding her spot under his arm with a soft exhale.

“Y’alright?” he asked, the back of his thumb stroking her arm.

“I feel like I’m gonna die everytime I pee,”

“Use the Sitz bath, it at least makes it bearable,” Rosie suggested.

“I haven’t asked for one yet,” Callie yawned, lifting her feet to stretch. “Aw fuck,”

“Hm?” Nick hummed. She wiggled her toes, looking at her raised feet forlornly. “Pantuflas?” he asked, and she nodded, watching him stand with his hand on her thigh to steady himself.

“Cal,” Rosie whispered, side stepping towards her sister with eyes on Nick’s back. Callie inclined when she asked, “Are you guys gonna circumcise Leo?”

“Oh, no,” Callie leaned back again.

“No?”

“It’s unnecessary,” she replied derisively. “Nick didn’t want him cut either,”

“Is it a cultural thing?”

“Yep,” Nick answered, coming from behind Rosie to drop Callie’s slippers at her feet.

“Huh. Didn’t take you for one of those, munguz,” Rosie frowned, looking down at Leo.

Nick’s brows furrowed. “One of what?”

“Someone to uphold traditions like that,”

His head tilted now, his eyes narrowing. “Why?”

Callie’s hand slipped into his, the squeeze of her fingers pulling him back into the sofa when he’d started to lean forward.

“You act human. Maybe that’s why Leo looks so human,” she laughed.

“That’s not funny,” Callie snapped, but Rosie snorted despite Nick’s brows twitching in discomfort; a visible flinch.

“It’s a joke, settle down,”

“Says the one who was all pissy about Dyani basically being Daryl’s clone,” Callie reminded.

“Cuz she’s a girl, she should’ve looked kind of like me!” Rosie smiled. “But okay, I am sorry, I didn’t mean any harm,”

“Yeah it’s fine,” Nick only mustered that grin for a short second before he was shifting uncomfortably beside Callie, leaning on his elbow behind her.

The conversation switched like it had never started, and although Callie interacted with them the same during the remainder they were there, Nick was quiet. He lingered behind Callie or in an opposite corner, only stepping forward when Leo cried or Callie called, and for the first time in years , she noticed her fiancés eyes were cast down, staying below others gazes.

She peered secretively around Rosie’s arm, smiling at Nick sweetly when he’d finally notice her.

Warmth would collect in his heart when she beamed at him. When she walked by, she’d graze the back of his hand, her finger curling around his momentarily before she walked away. By the time Rosie and Daryl were getting the last of their hugs in with Leo, his upset had dissipated enough to stand and hug his soon to be sister in law without temptation calling to snap her neck.

“I really am sorry- I need to learn to keep my mouth shut,” she apologized again, holding Nick’s arms.

“She does, it’s always open at the wrong times,” Daryl said as he hugged Callie, giving her a kiss on her temple.

Rosie spun on her heels. “Excuse me, I have to kiss my nephew goodbye and then I’ll kick your ass,”

Callie snorted, letting her sister get the last of her smothering smooches in as Leo started to stir from his nap, chuffing when Rosie pressed his round nose.

“Goodbye my love, don’t forget your tia,” she frowned, leaning in to wrap an arm around Callie. “Call if you need anything, use your diapers,”

Callie giggled, letting her sister go.

“Take care of ‘em, Dad.” Rosie told Nick as she passed, patting his arm. The men shook hands as they left, leaving the room quietly to the new parents.

Nick grinned at Callie when he’d looked back to find her walking towards him with Leo stretching in her careful hold. His head looked so small under his touch when he smoothed his hair down, leaning over to leave a long kiss on his cheek. “My boy,” he spoke in a hushed tone, smoothing over the spot his lips just met.

Callie watched him, her lips pursing to the side. “I’m sorry about what Rosie said,”

Nick shrugged. “She doesn’t have a filter,” she added, and he nodded.

“Do you think he looks like me at all?” Nick asked lowly, his finger tracing the patterning of Leo’s hand.

“I think he’s more you than me, actually,”

Nick’s hairless brows furrowed. “He literally has your face,”

“He has my nose and chin, what else?” she asked, looking up at him in wait when he opened his mouth to speak, but when he really thought about it and stared down at Leo, what else did he have from Callie?

“Look,” she splayed Leo’s small fingers. “Your hands,”

The corner of Nick’s lips kicked up in the smallest grin, holding Leo’s hand open to compare, but he knew since the night before that this was true. He was the one who first called Callie over to see.

“The dinosaur mark,” she whispered, and his head leaned back when his eyes rolled.

“It’s not a dinosaur, ” he groaned, still smiling.

“Look at that mark and tell me that’s not the same one you have on your thigh and furthermore tell me that it doesn't look like a T-rex,” she smiled, laughing when he only frowned stubbornly. “Leo is all you, baby. There’s no part of him that you don’t influence in some way, and that makes him Orc no matter how human he is,”

He only nodded, this time being the one to wiggle his hands between them so Leo was passed into his arms smoothly. A short cry expelled from his strong lungs, but once he was swayed side to side and Nick spoke in Orkish whispers, his tired eyes gazed up at his father while his limbs calmed, their amber eyes locked.

Callie pulled Nick down for a kiss on the cheek before she shuffled away, her hand lingering on his arm.

Nick tightened his arms, bringing Leo closer. “ Even if you didn’t have my color, you’d still be my son. If there was no Orc in you, you’d still have my name, Leo. ” Nick professed softly, the sincerity of his words clear, and true. If Leo had been born to the world with a human's total appearance and nothing to show the Orkish blood that made him, Nick would still be proud to call him his son.

His ears twitched then, his head lifting. “I think my mom is here,”

Callie faced him with a folded blanket in her arms. “Huh?”

He turned, facing the door, and in a matter of seconds it was opening to let in his parents who came with warm smiles and- Callie sighed- more gifts they’d have to deal with while going home. The blankets and photo albums they’d already gifted were beautiful , but she’d only hate them when she’d be forced to carry them by the armfuls up their driveway.

“Ma, with the gifts!” Nick groaned, his grievances unheard when Dinara was already keening over a sleeping Leo.

She wailed softly in Orkish declarations of love, her grandson carefully placed in her waiting arms after she greeted Callie with a tight hug. Leo of course was quite objectful to being passed around anymore than he already had been, but a few minutes of his grandmothers rocking and the same lullabies she used to sing Nick calmed the building cries into soft whimpers.

“Ahh let me see him, let me see,” Oleg exclaimed, wandering over to Dinara once he’d released Callie from a bone crushing hug. “Liukaven avo naj-ri! He obviously missed his grandfather,”

“Oh no it’s me he wanted to see, wasn't it my little sunshine? Was it me you wanted to talk to?” Dinara wept lovingly, the grandparents cooing back softly when Leo wailed sleepily. “Have you two eaten yet?”

“We ordered dinner a while ago,” Callie answered, leaning into Nick's side when he found a seat beside her.

“Hospital food?” Oleg asked, and shook his hand dismissively when Nick nodded. “Come on old man, let’s get real food,”

Nick blinked. “Old man?”

“C’mon then,” Oleg urged, his brows peeking above the frames of his glasses.

Oh.

“You’ll be okay if I go?” Nick asked Callie, and although his nerves rattled under her skeptical side eye, his calm exterior remained intact until she nodded.

“You know what I like,” she grinned, meeting him for a quick kiss.

Nick rose with a loud groan that only prompted more teasing from his father, but a quick swipe of Dinara’s hand against Oleg’s arm silenced most of his teasing as Nick leaned in to kiss Leo a few times.

“Look how quickly he quieted,” Dinara took notice.

“Nick is the only one he doesn’t scream at,” Callie commented, winking at Nick when he grinned.

It wasn’t until they had said their brief goodbyes and closed the door behind themselves that Oleg pulled Nick aside, digging into his pocket.

“I had it cleaned,” Oleg said silently, depositing the small, wooden box into Nick’s waiting palm.

Upon opening it, Nick was relieved to see it was still how he remembered; delicate, with one chiseled diamond at the center, and silver. Anything more wouldn’t match his girl, and he wanted this to be just perfect, even if it was only the engagement ring.

“I hope it fits her,” Nick mumbled, turning it under the light.

“I’m sure it will. Your mother and Callie are nearly the same size,” Oleg comforted, squeezing his son's shoulder when he breathed deeply. “Why’re you nervous? Didn’t you already ask her?”

“I did but it’s still scary,”

“Worried she'll change her mind?”

Nick nodded, “She has more than enough reason to decide she wants better,” he mumbled while turning.

Before Oleg followed, his mind was… still trying to decipher that. Why would his son who he’d always known to be gentle and kind say such a thing? What could’ve transpired for him to worry about that? Even he, who admittedly could be a little absent minded, wasn't blind to the way Callie smiled at him, like he’d picked a star from the sky only for her to cherish. So what plagued Nick enough to even worry about this? Could he have a side he’d never known about?

Oleg shook those thoughts away. No, he decided. My boy isn't the monster everyone claimed him to be.

In a few wide steps they were walking side by side quietly down the marble hall that was busy with staff or other parents reeling from their own brand new bundles of joy, all the way to the elevator that a small group of humans had decided to pass on once watching the two, muscled Orcs step in.

Nick pressed the button, his hands then shoving into his pockets to wait. Oleg did the same; they could be brothers.

“You know,” his father started, bringing Nick from his pleasant cloud of thought about Leo. “Me and your mother had our fair share of hardships before I asked her to be mine,”

“Like what?”

Oleg shook his head. “Things you wouldn’t forgive the either of us for, but from it came you,” he grinned at his son, bumping his elbow with his own. “I’ve told myself what you said to me at least a million times, and I still question to this day what she’s seen in me to stick around for so long, but one thing I’ve come to know from the years and fights is that a year from now , you’ll be wondering why you ever thought that,”

Nick’s brows furrowed. “What d’you mean?”

“A year from now you’ll understand, son. It’s something that takes time, but you have someone who’s willing to spend it with you, and that’s what matters,” Oleg’s explanation was vague, yet it brought a serenity to Nick in these times he found fear when Leo wasn’t nearby to calm his stormy heart. “If Callie has put up with whatever bullshit you’ve already pulled, and still pushed that meatloaf out, I think you’re in clear,”

Nick stifled a laugh, nodding when Oleg squeezed his shoulders into his side for a hug. “I’m sure she wouldn’t so willingly give up your bacon, either,”

A stiff elbow to his side stifled anymore raunchy jokes before they started, and just in time for the doors to slide open.

The men eventually returned with bags of entrees and sides hanging off their wrists and drinks balanced in their palms with the ring safely tucked away in Nick’s pocket for a moment of privacy, but as soon as Oleg stepped into view, he turned on his heel.

“I’ll be over here,” he called.

Nick was confused at first, but upon spotting Leo latched onto Callie, he understood. Baring so much around his mom was one thing, but around his dad, ehh.

“You alright?” Nick asked hesitantly, but Callie’s smile was ear to ear when she looked up.

“We’re good,” she whispered, rubbing Leo’s back as he grunted.

“He… was he better this time?” Nick asked.

“Yeah but your mom showed me a trick,”

“Must’ve been some trick, he’s impossible,”

“There’s no trick,” Dinara came up beside him, taking the drinks. “She just had to shove it in his mouth,”

Nick flinched a little. “What if you break his jaw?”

“Didn’t break yours, did it?” Oleg called.

Nick shuddered. “Okay I’ll take your word for it,”

“It obviously worked, look how beefy and healthy he is now for an old man,” Dinara pouted, squishing Nick’s cheeks even as he glared down at her.

“Ma, please,” Nick groaned, leaning away from her hands.

“Leo will be like Nick. Once he figures out how much he likes the tit, he’ll grab, no issues,” she finalized, patting her son's arm forcefully.

“I hate all of you. Except that one. He’s cute.” Nick pointed to Leo, even shooting Callie a bitter glare as he passed, but she only continued to laugh into her palm, her eyes watering.

“Can I come out now?” Oleg called, his nose peeking from behind the curtain.

—

A loud, noisy kiss was placed on Leo’s cheek, and despite just having eaten, he still searched with his mouth for the intruder, his big eyes pinched shut.

“And another,” Nick whispered, kissing his other cheek. “Here it comes,” he warned, getting the spot between his eyes.

“That’s not fair, he can’t defend himself,” Callie called, flipping off the lights and crawling back into bed. Midnight feeding sessions never came without a bathroom break and a little cleaning now; that’s gonna be an adjustment, she thought to herself as a wide yawn stretched her jaw.

“Is he gonna be okay awake like this?” Nick asked, standing straight from the bassinet Leo was placed in.

“He’ll fall asleep, don’t worry. It’s good to not hold them all the time or they get too needy,” Callie explained, stuffing the pillows under her head so she could still see Leo as she dozed off.

“That sounds harsh,”

“You’ll thank me when we can still have sex in our bed without him in the way,” she grinned, her brows bouncing when he leered at her.

“I can’t believe that’s on your mind, you pig,” he teased, grinning at her smile. “I still feel bad,”

“Come spoon me, it‘ll make you feel better,”

“Trying to make another baby already?” he taunted, but her pained frown made him snort. “I’m sorry,”

“Just the thought alone hurts,” she groaned, pulling his arm around her when he wiggled into the sheets and blankets behind her. His face pressed to the back of her neck, his legs pushing between hers carefully.

“It’s weird without your stomach here anymore,”

“I know, laying on my stomach has never felt so good,” she noted, moaning in pleasure when he rubbed her bare arm.

Though their eyes grew heavy with every passing second, neither could bear to keep them shut while Leo kicked and grunted softly, his bundled feet popping from inside his blanket. His tiny hands would shoot up high above him, gripping blindly for anything, and would come to curl back against his body while a foot shot out.

“Now that I see him I understand how exhausting it must’ve been having that go on inside of you all the time,” Nick mumbled, and she giggled.

“I shouldn’t have talked so much shit, I already miss having him that close,” she replied sleepily.

“Maybe the next one will be quiet,”

She snorted. “He hasn’t even met everyone yet and you’re planning the next one?”

“Speaking of, why haven’t you asked your parents to come by?” Nick asked, sitting up on an elbow.

“Inviting them means inviting my entire family. I can’t handle that chaos right now, not until we’re home,” she exhaled, pulling his hand under her cheek.

His brows furrowed, his head tilting. “Are you feeling overwhelmed?”

“Cuz of my hormones. I know they’ll chill again but for now, I just want it nice and calm cuz everything makes me freak out and cry,” she explained silently, but then snorted. “Nevermind, that’s me 24/7,”

Nick chuckled at first, but that was before his earlier motive came barreling back to his thoughts. “I have something that might help,” he mentioned, kissing her shoulder.

She rolled onto her back to watch him spring from the bed and over to where his jeans had been discarded, but it wasn’t until he was settled back beside her did she see what he’d pulled from one of the pockets.

Callie knew before opening the palm-sized, mahogany box what it was, but it didn’t stop the butterflies from springing to life in her vacant stomach, and upon gazing down at the delicate ring that still sparkled in the dark, her bottom lip trembled. She looked up to find him grinning, but obviously nervous.

“Is this why you and your dad ran off earlier?” she croaked, clearing her voice.

He nodded. “I wanted to do this right,”

She smiled, her eyes glossy. “It was pretty perfect the first time,”

“It was, but Leo being here makes it better,” he shrugged. Nick’s hands came to hold hers, the ring between both of their palms. “Marry me, Callie,” he stated, not asked, but her tearful smile confirmed he’d assumed right in knowing she’d say yes again.

Words would’ve betrayed her if she dared speak, so she nodded enthusiastically, meeting his lips for an enthusiastic embrace. It took great restraint to pull away from him after a few minutes of gasping smooches that had built from sweet pecks, to pry her hands from his face so he could slip the ring onto her finger, and even more to keep from exclaiming when she threw herself into his arms.

“Stop,” he laughed against her eager mouth. “Stop stop stop, we can’t,” he struggled, his fingers digging into her hips.

“I know,” she sighed, placing a final kiss on his searching mouth one last time. “Ugh, god damnit,” she groaned, carefully flopping back onto her side to pull Nick back against her. At least she could admire the ring that fit her hand so well.

“I mean, you still have one hole that wasn’t wrecked,”

“I can’t believe you just said that in front of our newborn son,”

“He was witness to all the times I scrambled your guts, I think he’s fine,” Nick grinned into her hair, chuckling when she reached back to slap his hip.

“I can’t believe I want to marry such a pervert,”

Nick laughed out loud now. “Neither can I.”

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heyvivalapluto · 4 years ago

Text

james s. potter headcanons

gryffindor. gryffindor pride. gryffindor king. gryffindor apologist. gryffindor!!!

he honors his name. james AND sirius? come on, u were asking for trouble and make it double

he/him/they/them

“you look exactly like your father, but your eyes... you have your mother’s eyes.”

yup, it just hits hard, i know

punk punk punk

he’s actually a small/short man, which is adorable. although it kinda ruins his punk scary vibe. he’s just too cute to handle

short king

red is HIS color. i don’t make the rules. red was invented to be james sirius color

they have a red jacket and that jacket is their signature

he’s absolutely gorgeous.

if he’s short, he’s also bad tempered. it’s the law.

“punks respect pronouns”

“against all authorities, except mi mamá”

he likes to discuss all types of subjects with rose. he feels like she’s the only one who understands

“is crying in class punk rock?”

wears silver earrings.

FIGHT THE SYSTEM. FIGHT THE CISTEM

(fake) leather jacket, (fake) leather fingerless gloves, motorcycle and boots. bad boy vibes alright (but deep down he’s a good boi)

“respecting the environment and the planet is punk rock.”

they are one of the kindest people to ever walk on earth. seriously, they just have the best heart

“there’s bravery in being soft”

teddy lupin is his big brother. period

he will fight. anything, anyone. he’s a fighter. rose and james are the best duo.

popular? yes. but he’s popular not because of his family, but because he’s really soft, and talks to everyone and has the greatest smile. u can’t help but love this guy.

he also has the best hugs in his whole family (and THAT is saying something)

brown eyes supremacy.

he wears glasses (he doesn’t need to!) so his father is not alone on this aesthetic. and he can rock the style as well

“all cops are bastards” / “i’m a magical cop, son” / “i said what i said.” (a conversation between harry and james at some point)

antifa

they are hilarious. you can’t be around them for too long and not laugh.

doesn’t care about school, to be honest. he’s an average kid when it comes to grades.

he studies hard enough to pass, but that’s all. james never wants to disappoint his parents.

even if he believes schools are all a governmental scheme

steven hyde is his comfort character

dog person

“i feel like you’re tying to tell me what to do, so i’m gonna do the opposite.”

their patronous is a panther

he’s really into sports, because of ginny. he used to train with her (when she went to the gym) while she was still on the holy harpies. he was little at the time, but he really wanted to train with his mom, because she’s so cool

he refused to be part of the quidditch team, because the captain at the time was an ass and he would never obey to that idiot.

years later, when rose became captain, he entered the team

momma’s boy alright

remember i said he was a fighter? he actually knows how to fight and damn is he strong. but well, he mostly fights bullies

(and as he gets older, he starts to punch racists and cops, which are basically the same)

he really tries to stay out of trouble, but trouble come and finds them.

“be kind. it’s gangster.”

hates coffee, hates tea. water is the real deal, my dudes

fuck gender roles

he loves fun socks. he just does, and that just sums up his whole personality.

so he might be wearing all that (fake) leather and all that black (with his red jacket because what the hey), but you will spot a sponge bob square pants on his ankle and you will be too afraid to ask.

whenever i think of him, he’s kickin ass. literally. i just see him kicking someone in the chest and that’s it.

𝘣𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘴𝘴.

whenever harry and ginny receive a call from the ministery of magic or from the muggle police, they are not even surprised

(nor disappointed, to be honest. if he hates the government, that came from his parents who LITERALLY fought against the system in their younger years)

don’t ask about his love life (but you kinda don’t have to, because he’s not exactly what we call discreet about his crushes).

[bisexual panic]

hates horror movies

albus is always there to hold them and stop them from doing something stupid. he’s forever grateful

he’s always there when albus needs him too

their laugh is so loud and deep.

and whenever you hear it, you can’t help but laugh too. it’s contagious.

he reads a lot. and no, you shouldn’t be surprised, okay? because if he’s fighting against the system it’s because he’s educated.

he’s an intellectual, ok? ...who can also kick ass and take names.

first thought, best thought.

sidecut

it doesn’t matter your sexuality. at some point, you had a crush on this boy. either because of his looks, or because he’s really nice and funny, or because of his morals and principles.

terrible dancer

superprotective about lily. he loves her so much and they truly understand and support each other.

so goofy

his favorite uncle is george and his favorite aunt is hermione

queen is his favorite band

tacos are his comfort food

freckled boy

star wars fan because of albus.

those movies were the only things those boys agreed 100% about.

they speak spanish. fluently.

he can do magic without wands. “wands are just a formality”

he was the one who taught rose how to do any magic without wands

they never duel. they hate fighting with magic. they are a fan of the good hand-to-hand.

besides, they always end up breaking their wand, because he uses it as drumsticks

he knows how to play many instruments, such as: drums, tambourine, violin, bass, saxophone and electric guitar

he always hums some barbie song whenever he’s distracted.

cursing in spanish is their jam. “it’s just so badass, u know?”

he used braces for a while too. he saw that rose was going to use it (“fix what? she has the best smile?”), so he decided that he would too, because loyalty, man

do i even have to say that rose is his favorite cousin? he just connects with her so easily.

teddy is his best bro, so of course james was teddy’s best man and teddy was his.

holy harpies number one fan.

impatient. big time

“there’s nothing wrong in being weird. and there’s nothing wrong with being average.”

their loves is as intense as fire, but his heart is golden

you can’t make fire feel afraid

his favorite sitcom/show is how i met your mother. he believes in robin scherbatsky supremacy

he asked his best friend, iago zabinni, to the yule ball, because he knew how badly iago wanted to go and how heartbroken iago was because the boy he liked didn’t invite him. they had a great time.

james is an aries

when he plays quidditch, he’s a beater

“be gay, do crimes.”

honestly, think about sokka and zuko in one person

#james sirius potter #james sirius potter headcanons #headcanons #heyvivalapluto headcanons #hp headcanon #hp #harry potter #ginny weasley #hinny

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ofheroesandvillains · 5 years ago

Text

To Catch A Ghost 2 - B.Russo

Words: 2.5k Warnings: None Summary: You find a way in.

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for reading and commenting on part 1. It’s a bit of a slow start - bear with me. I did some research for this chapter and it was super underwhelming. Reader is a sniper in this story and the US military doesn't have much info on them so...creative licence and all that. The squad mentioned is not real (to my knowledge).

(Not my gif, credit to the creator!)

“He got any family? Friends?”

“Grew up in the system. Surrogate family was gunned down in broad daylight.”

“The Castles.”

You remembered hearing about that particular tragedy on the news. Your eyes travelled to the black and white photo paperclipped to Russo’s profile. They both looked like hell, covered in dirt and sweat-soaked clothes, but their smiles were blinding.

“That’s right. Castle’s skipped town until this mess with the CIA dies down, so he shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Alright. Anyone else I should know about?”

“Curtis Hoyle. Former Navy SARC.”

“Connection?”

“They served together. Hoyle runs group therapy sessions at St. John’s for vets - sessions funded by Russo.”

---------

3 months later...

Most assumed that Billy Russo was a man of fine taste - he had enough money, good-looks, and charm to ensure that people swiftly forgot that he was the product of a broken and abusive system. That was Billy Russo the businessman, and while he took his job very seriously, that man would never be who he really was.

Billy Russo was a soldier. A man who was happy to get his hands dirty if it meant getting the job done. And his hands had been covered in so much blood lately, he could barely recognise them. It was all worth it, of course. He’d do anything for Frank, and if that meant putting his benefactor six feet under, then he’d do it with a smile on his face. And he did.

Thinking about Rawlins put a bad taste in his mouth. To know that he’d been reliant on the bastard responsible for tearing Frankie’s family apart, his family apart…if he could kill him again, he would.

Unfortunately, killing Rawlins had left ANVIL in a precarious position. The company had been slowly gaining a reputation, but he knew these things took time.

Not only was his biggest investor gone, but he’d also lost a lot of Rawlins’ contacts and personnel. Recruitment was slow. Though ANVIL was kept out of the papers after all that went down with Rawlins, his employees knew about the investigation and many had jumped off what they believed was a sinking ship. His credibility had gone down and building it back up was costing him money he didn’t have.

Money he wasn’t sure he’d make without that elusive government contract he’d been chasing.

“Goddamn it.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. The numbers in his excel spreadsheet were starting to blur together, and he wasn’t sure how much more he could take on two hours of sleep. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to see Frank. He wanted to talk to Curtis.

He wanted to do anything but what he was doing.

---------

“My cover?”

“Will have to be military - Keres Squad. You have the training, and the confidentiality will allow minimal exposure when he inevitably starts snooping. I’ve called in a favour with the DoD, we’re working on making this air-tight.”

“Why does it feel like you’re turning me into a female version of Russo?”

“He’ll be more sympathetic if you share similarities. The more of himself he sees in you, the more likely he’ll be to take you on.”

“Which fortune teller told you that crap? The more we have in common, the more he’ll dig.”

Coulson’s lips twitched into a barely-there smile.

“Yes, and you’re going to let him.”

---------

After months of watching him, you’d come to learn that ANVIL was pretty much Billy Russo’s entire life. He worked hard, you’d give him that, but that was pretty much all he did. Some nights he’d go out and find himself a distraction, others would be spent away on a job. But there was one day each fortnight that was untouchable.

Every second Thursday would see him out of ANVIL by midday, cheque in hand, and a small smile on his face. Today was one of those days, and the wait was finally over.

“You don’t have to do that, Ri.”

You shooed Curtis away when he tried to take the chair off your hands.

“And you don’t have to sit here listening to our crap every week, but you do. ‘Cause you’re a good guy.”

Curtis smiled wide and his eyes narrowed.

“That your roundabout way of complimenting yourself?”

“Hey, you’re the one always preaching about acknowledging the good inside each of us,” you recited with a pointed look.

He shoved your shoulder in good humour.

“Alright, smartass.”

You smiled. Curtis was a damn good guy, one of the most likeable people you’d met so far. But damn, as soon as he considered someone a friend, or worse, his responsibility, there was no chance of getting out of some serious talking. So when you turned around after stacking the last chair, you weren’t surprised to see him studying you as he so often did.

“Can I ask you something?” He crossed his arms, that appraising look in his eyes.

Of all the tough nuts he’d had to crack in his life, you’d been one of the toughest. He wasn’t quite sure he’d cracked you at all, to be honest.

“And don’t get me wrong, I’m happy you’re here - hell, I’m proud of you. You got a good head on your shoulders.”

“So do you, Curt.” You huffed a laugh. “What’s the question?”

Curtis shrugged, and you could see his discomfort plain as day - he wasn’t one to hide his feelings. You knew there was a question he was dying to ask, one he never wanted to ask one of his people - why are you here?

Or at least a variation of it...you gave Curtis Hoyle credit, he was sharper than you thought he’d be. That was a problem for another day.

“Do these sessions help you?”

He’d never drive anyone who needed help away, and he knew better than most that some people hid their scars better than others - especially those trained to do so.

But you were something he’d never be able to understand, not really.

Soldiers...they were used to an enemy they could see, one they could fire at. Most of your life was spent killing ghosts stuck in the shadows - people like yourself. There came a point where feeling no longer came into question. Desensitisation was a blessing in your line of work.

You couldn’t tell Curtis that, because no matter how much it felt like it, he wasn’t your friend. He was just another person who knew the woman you were pretending to be - Sergeant Riley Jameson, Keres Squad Sniper, doesn’t talk much about what happened over there. And he was absolutely vital to your investigation.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t truth in your answer, a truth you’d never thought to confront before. On those days you spent alone in the cabin with nothing but time, you refused to admit to yourself that maybe you missed your old life a little more than you let on.

Sometimes you hoped for a knock on the door, a familiar face to try and rope you into a familiar situation.

You might even thank Coulson for this opportunity in the end.

“I just...sometimes I miss it, y’know? I mean, yeah, some of the things I’ve done…” you shook your head. “But there’s that familiarity to it all, that routine that kinda becomes the new normal after a while - a place to belong, a family you become a part of. It never really leaves you.”

He didn’t say a word, and you were grateful. It was the first time you spoke about something like this in the month you’d been attending his sessions. You’d admit that things were easier around Curtis though. They needed to be or you’d get nowhere.

“So maybe I deal with it better, but I think I do need to be here...just to feel that familiarity without itching for a gun in my hand again, y’know?”

A beat passed where he just stared at you, and then he smiled one of the softest smiles you’d seen him wear. It looked a lot like the one Clint had given you when you’d hit your first bullseye.

“Did that- did that make sense?”

“Absolutely.”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t Curtis who replied. William Russo, you recalled, had a voice like velvet. And his steps were annoyingly silent.

Right on time.

“Well, well,” Curtis teased with a grin. “Look who it is.”

They met each other halfway, sharing genuine smiles and a hug for good measure.

“How you doin’, man?”

“Gettin’ out of bed is a bastard, but I’m still kickin’.”

“Damn right, you are.” Russo smiled.

“Oh,” Curtis shot you an inviting smile and waved you over. “Billy Russo, meet Riley Jameson. Ri, this is that hotshot CEO I was tellin’ you about the other week.”

Billy’s brows arched. His suit was immaculate, his hair and beard groomed to perfection, and not for the first time since you started this assignment did you wonder just how someone got that lucky.

There was a spark of recognition in his eyes when Curtis introduced you, but ‘Billy the friend’ quickly slipped back into ‘Billy the CEO’. It was one of the reasons you hated espionage - no one was ever themselves. Everyone had a different face to show each person they knew, and you didn’t have the time or patience to figure out which one was real.

Come to think of it, that was why you hated human interaction in general.

“Well, damn. It is a small world,” Billy said with a smile.

As small as I need it to be, you thought with a smile of your own. Curtis’ gaze darted between you in a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“You two know each other?”

“In passing,” you answered. “It’s nice to see you again, Marine.”

Russo laughed, flashing those pearly whites with a contagious smile.

“Likewise.” His smile died down and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m uh, I’m sorry about that, by the way. Couldn’t help but overhear…”

You waved him off.

“It’s no problem, Mr Russo.”

“Billy, please.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and there was a sudden intensity in his dark eyes. “Y’know, if you find yourself missing it very often, you’re more than welcome to come by ANVIL and see how things work.”

“Billy,” Curtis warned.

Billy held his hands up in surrender, lips quirking into a bashful smile. “I’m just sayin’. The offer’s always there.”

You cocked a brow. “ANVIL? That’s the security company, right?”

He seemed to perk up at your interest, and you heard Curtis sigh quietly.

“We focus on reintegrating ex-soldiers like yourself back into the world in an environment more suited to their skill set.”

“Sounds like hard work.”

“It can be,” he nodded. “But it’s worth it.”

His lithe fingers plucked a card from the inner pocket of his suit.

“Here, feel free to call or swing by sometime. I could give you a tour of the facility.”

You took the sleek card with a nod.

“Thanks, I might take you up on that.” You smiled and looked to an unusually silent Curtis. He wasn’t quick enough to wipe the frown off his face.

“Well, I should probably head off. I’ll see you next week, Curt.”

“Yeah, of course.” Curtis clapped a hand onto your shoulder. “Thanks again for helping out.”

“No problem. It was nice seeing you, Mr Russo.”

“And you, Miss Jameson.” He smiled politely, the words rolling off his tongue like a purr.

“Riley.” You called out from the doorway, and he responded in kind.

“Billy.”

He watched you disappear for the second time, this time with a satisfied smile. Your first encounter had left him intrigued, and he’d even admit to hoping for a second whenever he went to his little bar after a particularly rough day. It hadn’t happened, and he’d almost forgotten that one night entirely.

“Don’t even think about it, Russo,” Curtis said with an amused shake of his head.

“It’s nothing.”

Curtis rolled his eyes. Billy would have been a lot more convincing if he wasn’t still staring at the doorway. “I’m serious, man. She’d hand you your own ass on a silver platter.”

He turned his stare to Curtis with a devious smirk.

“My kind of girl then?”

Curtis glowered at him, but it only earned him a chuckle.

“I’m just messing with you, man. After all that shit with Madani...” Billy shook his head and ignored the sympathetic look Curtis shot his way. “What’s her story, anyway?”

“Who, Riley? She doesn’t like talking about it.”

Yeah, no kidding, Billy thought. He couldn’t even get a name out of you, and it was clear that Curtis was going to respect that.

“Nothin’ at all?”

“Look, I know that thing with Rawlins hit ANVIL hard. You need new recruits, I get that. But I don’t know about this one, man. You have no idea how hard it is to get a read on that woman. The shit she had to do...something tells me I don’t wanna know about it.”

Billy’s eyes darkened and Curtis should have known that that would be the wrong thing to say.

“Spec Ops?”

He hesitated, and Billy could almost see the conflict play out in his head. The confidentiality between his group pitted against the trust he had in his friends. His friends would always win, and they both knew that. But something else was at play here that Billy didn’t know about.

There was a wariness in his old friend. He didn’t blame Billy for working with Rawlins, he hadn’t known about the man’s role in the death of the Castles, after all. But Billy had always wanted more. As someone who’d grown up with nothing, the prospect of having the best, of earning it and affording it, was something that fueled a lot of his choices.

He wanted ANVIL to thrive and that meant having the best employees. He’d listened when warned about Lewis, but these were desperate times and Curtis worried about his friend’s judgement. Someone like Riley could be a great asset, but she was far too closed off to be entirely trustworthy.

His shoulders slumped and he sighed.

“Keres Squad.”

“No shit?” Billy’s brows arched. They’d all heard the rumours: an elite squad of female snipers. The theory was that they were easier to overlook, and physiologically more suited to the position, but the military never seemed to give that much thought.

Curtis shook his head. “That’s all I’m saying. Just...promise me you’ll be careful.”

A genuine seriousness settled over them both and Billy nodded. “You know I will.”

Between Rawlins and Madani, he had learned a valuable lesson in trust. That was something he wouldn’t be giving away so freely. He was done with those games, the next person that came for him or for his company would be leaving in a body-bag.

“Enough about that, it’s not why I’m here anyway.”

“If you’re offering me a job again, you can forget about that too!”

Billy laughed.

---------

“You rang?”

“Where were you?”

“Getting that therapy you keep telling me I need. Don't worry, he hasn’t found me out yet.”

“Is it done?”

“Of course. You have any news for me?”

“Stark fundraiser in Manhattan next week. I’ll have Vivian make contact. If he goes for it, it’ll give you time to bug the place.”

“Oh, he’ll go for it. He can’t afford not to.”

“Good. Keep me-”

“Updated, yeah. I got it.”

“And, Nine?”

“Yeah?”

“...be careful.”

---------

Not sure how I feel about this one.

TAGS: @its-my-little-dumpster-fire, @sylphene, @ariminiria, @gollyderek

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fic #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfiction #the punisher #the punisher fanfiction

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inkribbon796 · 4 years ago

Text

Rules of the Game Ch. 1

Chapter 1: Angling the Deck

Summary: With the deck stacked so unfavorably against Dark, he decides to even the playing field a little bit.

A/N: Briefly touches on Logan dealing with stuff that I will touch on more in future fics. Like PTSD from a previous fic.

Chapters: 1, 2

He’d snuck out dozens of times to hang out with his friends late at night, it was almost routine and if his mom or siblings knew then they didn’t talk about it.

So a young fifteen-year-old boy snuck out of his mother’s small house and walked out into the streets, hoodie pulled down although he doubted many of his father’s friends would’ve recognized him by sight.

Deeper into downtown Brighton he met up with some of his friends to engage in some of their usual antics: spray painting and generally pissing off the locals.

So he snuck into an alleyway next to a cafe where two of his friends were already working on something. They had climbed onto a fire escape to get higher

“Hey, Paddy, yah piece ‘a shite,” one of the other teens threw him a spray can. “Took yeh ages.”

“I got here, didn’t I?” Paddy walked over to the bag.

“While yer down there, can yah pass me a blue?” His friend asked.

“Only if yah catch,” Paddy smiled and tossed the can up, perfectly landing in his hand.

They started joking and laughing, until a shrill ringing echoed through the alley. A man in a dark grey suit stood at the mouth of the alley, all four kids froze where they were.

“Pádraig,” Dark smiled, an expression that. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“The hell yah want?” Paddy spat at him, looking for possible weapons or an exit.

Dark smiled at the young man, “Oh no, you have it all wrong, Mr. Brody. It’s what I can do for you.”

Chase walked into the main common area for the base. The atmosphere was tense, as if he’d just missed something. Logan was sitting with Patton in the corner of the main area, chair back against the corner of the room and a small tray table next to him with a cup of coffee. Patton was just happily talking to Logan who was leaning into him and reading a book.

Logan was always awake when Chase was up, which was a problem because Chase was a known insomniac and he often found Logan tucked away reading some book with Virgil sleeping against him or working on something with dark circles under his eyes.

He didn’t think Logan was sleeping, the Sides explained that he was having nightmares whenever someone asked, and it was hard for him to go to sleep afterward. His only hope was that he would find a method to deal with them in time.

Today looked like one of those bad afternoons, the kind where Logan didn’t talk about anything and bury his attention in a book or some project.

Marvin seemed a bit too eager to leave with Seán and Chase, all three of them in plain casual clothes, even if Marvin took forever to cast an illusion over his face to cover up the scars he’d gotten years ago. But eventually Chase got into his car with Marvin and Seán and they started driving.

Normally Chase stayed away from his ex, they’d been divorced for years, almost five years now and even before then Chase and Stacy had been having issues. Chase’s alcoholism and recklessness being chief among them. Chase was only allowed visitation to his kids if there was someone else with him. Even then Chase was sadly certain that his visits were only for his sake, not anyone else’s.

But Damien and Chase had talked about their families. Dark had been vague, but Chase hadn’t. It’d been a couple days since Damien had been unmasked as a manipulative, demonic mob boss . . . and Chase had put his family in danger by buying into the illusion.

So after a call to his ex that turned into an angry argument, he was driving over to talk in person.

Chase appreciated driving, he got to focus on something else. Halfway into their trip, uneasy tension in the car that was only kept back by random pop songs on the radio, Marvin spoke up.

“I think Logan’s got a fear ‘a knives now,” Marvin commented seriously as they drove, turning down the radio a bit. “Completely understandable, but something people should be aware ‘a so we don’t set him off.”

“Somethin’ happen?” Chase asked.

“Logan was inta the book he was reading an’ I was showin’ Ethan some of my knives, an’ my hand slipped. Thin’ hit the table an’ Logan stiffened like I’d thrown it at ‘im. Ran outta the room an’ didn’t come back fer a half an hour. When he did, it was with Patt.”

“What the fook was he doing spyin’ on Dark?” Seán demanded. “He almost died.”

“We know if he’s seein’ anybody ‘bout this?” Chase asked.

“Lo’s always kinda kept ta the Sides, I probably know more ‘bout Virgil than I do ‘bout him,” Marvin admitted. “Even if he was, I doubt he’d tell us right now.”

“Think kickin’ the shit outta Dark would help?” Seán asked, texting Stacy, warning her that they were getting closer.

“It’d make me feel better,” Marvin promised.

When they finally got to her house, Stacy was already at the front door. She glared at them as they got out of the car, “He sober?”

“Dry as one ‘a yer funnel cakes,” Marvin held up the paper. “Doc couldn’t be here ta speak fer himself.”

She took the paper which was a full drug and B.A.C test, which was the reason they’d come over at mid-day and not earlier. It was full of signatures to verify it from not just Chase and the other Septics, but Mark and Logan as well. Stacy read through it before turning to Chase, “Paddy’s out wit’ his friends, if he’s not back before yah leave there’s nothing I can do.”

“Okay,” Chase said, his mind remembering the last argument he’s gotten into with his eldest son. The thing that almost cut off even talking to his kids after the mess with Anti.

“First off, what were yah thinking?” She spat at Chase, starting to argue with him outside her house.

“I thought he was my friend,” Chase defended.

“Hey, look, he got all ‘a us, an’ who knows what other identities he was able ta get?” Seán cut in. “We all thought he was on level. We all fooked up, I was the one who told Chase ta help watch that asshole.”

“You guys don’t get ta let him off the hook either,” Stacy reminded. “This isn’t the first time he’s put his own bloody kids at risk. It was fine when it was the two of us, but yah folks weren’t here when he was drunk and blathering on ta everyone who would listen.”

“I wasn’t drunk when I was talking ta him,” Chase insisted.

“You’re not drunk now,” Stacy held up the paper. “But you’ve lied and been fucked on the job.”

“I’ve been sober for months!” Chase insisted.

“We have him tested regularly,” Marvin cut in, pulling out his phone and pulling up the record of test results that Henrik had given him access to. “The brainiacs keep a full digital record ‘a it, the only thin’ he’s got in his system is caffeine an’ nicotine. An’ you can’t blame the guy fer switchin’ one fer the other.”

“Fine,” Stacy allowed, turning to the front door. “Come in then.”

The instant they were inside, Marvin was tackled by Chase and Stacy’s two ten-year-old twins.

“Magic Man!” They cheered as they pulled on his coat.

The girl twin jumped up excitedly, two fistfuls of Marvin’s coat, “Show us a trick!”

“I wanna see a magic trick!” The boy twin repeated, pulling on the other side of his coat. Marvin smiled and summoned three small orbs of green fire and started moving them around and doing tricks with them.

He smiled at the other adults, “I’ve got the kiddos.”

“Don’t burn my house down,” Stacy ordered.

The boy’s eyes seem to glow in excitement, looking over at Marvin and the fireballs he had. “Give ‘em to me.”

“Not on yer life,” Marvin smiled at him.

“Hey Lills, hey Tee,” Chase smiled.

“Hey Daddy,” Lily smiled back at him.

“Tell Marvin ta give me the fire,” T.B demanded.

“No,” Chase already had this look of resigned exasperation as he looked at Stacy, “How do yeh manage?”

“I don’t give ‘em fire ta play wit’ and that usually works,” Stacy reminded sharply.

Marvin was left with the kids, showing them magic tricks — some with actual magic and others with just some slight of hand — as Seán and Chase went into the kitchen to talk.

The talk was a bit hostile as Chase explained the whole situation, but it calmed down after a while. They were just standing around talking. After a while they agree that Marvin would ward the house, and she’d call Chase or Seán if anything changed.

After that point, Stacy looked a bit uneasy, “So, I wasn’t gonna mention it, but yah guys seem actually serious ‘bout this.”

“We are,” Chase agreed. “I am.”

“So Paddy always sneaking off every night, and usually it’s not that big a deal since I know the boys, but he’s been coming home busted up sometimes and other times he doesn’t come back till after school the next day.”

“Yah know where he’s been goin’?” Chase asked.

“Which excuse yah want?” Stacy offered. “At this point I’ve heard ‘em all and then some. He even joked he’d joined a gang ta get me to drop the subject.”

“Has he?” Seán asked in concern. “There’s lots’a bad groups in the area.”

“I don’t know if his friends formed a gang or what, but I know it’s something dangerous because he came home with a busted finger, and said he sprained it.”

“How long has this been goin’ on?” Chase asked.

“Bout a week, I’d reckon,” Stacy admitted.

“Mind if we follow the kid fer a bit,” Seán offered. “If it’s just a bunch of kids taggin’ a wall or pushing some cars, we’ll just slap ‘em on the wrist an’ send ‘em home. If not, then we’ll see what we can do from there.”

“If yah boys are already going out,” Stacy agreed.

“Right, I’ll get Marv started,” Seán stood up. “Hey, Catboy an’ his Magic Hands, we got a job.”

When Seán walked back into the living room, Marvin had the two twins around him, one had his cape and Lily had her hand in one of his magical top hats.

“I think I got it,” Lily smiled and pulled out a very confused and angry American opossum from the hat. Marvin startled in surprise. “I got it!”

The opossum hissed and wiggled in her grip. Marvin drove and shoved the marsupial back into the hat and took it away from her. “Good job,” he smiled nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work.”

“No!” The both yelled at Marvin.

“I’ll be back, just need ta check something an’ I can do one more magic act,” Marvin promised and Chase knocked on Paddy’s door. Seán was walking around the house with Stacy to check for anything suspicious.

“So,” Marvin started as they walked into the room. “Yeh want the good news, the bad news, or the funny news?”

“Good,” Chase sighed, walking over to Paddy’s closet and quickly looking for anything out of place. Like bullet holes in one of the shirts or a strangely immaculate 1,000 dollar suit that a fifteen-year-old who ran around town at night and wrote graffiti had no reason to own . . . unless he worked for Dark.

“So Lills is definitely gonna be a powerful magician one day, if she isn’t already, she’s got way more potential than any kid I’ve seen in years,” Marvin praised confidently as Chase tried to disturb the least amount of things possible, looking under his son’s bed as Marvin continued. “I mean who summons a demon rat from a hat instead ‘a rabbit?”

“Pretty sure opossums aren’t rats,” Chase reminded.

“Hey, I didn’t go to school for biology so I could use it,” Marvin huffed. “I got it so I could pervert the laws ‘a nature.”

“Yeah, no need ta remind me,” Chase muttered under his breath as he stood up.

“What was that?” Marvin glared at him.

“Nothin’,” Chase told him sharply. “Kay, his room’s clean.”

“What should I use?” Marvin shrugged.

Chase reached into the laundry basket and pulled out a dark red hoodie at the bottom of, tossing it to the magician. Then Chase grabbed the entire laundry basket and dragged out of the room and towards the laundry room. “So what’s the bad news?”

“Anti wasn’t blowing smoke up yer ass, she’s powerful an’ she needs direction,” Marvin said.

“No,” Chase denied, setting the basket down a little harder than necessary. “Even if it was up ta me, Stacy is gonna say no.”

“It’s either us or the villains,” Marvin reminded. “An’ I’m sick and tired of them having a stranglehold over this whole place. We made a huge strike against Dark, an’ now we gotta focus on Anti.”

Chase wiped his hands down his face, “Just, ask Stacy, I can’t say yes or no either way.”

“Fine,” Marvin snapped. “She’ll say no, but fine.”

“What was the funny news?” Chase tried to change the conversation.

“Tee’s got a new nickname,” Marvin answered. “Paddy an’ his friends gave it ta him.”

Chase held his breath a little bit, “What is it?”

“Toss Boy,” Marvin smiled.

“Why—” Chase started, but he paused. “Yah know, it’s not as bad as the last one.”

“Paddy competes with Roman fer givin’ the best nicknames,” Marvin smiled.

The three Septics eventually had to leave, Paddy still gone and Stacy agreeing to call if he showed back up while Marvin and the two other two Septics went back to the base with Chase’s son’s hoodie to start a tracking spell, Marvin more than a bit salty that Stacy had denied him taking Lily under his wing as an apprentice. But he was joking around while he worked.

“Here we go,” Marvin had Paddy’s hoodie in one had and a large needle in the other.

“We need anythin’ else?” Seán was already back in his Jackieboy costume.

“An apprentice,” Marvin reminded.

“No,” Chase told as Chase and Jackie began following the magician out into the city to find Paddy.

Marvin huffed and they started following Paddy’s trail.

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lilliloves · 5 years ago

Note

“you say you’ll stop, but then you keep doing it!” 😘

A little Brio Thanksgiving randomness because, why not? Thanks for the prompt

It’s Beth’s first Thanksgiving as an ex-wife so she’s not entirely sure what to make of it. On one hand it’s been a few months now and she’s gotten accustomed to the fact that she’s no longer in a marriage. On the other hand, she can see why the holiday season might feel a bit lonelier this time around.

That’s not to say she’d change anything.

She’s been awake since the sun came up preparing Thanksgiving dinner. The turkey would be done soon and she had herself in pretty good shape with all of the sides and accompaniments. She’s been baking for the last week so desserts are all set.

Annie and Sadie and the Hills are coming over which she decides is a good thing. It certainly helps to make things feel more normal and she hopes the company will distract the kids from remembering that their dad is missing, thereby reminding them of the divorce. They’re slowly adjusting but everyone, Beth included, is still getting used to the new normal.

She takes a deep breath and goes over her mental to-do list. There’s really not much else to do but re-heat before they sit down to eat and that won’t be for over an hour. She expects her guests any minute now and can hear the kids playing with toys and video games in the other room.

Beth pushes a piece of stray hair out of her face - she’d gotten ready earlier but could probably use a refresh.

Just as she convinces herself that she can take a break - the oven timer goes off indicating that the turkey is done. She smiles and grabs two oven mitts off of the counter before turning to remove the meat from the oven.

Beth hears the back door open but it doesn’t register right away. She’s too concerned with not dropping the twenty pound bird she’s pulling from the oven. It’s perfectly golden brown and moist (or, as moist as a turkey can be). She can tell she’s done well and she beams with joy.

“Looks good, ma.” She hears from behind her as she places the pan on the stove. She yelps in surprise and drops the mitts in her hand before spinning around.

“Jesus.” She says loudly, her hand over her heart beating in her chest. Her expression earns a grin from the man across from her. His hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans and a smirk covers his face.

She rolls her eyes and smooths her hair back subconsciously - or maybe not.

“Can you please use the front door like a normal person.” She demands and her tone is impatient but she’s obviously not serious. It’s not the first time she’s said it and it won’t be the last but she doesn’t believe he’ll ever do it.

She’s pretty sure she doesn’t really want him to anyway. She likes how comfortable he feels around here - isn’t sure what exactly it means but she’s getting closer to being ready to find out.

He ignores her request the same way he always does and settles into the stool at the kitchen counter. He leans forward resting his weight on his forearms.

“Got a last minute shipment comin’ in tomorrow. Eight cars.”

“Rio.” She says, trying hard not to let her impatience show. “It’s the day after a holiday.”

“Ain’t a holiday in Canada.”

She bites her tongue and thinks it over before answering. Dean is picking the kids up for the weekend tonight so that’s not the problem - it’s just - she’s been looking forward to taking the day to herself.

“What time?”

“Between 8 and 9.” He replies, tilting his head as if he knows she won’t be satisfied with his answer.

She’s about to ask between which 8 and 9 when he adds:

“In the morning.”

She groans, taking a step towards the counter. Only the island stands between them and she can see the glint in his eyes, can tell he gets some kind of sick enjoyment out of riling her up.

“I’m working my ass off today.” She says, waving her arms around at the food on the counter. “And you want me to be at the dealership before eight in the morning on what was supposed to be my day off?”

“Don’t remember you requestin’ a personal day, sweetheart.”

She rolls her eyes and considers chucking something at his head but thinks better of it. Thinks he’d only find that more amusing. She turns back towards the stove, taking a closer look at the turkey to make sure it’s cooked to the correct internal temperature. When she’s confident it’s done, she turns back around and faces him.

“I’ll be there for the delivery but I’m not doing inventory until Monday.” She concedes, raising her eyebrows, daring him to argue.

“Deal.” He says with a nod, leaning his chin into his hand.

She’s relieved but not surprised. They’ve somehow sorted this partnership out so well that it actually works. She thinks he might even enjoy it sometimes, she knows she does.

Beth turns again, lighting the stovetop in front of her, ready to start her gravy. She can feel his gaze on her back - more likely on her ass - and waits for him to keep talking or stand up to leave or something but he doesn’t. Just continues to burn a hole into her backside until she can’t take the silence anymore.

“You could have called you know. Or texted.” She says, breaking the silence. She looks at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You didn’t have to come all the way over here on Thanksgiving.”

He shrugs and picks up a spoon on the counter next to him. “That ain’t as fun, though.”

He eyes the choices in front of him before settling on the stuffing to his left. He sticks his spoon into it and takes a large spoonful, ruining the perfect bowl she’d dished out earlier.

“Seriously?” She asks, annoyed (but not).

He ignores her and sticks his spoon back into the breading to take another bite.

“This shit is good.” He says with a mouthful before meeting her eyes. “Stove top?”

Beth glares and tosses the dish towel next to her at his face. It’s insulting for him to even think for a second that she’d make any sort of stuffing from a box - on Thanksgiving no less. He ducks, missing the towel flying at his head only barely. She only lets him off the hook because the glint in his eyes makes it clear he’s messing with her.

He’s always messing with her.

He reaches forward to take another bite but Beth slaps his hand away. He laughs loudly but tosses the utensil down, holding his arms up in surrender.

She chuckles, lowering her head down before looking back up at him.

“Seriously. Why are you here?”

“Wanted to tell you how thankful I am for you.”

He’s joking, obviously, but a flush appears on her cheeks regardless.

“Very funny.” And then she changes the subject quickly before he can say something crazy like he actually means it.

“What are you doing today?”

“Goin’ to my sister’s but not ‘til three.”

“Where’s Marcus?” She asks even though she’s pretty sure she knows the answer.

“With his ma.” He says confirming her suspicions.

Beth has come to know Rio well - sometimes she thinks he pulls back from her because he realizes just how well. It wasn’t intentional - that much she knows, but one way or another they’ve both wormed their way into the other’s life. Something had changed between them after they’d become partners. An understanding had been met, albeit silently.

She knows that if he did have Marcus today there’s no way he’d be here right now.

She thinks sometimes he uses her as a way to quell his loneliness and she’s okay with it - likes it, if she’s being honest, thinks she’s started to do the same with him since her divorce.

She turns when she hears the broth behind her boiling and spoons a bit of flour, mixing half heartedly. Before he’d appeared her mind had been focused on one thing only - now, she’s distracted.

She should be used to his affect on her by now.

Behind her, Rio quietly picks up the spoon to sneak another bite of stuffing but he’s not quick enough - she twirls around and catches him and he won’t lie - he feels like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You say you’ll stop but then you keep doing it!” Beth says with a look not all too different than the one his mother has given him for years. While it may be the same look - it doesn’t result in the same reaction from him. The look from his mother clearly never left him wanting.

He shrugs but dips his spoon in anyway and bites back a smile when she huffs but let’s him get away with it. Same as his ma. It’s his charm - he knows - that gets him off the hook time after time.

He hears little footsteps rush into the kitchen behind him and turns his head to find Jane at his back.

“Mommy, I’m hungry.” She says before turning to Rio.

“Hi Mr. Rio.”

“Hey, kid.”

She smiles at him but turns back to her mother, expectantly.

“Aunt Annie and Aunt Ruby will be here soon with the appetizers.” Beth responds, glancing at the clock. It’s a few minutes after noon, the time she’d told them to arrive.

She’s pleased when Jane doesn’t fight her and turns to run back towards her brothers and sister.

“Annie and Sadie are coming over soon.” Beth says, looking pointedly at Rio. She expects he’ll take it as his cue to leave but he doesn’t budge.

So she adds: “Ruby and her family too.”

He hums in acknowledgement but isn’t phased.

“You know. With her husband. The cop.”

“I like cops.” He says with a smirk that’s akin to a Cheshire Cat. It’s a smirk she’s all too familiar with but not in the mood to indulge.

“Rio.”

He holds his hands up in surrender for the second time since he’s been there and pushes his stool back to stand.

She sighs because she doesn’t want him to go, not exactly, but it’s all so complicated.

Complicated in a way she wishes it wasn’t.

“Do you -“ she starts and then stops, tripping over her words. She pauses for a beat and then -

“Do you want to stay?”

“Told you I was going to my sister’s.” He replies but it’s not a no or a yes.

“We eat early.” She says with a shrug attempting to appear more casual then she feels.

“You can eat with us and then go. If you want.”

He narrows his eyes and she thinks he’s actually considering it when he speaks up again.

“Weren’t you just kickin’ me out?”

“I’m just trying to be nice.” She answers, annoyed. She turns around and stirs her gravy more for something to do than out of necessity.

Beth hears rustling behind her, can sense he’s moving closer, but she wills herself not to turn, not to tense as he approaches. She jumps when she feels his hands hit her waist.

“How ‘bout I come back later?”

His question takes her by surprise - they’d not gone there yet. Had been circling closer but there had only been innuendo and flirting since that time in the bathroom at the bar. What seemed like ages ago now.

She swallows and turns. His hands stay firmly planted on her hips, gripping her sweater between his fingers. She’s flush against him, can feel his body heat, and it’s enough to make her sweat.

“Later?” She questions even though she’s pretty sure she knows what he means.

“Yeah. Tonight.”

She nods and twists her hands together, unsure where to put them. She knows where she wants to put them. She wants to grip his shoulders and close the distance between them and kiss him, hard.

But she refrains like she’s been doing for months now.

“Dean’s picking the kids up at seven.” She answers quietly because she knows what it means - knows that everything changes if he comes over tonight.

He nods and moves one hand up so that it’s cupping the back of her neck. He squeezes and leans forward but before he can give her what she wants - what they both want - they hear the front door open and the commotion of holiday guests entering the house

He gives her one last squeeze and a wink before he pushes away from her and makes his way towards the back door. He pulls the door open but before he leaves he turns and nods at her.

“Save me some of that stuffin’, yeah?”

#beth x rio #nbc good girls #my prompts #happy thanksgiving!#my fic

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pynkhues · 5 years ago

Note

5 and 11 from the October prompt list! 🙃

“I might just kiss you.” / “It’s not always like this.”

+ anon prompt: Alright I know you probably have a bunch of these but I have a prompt for Playing House. Prompt: Rio has a really tough day at work(like real shitty) and Beth senses it even though he tries to put on a brave face for her and the kids. She does/plans something to make him feel special and loved.

(This was actually originally just based on your prompt, @lilliloves, but anon prompted this today and it fit wonderfully, so I hope you both don’t mind sharing!)

Set in The Centre and Circumference / Domestic Fic universe

(Early-ish. Probably three or four months after I Could Be Your Welcome + See You in the Light)

There’s blood at his knuckles.

Ain’t the first time, and he’s sure it won’t be the last, but still – he finds his gaze fixed briefly on it anyway, flexing his hand, feeling the ache in it already. His skin ain’t split though, which means the blood belongs to the guy in front of him, this wiry fuck who’s already spat out two of his teeth on the floor between them, drool oozin’ out of his mouth, so thick with blood it’s almost black, and ain’t that a picture, Rio thinks, resting back into his heels.

His gaze flicks to Demon, and it’s all it takes for him to start rolling the silencer onto his gun.

“No, please,” Vinny moans, squirming back against the chair, hiccupping, feet leavin’ smears of dirt against the concrete floor of the warehouse. “I’ve got a family, I’ve got kids.”

And sure, Rio thinks, rolling his head back towards Vinny, keepin’ his face carefully blank. There’s a chill in the air, but Rio ain’t feelin’ it, not in here, not with the heat of the fight still thunderin’ through his veins, not with the righteous fury still boilin’ in his gut because shit, none of them should even be here, none of them would if it wasn’t for Vinny. Rio raises an eyebrow, pulling his expression into a look of faux care.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, yes, they - - I have - - my eldest is barely six years old. You know Emily. She’s just started school, she - -”

“You think about her when you stole my product?” Rio asks, voice lowly drawlin’. “You think about that little girl when you took out the connect?”

At least that’s enough to shut the fucker up, leave him splutterin’ on his own blood like he’s bein’ waterboarded, and Rio just watches him. Watches the lines of his throat twitch, his blackened eye swelling shut. He remembers getting shawarma with the guy. Remembers beers at Cisco’s. Thinks he might even remember the guy’s daughter for real – blonde, dimpled, all puppy fat cute like one of his sister’s old Cabbage Patch Dolls.

Mostly though he remembers this fuckin’ trip. Remembers sending this guy, days ago, out to pick up pills from Marta in Canada only to hear that the pills were gone and Marta was dead, and this fuck was nowhere to be found, and shit.

Marta had kids too.

“Rio, man, please. I fucked up, I know that, I - -”

Rio gives Demon the nod.

Demon offers him a cigarette, but Rio shakes his head, pulling his keys out of the back pocket of his jeans as he watches Diego hurl his guts up onto the concrete a few steps away. Kid’s pretty new – can’t be much older than 21, but both Dags and Bullet had vouched for him. Said he was loyal, quiet, got the job done. They’d worked with him on one of their smaller side hustles, and Rio figured what the hell. New blood could be good for the operation. This sorta trial was always good for the new intake too – let them see what waited for ‘em if they got in their egos, if they thought they could pull one over.

And Rio had been impressed enough. The kid hadn’t complained, had helped get Vinny here, even thrown a few good punches and helped Demon clean the body of any prints or DNA before gettin’ rid of it. The vomitin’ was a good sign too, for a kid this green. Death should matter. Should scare you. It means you treat it serious. Means you ain’t cappin’ people without cause.

It’s what keeps you kickin’.

“A drink then. Fuck, I need one,” Demon says, and Rio flicks his gaze back to him. “Back to the hotel?”

And he probably should. Their rooms are already booked, paid for. They’ve been stayin’ there for a few nights – had crossed the border and holed up as soon as Rio had gotten word of Marta, knowin’ just how quick they had to move to pull Vinny out before he could burrow too deep. Knew how quickly this situation needed handlin’.

Elizabeth hadn’t liked it.

Had done that thing where she’d tried to come with him – goin’ so far this time as to pack a bag and put it in the trunk of his car, plant herself in the passenger seat, and he’d practically had to drag her outta the thing. It hadn’t been until he’d told her she needed to stay to look after the dealership, the drops, keep business runnin’ that she’d agreed (although she’d still been prickly at that).

Truth was, it hadn’t just been business – although he couldn’t exactly deny it’d been good not to have to worry about it, to trust her enough to keep it runnin’ smoothly. Hadn’t even just been about the house neither, although it had been about that too. The kids were still gettin’ used to the new house and the new routine after all, especially hers, and he’s learnt fast how quick those seeds of guilt plant in her when it comes to them, knows how easily they grow, how ripe their fruits are, had known how twisted up she’d get herself if anythin’ happened while they were in Canada and the kids were in Detroit with her sister or her friend or - - worse - - that dumbass ex of hers.

Nah, it wasn’t just that.

What it was was he didn’t like her on these jobs.

Didn’t like her reckless ass ignorin’ plans or mouthin’ off, didn’t like her stormin’ into situations like that face and that body was some sort of armor, and, hell, didn’t like none of these guys lookin’ at that face and that body. Didn’t like them seein’ her, didn’t like them standin’ so close to her, didn’t like the fact that he dreamt of it sometimes. That clenched jaw of hers, somebody else’s gun underneath it, somebody who didn’t have anythin’ stoppin’ them from pullin’ the trigger, and just - -

Shit.

Rio rubs at his head.

He does want a drink.

More than that, he wants a fuck. Wants to release this livewire of tension in him, wants to lose himself in a body underneath him, but the only body he wants is Elizabeth’s, and he could drive home tonight, but that would mean talkin’ to her. Would mean gussyin’ up to her Bambi-eyed interrogation.

She’d be in her ugly ass pyjamas, he thinks, and the picture of it comes too quickly.

Probably the ones he hates the most. The cream satin ones with those little orange flowers. Sittin’ up in their bed, nipples hard, pokin’ up through her shirt, those pale cheeks of hers flushed pink, her eyes a little wet, her hair a mess, waitin’, breathless, for him, and - -

He snorts.

Who’s he kidding?

More likely angrily scrubbin’ dishes at 2am and ready to ask him a million questions he don’t wanna answer.

Shit.

Marta and Vinny.

“You know Vinny’s family?” Rio asks, turning back towards Demon, who nods. “Send ‘em the usual?”

“50g? You wanna send it cash or wire transfer?”

Rio tilts his head from side-to-side, considering.

“Cash,” he decides. “Send a hundred to Marta’s. Deliver it in person. We’re gonna need a new connect for the pills.”

Demon just hums in affirmation, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, before he says: “I’ll stick around a few days. Get it sorted. Take it this means it’s a no for the drink?”

Rio blinks, surprised, hadn’t even quite realised that that was what he was doing, but as soon as Demon’s said it, he knows he’s right.

Thing is, it ain’t even like Elizabeth’s the first woman he’s wanted to lose himself in after bad days, just it’s barely even about fucking her at this point. Just - - he wants to bury himself in her until she’s all he can smell, until the taste of her skin is hot on his tongue, until he’s close enough to her he can count her eyelashes, and shit, that ain’t a thought he’s used to. Ain’t even one he’s particularly comfortable with.

Just - - he thinks of another cold night in the hotel alone and tense, and then thinks about bein’ home instead, thinks of her asleep, thinks of not wakin’ her to postpone her questions and the inevitable argument, thinks of crawlin’ into bed beside her, layin’ his head on her breast, the softness of her beneath him remindin’ him of all the ways he ain’t, her heartbeat fluttering beneath his ear, the way, only half awake, she runs her nails down his scalp, the way she smooths her too-smooth fingers at the base of his neck, and it’s urgent suddenly. The need in him.

He could be there in two hours.

“Call me tomorrow, yeah? Let me know how you go? Keep Diego with you. Show ‘im the ropes.”

Demon makes an acknowledging gesture with his hand, and Rio heads out into the night.

The house is dark when he pulls up, the only light comin’ from the back porch because Elizabeth swears it makes her feel safe (like the half a million dollar security system he bought doesn’t), and it means she’s not expecting him. Means she might actually be asleep. Means maybe she took him seriously for a change when he told her to stop waitin’, stop callin’, that he’d back when it was over.

He slips into the house, disarming the security system and beelining for the laundry. He kicks his shoes off, washes his face, his bruised hands in the sink, before filling it to soak his bloodied clothes in, adding the disinfectant from the cupboard, and stripping off to his boxer briefs there and then. It had been at Elizabeth’s insistence the first time he’d done this that they add the lock to the laundry room door, just to keep the kids out, and he’s glad for it now, for the ability to leave his shirt there, reddening the water, without worry.

Running a hand over his face, he grabs a pair of sweats and a t-shirt from the pile of clean laundry in the basket, steps out, fixes himself a drink at the bar cart in the living room, finishes it there alone, trying to steady his hands, his breath, to calm his frayed nerves before he allows himself the comfort of bein’ beside her. Tries to wrestle out of the maw of the last few days, of Vinny’s slack jaw and Marta in a body bag, scrubbing briefly at his face and finishing the last of his drink before starting up the stairs towards bed.

There’s somethin’ to be said there about the moonlight through the window, the too soft glow of the night outside of here, softening everything in its path, and Elizabeth is right there in the middle of it, curled up on her side in their bed, her hair fanned out against their pillows, bags beneath her eyes like she hasn’t slept well in days, which - - fuck, somethin’ in him twists at the thought, but then – right there, nestled into her chest, is Marcus.

It’s enough to make Rio stop in the doorway, dig his arm into the doorframe, enough it might leave a mark, enough it pinches. He should leave him, he thinks, slide into bed beside ‘em and leave it be, but then - -

Vinny’s blood is thick on his hands tonight, the weight of him heavy on his back, and he needs Marcus just - - away from it. Away from him, at least until the mornin’ comes, at least until he’s had the time to put this night behind him, to wash the stench of it off, and shit, he thinks, almost crawling out of his skin, leg jittery with tension beneath him. This ain’t somethin’ to be shared, not with him.

He strides quietly over to the bed, gently tugging his son out of Elizabeth’s arms, relieved more than anything when Marcus comes easily. He lifts him up, carrying him quietly down the hall and flipping on the light to his bedroom. It’s neat at least, which makes it easy to take him down, to flip over the sheets of his bed and lower his son into them. His head’s barely hit the pillow when suddenly big, dark eyes are bein’ turned on him, the kid’s little mouth fallin’ open like a spell.

“Daddy?”

“Go to sleep, pop,” Rio hums, and when Marcus tries to sit up, he gently pushes him back down.

“You’re home!”

“Nuh, but I will be tomorrow. You’re dreamin’ right now, yeah?” he keeps his voice low, dulcet, brushes his hands through Marcus’ hair, tucking him back down beneath the covers. “Faster you fall asleep, faster you’ll wake up, faster I’ll be home.”

And he doesn’t think the kid really believes it, but still, Marcus hums sleepily, happily, back at him, his eyes driftin’ shut again and Rio just - - watches him. Watches the rise and fall of his chest and the flutter of his eyelashes and he thinks how easily he could never see it again, like Marta won’t, like Vinny, and just - - shit.

He rubs a hand hard over the back of his head.

Not worth thinkin’ about now, he tells himself, slipping back out of his bedroom and heading back towards his own. It’s only then that the exhaustion really catches up with him – hits him square between the shoulders like somethin’ out of a cartoon, and he swipes at his forehead as he heads back towards their bed, gaze only flicking up to see Elizabeth sleepin’ soundly, the soft curve of her body like an invitation, and his eyes travel too easily down her, from her peaceful face to the arc of her shoulder and the dip of her waist, the long trail of her legs and - - he just - -

Stops.

There’s a lump at the foot of their bed, tangled up in the sheets, and Rio steps slowly towards it, eyeing off the mound of it when the lump squirms back suddenly, and shit, Rio thinks. He rolls his eyes, reaches for the blankets, lifting it just in time to see Jane peer back up at him, dubby in her fist, her little face scrunched up, half hidden in a bunny rabbit onesie and it must be a hand-me-down from Emma, because she’s swimmin’ in it.

“’ey,” he hums, and Jane blinks up at him, bright eyed, before she pants like a dog, wiggles her butt, goes to bark, but Rio frowns, pushes a finger to his lips and jerks his head to where Elizabeth is sleeping.

“Don’t wake your mama up. C’mon.”

He holds his hands out for her to leap into, only she pulls her face into a little scowl, shaking her head.

“No,” Jane growls, and Rio rolls his eyes again, frustration sparking in his belly.

“I ain’t playin’, darlin’, c’mon. It’s way past bedtime.”

And Jane just - - shit, she sticks out her tongue, and Rio exhales sharply, feels the stress of the day and the exhaustion of tonight press hard at his temples, but he smooths out his expression as best he can, reachin’ over to her, only she’s trying to tangle herself up in her mother’s legs, and Jesus, Elizabeth must be real tired if this don’t even wake her. Before Jane can get herself too wrapped up, Rio moves closer, pluckin’ her out of bed by the back of her onesie and pulling her unceremoniously away from Elizabeth.

He intends to lift her straight up into his arms and walk her to bed like he’d just done Marcus, but Jane starts thrashin’ the second she’s in the air, and shit, Rio grunts and then he’s gotta loosen his grip or he might accidentally hurt her, but loosenin’ his grip only serves to make Jane spring off the bed and sprint down the hallway in a flurry of pink fleece and animal ears. Behind him, Elizabeth stirs, and Rio’s head whips around, waiting for her to resettle before he moves quietly to the doorway. Jane’s standing at the top of the stairs, her little face peering out from beneath her bunny rabbit hood, and Rio frowns at her, gesturing his head to her bedroom.

Jane shakes her own head furiously in reply, and Rio exhales sharply, stepping out into the hallway, unsurprised when Jane retaliates by clutching at the railing and starting down the stairs, and shit, he thinks, picking up his step. The booties on her pyjamas are so big she’s gonna trip herself up, tumble head-first over them. He moves quickly enough to grab her underneath the arms and when she starts to yelp and thrash again, he spins her quickly in his arms, until they’re practically nose-to-nose.

“What’d you want?” he asks her, staring her down, because shit, his nerves ain’t here for tantrums tonight, and Jane just looks back at him, long and hard, little jaw rockin’, and this kid really is somethin’ else, and as much as he hates to admit it, if he were in a better mood, he might be amused.

“Special drink,” Jane settles on, and Rio arches an eyebrow at her, about to tell her it ain’t the time, but then - - shit, Elizabeth’s concoction of milk heated on the stove, honey, cloves and cinnamon really does seem to knock ‘em out. Maybe he can ground in a Nyquil to help.

“Then you go to your bed?”

Jane nods, and Rio does too, resignedly pushing her onto his hip and taking the stairs two at a time until he hits the bottom. He thinks about just depositing Jane on the couch, lettin’ her watch somethin’ bland and g-rated on the TV, but then he doesn’t really trust her not to sneak up the stairs, back beneath Elizabeth’s arm, and if she gets there again, Rio’s knows he’s gonna be subjectin’ himself to the couch.

So he deposits her on a stool at the kitchen island instead, glancing around the kitchen only to stop when he spots the pot on the stove and the spice packets already on the bench. He walks over, grabbing the pot and looking at the thin rim of milk build-up cooked into the sides of it.

“Looks like your mama already made special drink,” he says, rinsing out the pot and Jane just shakes her head.

“She made it for Marcus, not me,” Jane tells him. “She always makes it, so it’s not special anymore. It’s just regular drink.”

Rio arches an eyebrow, glancing back at her.

“That right?” he asks. “But it’s special drink when I make it?”

“Yup.”

And shit, she might be right. He ain’t ever made it before, and at least the fact that Elizabeth’s already made it for Marcus tonight means the ingredients are there for him. He racks his head for the steps, for the muscle memory of havin’ watched her make this thing a million times before, and - - right, milk on the stove. He grabs a jug from the fridge.

“Your hand looks funny.”

Rio glances over at Jane as he moves to flick the stove on, that damn blanket of hers half shoved in her mouth, the floppy rabbit ears of her hood hangin’ down past her shoulder. He looks at his hand and the bruises really are bad – a dark, bloomin’ purple that he knows will only stiffen over the next few days. Will swell and throb and he resists the urge to shake it out.

“Yeah?” he asks, and Jane rocks her head from side-to-side, considering.

“It’s like when I felled over. Did you felled over?”

“Fall,” he corrects, and when he looks over at her, Jane’s blinking at him in confusion, her blue eyes wide, her lips parted. He clarifies: “Did you fall over? Not felled, darlin’.”

“Did you fall over?” Jane echoes, and Rio turns back to the milk on the stove, reaching for the cinnamon. He looks at his knuckles as he shakes in the spice, and wonders if he should’ve worn gloves, somethin’ that might’ve covered them from view.

“Somethin’ like that,” he replies, capping the spice cannister, and it takes Jane a minute to reply, like she’s processin’ it, workin’ out what she want to say, and Rio lets her, his gaze fixed down on the way the cinnamon turns the colour of the milk, brownin’ it up. He blinks and sees the cinnamon, he blinks and he sees the blood on Vinny’s pale cheek.

He grabs the packet of cloves.

“Is that why you went away?”

Shit, how much of this stuff does Elizabeth usually put in? He shoves a finger into the packet of cloves, nudging them around, and finally scoops out a handful, watchin’ them bob around in the milk.

“What’d your mama say?”

“That you had to work.”

“Your mama ever lied to you?”

“No.”

“So I was workin’,” he tells her easily, glancing back around to look at her, and it ain’t exactly sudden, seein’ Emily in Jane’s place, propped up at the kitchen island, but it still takes him by surprise, makes him rock his jaw, jerk his head away, try to focus on the simmer of the milk and the sound of Jane’s feet, thumpin’ against the chair.

Jane ain’t Emily, she ain’t gonna lose a parent to this. She -

“When my daddy goes away for work, he brings us presents home,” Jane says, and Rio snorts.

Okay, maybe she’ll lose one parent to this. Rio can’t exactly say he’s keepin’ Dean off any lists. Shit, might be addin’ him to a few. (Not really, although - - he ain’t rulin’ it out). Still, he shifts his weight back, grabbing a spoon to scoop in some honey.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like candy or dollies.”

The honey oozes off the spoon into the milk, like Vinny’s bloodied drool to the concrete floor, and Rio’s voice is duller than he means when he says:

“Huh. Why you think he do that?”

Jane pauses, and the question must surprise her, her little mouth hangin’ open for a moment, until she shoves the dubby in it instead. Rio has to resist the urge to tug it out, had made that mistake only a few weeks after movin’, had had to endure Jane’s hysterics and Beth’s frustration (“She only started doing it after Dean moved out, it comforts her, just - - leave it, please.”)

“I don’t know,” Jane replies now around a mouthful of blanket, and Rio hums, grabbing her sippy cup off the strainer and pouring in the milk, making sure it’s not too hot in the process. He puts the top on, and glances at her, considering. He could just give it to her here, but in the end he holds up his hands, and Jane moves easily into them this time, lets him carry her to the couch, lets him hold her as he flops down on it, her body sideways in his lap, cradled in his arms like he’d do when Marcus was a toddler, like he still does sometimes, when he’s sick or needy.

And it’s funny, coz Jane fits like Marcus used to. Kid had a growth spurt recently after all, overtakin’ even Emma, and it all serves to make Jane all the tinier. Like her aunt, Rio thinks, briefly amused, then – more so, huffing out a laugh – like her mama when she finally pulls her pumps off at the end of the night.

(How big are Marta’s kids? Does he even know?)

“Order’s up,” he tells Jane, passing her the cup and letting her wriggle up until she’s practically using his arm as a hammock, her legs sprawled out across his own. She takes a generous drink only to reel slightly up.

“Yuck,” she says, spluttering, and Rio groans looking down at her, grabbing the cup and taking a sip, only to cough because shit - - it’s bad. Way too much cinnamon, enough it tastes almost like ash in his mouth, and maybe he’ll just leave it out entirely this time. Can’t fuck up just milk and honey, can he? He moves to get up, to make another, when Jane suddenly snatches at the cup again, clutching the sippy to her chest before shoving the nozzle back into her mouth. “No, I like it.”

And figures, Rio thinks, arching an eyebrow down at her as she wriggles back against his chest, sucking on the sippy cup, her eyes already half-lidded. He feels his own lids drop too, like they’re playin’ some game of Simon Says (go to sleep), and he could almost doze himself when Jane reaches the hand not holdin’ the cup out to his. She pushes out a tiny pointer finger and taps him on each of his bruised knuckles and he just - - watches her do it. Watches this scrap of Elizabeth play the hand he broke Vinny’s jaw with like a piano.

“Marcus and mommy are upset at you,” she says suddenly, half muffled around the sippy cup, and Rio’s gaze shifts from their hands to her face, but she ain’t lookin’ at him. She’s lookin’ at their hands, and after a minute, he sighs.

“I know,” he tells her. “They don’t like it when I gotta go away like that. I don’t like it neither, but sometimes I just gotta.”

Jane sucks the nozzle back into her mouth, staring up at him now, her eyes unblinkin’, and he always thinks it’s her sister that looks most like Elizabeth, but this one doesn’t go without, not with the steadiness of her gaze and the set to her jaw.

“It’s three,” she tells him, and Rio blinks down at her.

“What’s three?”

“Three times you gone away.”

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t that, and Rio stares at her, unblinking now, as Jane holds up her hand.

“Just after we moved here,” she ticks it off on her fingers. “Then the other time, now this time. That’s three.”

And shit, she ain’t wrong. He mostly thought Jane barely noticed. Not like anyone would ever mistake her for the most perceptive of Elizabeth’s kids (not that any of ‘em really are), but Jane’s all energy and distraction and shit. He’s been busy. He’s always busy, and Marcus has never liked it. Never liked the fact that sometimes he just gotta move, gotta bring things back, gotta handle things, but - -

“It’s not always like this,” he says, and Jane looks up at him, and there are too many expressions that pass over her round little face – disbelief and childish frustration until it finally settles on somethin’ else, somethin’ softer, less certain, somethin’ he ain’t seen on her face, at least not somethin’ he’s seen directed at him.

“You didn’t say bye,” she says finally, her voice small, and Rio exhales, annoyed.

“I did, darlin’,” because he did. Shit, got to fight about it with Elizabeth and leave Marcus red faced and weepy, made sure of that, but then - -

He looks at Jane and any self-righteousness dies on his tongue.

“Not to you though, huh?” he says softly, and Jane shuffles back into his arm, presses her forehead into his chest, out of sight, the nozzle of the sippy cup sucked into her mouth like a bottle, keeps herself looking away from him, and Rio exhales. He looks down at his bruised hands, then at her feet, where the booties of her onesie hang limply down the side of the couch, her feet lost somewhere in the legs of the thing, the hood of it hangin’ so far down her face it almost covers her eyes, and he reaches up to tug it back, just enough he can see her.

“’m sorry. Think maybe I’m still gettin’ used to this,” he says, because he hadn’t said goodbye to any of Elizabeth’s kids. Had trusted her to do it for him, had treated them like they were just a part of her, but - -

They ain’t.

They’re - -

Well.

Fuck.

Jane looks up at him, her eyes a little glassy and just - - he ain’t sure what that is, the feelin’ in his gut, hollowing itself out. “Can you be the first one I say hey to instead?”

She makes a show of turnin’ it over, her squirming against his chest and drinkin’ that goddamn awful drink he’s made her, but then she nods, and Rio tugs on one of her rabbit ears.

“’ey, Jane,” he says quietly. “You been good for your mama while I been gone?”

And she grins a little at that, shakes her head into his chest again, giggling before she can stop herself, and Rio smiles too, but rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He almost reaches out to her, but before he gets the chance to, Jane wriggles up his body, curls her arms around his neck, and Rio leans down, scooping her up closer, feeling her collapse sleepily into his chest, still slurping at that drink, and hell if that ain’t commitment. He exhales a laugh, dropping a hand to her back, and it practically takes up the width of it, and he can’t say what he feels, feelin’ the rise and fall of her chest against his, her snufflin’ breaths against his shoulder.

And it’s hard enough, but then he exhales and he hears Vinny’s last one, and his hand tightens on her back, and he just - -

Needs to put her to bed.

Needs her safe and happy and dreamin’ of her mama and Paw Patrol and out of his nightmares, and when he stands up this time, starts up the stairs, when he finally does put her to bed, she don’t make a sound.

And then just, tuckin’ her in - - all his energy’s gone, sapped out of him, and any jittery tension he’d needed to lose has gone cold in his chest, left him pulled thin and stretched out, and shit, he thinks, rubbing furiously at his forehead, it’s just - -

Just is, he reminds himself.

There wasn’t a way around it. Not a way that’d keep him and his safe.

And he can do this for his ma, he can do it for his sisters, he can do it for his son.

Can do it for Elizabeth and her kids too.

Can - - he exhales, leavin’ the thought alone, pulling his hand away from his face, grabbin’ the sippy cup from Jane’s iron grip instead and droppin’ it to her bedside table so it don’t soak through her sheets, flickin’ on her nightlight before slipping out of her room.

And it figures, that Elizabeth would be awake now, when he finally gets back to their (freshly) childfree bedroom, her blue eyes blinkin’ sleepily back at him, from her - -

Nah, he realises, his pillow.

“You put the kids to bed?” she whispers, pushing herself up onto her elbow, and Rio nods stripping off his t-shirt, arching his back, hearing it crack.

“You’re home earlier than I thought you’d be,” she adds, and Rio nods, padding over to the bed. He should leave his sweats on, knows he should, but for whatever reason, he can’t quite make himself. Just wants to be rid of them, rid of his underwear, rid of all of it. Wants to shower, but doesn’t have the energy to, so instead he just strips everythin’ off, sliding into bed beside Elizabeth.

She doesn’t complain for a change, doesn’t squawk or pout or nag him to put his clothes back on. She just watches him, her blue eyes too clear, her features drawn.

“Is it done?” she asks, and Rio sighs.

“Would I be home if it weren’t?”

It’s sharper than he means it to be and she looks a little wounded, and Rio exhales, because shit, he’s the one who don’t want this fight. Just looks at her for a moment, and it ain’t fair, that she can look this sweet, that her eyes and her body can sing like a siren in the night, callin’ for him across borders, across countries, callin’ him home, and he reaches a hand to touch her face because he wants to - - needs to feel her, but shit, it was the wrong move, because she’s gaspin’, grabbin’ his hand instead, a high-pitched sound escaping her throat when she sees how bruised it is.

“Let me see it.”

He yanks his hand out of her grip, curling it around her waist instead, pulling her beneath him, entangling their legs, hidin’ his hand half up her pyjama shirt.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, and he can tell she wants to squirm out of his grip, to try and flip ‘em over so she can look at him properly, find somethin’ to nurse, but she ain’t got a clue how hurt he actually is, so won’t do it, and for once, he don’t want to correct her.

“Keep askin’ questions and I might just have to kiss you,” he drawls, the to shut you up implied as he nestles his face into her chest, nosing between the buttons on her pyjama shirt so forcefully that the tip of it brushes the inner curve of her breast, inhaling deeply the faint smell of sweat and peach bodywash and that smell beneath it all that’s just her.

“You say that like it’s a threat,” she replies, the words light, jokin’, but her tone ain’t real, and he knows she’d let him, but he also knows she don’t want him to. That she’d give him sex tonight like a gift, and that’s not how he wants this, not with her, not now. He just - -

Shit, he just wants to hold her, but he don’t know how the fuck to say that.

She inhales above him, a little wet, a little damp, like she might be cryin’ a bit, and she says, “Rio, what – ”

He sucks in a breath, clenches his eyes shut, hand tightening on her waist.

“Not tonight, darlin’,” he says, his voice hoarse, cutting her off, and then - - because how can he say the rest of it? He just says: “Please.”

The word hangs between them, and then it’s those too-soft fingers of hers, pressin’ tentatively to the back of his neck, and he exhales, harsh and wet against her breast, sinking his head heavily down against her chest, his mouth open as her fingers firm there and he knows she’ll be back on this shit tomorrow, that he’ll have to tell her somethin’, that he’ll have to make sure that money gets to Marta’s kids and to Vinny’s, that the compensation will be nothin’ but he lets Elizabeth massage the guilt out of his neck for now and finally he lets his eyelids flutter shut.

#beth x rio #prompt fills #the center and circumference #domesticity #beth boland #rio #marcus #jane boland #my fic

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charlxttes · 4 years ago

Text

hello friends!! dede here, nineteen years old, she/her pronouns, kickin’ it in gmt + 2, and i’m proud to introduce my bitch of a daughter, charlotte irving aka the emperor! so, without further ado, let’s get right into it, shall we?

THE EMPEROR.

upright — authority, establishment, structure, logic over emotion, concentration. reversed — domination, excessive control, inflexibility, rigidity, stubbornness.

FAST FACTS.

name — charlotte adela irving. pronouns — she/her/hers. age — 20. year — sophomore. major — law. zodiac sign — virgo sun, scorpio moon, aquarius rising. dorm arrangements — carstone house.

BIOGRAPHY.

a cracked magnifying glass. the shoe box decorated with paper roses clearly cut out from some magazine is covered in even more dust than she remembered. wrinkling her nose ever-so-slightly, charlotte closes her eyes before blowing off most of the dust and dirt amassed on the box after years of it being kept under the bed she used to sleep in while living in her parents’ house. overcoming her subtle feelings of disgust, she lifts the lid to look at the contents once stored there, contents she didn’t think she’d ever be coming back to. they bring back so many memories, some fond, some less so. like the small magnifying glass, now functionless and cracked, that she used to ‘solve the case’ of the ‘stolen’ cookies (which, in reality, were eaten by her friend’s father). or the stack of children’s mystery stories. she smiles, remembering how she used to devour them under the covers late at night with a flashlight, hoping her parents wouldn’t come into the room. while she still occasionally enjoys an agatha christie story, she’s moved past that. or at least so she thought. looks like she might need to get back in miss marple mode, because, if we’re being honest, if she can’t find that poor kidnapped neighbor… who can? loose leaf paper scattered to the wind. charlotte lets out a groan, leaning back in her chair. it’s been a long night of studying, the various used coffee mugs on her desk can attest to that, and yet somehow her head appears to be empty every time she tries to search for any trace of what she’s just finished revising. in high school, every subject came to her so easily. she worked moderately hard to produce excellent results. people always said it’s going to be different when she goes to university, but she never believed them, not deep down. and it’s not, she corrects herself mentally. she just needs to study harder. but you have, a voice argues somewhere in her head. and it didn’t help. distraught and confused, she doesn’t even notice when the first tears roll down her cheeks, but soon she’s shaking in her chair, quietly sobbing, her face hidden in her hands. suddenly, as if ordered to by some military commander, she gets up and grabs her notes. the tears streaming down her cheeks fall on the paper, making it wet. but it’s not a concern for her now, albeit it would be normally. she opens the window and throws everything she’s holding out. watching the notes fly away, god knows where, she stops crying and covers her mouth, as if only realizing what she’s done now. a rowboat missing an oar. her jaw is beginning to hurt from how hard she’s been clenching it for the past fifteen minutes or so. her arm muscles are burning, but she doesn’t let it stop her. it can’t. along with her two teammates, she keeps moving the oars she’s holding as tightly as if her life itself depended on it. if they lose this race, her parents back home will… she doesn’t even want to think what they will or won’t do. the finish line is now within sight, and while twelve-year-old charlotte was beginning to tire before this moment, the surge of adrenaline this view gives her revives her completely. like a freshly charged battery, her arms work in perfect sync with her teammates’, and a smirk appears on her face. their opponents are slightly behind them, and there doesn’t seem to be any reason for them to not keep up the pace they’re going at currently; looks like victory will be theirs. just as they approach the glory and success they came here to reach, she hears her teammate, maria, scream, apparently in pain. she looks at the other girl only to see her drop one of the oars into the water and proceed to hold her apparently badly cramped hand. charlotte shoots her a gaze that, if, as the saying goes, looks could kill, would murder not only maria, but all the teams on the lake on the spot. “well, what are you waiting for?!”, she screams. “go get it!” maria does, and does so fast, but not fast enough for them to be able to beat the other teams. they one of the opposing boats cross the finish line. charlotte’s lips turn into an extremely thin line. she doesn’t speak, but there’s a lot she’d like to say. and her team is well aware of it. the last one picked on a sports team. charlotte is standing in the middle of the gym, the pride and joy of sommerville high school, which while not new - as if anything in sommerville could be new - still managed to hold up decently over the years. tapping her foot on the wooden floor impatiently, she raises her eyes to the sky. why can’t she just be in the history classroom already? does she have to waste this hour she could be spending in a productive way on throwing a ball into a hoop? with a sigh, she looks at the other girls in her class. most are already gathered in front of her, split into two groups. those by her side keep joining either team, one by one. ah yes, the endless popularity contest. or just a sports contest before the actual sports have even begun. as if the world couldn’t go a few hours without challenging her yet again, truly. finally, after a few minutes have passed, charlotte is alone. the captain of the team on the left tries to hide her disappointment and fails miserably while gesturing for her to join them. charlotte walks over to her newfound basketball team, head high, expression icy. she has other strengths, she tells herself. she doesn’t need to be good at basketball, too. flickering candlelight. the roses building, the windows covered and the candles lit, presumably for dramatic value, is full, as it has been, is and will be every holy saturday. from her family’s bench, about in the middle of the church’s length, charlotte can barely see the ‘grave’ they came here to visit. she never quite understood this particular tradition; how could any rational person believe their lives would be bettered by coming to stare at the make-believe grave of jesus christ, who in actuality died thousands of years ago - whether permanently is a debatable subject, but this isn’t the point - and wasn’t even buried in this manner? still, her mother is sitting on her left, and charlotte knows she can’t allow herself to display any signs of disinterest. both because her mother would certainly have some strong words for her when they returned home about how important being focused and prayer is, and because she’s now a student at st. cade’s - that means she can’t show any kind of weakness or besmirch her reputation in any way, or the consequences could be extremely unpleasant. lowering her head and closing her eyes, she starts counting down seconds.

WANTED.

i’m pretty much down for any kind of plot! but just to name a few that would be cool:

study buddies — charlotte actually takes the whole school thing extremely seriously, so it’s be nice if she had someone to actually do all that cramming with. roommates — this is actually for when we get another person in carstone house or i crack and message the admins about a change being possible (rip). but yeah i’m trash for roommates. just. i’m trash for them. bad influences — you know the ‘i’m gonna lead you down the path that rocks’ meme? basically this. charlotte here is kind of a wet blanket, and she could use someone more fun and sociable to ~teach her their ways~. rivals — especially academics-wise. homegirl can get super competitive, and i’d love to see someone being as competitive as her in this regard. some romantic stuff? — to be honest, i’ve just written a lot of angst recently, so like, a pure, adorable crush or something like that (though i’m down for some small bits of sadness thrown in there) would be wonderful.

EXTRAS.

wow, congrats, you’ve reached the end of this thing! here, have her playlist as your reward.

#❛ 𝘣𝘪𝘰 ❜

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naromoreau · 6 years ago

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The place it starts, a Sharky x F!Dep fic

How Sharky would propose Dep. Had this idea running in my mind and just went for it. Big thanks to @deputyshitlordsantana and @absurdwanderlust for giving it a read!

This is just fluff.

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

“M’kay.”

Ovened frozen pizza, uh, more like microwaved but still? Check.

Boxed wine and cups? Check.

Donna in the boombox? Check.

Note with reservation for the ink-place? - He patted his ass - Check.

Sharky gave a quick glance around, moving the chairs a bit to the left, then a bit to the right and stared at the single bitterroot in the glass cup. Man, he almost broke his neck and lost one leg getting it from up north, hikin’ up ‘til his legs were sore. But it was worth it. After all it was her favourite. He still owed Nick big time for flyin’ him close and he intended to pay him, he wasn’t a cheap ass.

He fumbled through the crammed interior of his trailer, taking shit aside, and tossing half-clean - half-swanked - depending who you asked - pieces of clothing over the counter, aiming to the empty laundry basket in the corner. Score.

He ruffled his hair more than once, still adjusting to the feel of taking his cap off and tugged his best shirt into his pants, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, hoping everything wasn’t just wishful thinking from his part. That’d be just awful. And weird. Maybe he just should forget about the whole fucking thing and chuck the idea out the nearest window. Oh man. Now he was feeling all dazed and fuzed but not in a cool way, more like those times he’d tried some of Hurk’s new blends and next day the hangover was worse than having to smell the armpits of a bunch of shit-eating peggies breakfast-lunch-dinner.

Maybe-- Maybe he should pack his eagerness real tight. Like get really know each other, and for once instead of swallowing down the cake, he should chew it slowly, like really get the mouthfeel of it. But the shit was he didn’t wanna wait. Not when everything was crumbling down, falling apart like burning paper, ashes scattered in the wind. Like his folks who waited ages and then after he was born, things just went south, like to the motherfucking hell down route 66, beyond repair.

Fuck no.

‘Cause whenever she was close, damn, it was all firecrackers bursting, searing bliss flowing deep in his heart, heart thudding and palms sweating, feeling like he was scrabbling frantically at the best thing that had ever happened to him. To not let go. Somehow she’d pieced together all the small, variegated shreds in his life in a patchwork without loose strands, and he’d been hooked.

A loud clunk at the door made him flinch, almost toppling his old soccer trophy from the shelf, in his rush to open it.

Dep leaned against the door, arms crossed over her chest, clad in her usual jeans and green flannel. “You missed me, hot stuff?”

Sharky flushed up to his ears before that smile. That smile right there that always seemed to pull him up of any dark holes and made his existence already better by default.

“Fuck yes, shorty,” he said ushering her in, slinging his arm around her trim waist, a little too conscious about the waves of panic pushing up his throat thinkin’ about what the next hour would hold for him.

“Care for a kiss?”

She rose on her tippy toes, and Sharky’s heart drummed, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. Man he was never gonna get used to how heavenly it felt. He kissed her, brushing those full, soft lips with his own, and his mind cruised back to the first months together trudging across the hills. Like back when he’d realized his crush and tried to stomp that annoying little voice telling him there was no way she could reciprocate him, ‘cause the evidence was just right there hitting him in the fucking face day in and day out. Painfully conscious of what a piece of shit he was, just a dumb dropout with an overfixation for blowing things up and talking his brain out. So any minute now she was gonna cut tail and leave him hanging, and he’d better fringe himself with vapid babbler and feigned apathy.

But she didn’t, Jesus fucking Christ, she didn’t, instead sending his fears outta his mind down an over lubricated slip ‘n slide with just a couple of well-put sentences.

“Hey,” Rook rasped, snagging her face off his and looking at him with a furrowed brow, “‘s something wrong? You look pale, man.”

His heart leapt to his throat, all of him absolutely wrapped in a sheet of mind-numbing nervousness. “Nah, just-uh, just been thinking ‘bout-- are you hungry? ‘Cuz there's ah, there's a lotta pizza to share, want ‘sum?,” he blurted out, relying on his mouth to slalom through the distinct set of doubts arising in Dep’s face.

“Uh-sure, yeah, why not?”

He sighed when she dropped the issue giving him some respite and made her way to the table. Her face lit up fixing her gaze on the lavender flower over the mantelpiece and the dimples at the sides of her face flared alive.

“Wait- Is this for me?”

“Uh, yeah. Caught it just north,” he said shrugging as if his heart wasn’t whacking his chest at every pulse, “‘cuz y’know, thought uh, thought you liked that stuff.”

She flashed him a sheepish smile, seating on one of the folding chairs, fingers playing with the purple petals. “Thanks,” she said staring at him, “for everything.”

Fuck. It was hard to focus when those eyes looked at you, and sure he was they did something more than see. “Uh, sure babe, I got you,” he said, brain slogging away to find his balance again.

“Here, shorty,” he cracked, extending the whole platter of smoking pizza and placing it at the center of the table, “grab a bite.”

“This is real good, man,” she mumbled through a mouthful of cheese, “but holy fuck, is hot.”

Sharky grinned, carrying wine and cups back to her, absentmindedly pressing play on the boombox.

She quirked a brow, cheeks bunched up middle-chewing. “Eh, am I missing something here?”

“Uh, don’t think so,” he said, face flushed, studiously avoiding her eyes.

“Shark, seriously, you ain’t that subtle, I mean I love you but yeah, stealth? That's not your strength, dude.”

“So a man can’t uh, can’t work up somethin’ for his girlfriend without said girlfriend suspecting foul play? That what you saying, babe?”

“Pretty much.”

Oh damn. She was onto him like a hawk over a wild hare. He swallowed, torn between dodging the assault or surrender, spilling ‘til the last bit of surreal longing outta his mouth. Fuck it. “Want a drink?”

Real smooth.

“Sure,” she said, extending her empty cup, still squinting slightly and with the glimpse of a smile on her face.

“Uh, well y’know, we’ve been uh, sticking together for a while now,” he said over the glug of wine as he poured, “and I was thinking, y’know, uh, what you plan to do once all this shit has cleared up?”

He stuffed a slice of pizza in his mouth to chew at his own wavering doubts with every hard sink of his teeth on the thin crust.

She cocked her head, apparently mulling his question. “I guess… I guess I’ll help Whitehorse to rebuild whatever is left to rebuild.”

“That’s cool, man.” He cleared his throat, ‘cause it was obvious the subtle approach was flyin’ way over her metaphorical stetson. “But I mean uh, where do you see, um, our awesome ass kickin’- name-takin’ partnership going after we, uh, wrap this shit up, if I may ask?”

He burrowed his red-hot cheeks on the edge of his cup, trying to take a sip of wine but almost toppling the cup and he hoped she wasn’t attentively noting his antics.

“I don’t know, Shark, I thought you were stickin’ around-” She drew to an abrupt stop, the glint of a panicked expression winking into existence around her eyes. “Are-are you,” she cleared her throat and had a swig of her drink before keep going, “do you wanna end this-us?”

What the fuck?

“The fuck no!” The words hurtled out of his mouth in a violent rush, but the mere idea shook him to the core. “Where the fuck did you get that vibe from, shorty? This whole romantic as shit setup screams I wanna break up with you? Like seriously you need to reevaluate your life if you think it is ‘cause it ain’t-”

“Fine, fine!” She spread her hands trying to placate his outburst, “I don’t know, Shark, but you have the most weird fucking filter ever and also you’re so damn sweet I thought you were trying to dump me without hurting my feelings.”

“Fuckin’ Christ and why would I do that huh? Like you could stab me in the nuts and I ain’t considering it, like I’m an idiot but I haven't reached that peak dumbassery.”

She caved in a gale of laughter, until it ebbed away into an honest-to-god grin. “Sorry, Shark, I just, I dunno, I thought--I thought maybe you just got tired to put up with my bullshit and I mean it’s not your job to run around fixing this clusterfuck-”

“You kiddin’ me right? Fuck, babe this is why I keep tellin’ ya you really need to see those movies, like I can't stress this enough ‘cause ride or die is our motto and I ain’t messin’ with ya.”

He reached a calloused hand over the table, stilling his fingers over hers, hiding a wayward shiver riding up and down his spine.

She was chewing her bottom lip, obviously waiting for him to keep going and he tried to shake off the thought he was grasping at delusions.

“Okay, so, uh, here it goes.” He shuffled in his seat, trying to steady his shallow breath and the haze of his mind. “Since I met ya uh, things have really changed for me, in a good--no, in an awesome way and let’s face it babe, half the time I don't even know why you chose me, no, no, hear me out m’kay?”

He rose to his feet, pulling her with him, cupping her chin to tilt her head up. “Like you could’ve had Smirkin’ Fuckface Seed if you were into stickin’ your tongue in psycho,” he stopped to allow her to stifle a laugh, “but for some reason you’re here and I was thinkin’ uh, that maybe you weren’t totally opposed to uh, become my Mrs?”

A jumble of fears jostled in his mind when she didn’t answer him right away, already smacking himself hard when she pulled him down, swilling his breath.

And she said yes among kisses, as he fancied their future with eyes closed, tears stinging behind his lashes.

He groaned, remembering a fine detail left out and whispered. “Just forgot to tell ya, I mean I know I should get ya a ring but given our current situation that's a no-go babe.”

“Shark, I don't give a fuck about the ring,” she said trying to kiss him again.

“Yeah, but I-I do and… here, look, what ya think?” He offered her the folded piece of paper right from his back pocket watching a helpless smile span to life on her face.

“Tattoed rings?” She brought her hand up to her face, eyes glinting with delight. “Fuck yeah, babe-- god I love you, Sharky.”

“‘Aight, then, it's settled, and yeah shorty y'know how much I love you.” He held her close, as they swirled and twirled, shimmying slowly at the rhythm of the swelling music, all fears stealing away and fading into the light of dusk.

-------

Tagging: @shartyboshaw

#far cry 5 #sharky x deputy #fluff #i hope you guys like it #Sharky Boshaw #deputy Rook

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wilhelmjfink · 6 years ago

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“It’s Them” (3/3)

A/N: third of three parts, i promise, no more. this was really weird to write b/c I’ve never written about hating Daryl LOL but Negan is super fun for me to write b/c I, too, am a charming and perverted asshole who swears way too much

enjoy xoxo

“Hey,” Lola repeated herself harshly, an inch from your face to catch your attention after she’d watched the color drain from your face. Eyes wide as saucers you stood frozen, trapped inside your own little world until she nudged you harshly enough to bring you back to her. “You good? Who’s ‘them’?”

You hadn’t ever anticipated running into them again, especially not after it had been so long and you’ve travelled so far and ran into so many communities. In the back of your mind, you suppose you just assumed they’d died, falling victim to the plague or at the hands of another human they crossed paths with. You recognized most of them, though the days had taken their toll on them and showing the hardships they faced through tired eyes and scars and long, unkempt hair. The kid was taller, forced out of his fair shot at a normal childhood and into the unrelenting life you all lived as a responsible, tactical fighter. A survivor.

Were they the only ones left? Three of the original ten or twelve people you’d holed up with at the very beginning of it all? You’d always known the archer would make it — Daryl. His name sent an unwelcome chill down your spine, memories of stone cold glares and harsh words and insults being thrown your way resurfacing against your will. He didn’t look good at all, blood staining the front of his clothing and a bright, vibrant contrast against his pale skin, dark, hooded eyes... you felt a pang of sadness strike before burying it back underneath the betrayal and hurt with ease.

You watched Negan as he sauntered back and forth before the crew, talking out of his ass as usual, outlining his ground rules and how things worked for him. You’d seen it dozens of times, and it always seemed to work, groups falling beneath his reign of terror and obeying him like some sort of diety. You’d always joked to him that he was lucky he was good looking or you might never take him seriously.

He mentioned something about a woman who looked deathly ill as she tried her best to keep upright in a kneeling position and it sent Glenn reeling, jumping up from his seat and scrambling toward her, begging for her safety.

“Get ‘em back in line,” Negan said gruffly to the men who had grabbed your old friend. You watched him rub a tired hand on the scruff of his beard and heard him mutter about shaving, and you rolled your eyes to yourself.

The lecture went on and Negan’s voice rose with each word, and when his sights landed on Daryl and you knew instantly what was on his mind: Daryl was a force to be reckoned with and it showed through his body language, his stone-cold eyes that glared Negan down fearlessly despite his poor condition, and you knew your leader was threatened by it. He still smiled, though, looking carefree and confident as ever, even in the face of Daryl refusing to tell say his name.

But before Negan could do anything drastic about it you figured you’d save him the trouble, knowing Daryl wouldn’t break easily, and you stepped forward from the frontline with a newly discovered confidence in yourself. “His name’s Daryl.”

Negan whipped around, obviously not having expected one of his own soldiers to identify him, let alone you, and the anger on his face diminished to that of almost pleasant surprise and he cocked an eyebrow at you inquisitively.

“Is it now?” He asked you, his tone inflicting upwards in amusement. “Do you know these people, doll? You have a history here with ol’ Daryl?”

He was feeding your anger and you thrived from it, taking in every last ounce of his cocky attitude for your own benefit as you stepped even farther forward into the circle, allowing the floodlights to illuminate your face so your old teammates could finally recognize you in all your mother fucking glory.

“Yeah, you could say that,” you chided, smiling as you watched the horrified realization wash over Rick’s face as he knelt before you. “We go back.”

Negan was observing from behind you, a wide, snake-like grin on his face, enjoying the unexpected turn of events the night had brought him. If there was one thing he loved more than asserting his dominance over someone, it was asserting his dominance over someone with his arm around somebody they used to know. There was a small part of you that had been hesitant to say anything — Negan could be a loose cannon, to say the least, and you weren’t positive your familiarity with the group he’d been hunting for weeks would anger him or not. But from what you could tell at that moment, he was legitimately excited.

“Well, shit,” he sneered, turning between you and the group of your old friends before him. “I do love me a good story.”

You opened your mouth to speak but he stopped you with a gloved finger to your mouth and a commanding stare which, if you were being honest with yourself, stirred up wickedly beautiful butterflies in your stomach that you smothered back down. Not the time.

“As much as I love to hear your voice, doll, I think I wanna hear this one from ol’ Ricky.”

With a flourished wave of his hand he gave Rick the stage with eager anticipation and you couldn’t fight the slightly maniacal chuckle that erupted from deep inside your chest at the sight, excited to hear what he had to say about that fateful night years ago that left you the bitter and untrusting person you were today. Would he try to change it? Would he lie? You had a feeling that, even if he was dumb enough to make up some bullshit story, Negan would see right through it.

Though, you weren’t sure if you’d ever told Negan about your past before. He knew you’d come from a group that left you, but that was it. No names, no details. You wanted to forget it had ever happened.

Rick was absolutely shaken, lips parting while he tried to speak but words failed him, eyes wide as saucers that were like windows allowing you to see right inside to his soul: shocked, incredulous, defeated.

“Today, preferably,” Negan encouraged from beside you impatiently, though it was obvious he was still enjoying himself. It did kick Rick into drive, and he stuttered pathetically while his eyes never left you.

“Y/N, we thought...” the sound of your name leaving his mouth left you angry and your own eyes narrowed, fighting the urge to smack him across the face for it. “We thought you...”

“Died?” You snapped, not allowing him to finish his fragmented thought. Of course they’d thought you died. You wondered if they’d left anyone else behind, too worried about getting themselves out of the hysteria to check for life among the walkers that had wandered in. You laughed cynically; you’d thought of this moment before, but nothing could have prepared you for the whirlwind of emotions you were experiencing. “Well, surprise! I’m still kickin’! No thanks to you guys.”

“We saw you get taken down,” Glenn chimed in from your left, his voice just as unsteady and surprised as Rick’s, almost sounding like he didn’t even believe himself. “We saw the walkers, we saw them — “

“I don’t care what you saw,” you bit back at him. “If you hadn’t just left me, what you would’ve seen was me fighting for my life, alone, and fucking surviving. But you guys were scared, and you just fucking left me there!”

Nobody spoke amongst the occasional whimpers and sobs. The air around you was still as you fought to contain your anger but ultimately failing to do so, chest heaving, hands balled into fists at your sides.

“And now, you finally get to fucking pay for it.”

They all stiffened at your words and you smiled, eyes darting to movement as you watched Negan grin and throw a fleeting glance over his each shoulder before leaning to Simon, who stood behind him.

“I dunno about you guys, but I am hard as a rock right now.” He’d intentionally said it loud enough for everyone to hear him and Simon chuckled and shook his head while you merely rolled your eyes with a smile you tried to hide.

You used the momentary pause around you to take into account all the others that you didn’t see there; all the lives lost and all the paths parted. It was an odd feeling, almost nostalgic, and you decided that this was the time to quell the unresolved rage and grudges you were still harboring.

“We’re so sorry,” Rick stammered and you almost laughed in his face. “We...”

“You’re sorry?!” It took a second for you to realize that, yes, you had heard him right. “You think that’s gonna save your asses? You’re fuckin’ sorry?” You shook your head, a breathy laugh trying to subdue the oncoming tears of fury and betrayal you were feeling. “I’m the one that should be sorry!”

On a whim you marched over to Negan and held your hand out expectingly, swooning at the way his tongue snakes across his teeth with that classic shit-eating grin that had nothing but bad and dirty thoughts behind it at the thought of you holding Lucille in your vengeful grasp.

“Oh, my,” his voice was gravelly, so low you almost couldn’t hear it. His dark eyes gave you a once-over, up and down, leaving you feeling deliciously vulnerable under his burning gaze. You could feel your cheeks heat up and the tips of your ears burning under the blush and you struggled to remain as demanding as you had been two seconds prior. “What’s the magic word, babygirl?”

His voice was heavenly and could’ve knocked the senses from you, sending the world around you spinning in the best way and you giggled quietly, clutching onto the anger that was just driving you as it dwindled away.

“You’re making it really hard — “

“You’re telling me,” he smirked, stirring up more violent butterflies inside of you and you were finding it increasingly difficult to focus.

“You’re making it really fucking difficult to stay mad,” you said through clenched teeth, reaching forward to grasp onto Lucille and not surprised when Negan didn’t instantly let go. But before he could throw in another perverted and deterring remark at you, you wrapped your fingers delicately around her handle and slid your hand down toward the knob, slow and dramatic, allowing Negan to take in your intentionally erotic movements before he looked back to you with furiously hungry eyes and drank in your appearance in the shadowed lights. With one last ounce of self-control you cocked your head at him and, looking up through batting eyelashes, dug deep for your best attempt at looking innocent: “Please, daddy?”

Negan’s eyes about rolled back into his head and he released his grip on Lucille, throwing his head back with a ferocious groan at your response.

“God damn!” He barked the words so loud you noticed several people jump and you laughed, taking the bat in both hands at her grip, admiring her in your grasp. “Let’s get this mother fucking show on the fucking road, folks! I don’t know how much longer I can wait!”

You turned back toward the group on their knees and the wheels in your head began turning, the possibilities endless with Lucille in your hands. Negan snuck up behind you at one point, giving you one last reminder:

“You be real careful with her, doll. Make her feel really good... and we just might return the favor.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes back into your head in ecstasy. His warm breath against your chilled skin was euphoric, and the way his scruff brushed against you harshly only heightened it. You couldn’t even fight the needy whimper that left your lips at the contact and, having heard it clear as day, Negan chuckled deeply as he stepped back and let you have the floor.

“Okay, back at it!” You stepped into action, wanting nothing more for it to be over then so that you could satisfy the commanding hunger and desire you were feeling for Negan, stronger than ever before, the adrenaline from the night mixing into the excitement and emitting a pleasant energy through your veins. Short, sweet and to the point, you were eager to get started and started walking along the lineup before you. “Eeney, meeney, miney, moe...”

mmmmffff :-)))) love me some negan ngl

thanks for reading!

#the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #twd fanfic #negan #negan x reader #the walking dead negan #negan fanfic #negan fanfiction #jeffrey dean morgan #jdm #the walking dead imagine #negan imagine #lucille #reader insert #twd negan

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cupofsorrows · 5 years ago

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Howard Lovecraft 5: Yes, This Is The Last One

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Alright chums, let’s do this, home stretch!

- Alright everybody, welcome back to Eldritch Wipeout!

- We’ve had a pretty uneventful day so far, but that might turn around with our next contestant! Standing three feet tall and hailing from Rhode Island, let’s give it up for Howard “Hard R” Lovecraft! *air horns*

- He’s gonna need to keep a level head for this, Tim.

- That’s for sure, Jack. Always keep your wits about you!

- That is, if you haven’t already lost your mind from revelations no man should bear!

- Looks like he’s already running into some trouble with the first trial- And they’re past it already!

- But let’s see how well they do in the second trial!

- We pulled out all the stops on this one...

...and by “all the stops”, I mean ‘ripped the hell off of Indiana Jones’!

Don’t forget Howard...in the Aklo alphabet, ‘Jehovah’ begins with an ‘I’!

- Pretty straightforward, Bob, just gotta find the right tiles to step on --

- Ooh! Do you think he realizes that the words “my father” in that inscription DON’T refer to his father?

- I’m sure he does, John. If the inscription had meant that, it would have said “your father”!

- Appears he does NOT understand this, Rick.

- You know kids these days, Bill, they just don’t got the grammar too good.

- Wait, looks like he’s got another idea...could it be?

- I think it is!

- Looks like he’s spelling out ‘Azathoth’ which IS the correct answer!

- Terrible animation as always, of course.

- No argument there, Dick.

- Just the worst.

- Anyway, it’s on to the third and final trial! This one’s gonna require a lot of creative thinking...

- Looks like he’s planning on reflecting the light from his glowy blue friend, definitely an unconventional solution!

- I’m not sure that’s how physics works, Fred...

- Well, it’s working, Don!

- Well, fuck me in the ass with a Honda, Paul, so it is!

- Just goes to show you can’t trust physics in a place like this.

- No you can’t, Ron.

- I think our boy Howard might just be home free - OH! LOOK at that! A mob of Deep Ones!

- Copy-pasted, by the looks of it!

- Earl, this might be a pickle they’re in now.

waaait a minute...Deep Ones don’t blink!

- Actually, Mark, it seems like they’re cool! They’re just letting him walk out of there.

- Come to think of it, Ted, I think those might just be some set technicians. They’ve been waiting to start disassembling the course, I think.

- Well then, that’s our cue! We have a winner, ladies gents and assorted entities! Thanks for tuning in!

whew, doing those voices was murder on my throat. Now back to the hostage situation:

Nothing much to say here, badguy seemingly wins, activates the ritual, yadda yadda.

oola ooh couchez avec moi, c’est soi?

You can’t really tell from the screencap, but at the crucial moment the book stops working because...

...yeah. I’m not sure ‘deus ex machina’ is the right term for a situation involving actual elder gods, but it sure is a convenient development that in no way hinged on the protagonist’s actions, isn’t it? (also wow. They...just did not bother to give that book any texture here, did they?) Anyhoo, the evil plan fails, miserably,

(I think this was Pepsi’s slogan back in the ‘90s.)

Abdul has finally Outlived His Usefulness™, although he manages a few more lines after being set on fire so I wonder whether that dorky outfit was actually flame retardant.

And there’s Dagon, just standing there awkwardly because this is his place and he actually has people coming over tomorrow so if you all would please hurry up?

The goodguys actually left before Nyarlahotep had even begun soliloquizing back there, and now they’re back safe and sound (except for Ma Lovecraft who is still dying).

Oh, look who it is! Yeah, they’re safe, no thanks to you. Hope you had a nice cup of tea while everyone else was almost dying.

He binds the three journals together into The Necronomicon, which is the only thing that can save Howard’s mother (apparently that requires a higher level of magic than awakening freaking Cthulhu).

Speaking of Mark Hamill, that new Dark Crystal show has been pretty good so far (he’s one of the skeksis in that). Anyways sorry I called you useless, Doc.

lol that bitch is FADED!

*ding* Turkey’s done!

Howard reads from the book to save her. BUT WILL HE BE IN TIME?

My God, she looks like she’s made of vinyl! SHE’S BACK TO NORMAL, EVERYBODY!

There it is, the ONE GOOD BIT in this whole sordid affair. And I’ve capped and posted it, so now you can safely not watch the movie without missing anything.

So Spot (...is he Cthulhu for real now? I don’t think so but...) Must Go Back To His Home Planet Now, His People Need Him. By the way, I am increasingly sure that this is supposed to be R’lyeh:

(sorry, Ruh-LAY)

So the baddies didn’t kill these guys. Ah, too bad, I guess.

Howard shares some meaningful last words with Armitage:

- And they return (via portal) to their home. Yes, their quiet, peaceful home, with its cozy beds and its tranquil garden and their little cat, Ni-

...why, who could THAT be?

I will say this about the animation: it stayed shitty right up to the end.

...

So...not Nick Fury, then.

Right now, I feel, the joke is very specifically on me.

Roll credits, including this bit here about how this was actually adapted from a graphic novel:

Notice that director/producer/voice of Spot/father or husband of half the cast Sean O’Reilly is there, but notice how many other people there are who seem to have had little or nothing to do with this movie. Wonder what that’s about?

If it’s one of those guys that did this credit art - orders of magnitude better than the animation for most of the actual film - it’s nothing short of a travesty that not only were they not involved with the main project but also that we get to see their stuff now just to taunt us with what might have been.

I mean, LOOK at all that! Damn!

“Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental”, says the movie with the child version of a famous horror author as the main character. SURE, WHY NOT.

WELP THAT’S ALL SHE WROTE - well, all she wrote, maybe, but I still have a bit more to add. So yeah, this was on the whole pretty dismal. Not quite as bad as it could have been, I’ll grant, but it missed most of its major cues. I DID like some things - Doug Bradley played a decent Nyarlahotep, the stuff with Azathoth was neat, and Winfield Lovecraft’s character was actually kind of engaging - even funny - at times. AT TIMES. And I will say that, perversely, Abdul Alhazred’s lackluster character design actually kind of stood out - I don’t think you’ll find very many other depictions of him where he’s Just Some Guy (who happens to be a powerful sorcerer). If nothing else, they pretty diligently avoided racializing him (not even a turban!) - yeah, it’s still true that the one evil human is also the only one with any nonwhite identifiers whatsoever (really just the name, in this case) but considering the source material if that’s the most problematic it gets then we got off SUPER easy.

Bad news is, basically everything else about this blows. The animation only hurts if you have eyes, but even the blind can hold O’Reilly accountable for the decision to cast all his kids. Then there’s the fact that the movie tries to bait us with big names, even though two of the top-billed stars (Plummer and Perlman) have probably less than a minute’s worth of lines between them (and ‘lines’ is a bit charitable in Perlman’s case [no disrespect to Ron, you’ll always be my Hellboy]). Seriously, did you even remember Dr. West until I brought him up just now? Wait, no, don’t actually try to recallAAUGH

AAAAAAAHH!

And now the Nyquil’s kickin’ in so I’m gonna have to bow out - but fortunately I’ve said pretty much everything I could think of to say anyway. Perhaps one day, when the stars are right, I might recap the other movies, including Howard’s Mother Eats A Whole Chicken. The future is full of mysteries!

...OK, bye.

#hp lovecraft #HLatUK #shit i actually got this one done before 2 am for once

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