#philly.... yeah. wince

[remotewatch]

can’t hit it one time, multiple

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 2.9k wc

minors dni but still get involved and stay informed politically let me be clear

summary: volunteering is so rewarding! being a part of a cause you believe in, educating first time voters, getting dicked by the campaign’s eye candy on your lunch break; it’s got everything!

cws: shameless classic 1D style smut, bus rocking, wrap it before you tap it on THE Harris campaign reproductive freedom bus (is it legally actionable to call it by its govt name), whatever the hell is going on with the JD videos cranked up to 100, reader calls him both diva and a slut, both not totally serious, his tripod is your wingman, this Barbie tastes like clementines, semi public sex I GUESS, sub!jack SOMEWHAT

many thanks to my editor (and co-writer this time around) @mystardustmelodyyy for the organizing and romantic flair 🩵🗳️

additional thanks to Jack and the team for the inspirational Philly content, do keep it up !!

Although your day of volunteering had been nothing terribly exciting so far- setting up chairs, guiding people to their seats, a LOT of directing lost families to the bathroom- the whole town hall was thrumming with a sense of hope that felt nothing short of electric. You didn’t realize how busy you’d been until you finally got a chance to sit down and make up some gift bags. That took no time at all, leaving you a nice free chunk of the day to wander around and soak up the atmosphere. There had been rumors of a free gelato truck, and the empty breezeway pointed to them being true. The sharp thwap of sambas slapping onto marble snapped you out of your daydreaming; almost empty, apparently.

As you rounded the corner, you spotted the source of the racket: America’s most polarizing nepo baby. Filming… a stunt of some kind? He takes a running start into a front flip, landing close enough to his tripod to throw it off balance. After repositioning it and trying again, his shoes slip in a puddle on the floor, forcing him to splay out a hand to avoid falling onto his ass.

You were well aware of Jack’s work; your feed was convinced you were precisely his target demo and had been pushing his content onto you since July. Maybe it wasn’t totally off base. Regardless, watching him struggle to land a perfect somersault was much more endearing than the finished videos. When he stands up for a third attempt and manages to tangle a tripod foot up with his pants in the process, you’re unable to suppress a fit of giggles.

“Are you winning over there, diva?”

Jack looks a bit sheepish when he first glances up but recovers quickly. He adjusts the tripod and hits you with the same smile your algorithm insists makes you weak.

“I think it’s still too close to call.”

“Did you want some help with the…whatever it is you’re recording?”

One of the tripod legs abruptly gives out, the clatter echoing around the breezeway. Jack winces and nudges the fallen hunk of fiberglass with his shoe.

“Yeah, that would be great, if you don’t mind.” Five long strides over to you and he’s pressing his phone into your hands, camera already open. “If you’d just follow- well, you saw what I was trying to do.”

You can’t say if it’s the pressure of a live audience of him being fed up with his previous attempts, but Jack flips perfectly into frame this time, proceeds immediately to an immaculate standing backflip, then takes off towards the other end of the breezeway without so much as glancing at the camera. He leaps up and clicks his heels a few steps in, only turning around when you’re starting to wonder if he’s just ditching the shoot altogether.

“How was that?” He shouts on his way back over.

“Looks good!” You have no earthly idea what he was going for, but it fits right in with the absurdist athletic vibe he’s been rocking with between his more overt political content.

“Aw, that’s great. Thank you!” he beams at you after looking over the footage (you try not to focus on how small the phone looks in his hands). “The lighting is perfect too.”

“Oh, good!” Thank god. “Did you need help with anything else?”

Jack rolls his eyes mischievously like he's considering letting you in on a huge secret. “I was actually going to film a thing or two for JD if you’ve got an extra minute.”

“For that? Absolutely!”

His grin stretches wider to match yours at that response, and you realize you’re smiling at each other like two idiots.

“I’m Jack, by the way.”

He repeats your name back after you introduce yourself, and you wish he’d do it again so you can keep watching his lips move saying it.

🔹🔹🔹🔹

This time, Jack gives you slightly more direction, guiding you to hold the phone at an angle just high enough to skew provocative as he leisurely strolls backwards through the hallway. You don’t need to coach him into angling his head just right to catch the afternoon sun in his eyes; he’s got the bambi look down pat.

“JD, I really miss you. Won’t you come home so we can be a family again?” He motions just out of frame for you to aim higher, but you’re already adjusting the shot before you see his signal. “You said I shouldn’t be voting because I’m not a dad like you. Is that true, JD? Or are you making up stories again?”

Jack glances backward to check if there’s enough room for him to keep up his pace, then breaks for a second to ask “Alright, one more?” The two octave difference almost makes you drop his phone, but you keep it together and nod.

His eyes crinkle up adorably when he smiles. “Sweet.” Then he’s back to business, eyefucking the camera like he just got out of prison.

“JD, I thought you knew everything, and you told me that I should never lie. How am I supposed to trust you if I don’t know when you're telling a story or not?”

You stick your bottom lip out and mouth “more”; he happily obliges. Jack looks every bit the foxy little public servant as he peers out at the lens from under his eyelashes.

“Can you help me understand, JD? I want to understand. I just need a little help. Can you show me?” Christ, he’s practically purring. Thankfully, he snaps back to director mode before you can get too lost in the rhythm.

“You think that was too much?”

“I think you could do a little more, to be really honest.”

His eyes narrow knowingly. “How so?”

“...You could go down on your knees.” You’re half joking at the most and still think you’ve crossed a line, but sure enough, he’s kneeling down and crossing his ankles like it couldn’t come more naturally to him.

He’s still plenty tall enough to bite your pant zipper, and you quickly shove the thought aside.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, perfect, just like that.”

This time, he might as well be on mute for all the words you’re processing. It’s all slow blinking doe eyes, curls bouncing with every emphatic head tilt, his tongue stretching out to wet his lips between sentences. The “Can you show me?” rocks straight through you and breaks the spell when Jack glances up at you. His expression shifts from mockingly innocent to coquettish for just a scorching, enduring moment, then he’s back on his feet, back to the bubbly, personable demeanor you’d expect from him.

“Thank you again for the help. She was NOT playing nice today.” he nods back at the tripod.

“Oh, it’s no problem! I love your work.” He waves a hand modestly.

“I love your work! You actually came out here and helped! It’s so much more important than what I do. Is this your first event?”

“It is! It’s my first time.”

“Well, we love first timers around here.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” The implication hits you a beat too late, so you pad it with a restrained “It’s really interesting to see the behind the scenes of it all.”

Jack rocks back on his heels, his eyebrows drawing up playfully.

“Have you seen the bus?”

“Of course I’ve seen the bus!”

“No, I meant the inside of it. Did you want to see that?” He allows himself the forwardness of a head tilt.

What else could you say?

“Yeah, I really would.”

🔹🔹🔹🔹

Bless the gelato truck, because there’s not a trace of human activity on this side of the building. You’re barely paying attention to the formality of a tour Jack’s giving; his enthusiasm is adorable, but the way his fingers spread as he’s pointing out every feature in the bus is making your mind wander.

“Shoes on or off?” you manage to ask.

“Oh, whatever you want. We’re not strict.” Off, then. “As you can see, this is where the magic happens.”

Once you get to the middle of the bus, the combination of campaign paraphernalia and scattered phone chargers, melatonin gummies, and cold brew cans feels like you’re getting a peek into something thrilling. There’s a map of tour stops tacked up with current polling results on a small whiteboard to the side. It’s close, but no doubt doable. You’re so swept up that you nearly smack your head on an open cabinet door when you turn back to face your host. His hand shifts back along its edge to cushion the impact before you can think to duck, and the heat from it makes your cheek tingle.

“Careful, it’s tight in here!” he teases.

It’s hard to shake the feeling of trespassing.

“Are you sure I’m good to be here?” Jack turns back from replenishing half empty swag baskets to smile reassuringly.

“No one needs it until one. When do you have to get back?”

“My break ends at one thirty.”

“I guess it’s our bus, then!” He fetches you a sparkling water from the minifridge and cracks open his own like he owns the place. You elect to remain standing and lean against one of the chairs opposite, certainly not because you want to have him looking up at you for as long as possible.

Jack is all long limbs and tanned striations as he stretches out on the bench seat like a cat, his wingspan nearly spanning its whole length. When he arches slightly to get comfortable, his shirt catches under his pecs and makes your mouth go dry. You wonder if you’re staring too much.

“So, do you have any other directing experience, or do you just have a knack for giving orders?” His head lolls to one side, soaking up your attention. One of his feet moseys it’s way over to you, and you uncross your ankles before it has a chance to nudge them in that direction.

“I think you’re just good at taking them.” Is that a blush you’re seeing? Jack breaks into a giggle that reads almost wistful.

“I was expecting you to tell me to roll over and balance a treat on my nose.”

“Anything for the campaign, right?”

“I mean, of course, but it's still those day to day interactions that are going to win this for us.”

“Yeah, the canvassing especially is really rewarding, I didn’t expect this many people to be undecided. I guess some of them still need a little convincing.” You plop down next to him, closer than you’d ever dare if he wasn’t flushed clear down to his shirt collar. Somehow, your right leg finds itself intertwined with his. He’s a fucking furnace, even directly under the AC unit.

“Not me though; I know exactly what I want to do.”

The corners of Jack���s mouth curl up without a shred of hesitation. He squints at you again before taking a slow pull of his Perrier, Adam’s Apple bobbing like it's begging you to bite it. His middle fingertip trails lazily around the rim as he sets it down. One last lip smack, then he’s pressing them onto yours and flooding your nose with the smell of clementines and sea salt.

The buzzing in your brain reaches a fever pitch when he drapes an arm around your waist to pull you closer. Tilting your head ever so slightly, your hand wanders up to cradle his face and press a thumb to his chin. A gentle push down to open Jack’s mouth and his tongue is snaking its way in, the obscene length of it sending sparks straight down to your clit. He breathes a contented, relieved moan into your mouth when your leg swings over his hips to straddle him, then little stilted mewls as you start rocking back and forth.

“You’re a little slut for democracy aren’t you? You tease, panting against his jawline.

“Who, me?” he grins and drags his hands up your thighs to settle on your ass, thumbs playing with your waistband.

You can feel your nipples hardening as you reach one hand out to steady yourself against the window. The bracing cold glass is delicious, but you flinch back when you spot people trickling back into view, gelato cups in hand, a few racing over to pose with the bus.

“Don’t worry; they can’t see you,” he chuckles along your sternum. Jack scooches too far forward trying to get a better angle to rut against you and nearly slides you both off the seat. You hear a whispered little “oh, shit,” before he scoops you up with one arm and shifts to stand, the other grabbing a spare water on his way to the rear of the bus. He collapses onto the deep sofa without missing a beat, but looks back up at you for reassurance, as if he’s somehow being presumptuous. You don’t even see it; you’re too busy yanking at his jeans like a madwoman after feeling how hard he is.

Concerns assuaged, he manages to pull both of your pants off without incident, only an accidental kick to the end table. Jack lets out a cackle when his hand slides low enough to feel you drip down his wrist.

“And I’m the slut for democracy?”

“Oh, shut up!”

You stretch behind him to the bin of condoms marked ‘F•CK PROJECT 2025’ on the far windowsill, shamelessly letting your breasts drag over his face in the process.

“It would really be a shame if we didn’t do some quality control, since we’re already here.” You trace one along his lips until they part to accept your gift.

“Such a waste,” Jack mimics you, if a bit muffled, as his incisors shred the foil wrapper. “And,” he adds cheekily with a shrug, “we’re fresh out of plan B.”

He’s already slid it on by the time you realize he’s unclipped your bra somewhere between here and the door, and you waste absolutely no time slipping him inside, so warm it makes you shudder. His eyelids flutter when you sit down fully; he’s whining like the bus is soundproof the second you get to work, all strained little whimpers and cut off syllables as you bounce in his lap. There’s not a minute to waste, and it’s showing in the breakneck pace you set. Jack’s movements are just as frantic, bucking up hard enough to threaten to throw you straight off this ride.

Desperate to see how far down he blushes, you slide your arms under his shirt, heat blooming up to your shoulders as you do. He gets your hint and tugs it off; you waste no time planting both hands on his pecs and letting your fingers run wild through his chest hair.

Meanwhile, your shirt and bra get caught on your elbow in the process of shedding them, and your left knee skids right off the couch while you’re distracted. Jack catches your shin effortlessly and plants his foot to keep his balance; you actually spot him smiling at his own reflexes. He rolls you both over without slipping out, chuckling a little “didn’t I tell you to be careful?” into your ear. He moves to let your leg down, and you throw it over his shoulder to keep him pinned flat against you before he can do so. The new angle restricts his range a bit, but he’s already shoving a hand down to strum at your clit, face millimeters from yours for the perfect view of just how much you’re loving it. He murmurs cockily when he sees you holding back. “Won’t you let me hear you?” There’s no way you’ll attract attention if you’re just moaning into his mouth, right?

It’s all too much; Jack’s whole body draped over you like a fever that won’t break, the way he’s panting down your throat every time you clamp around him, the little calluses on his occupied fingertips and how they maintain their perfect, unbearable pace no matter how much you thrash around. You can barely squeak out a “fuck, Jack, please-,”

His “I know, I know,” sounds just as ragged and that tips you right over the edge.

Jack’s composure completely unravels with the first pulse. His eyes screw shut and his hips still as deep as he can get to ride it out with you. You’re shaking and frothing like a can of Pepsi- sweet and sticking all along his slicked-flat happy trail as you lift your leg a little higher and over the back of his neck to pull him in closer. The beads of sweat on his forehead drip onto yours when he falls into another messy kiss, aftershocks buzzing comfortably through you both.

His phone timer jolts you out of your shared stupor.

“What is that?”

“12:30,” he groans into the couch cushion. “Sit tight, I’ll get you a towel.

🔹🔹🔹🔹

Jack is steaming your dress pants in one sock and his Hanes like its second nature, and it’s making a strong case for the hottest thing he could possibly do. In a few minutes, he’ll go out the front of the bus and stir up the crowd while you exit through the back.

“Take a bev for the road if you’d like.” He slaps the minifridge pointedly.

“Thanks, you’re such a good host!” you hadn’t moved from where you were laid out on the sofa; it was too much fun watching him get flustered from the compliment, “This was fun, getting to know you and all.”

“Yeah it was,” his tone is achingly sincere as he smiles back at you, face getting flushed all over again “...Not to be too bold, but could I get your number?”

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Ok ok- gn!reader, who skates with Bam, doing a skate stunt and breaking a bone or just getting really hurt. Johnnys/Bam’s/Steve-O’s reaction to it. Some literal hurt/comfort head-canons (?) <3

Head Trip

After a bad spill on the vert ramp, Y/N gets a visit in the hospital from their favorite idiots.

Gn!Reader

1.1k Words

(Fluff, Hurt/Comfort)

Warnings: Whump, suggestive content, crude language, drinking, concussions

An: Thank you for the request!! I had so many ideas for this one it kinda evolved into a fic of its own! XD I hope you don’t mind!

Your brain felt like it was full of cobwebs as you groggily blinked your eyes open. Half awake, you winced at the bright white overhead lights. It took a few minutes to realize that you weren’t still in Bam’s backyard skating and instead were sitting in some hospital bed. The thin sheets did nothing to the chill caused by the cold, medical air that made you shiver on the hard surface. Everything around you was so still, save for the beeping of various medical devices in neighboring rooms. Breaking the silence, the door opened and some lady in scrubs came in. Her lips moved, but your brain processed nothing.

A few moments later, you heard a commotion from outside the door. “Y/N!” Your ears perked up as a familiar voice called you, recognizing it as Knoxville, speaking through snickers with an audible grin, “Your, uh, your nurse is here to see you now!”

Tottering in on a pair of cherry red high heels, in came Pontius with a clipboard, wearing one of those minxy little nurse outfits. You couldn’t help yourself from grinning as he spoke in a falsetto, moving to stand at the side of your bed, “Okay, Y/N- is it? I’ve got you written down for…”

Before you could respond to your nurse, another person entered the room- a man in scrubs, wearing a tie back and surgical mask that obscured a majority of his face as you tried to focus on him, squinting. “Nurse?” He rasped, glancing over at Pontius with a serious expression, “Everything ready?” He nodded, and the scrub clad stranger pulled back one of his blue nitrile gloves, dramatically snapping it. “Alright! Then let’s get on with this vasectomy!“

You could hear him start to crack up as he neared the end of his sentence, his eyes squinting up as he leaned against a counter, pulling down his mask.

“Steve!” He grinned that boyish smile at you as you mentally slapped yourself for not getting it sooner. Maybe that head injury really was taking a toll on you. “Oh my god! Where- where did you get those scrubs?” He laughed, eyes glinting, “Don’t ask.”

Peeking around the door, you had no trouble identifying the owner of the Philly-trash accent as he strolled in like he owned the place, still wearing the same clothes he wore when you were skating, “Wow. Y’look like shit.” As if the tiny hospital room wasn't full enough, he crowded in next to you, “Yeah, thanks Bam- I feel like shit.” He gestured to you to scooch over in the stiff bed as he parked himself right next to you, pulling back the covers and laying down. Your head throbbed, but you still had enough strength to jab at him, “What are you doing?”

“M’tired.” There was your ole skate buddy Bam, practically snuggling with you in a hospital bed. Eh, you two had been closer in weirder places. You leaned over to whisper to him, “Did you get that on video? You know, the-“ “That spill off the vert ramp?” He grinned, fiddling with the camcorder in his pocket under the sheets, “Of course, man! Check this out.” He flipped it open, pressing a few buttons before the video started rolling. “Dunn told me to trash it, but it’s sick.”

The whole time you watched, you hardly noticed when Johnny slank in the open door, sitting in one of the uncomfortable metal bedside chairs. He started to pick at your untouched, hospital-provided lunch- you caught him about halfway into your pudding cup.

“Knoxville!” You scolded him like a dog that peed on the carpet. “What?” He shrugged, not seeing anything wrong with it, his mouth full of chocolate, “You weren't ‘eatin it.” Bam leaned over, snatching it from him. You would’ve thanked him- if he didn’t start eating it himself. His eyes flicked up from the pudding as he wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, licking it off.

“Hey! The party’s here!” You could make out the rough outline of the blonde as he strolled in, handing something heavy over to Johnny. “Dunn, this isn’t a party- and you can’t bring beer in a hospital!” He whispered, still holding the 6 pack on his lap. “Why not?” Your eyes focused just enough to make out the Miller High Life logo on the side of the box. You moved your head to get a better look around Bam (who was still eating the pudding), but the room spun with you. Your head dropped as you winced, squeezing your eyes shut and almost choking on your words, “You- you got beers…?”

“No, no- who said anything about beer?” Johnny chuckled, sitting up and hiding the 6 pack behind the chair, mouthing something about the parking lot to Steve from across the room before setting back into his seat, his legs sticking out awkwardly due to his height. “We just wanted to come by, check on how you’re ‘doin!” You cracked a pained smile as he looked at you over his glasses with a sympathetic look, “Well, that’s very sweet of you guys.”

“Okay, out! Shoo shoo!” Pontius spoke up, making a little shooing gesture with his hands, “It’s time for Y/N’s sponge bath~!” Before anyone could move, the door slid open and all heads whipped around to your actual nurse, staring in confusion at the scene in front of her. She made eye contact with Chris, “Who are you? Do you work here?” His eyes widened, still smiling, “I think I should go.” She rubbed her temples, sighing exasperatedly, “I think you should all go! Why are you even here- they’re getting released this afternoon!”

And a few hours later, some nervous nursing student wheeled you out to the parking lot. The wheels of the rickety chair bumped over the cracks in the sidewalk as she stopped at the curb, quietly apologizing for something you couldn’t make out. A white blur skidded out maybe two feet from you, the doors of the van flying open. “Hey, dude!” Steve spoke over the blaring music- some cock rock band. He leaned out one side, holding a bottle, “We saved a beer for you!” The poor lady didn’t know what to say as four of the men inside ran outside to you like a NASCAR pit crew. “I-im not so sure you should be-“

Before you could get in anything edgewise, you had two hands under your arms and two under your knees, the blue flowered paper gown you were dressed in crinkling as they hoisted you up and into the van. “We’re gonna get burgers on the way back! You want some?” Bam piped up as you were seated, crawling over you to get in the seat next to you. The nurse went to say something else, but before she could- slam! Knoxville shut the door and you peeled off out of the parking lot.

[chaitantei-ao3]

1

“Charlie, it will be big and bloody! That’s the whole point! It’ll be great if it covers the entire wall making it the first thing you see when you enter!”

“No! That’s where my rat traps go! If you put it there I have no place for my traps, Mac. Rats will be climbing all over it and I’ll have no choice but to kill them!” Charlie makes a swinging motion, whipping his arms out. “But hey, that’ll make it bloody. There’s gonna be blood everywhere ! So… Does that solve your problem? Does it Mac?!”

“Jesus, no one puts actual blood on the Cross, Charlie. What’s wrong with you?”

“No one puts crucifixes in bars.”

“Oh my god. I told you we need to rediscover Paddy’s image. It’s about time that we really become the Irish Catholic bar Paddy’s was always meant to be. Why do you think we named it Paddy’s in the first place?”

Dennis rubs his forehead, “We didn’t decide to name it Paddy’s.”

“Guys. You know what we should have? A comedy club, yeah. Let’s put up a stage instead and let me-”

“Fine, we didn’t name it. But that’s how we found it. Why it appeared like the Jesus star. A sign from God ultimately leading us, the three wise men to own this bar.”

“Now that’s ridiculous.” Dennis says.

Charlie throws his hands in the air. “Rats everywhere, Mac! I’m not having it.”

“Is anybody listening to-”

“Charlie, we're doing this whether you like it or not. Frank, I need cash to purchase the biggest crucifix anyone’s ever seen.”

“No can do.” Frank veers on his stool.

“What?”

“There’s nothing in the bar’s account.”

“C’mon Frank. You always have money.” Dennis says.

“Yeah, or just take another loan. Money, money, money.” Mac chants.

“I’ve not got any money for you fools.”

“Man, you’re bankrupt again? They’ll bail you out right.” Charlie raises his brows.

“If we are getting bankrupt I want my parachute and it better be golden.”

“I’m glad we’re finally moving on to the business of air tours over Philly, I told you we should have looked into that landing pad months ago.”

“It’s not even that tough, you just need some clearance, a licensed pilot. But that’s easy. And those guys don’t look at credit scores and other useless details. It’ll pay for itself, it’s a banker’s wet dream.”

“Well I could always train to become a pilot, the ladies do like a uniform. And if things become interesting inside the cockpit, yeah I said that Dee, don’t make that face. I’ll be using that parachute, Frank, thanks.”

“No way Dennis, I’ll look way cooler jumping. Actually, you can keep the parachute, that way me jumping off that helicopter would look way more badass.”

“I’m not buying you a helicopter for you to fall from it you idiots, it was a figure of speech.”

“You know we’re overthinking it with fancy parachutes, we should just crash the helicopter and go the good old insurance fraud route.”

“Enough!” Frank smacks the bar stool next to him, then winces, “Dammit, look what you made me do, it left a mark. I could have gotten a few cents more on its sale.”

Dee laughs, “Ha, you’d be lucky to get a penny for that. Five years ago some dogs were having sex on it.”

“What?!” Dennis throws the bar towel to the side and folds his hands over his chest. “Dee, you unbelievable bitch. You said you found it in a flea market.”

“No, asshole. I said I found it with fleas on it. Clearly nobody listens to a word I say here. And I was suggesting that we put up-” Dennis focuses his attention on Frank.

“Okay, this is between us and the dogs. I could still sell it.” Frank strokes his chin.

“What is all this about selling, Frank. You’re not serious.”

“Hells yes, I am. We have a big problem.”

“So what if Paddy’s losing money. This is temporary.”

“Paddy’s always losing money. Anyone in their right mind would’ve shut down this business long ago.”

“Excuse me.” Mac says.

“You can’t sell the bar, Frank.” Dennis pinches his forehead, “As co-owners we veto this decision.”

Frank shrugs, “Be better for you anyway.”

“Frankie what’s happening?” Charlie looks at him.

Frank pushes his glasses up his nose, “I lost the paper trail, Charlie. All my books-”

“Don’t you have to make sure you don’t leave a paper trail? Look guys, take it from me. I have an idea of what an audit now-”

“Shut up, Dee.”

“Frank, wait. You’re saying this is about a goddamn paper trail?”

Frank grunts, “My businesses are in deep shit. I cannot make new fakes if I don’t know which fakes to buy and which fakes to sell.”

Mac’s mouthing fake with a questioning look, Charlie is glancing between Frank and Dennis, Dee is- Dennis faces Frank and says, “That hardly looks like a problem to me.”

"Okay, whatever. I don't know about you guys but Fight Milk is doing very well, I'll just hop on that." Mac says.

Charlie looks at him and nods. "Me too!"

“I can't fund that thing without the shells."

"I thought we had a deal, Frank. You said you were interested."

"I am interested. But like I said, I need that list! There's no money without that list for anything.”

Dennis narrows his gaze, looking at Frank. “Well, if you’re not interested in putting in money then sell your goddamn shares.”

“Fine.” Frank says. “I’ll sell ‘em. I’m losing money here anyway.”

“Shit, you are serious.” Charlie says, “Frank, are you leaving us?”

“I said what I said.” Frank says.

They look at each other.

Read more

[tapedsleeves]

updated 3/20/23 :)

[babbushka]

May I request visiting flip at the station and just being sweet on him and...maybe👉🏻👈🏻 he gets poked fun at when they hear you call him “philly”

A/N: You guys know I'm such a sucker for visiting my man at work lol, please enjoy these fluffy shenanigans! (side note, the word 'zeeskeit' is yiddish for 'sweetie' so, if you see that, that's what that means lol)

1.4k, cw for Baby Zimmerman and also pregnancy lol, fluff :)

The monotony of the day drones on and on, and each time Flip checks the clock, the hands seem to move ever slower. Mondays, he thinks, taking a sip of coffee that’s starting to go cold, his mood souring along with it. Everyone is working sluggishly, not really paying attention to what’s in front of them, much like Flip. He should be typing up a report that needs to be on Bridges’ desk by the end of the day, but it’s hard to focus when he would much rather be in bed.

When the phone rings, he’s hesitant to even answer it, mostly because he’s pretty sure it’s Bridges, and the most he’s done on the report is write his name. But the more the phone rings, the more looks he keeps getting from his fellow detectives in the unit, so he picks it up and holds it to his ear -- much to his own surprise when he hears the sound of your perky voice greeting him with a happy, “Hey honey!”

Brightening almost immediately, warmth spreads through Flip’s chest, and he knows it’s not the coffee. He tucks the phone against his cheek and looks at the framed photo of you that he has on his desk. You’re smiling in the photo, and Flip can hear your smile now through the phone, so much so that he almost wants to smile too. Almost.

“Hi ketsl.” He replies, keeping his voice low so that the others in the bullpen don’t overhear. They’re nosy, and despite his best efforts, he can already feel the men around him tune in to your conversation.

“I just wanted to give you a heads up that we’re around the corner. I know it’s a little early but -- ”

“No no, never too early for you.” Flip rushes to say, before he hears a happy sound coming from somewhere in the backseat. You must be calling on the carphone, and Flip does smile then. “Let me guess, did he just wake up from his nap?”

“Yeah, I figured let me get him while he’s in a good mood.” You talk over the noise of your son happily chattering away in his toddler babble about the trees and flowers that are all in bloom outside the car window, “Are you sure it’s okay?”

“More than okay, come over, I miss you.” Flip assures you.

“Alright Philly, I’ll be there in two shakes.” You reply, blowing kisses into the phone.

“Love you, bye.” He blows a kiss back, before hanging up, knowing that you must be pulling into the parking lot right that very minute.

Looking up for a moment when he hangs up the phone, he sees that just about everyone within earshot is biting back a grin.

“What?” Flip blinks, before they all start to snicker, smothering smiles behind their hands, pretending they aren’t making fun of him. Flip squares his shoulder and glowers, voice a little deeper this time when he threatens, “What?”

“Nothing.” Jim shakes his head, clicks the back of his pen a couple times, before grinning a cheeky, “...Philly.”

Oh shit, Flip thinks with an immediate wince. The guys at the station only ever heard you call him Flip, and for good reason. Aside from Ron and Jim, Flip’s unit could get really fucking obnoxious about men being sweet with their partners, thinking it’s funny to tease them. Flip knows Jim doesn’t mean anything by it, but still, Flip can’t help but clench his jaw at the remark.

“...Watch it.” He points a finger over at his friend, who backs off with a toothy grin.

“Maybe we ought to change the nameplate on your desk, or better yet your badge, huh Philly?” One of the other detectives, a guy named Richard, who Flip doesn’t like all that much to begin with, pipes up from across the bullpen, “Not so sure how much fear you’d strike into the hearts of Colorado Springs’ toughest criminals but it’s worth a test.”

“Maybe I ought to shoot you in both your kneecaps.” Flip snaps quickly, a deep scowl on his face.

And he’s inclined to, until there’s the little pitter-patter of feet on the carpeted floor, and a bundle of newly awoken energy is racing towards him.

“Pop!” The boy happily shouts, unaware of his own volume. Flip’s hands shoot out on instinct and he scoops up his two year old, standing up to walk over to where you’re smiling fondly from the doorway.

“Hey zeeskeit, I hear you’ve been good for Mama?” Flip presses about a dozen little kisses to his son’s dimpled cheek, the goatee tickling him and making him laugh and wiggle out of Flip’s grip, which is more than okay with Flip because that means he gets to pull you in for a hug.

Hugging you is getting progressively more difficult, with how pregnant you’re starting to get, but the two of you make it work while your son bounds over to his Uncles Ron and Jimmy for hello hugs.

“He’s been a little grouchy all day, but that’s nothing I’m not used to.” You wink playfully at Flip, before noticing that a couple of the other detectives are still snickering and chuckling, doing a poor job of hiding it. You raise a brow to your husband and ask with a smile, “What’s so funny?”

Flip sends the bullpen a death glare, and Ron is up out of his seat before anyone can pull a stunt, something Flip’s grateful for.

“Not a thing Mrs. Z., here let me get that for you.” He takes the lunch basket out of your hands.

“She’s my wife, I can carry her shit.” Flip frowns, but you only wave it off, grateful for the help of your friends.

“Aw it’s okay Philly -- ” You say before immediately catching yourself, a hand flying up to your mouth as your eyes widen, trying to backtrack, “Oh shit, Flip, sorry, I meant Flip -- ”

The detectives around you start snickering again, and Flip doesn’t want to get angry in front of the kid, so he just swallows his pride and wills himself not to go too red in the face.

“Cat’s out of the bag, ketsl.” Rubbing across the back of his neck, Flip resigns himself to the teasing.

“I’m sorry.” You wince, mentally kicking yourself.

Your son toddles back over to you and wraps his arms around one of Flip’s legs, sitting on his boot because Flip’s feet are so damn big that he can, and that softens up the detectives a little. Even hardened police officers are hard-pressed to be stoic in the face of such a cute kid, you think.

“I think it’s sweet.” Ron says, regarding the nickname, jabbing a thumb in the general direction of the bullpen, “And they do too, deep down inside.”

“Yeah, deep, deep down.” Jim replies, trying and failing to help.

“They’re just jealous because they don’t have a beautiful wife like me.” You wink, slipping your arms over Flip’s shoulders, your bump only slightly getting in the way as you lean up to kiss him.

It’s mostly a power play, especially when you deepen the kiss and slip your tongue into Flip’s mouth with a happy sigh. You know you’re a catch, you know how the other men in the station look at you, jealous of Flip that you’re his. And it works, their teasing turns to a reminder that at least Flip has a gorgeous woman to call him silly nicknames, unlike them.

“Alright alright, we get it, you’re in love.” That one detective, Richard, grumbles, burying himself back in his paperwork.

Flip grins at you, presses a chaste kiss to your lips before trying to untangle his son from his leg, picking him up and smiling at the way he giggles from how high up he gets to be because Flip’s so tall.

“C’mon ketsl, let’s go to the break room where we can get away from these losers.” He walks over and passes him to Ron, who happily accepts his nephew and lets him start typing random nonsense on the typewriter. Flip tucks back some of the toddler’s hair and asks his friend, “Do you mind watching him?”

“Not a problem at all,” Ron replies, and Flip thinks that the humor of the day has finally subsided, with everyone going back to their business and settling down, until there’s a round of snickers again, when his friend betrays him by grinning and adding another cheeky, “Philly.”

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Taggin some Flip lovin' friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @caitlin-was-here @canikeepitonplease @icarusinthesea @princessflip

[talkfantasytome]

PART THREE PART THREE PART THREE. I will sell my kidneys, organs, my stupid heart for a part three in the vacation Nesta and Cassian. Time for Cassian to put on his moves and maybe Cassian POV? I love simping cassian as much as I love a sexy Cassian.

Combining also with this one:

There's also another ask for this, but it didn't specify part 3, so I will be doing a part 4 to answer that one. XD

Part 1 | Part 2 | Read on AO3

Cassian didn't give a fuck.

Not a single one.

He couldn't care less how obvious he was being. Not when the woman in front of him was happy to entertain.

It didn't matter that they were at different tables, supposedly engaged in separate conversations. No, so long as they maintained eye contact, they were in their own world, and no one else mattered.

It had been bad enough that afternoon, seeing her lounge by the pool so close to where he and his brothers were swimming. Book in hand, yet clearly not making a dent in it. She was too busy glancing up at something.

At what, specifically, he couldn't be entirely sure - those damn sunglasses. But, he had a feeling that her eyes met his a few too many times to be a coincidence. He sure as hell hadn't been able to stop himself from looking over at her continuously throughout the entire hour she sat there. He wasn't sure if it was good or bad luck that had her leaving before the rest of her friends.

He felt his eyes darken as her lips wrapped around her straw, holding her smirk as she took a sip of her cocktail. His breathing went ragged when she licked her lips and his heart all but stopped when she then bit down.

He was going to die.

This woman, with her storm cloud eyes and sensuous mouth, was going to be the death of him, and he hadn't even gotten her name.

Cassian was just about to stand up and do something about this situation when the redheaded girl next to his death pointed excitedly behind them and the three girls all stood up and made their way over to the railing of the deck, looking out to the ocean.

Smart girls, to bring their things and drinks, because not a minute later their table was taken by two couples, and suddenly Cassian didn't care much about his seat.

"Look at that, from best to worst seats in the house in thirty seconds flat," Rhys sighed, leaning back against his seat.

Cassian laughed and stood up, his brothers' eyes following him.

"Where are you going?" Az asked.

"To go find where the best seat is now." He winked at his brothers and then walked toward where the girls stood, taking in the back of his lady death's dress for the first time.

It was a fact. She truly was trying to kill him.

Because where the back was supposed to be, it was essentially just all skin. All smooth, perfectly golden-tanned skin. He couldn't stop himself from imaging running his hand across that back, down her perfect little ass, and resting on the thigh just beneath, right around where the hem of the dress brushed. And shit, was that dress short in exactly the right way, showing off long legs that would wrap so perfectly around him.

Oh, he was so screwed.

A smart man would stop walking. Would pivot, grab a drink, and maybe find a girl that wasn't likely to be the end of him. Someone safer.

It was safe to say that, tonight, Cassian was not a smart man.

Not as he, instead, counted his blessing that she stood to the left of her friends, instead of remaining in the middle. And certainly not as he settled himself against the railing next to her, purposefully keeping his eyes on the horizon.

She stiffened beside him, also refusing to look directly at him, but he had a feeling he knew who had taken the spot beside her.

"Beautiful view," he noted.

"It is," she agreed. "And you just missed the whale."

"The whale?"

He could see in his peripheral that she nodded. "Well, its tail. And it was pretty far out, but it was clearly a whale's tale that came up out of the water and then splashed back down. Like it was waving at us."

A smile tugged at his lips at that comment. "I'm sure it was." He finally felt her shift, her gaze landing on him, so he turned to look at her, unprepared for what he found.

Yes, he'd already seen those blue-grey eyes, tantalizing and taunting as she'd sipped her drink, but now they were something else as they assessed him so thoroughly he felt as if he were naked and needed to cover himself.

Still, he held her stare, putting on a lazy, cocky smile. "I'm Cassian," he offered, resting one arm on the railing as he studied her. The way her pupils dilated as she looked at him, how her eyes shifted just slightly at the comment, or how her mouth twitched for the tiniest second upward before she schooled herself again.

"Nice name," she replied, her own body mirroring his stance.

"Surely not as lovely as yours." He'd leaned in slightly to say the words at a lower register, and regretted it almost immediately when the woman practically cackled in his ear.

He winced as he pulled away, and the girl's face seemed to soften at that. "I'm sorry," she sighed, covering her mouth with her hand. "I was just expecting a better line."

Cassian couldn't help but chuckle slightly. "So, you spend at least five minutes taunting me from your table, only to insult me when I finally come up to talk to you. How's that seduction technique working out for you?"

"I'll tell you in the morning." She smirked up at him, her eyes lit with amusement. "I'm Nesta."

"Well, I wasn't wrong then." He smiled down at her, risking a step closer, sliding his beer down the railing with his arm.

A wicked gleam flashed in her eyes, even as she helped in bridging the gap with her own step. "No, looks like I was the only one with too high of expectations."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll exceed them in many other ways." Her breasts were just barely brushing his chest, so Cassian moved, one final step, so that their bodies were all but pressed against each other, knowing exactly what she would be feeling.

A soft gasp escaped Nesta's lips, an accidental slip up from the cool exterior she'd been presenting. But she didn't let it deter her.

"Perhaps I have a problem expecting too much," she rasped. "How do you know I haven't made it impossible to even meet them?"

His eyes widened at the challenge, but Cassian's lips only fell into a half-smile he was sure would drive her crazy as he leaned in, bringing his mouth once again to her ear. "I guarantee I'll find a way." He felt Nesta's body sway into him slightly, as if her instinct was to melt into his touch, and he let his free arm wrap around her waist to steady her as she attempted to pull back to quickly. "Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?"

Cassian watched as Nesta's cheeks flushed with pink, his heart racing at the sight. His arousal building enough to keep him from feeling triumphant at rendering her speechless. Mostly.

A loud round of laughter broke through their silent staring contest, causing both Nesta and Cassian to snap their heads toward the sound, and he finally noticed the group standing near them. It appeared that Rhys and Azriel had finally worked up the courage to go talk to the two girls they'd been eyeing all day, and the four of them were engaged in conversation together.

Nesta stiffened at the sight, taking a small step back. Not enough to pull out of Cassian's arm, but enough to allow the breeze in, chilling Cassian slightly despite the tepid temperature.

"Nesta!" the redheaded girl suddenly called, turning to look at them both. Nesta quickly pivoted in his arm, facing her friends and his brothers, and it made Cassian feel empty, to lose her gaze and focus. "Come join us! We're comparing favorite bars!"

Sighing, Nesta started toward their friends, laying a hand over Cassian's on her waist, letting him know to keep it there and walk with her. He was certain muscles loosened that he hadn't realized he'd tensed at that touch.

"Why on earth would you be comparing bars?" she asked skeptically.

"Rhys and Az live in Philly, too!" the girl almost identical to Nesta, but with softer lines and a clearly younger face explained.

"I'm Rhys, by the way," his brother standing to that girl's right offered, violet eyes focused on Nesta for a moment. "And this is Az." He motioned to their other brother, who was standing between Nesta's mini-me and the redhead. "Since Feyre darling didn't mention that."

The girl - Feyre - rolled her eyes, but Nesta offered him a small chuckle. "Nesta," she said, in a tone that said she knew it was obvious. "Feyre, Gwyn, this is Cassian. Cassian, this is my little sister Feyre, and one of my soul sisters, Gwyn."

"Younger!" Feyre corrected.

"And little. You are shorter," Nesta teased, grinning at the girl before turning back to Cassian. "Do you live in Philly too, then?"

Cassian couldn't help but smile as it all hit him. "Yeah, I do."

They lived in the same city. Or close enough to it.

And suddenly everything changed.

@generalnesta

[eelistolvanen]

Bruises that you left behind - Travis Konecny

A/N: Soo, I recently came up with the idea for this fic. It’s nowhere near finished but I figured I’d post the first part. Let me know if you like it and want more :) 

Words: 3k

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, no proofread  

Summary: Two years after getting your heart broken by the love of your life, you run into someone from your past life. And you have to face the fact that you can’t run away forever but have to face your past and everything that shattered you. (I know this is vague but I don’t want to spoiler this...)

Italics indicate flashbacks.

_______________________________

Hannah peaked her head trough the door. “Y/N! You’re still here? Shouldn’t you be at home by now?” She send a confused look. Y/N gave her a soft smile. “I’m just finishing up something, Han. One of my students is a little behind in class and I’m trying to figure out ways to help him. And you’re still here too. ” “You’re too kind for your own good”, Hannah replied with a quiet sigh “I would be long home if it wasn’t for this parent talk I had tonight. You should go home too, it’s late.” “I will, once I finish this” you reply with a glint in your eyes. Hannah knew better than to argue with you. Everyone knew how stubborn you could be. Hannah send you a final wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night Y/N!” “Good night Han!”

You stayed for longer than you probably should have. And you were definitely feeling it the next day. Thankfully you had a free afternoon. So you did what you usually did on a Thursday afternoon. You sat in your favourite little café and were preparing for the upcoming week. While the café still screamed Philly, it was far enough out of the city to be quiet. It felt so local and intimate, nothing like the big, busy city. That’s probably the reason you loved it so much. Most costumers were locals and by now you got to know a couple familiar faces. You had been living in this part of town for about a year now. And while you were reminded of your old life every now and then – flyers jerseys being worn by the locals, banners hanging around your part of town, a familiar face in the newspaper- that life seemed far far away now.

The ringing of the doorbell ripped you out of your thoughts and let you focus back on the computer in front of you. You hadn’t gotten very far today. Somehow you head was somewhere else, definitely not focused on the task at hand. You also hadn’t noticed the man approaching you’re table. Only realising his presence as he slipped into the seat across from you.

“Y’know I knew you couldn’t hide from me forever. I couldn’t believe my eyes the other day, I thought I was dreaming, when I saw you walk out this door.” He hadn’t changed that much in the last 2 years, eyes still as pretty as ever, still wearing that cheeky little smile of his. For a moment you froze, unable to get a word out or even move a muscle. But your wall wasn’t down for long.  “What are you doing here, Nolan? This isn’t your part of town.” You cringed at your ice cold reply, but was he really expecting you to welcome him with open arms?

“Well yeah, I admit it was a fluke that I saw you the other day. I’ve been around this part of town a lot recently.”

You really didn’t care about his stories, you weren’t best friends anymore, you couldn’t even consider him a friend really. A stranger with shared memories maybe. It hurt you to pack up your things and get up to leave but you couldn’t sit here and make small talk with Nolan. You might have left that life behind but that didn’t meant that it wasn’t still haunting you. You could see the disappointed look on Nolan’s face once he realised what you were doing. But he didn’t stop you. Of course, he didn’t. Sweet, loving Nolan, he never met you with anything other than kindness. But here you were,  walking out on him again.

“You know, I don’t remember us breaking up too, Y/N.” The sadness in his voice was unmistakable.

“Leave it, Nols!” you muttered just as your voice cracked. Tears sprang into your eyes as you left the café in a hurry.

_______________________

The bar was beyond crowded. It was a Friday night and if it were up to you, you’d  be curled up on the couch with a glass of red wine. But somehow Hannah and some of your other friends managed to drag you out of your house. Now you were squeezed into a booth, somewhat tipsy, and were listening to your friend Liz complain about some guy. To be honest you were actually enjoying yourself. A night out with your friends was exactly what you needed right now. Hannah looked up behind you, as you felt someone approaching your booth.

“Hey Kelsey, how is it going?” Hannah asked with a smile on her face. You vaguely remember the brunette approaching your table as one of Hannah’s neighbours. You’d seen her around but never really held a conversation with her. “Hey Hannah, hey girls! I’m just dropping this drink off.” She replied as she placed a tall glass in front of you. She gave you a gentle smile. “Nolan said it is your favourite.” It was a Long Island Ice Tea and it used to be your favourite. Not anymore. You accepted it anyway.

“He’s here?” you replied probably a bit to sharp as Kelsey slightly winced. She nodded her head towards the bar. You turned around and looked straight into Nolan’s eyes. As if burned you flinched and turned back around just as quickly. Kelsey gave one last wave before turning towards the bar.

The rest of the night was torture. You wanted nothing more than to get out of the bar and go home. Just as you were leaving the bar, seemingly escaping any other run in with the past, you felt his presence behind you. As soon as you were outside he spoke up.

“Give me a chance, Y/N. I know you’re angry and mad and hurt, but I don’t deserve this. Not this silent, cold shoulder treatment.” You knew he was right. He’d never done anything to you. He let you cry onto his shoulder when your heart broke. When he broke you. Nolan was nothing but supportive, the greatest best friend any one could ask for. And then you walked out of his life, without as much as a goodbye.

You turned around, tears in your eyes. God, it hurt to see him like this. So full of sorrow, so hurt. “I can’t Nolan. I’m so sorry.” With that your voice broke and you turned around and did the only thing you knew. You ran away. Again.

________________________

It was Sunday morning, almost lunchtime as you dragged yourself out of bed. You still hadn’t recovered from this week, let alone from everything that happened the Friday prior. Not feeling like making breakfast you decided you treat yourself to brunch at the café.

The doorbell rang as you entered and you were so hungry you took a beeline straight to the counter. As you ordered your food and paid, you started walking towards your usual table. Only to find it occupied.

“Y/N! Come sit down, we need to talk.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself. “Just let it be, Nolan. There’s nothing to talk about.” But before you were able to fully turn around and find another way out of this, he’d already grabbed your wrists and pulled you towards the table. You let yourself fall into the booth defeated.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Nolan.” You could hear him sight audibly. “Fine, then we’ll talk about something else.” You looked up at him and realised it wasn’t worth fighting him. So you decided to take the lead, at least this gave you the chance to dictate the conversation.

“Soo, you and Kelsey, huh? Are you like together?” You internally cringed at you passive tone. Nolan’s face lit up. “Yeah, she’s great you know. I feel like she could be the one.” Your mood started to lighten up. “That’s good. I’m happy for you Nolan, I really am. I know how much you wanted to meet someone special. The one, huh?” He chuckled lightly. You really were happy for him, if someone deserved all the good things it was Nolan. “When I met her, I just kinda knew, you know?” You stayed silent. Oh, you knew. You knew what it felt like to meet the one. Nolan quickly identified the look of sadness on your face. “I mean, yeah… She means a lot to me.” You gave him a thankful smile. He knew you didn’t want to talk about him. He reached across the table and took your hand in his.

“I just… Y/N, you were my best friend, you still are. Don’t push me away. I know your hurting but I’m your friend.”  You knew this was coming. But you still wished you could run away from it. But you couldn’t. Not this time. Nolan didn’t deserve this. “You’re also his friend!” you tried to keep your emotions at bay but it just flowed over. “That’s not fair and you know that. I didn’t just lose one friend that day. I lost two. My two best friends.” His voice cracked and he turned his head to the side so you wouldn’t see his watery eyes. You felt a sudden lump in your throat. You never thought about how he felt. God, you were so selfish. “I’m so sorry Nolan. I was a shitty friend.” He gave you a sad smile. “No, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve what happened. I get why you left. Why you ran away. Get away from it all, let the dust settle, start again. I just always thought that I’d hear from you. Maybe that you would come back even. But I got nothing. No call, no text, nothing. I had to call your sister to know you’re still alive but that was all I got.” You were crying silent tears now, slowly you stood up and moved over to hug him. “God, I’m so sorry Nols. I wanted to, I just couldn’t. I needed to restart my life. And you were such a big part of the life I used to have, I just didn’t think I could handle the pain.” He squeezed your shoulders. “Just promise me not to run from me again. Don’t shut me out, you weren’t the only one hurting.”

 That evening you were standing in front of your drawer. It seemed like it took you hours to muster up courage to open it. You hadn’t touched it since you moved in. And you hadn’t touched it’s content in over 2 years. Slowly you pulled it open. A wave of emotions crushed over you. All the memories kept flooding back. In this drawer was all the stuff you weren’t able to throw away. You just couldn’t bring yourself to it. All your memories of your life back then. Your hand moved over it’s content. Until it landed on the little velvet box. You took it out and opened it. Instantly tears started to fill your eyes as the memory came flooding back, knocking you over.

“Y/N, you’re the most important thing in my life, you’re my best decision, my greatest friend and adventure. You’re the love of my life.” Slowly Travis took a knee in front of you and pulled a little velvet box out of his pocket. “I love you so much, Y/N! Will you marry me?” with that he opened the little boy and revealed the most perfect engagement ring. You couldn’t contain your excitement, nearly knocking him over as you tried to kiss him. “Yes, yes, I will marry you!” Thankfully he caught you and lifted you up, kissing you. As he slipped the ring on your finger he softly muttered “I can’t wait to marry you, Mrs. Konecny!”

 _________________  

The following week was thankfully less stressful. On Thursday, when you had you’re afternoon off, Nolan just so happened to have an off day. He was currently sprawled out on your couch, taking in his surroundings. “I like your place, it’s nice. When did you move in?”

You froze. Your hand was hovering above the water bottle you were  trying to grab out of the fridge. You knew you had to tell him the truth. And you also knew he wasn’t going to like it.

“A bit over a year ago.” You grabbed the water bottle and turned towards Nolan, just as you heard him suck in a deep breath. When you looked at him you could see the tension that had risen up.

“A year ago? A year, Y/N?! You’ve been back in Philly for an entire year and you couldn’t even send a text that you’re back?”

God, you hated to disappoint him like that. You knew it was wrong to not reach out to him, he’d done nothing wrong. Still, you didn’t feel strong enough to let someone from your past life back into your new life. You felt like this was the only way to move on.

Before you could reply something, he continued.

“So when were you going to reach out Y/N? I mean eventually you would-“ He paused, studying your face. Of course he would be able to read you like an open book.

“You weren’t.” The utter disappointment in his voice nearly took your breath away.

“No.” Your voice was so quiet, you weren’t he even heard you. He didn’t need to, he already knew the answer. In one swift motion Nolan rose to his feet, taking a few steps towards the windowfront of your apartment. He dragged his hands through his long hair a couple of times before turning back to you.

“Why? I was your best friend Y/N. Why?”

“I already told you Nolan, I couldn’t.” You barely got those words out before Nolan spoke up again.

“But why? I get that you needed time away, that you needed to restart and I also wouldn’t have blamed you if you never returned to Philly. But I just never thought you would cut all ties with me. I always thought our friendship would survive this, that one day at least the two of us would be back to normal.”

You didn’t know how to start. How could you let him down easy with this. How could you tell your best friend that you planned on never seeing him again. Slowly you sat down on the couch and waited for Nolan to join you.

“You have to know I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted to leave you without saying something but I was in so much pain, so angry and hurt I wasn’t functioning properly. And at first I wanted to call you, reach out to you. But I just thought that I needed to have some time by myself for a while. And the longer it took the harder it got. I felt like I had to completely leave this life behind, so I could move on, so that it would hurt less.” Tears were rolling down your cheeks and your vision had started to get blurry. Everything that you had buried deep down was starting to resurface.

“I’m sorry Nolan. But I just felt like I had to leave this life behind me. Everything from this life, him, you, the team, my friends that I’d made here. You were such a big part of my life then, I couldn’t think about you without being reminded of him. So I realized I had to let it go. All of it. Even my best friend.”

You body was shaking with sobs now. Nolan pulled you into his chest, keeping you close. One hand soothingly stroking your hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to be collateral damage, Nolan.” You mumbled into his chest, sobs still raking your body.        

You stayed like this for a while. Nolan stayed silent, letting you cry into his chest. It took ages till you felt yourself calm. You had let everything out. Of course you had cried before but not like this. The last time you’d been crying like that was a bit over 2 years ago while Nolan held you close and whispered countless “It’s going to be okay” into your hair. I hadn’t helped though. His words empty promises, that the both of you knew weren’t true. In that moment, 2 years ago, your heart truly shattered. And no matter how hard Nolan tried, there was nothing he could do to fix it. To late, the damage had already been done, just a few hours prior.

 “Gosh, you look so beautiful Y/N!” Your sister Lauren tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I still can’t believe this is happening, sis. You’re getting married!” You had never seen you this happy. And you’d never been this happy either. You had dreamed of such a wedding since you were little. Suddenly all your Pinterest Wedding boards had seemed to come alive. You were smiling ear to ear.

There was another knock on the door, like there had been so many others this morning, but you didn’t really realise the new presence until Nolan was approaching you. He had a weird look in his eyes and as he came closer you realised that his eyes were slightly watery. Before you could say anything he had wrapped you in a hug. You felt like he was going to squeeze you to death. As he pulled back you could see the sad smile on his face. Something was wrong.

“You look so pretty, Y/N. My beautiful best friend.” You could see that he was trying to masque his feelings but you knew him all too well. Panic set in.

“What’s wrong?” You searched his eyes for answers but he only had eyes for the ground. “Nolan, what’s wrong? Did something happen to Travis?” The blood in your veins seemed to freeze. Suddenly the room started spinning. Still no answer from Nolan. “Nolan! Please, what’s wrong with him?” Finally Nolan seemed to be ripped out of his trance. When he lifted his gaze up to look into your eyes you could see the tears running down his cheeks. “He’s fine, Y/N. He’s …” “He’s what?” you pushed. You knew from the look in his eyes that the answer was going to shatter you.

He slowly shook his head. “He’s not coming, Y/N.”

Part 2

[itsany62]

SteveTony - Meet-Cute

Here you have some meet-cute to brighten your day. Don't forget to leave kudos and nice comments in every fic!

I Second that Emotion, by firebrands, pre-serum Steve, 3 k > words.

Steve Rogers’ night is shaping up to be a disaster. He curses to himself as he makes his way through his small apartment for the third time, picking up pillows and strewn about clothes in an attempt to find his mock-ups. “Fuck!” he shouts, sinking onto the couch and cradling his head in his hands, feeling utterly defeated. Steve looks up at the sound of soft tap-tapping of paws against the wooden floor and Dodger sticks his head right under the crook of Steve’s shoulder to peer up at him.

good directions by parkrstark, 3 k > words, Single Dad Steve.

"Way up yonder past the caution light, there's a little country store with an old coke sign. First, you gotta ask Miss Romanoff for some of her sweet tea. Best I've ever had on this side of the Mason Dixon."

The man was smiling softly. "Oh, is it now?"

"Wouldn't lie about sweet tea, sir," Steve replied seriously. "After you try some for yourself, you can take a left at the turn, and it'll take you to the interstate."

The man nodded his head, but he hesitated as if he didn't want to leave.

Steve cleared his throat, daring to shoot his shot. The worst that could happen was that the man could laugh at him. "But, if you take a right, it'll take you right back here to me."

Swiping Right by S_Horne, 5 k > words, Single Dad Tony.

“Ouch. Definitely a hard pass for that one?”

Steve startled at the sudden comment from the row of chairs behind him and turned around. He’d been passing the time in the airport lounge by swiping through Tinder and had gotten lost in his own world. It was almost jarring to be pulled away from the screen of hot men and back into reality where the PA was screeching and there was noise everywhere.

Adjusting to the difference, Steve frowned. Wait, he knew that face. Oh, shit… he knew that face.

“No, no, it’s fine,” the man said before Steve could get out anything other than an embarrassed sort of yelp. Waving his hand through the air, the stranger smiled ruefully. “I get it. It’s the beard, isn’t it? True be told, it was a weird winter choice that year and I knew it would come back to hurt me.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. He knew it must have shown on his face and could feel himself flushing, panicked and embarrassed all at once. What were the odds of swiping left on someone literally sat behind him?

The Pawfect Meeting by FestiveFerret, 5 k > words, Single Dad Tony.

Steve's annoyed when a man brings his kid to the dog park without a dog - it's a dog park, not a daycare - but the kid turns out to be calm and gentle, and the dad turns out to be smoking hot.

Then he turns out to be sweet, and kind, and funny, and wonderful too...

Love and Other Words by kenzithewriter, 4 k > words, Alternate Universe - Bookstore.

When Pepper drags Tony along to a local book signing event, the last thing he meant to do is go on a long winded rant about a book series to a complete stranger, but then he also hadn't been planning on joining Pepper at all, so there's that. Fun meet-cute idea that wouldn't leave me alone.

Christmas Rush by FestiveFerret, 1 k > words, Single Dad Tony.

The inside of the store was packed to the gills with last minute gift buyers, and Tony grit his teeth and elbowed his way in. He dodged carts all the way to the Disney area and started scanning the aisles. Halfway down was the Frozen 2 section. Tony checked the boxes. Elsa… Anna… Elsa… Olaf… shit.

There was an empty shelf where the Bruni toys were supposed to be.

From Philly to Brooklyn by FestiveFerret, 3 k > words, Single Dad Steve.

"Sorry," Steve murmured, exhausted from balancing his humiliation with sympathy for his exhausted son.

The man waved a hand vaguely towards his head. "Too much loud music and machinery. Doesn't bother me. He okay?"

"Yeah." Steve sighed. "Just been a long day."

Peter stopped sobbing for a moment to rub a snail trail across the front of Steve's shirt to turn and face the man, brow furrowed with skepticism.

Steve shook his head, unable to help smiling.

"Hey, kiddo," the man said. His lips twitched to the side. "What have you got to complain about, huh? Too many bills to pay? Boss treating you badly? Furnace needs replacing?”

And When You Smile (The Whole World Stops and Stares For a While) by Iggysassou, 2 k > words, Single Dad Tony.

"Tony winced as the baby in his arms let out another deafening scream, earning several disapproving frowns and a few sympathetic wince from nearby passengers.

Of all the days for his car to break down and Happy to be on holiday, it had to be the day Peter was throwing the biggest, loudest tantrum in his (albeit short) life. And as if it wasn’t bad enough, Tony hadn’t been able to get a taxi so they were riding a bus home. It was a supposed to be a short ride according to his phone but of course there was traffic because it was both raining and rush hour and Tony felt very much like crying as Peter let out another wail."

Inspired by this prompt: "I'm on the bus with my baby who won't stop crying, except you just smiled at them and they did”

When Love Comes Knocking (You Out) by itsallAvengers, 8 k > words, Single Dad Tony.

Steve really just wanted to buy some goddamn groceries.

Instead, he tries to help a kid who's managed to get lost in a Walmart parking lot and ends up being punched in the face by his irate and panicked father.

Surprisingly, this doesn't turn out as badly as it sounds.

A Second Chance to Take It Slow by ohjustpeachy, 4 k > words, Single Dad Tony.

Tony loves his adopted son, Peter, but that doesn't stop him from wishing he had someone to do this whole parenting thing with. After a failed one night stand, Tony's parent-teacher conference with Mr. Rogers comes with quite the surprise.

[suituuup]

for the christmas prompts, can you do “you’re in the hospital for the holidays so i came in while you were sleeping to decorate your room i love you merry christmas". Thank you :)

I don’t want a lot for Christmas

rating: T

word count: 1,4k

ao3 link

*

Like a morning out of two, Beca wakes up to the steady beeping of her son’s heartbeat. She slowly sits up, wincing as she braces a hand over the painful twitch in her lower back from sleeping on that uncomfortable cot.

Her eyes fall on her sleeping son, so small and vulnerable in that large hospital bed. She pushes to her feet and leans over the railing, brushing her fingers through his auburn hair as she bends down to press a kiss to Dylan’s forehead.

The last year and a half has been an emotional whirlwind.

Dylan was diagnosed with Hodgkin Lymphoma right after his sixth birthday, and their whole world shifted on its axis. Chloe stopped teaching so she could take him to chemo and numerous doctor check-ups and Beca asked to only work part-time at the studio so she could spend more time with her family. Six months after the diagnosis, Dylan was in remission. Their happiness and relief were short-lived however, when signs of the illness showed up four months ago. The cancer was back. From LA, they moved to Philadelphia, where a doctor specialized in Hodgkin Lymphoma and Proton therapy.

Dylan’s body hasn’t been responding well to that type of treatment, and his body continued to shut down. He was admitted three weeks ago. The nurses and doctors on the peds ward are kind enough to let one parent stay over every night, so she and Chloe have been alternating night shifts at the hospital.

“Morning.” Beca’s pulled away from her thoughts by her wife’s voice. Chloe is standing in the doorway, two to-go cups balanced on one hand and a paper bag dangling from the other. The one who sleeps at home usually brings coffee and breakfast on the way in, as the hospital coffee tastes terrible. “How’s he doing?”

“Still asleep. Didn’t wake up through the night,” Beca says as Chloe steps further in, setting the items on the tray by Dylan’s bed before kissing Beca hello. Beca leans against her, releasing a sigh as she wraps an arm around her waist. Her eyes fall on the tote bag full of Christmas stuff set by the door. “What’s that?”

“I thought we should decorate, give this room a little holiday feeling.”

Beca smiles. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Once Dylan wakes up and the morning rounds are done, Beca and Chloe work around the room to hang the tinsels and Christmas lights, Christmas music playing through their portable speaker.

“What do you think, dude?” Beca asks when they’re done, lowering herself next to him and wrapping an arm around the seven-year-old’s shoulders as she takes in the newly-decorated room. “Did we do a good job?”

Dylan nods, a toothy grin spreading across his features. “Looks awesome.”

“I think so, too.” Beca presses a kiss to the side of his head. “I have to head to work, but I’ll be back for dinner, okay?”

“K.”

“Don’t destroy Mama at Mario Kart, alright?” She whispers, though she knows Chloe can hear her as she hangs the wreath on the door. “Let her win a couple times, at least.”

Dylan giggles while Chloe casts her a playful glare. Beca chuckles and pushes to her feet, brushing a quick kiss to Chloe’s lips on her way out. “See you later.”

It’s hard for her to truly focus at work when she knows her phone could go off any second if Dylan’s state suddenly worsens. She does her best to be present, but is immensely grateful when her boss assures her they’ll be fine if she leaves an hour early.

Like every night, they watch a movie or cartoon of Dylan’s choice while eating take-out, and read him a bedtime story before one of them has to leave.

“I love you,” Beca murmurs as she tucks the covers tighter around Dylan’s body. Leaving him at night is always the hardest, but they can’t both stay here.

“I love you too, Mommy.”

Chloe follows her out into the hall, where they have their only private moment of the day.

“I hate this,” Chloe whispers into their embrace. “I hate that one of us has to leave.”

“I know. Me too,” Beca mutters, her palm rubbing soothing circles over Chloe’s back as she soaks in her wife’s warmth. “I’ll be back early tomorrow morning.”

“You should get some more sleep,” Chloe says as she pulls away, cradling Beca’s cheek gently. “You’re exhausted, baby.”

Beca inhales sharply, cursing under her breath when a few tears escape the corners of her eyes. She can’t contradict Chloe; balancing work with their situation is exhausting, but they can’t afford to both be on leave. Bills still need to be paid, even when their son is extremely sick. “I’m terrified to miss your call if something happens.”

“You won’t,” Chloe murmurs. She catches the tear drops with the pad of her thumb and presses a lingering kiss to Beca’s forehead. They’re each other’s rocks. One is always there to anchor the other on tough days. “And he seems okay tonight.”

Beca nods. “I know. I just-- I can’t stop thinking of how unfair it all is. He doesn’t deserve any of this, Chlo.”

Chloe doesn’t say anything, probably because there’s nothing to be said. She hugs Beca a bit tighter, and they remain that way for long minutes, wordlessly giving each other as much comfort as they can despite the circumstances.

“I love you so much,” Beca whispers when she eventually lets go of her wife, taking Chloe’s hand and brushing a kiss to her knuckles.

“I love you, too. Send me a text when you’re home?”

“I will.”

The amazing team of nurses at Philly’s Children Hospital turn the pediatric ward into a Christmas Wonderland over the next few days. Service dogs come hang out with the young patients and Santa even visits to give out presents on Christmas Eve day.

It gets even better when Dylan’s favorite nurse swings by towards the end of the day to tell them that, since it’s Christmas Eve, they’re both allowed to spend the night at the hospital. Dylan gets to stay up an hour longer, facetiming with Chloe’s parents who are back on the west coast. Once he’s asleep, Beca sneaks in his presents and lies them in front of the tiny plastic Christmas tree they managed to tuck in the corner of the room.

She slides under the covers next to her wife a few minutes later, puffing out a content sigh. It’s the first time in a month that they get to sleep in the same bed, and Beca’s missed it more than she realized.

“He had a good time tonight,” Chloe whispers as Beca absentmindedly strokes her forearm while they cuddle on the twin sized cot.

“Yeah, I think so. Tomorrow is going to be even better. I’ll go get donuts and hot chocolates across the street before he wakes up.”

“Good idea.” Chloe smiles and nuzzles her cheek. “I wish we could get him a puppy.”

It was the plan up until Dylan was admitted. But the pet wouldn’t be able to stay in the hospital, and it would spend most of the days on its own in their empty house.

“Next year,” Beca says softly. Her heart physically hurts, because she knows another year is not guaranteed, but she can’t afford to let go of her hopes, or else she'll crumble. “We’ll get him one next year.”

Chloe nods, blinking back tears. “Okay.”

They wake Dylan up with a kisses and tickle attack in the morning, his giggles warming Beca's mind and soul.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Chloe murmurs, letting up on the tickling as she kisses Dylan’s cheek. “Looks like Santa came by last night.”

Dylan gasps as he follows his Mama’s gaze to the tree surrounded by presents.

Beca pushes to her feet to get a couple, setting them on Dylan’s lap. They maybe went a little overboard with gifts, and some parents would probably call him spoiled, but after all he’s been through, Beca doesn’t give a flying fuck.

They play with his new toys for the rest of the day, and if Beca closes her eyes and shuts out the hospital sounds for a minute, focusing on her son's laughter, it almost seems like he's not sick.

It almost seems like things might be okay.

For a minute.

[amydancepants-peralta]

(maybe this time) I’ve hit a home run ⚾️♥️

(a one-shot inspired by @jamy-peraltiago‘s fandom challenge prompts, written in a flash of inspiration!) (x) 

*

“Okay, so run me through this one more time.”

Squinting against the sun; Jake turns towards his girlfriend of nine months, a frisson of joy running through him as he realises how seriously she’s taking the task in front of her.  “Fry first, then gummy worm.”  He demonstrates with a grin.  “Another fry, then dip the whole thing into the sundae, and enjoy.”

Amy shoots him a dubious look, following the instructions carefully and trying her very best not to cringe as she shoves the unnaturally colourful combination into her mouth.  From his position closely beside her, Jake grins, and vaguely he hears the commentator’s voice crackle through the speakers around them. 

Today he and Amy are attending a Mets v Phillies game at Citi Field - Amy’s first live baseball game ever - and once they’d made it to their seats, Jake had been eager to show her the combination of snacks that he has long since considered tradition.  “Amazing, right?”

Licking her lips, Amy reaches out to rest a hand on his leg, squeezing gently.  “Two things,” she begins, and Jake nods.  “First, I love you.  And second, please don’t ever make me eat that again.”

Incredulous, Jake lifts up the Peralta Combo in veneration.  “French fries, sour worms and ice-cream?  That’s the perfect combination of salty and sour and sweet, Ames!  It’s a culinary delight.  How can you not love it?”

Shaking her head, Amy takes a sip of beer to wash the taste away, and Jake leans in to kiss the remnants of froth from her upper lip.  “There is SO much sugar in that, babe.  If you ate a whole tray of that, I’m certain you would be able to hear colour and smell sound.”

“And who wouldn’t want that?!”  Tilting his head to the side, he grins.  “You know, I bet magenta has a real screech to it.”

“Definitely a high vibrato of some sort,” Amy nods, and he bends down for another kiss.  “But probably not something we’re ever meant to hear, you know?”  She winces, adjusting the tip of her baseball cap and craning her neck upwards.  “I’m sorry, babe.  I know it’s your favourite snack, but I don’t think I could stomach more of that.”

“Ames, it’s totally fine.  More for me, anyways.”  Giving a reassuring smile, he lowers his treats to the empty seat beside him and wraps his free arm around Amy’s shoulders.  “And I love you too, by the way.”

(It’s still a little exciting, finally being able to vocalise those three little words, and the way they both returned the sentiment so eagerly makes it all the better, every single time - rolling eyes from surrounding audiences be damned.)

The Phillies fans in the stadium cheer as Eickhoff's swing hits the ball with a heavy crack, and as Amy leans forward to watch the action Jake sneaks a peek at her expression, desperately curious to see if she was enjoying the game or not.  He’d been oddly anxious about today; worried that she wouldn’t feel the same thrum of anticipation amongst the crowd, or - even worse - that she’d find the whole thing ridiculous.  Baseball was something that had been a part of his life since he was old enough to remember, and while he wanted to share it with Amy, the fear of her not enjoying the game was stronger than he’d anticipated.  

But then he’d been waiting at his apartment earlier today, nervous as all hell, when she’d shown up in a newly purchased Mets jersey and sneakers that matched his own.  Stood in his kitchen with a proud smile, spouting out stats on some of his favourite players as he’d finished getting ready (all of which had clearly been recently researched); and he knows that this probably sounds ridiculously schmaltzy, but he swears he fell even more in love with her right there and then.  

Eickhoff stops his run at second base, eyeing off the Mets’ shortstop Cabrera as he lobs the ball back to the pitcher, and Amy joins in on the applause that litters the crowd.  “Shortstop - that’s what you used to play, right?” 

Jake nods, his eyes suddenly trained on a moment a few rows forward; watching as a young boy no older than six shares a joke with his father, meeting his offered high five with obvious glee.  “When I was in little league, yeah,” he mumbles as the nostalgia washes over him.  

There was a time when that would have been him; wearing his team jersey with pride as he ate too many hotdogs, laughing with Roger, riding high on his shoulders as they waded through the crowd on their way home.  When they were watching baseball, there weren’t screaming matches filtering through closed doors, or strange lingerie stuffed in-between carseats for him to ignore on the way to school.  At the stadium, it was just Jake and his Dad - a place where, for nine blissful innings, the rest of the world seemed to simply fade away.  

It had been mid-season and a month after Jake’s seventh birthday when Roger had walked away from it all, and now - much like the tin of baseball cards that Jake had stashed far to the back of a cupboard - the value of his memories are only sentimental (but priceless all the same).

Amy’s knee nudges against his thigh, and Jake’s met with a pair of beautifully gentle eyes when he turns towards her.  Her voice is soft as she asks him if he’s okay, and he adjusts the back of his own cap, running a hand along the base of his neck.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  Just … thinking.”

She nods, twisting in her seat and resting her elbow along the back of his.  “Did you keep playing after Roger left?”

Nodding, Jake leans back into his seat, fiddling with his hat again as the memory of sitting at Sal’s Pizza for hours after the game, just in case Roger might swing by, surfaces from the corner of his mind.  “Just for the rest of the season.  I guess for a while there, I had sorta convinced myself that he would be coming back any day now.  My plan was to just keep doing everything I normally did, so that when he did come back, it would almost feel like he’d never left.”  Amy’s hand falls onto the nape of his neck, sweeping slowly in soothing strokes, and he sighs, relaxing into her touch.  “But as the months went by, and the phone calls grew fewer, the idea of putting the uniform on again just seemed … I don’t know … wrong.”

Letting out a tiny hum of assent, Amy’s fingers card into the bottom of Jake’s hair.  “You still like watching the game, though?”

He nods again, a smile growing onto his face as he explained his mother’s insistence on taking him to games after Roger left.  “She’d never quite gotten a grip on the right terminology, and always cheered for both teams regardless of who was playing; but her enthusiasm was definitely contagious.”  It had worked incredibly well at reigniting the love Jake once had for the game, and over the years he’d branched out and watched matches with college buddies and friends from the academy alike.  

It was unexpected - but also so completely typical of dating someone like Amy - for today to be the day when all of his childhood memories came out in force.  “Sorry, babe.  I’m really dragging the vibe down here.  Maybe we should - mmmh - ” Jake’s last few words die in his mouth as his girlfriend presses her lips against his, the palm of her hand resting against his cheek in a kiss that he only knows as being quintessentially Amy.  

She smiles when they part, brushing away a stray lock of hair from his fringe.  “You don’t ever need to apologise for talking about your past, Jake.  I want to hear all of it, regardless of where we are.  If it matters to you, it matters to me.”

Mumbling another I love you, Jake draws Amy in for a longer kiss, hand wrapping around her waist and pulling away only when the crowd cheers at Herrera’s fly ball.  It was pretty amazing, how talking about memories with Amy rarely felt painful, and on days like today he has the strongest instinct that it’s largely because with her, he can already see his future taking shape.  

Leaning her body into his, Amy’s arm comes to rest comfortably on top of his upper thigh as she turns her attention back to the game in front of them, and softly she murmurs, “This is way better than watching the game in Manny’s living room.”

The sun feels warm against Jake’s skin as he links their fingers together, planting a kiss to the top of her baseball cap in silent agreement.  It was a beautiful day in a lot of ways - the Met’s current lead of 2-0 a fine example - and getting to spend it with Amy made it all the better.  

It’s at the bottom of the third inning that Amy twists away from Jake, rustling through her backpack before returning to her previous position and holding up a bag of nuts with unconstrained pride.  “I thought we might get snacky.”

“You really are the perfect woman.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls you bring here.”

Wrapping his hand around Amy’s wrist, Jake squeezes gently.  “Apart from my mom, and occasionally Gina, you’re the only girl I’ve brought here, Ames.”  It’s a small distinction, but one he feels is important to make, and the soft smile that Amy gives him in return reaffirms his instinct.  

She kisses his cheek, brushing her lips against his skin as she moves to whisper in his ear.  “Keep talking like that Peralta, and you’re going to see some solid third base action tonight.”  Another kiss, this time to the base of his earlobe.  “Maybe even a home run, once you see what I’ve got on underneath this jersey.”

(It’s an entirely new experience, trying to avoid getting an erection in a stadium while your girlfriend chuckles softly beside you - but one that Jake doesn’t totally hate, if only for the knowledge that the wait is going to be completely worth it.)

He’s fully reclined into his seat, one arm wrapped around Amy’s shoulders when the Kiss Cam pans onto them at the top of the fifth inning, breaking into laughter as he watches Amy’s face quickly turn a delightful shade of pink.  He’s still considering a humble peck to her cheek when she swivels in her seat, coiling her hand around his waist and pulling him in for an almost non-PG13 kiss before another moment can be wasted, and as the crowd cheers and Sixpence None The Richer plays in the background, Jake knows that he is totally, utterly and madly in love with the one and only Amy Santiago.    

There’s an oversized foam finger occupying Jake’s right hand, and his girlfriend’s fingers twisted around his left as they leave the field hours later, riding the high of another Met’s victory as they shuffle towards the exit.  He listens contentedly as Amy chatters excitably about the potential for statistical analysis of the game - something about sabermetrics that only makes him think of Star Wars - and it’s as they head towards the carpark that Jake finds himself completely distracted once more.

He watches as a family in front of them move along the footpath, both parents holding onto one hand each of their child as they swing from their parent’s arms, the overjoyed giggles filtering through the noise of a departing crowd as they bounce on and off the pavement.  

It’s the feeling of Amy’s hand in his, and the still unspoken assurance that both of them are in this for the long haul that allows Jake’s mind to wonder of the possibility of such a moment ever belonging to him.  He can almost see it: a chuckling toddler bounding between his and Amy’s arms, wearing their favourite jersey and singing the team song as they head home, just in time for bath and bed and some well-deserved Mommy and Daddy time (aka, falling asleep on the couch).  It’s a future so simplistic, but for the longest time seemed unthinkable, and Jake breaks out into a wide grin at the sheer notion that something so great as a lifetime with Amy could ever be more than just an unrequited dream.  

Amy’s hand squeezes his as they draw nearer to her car, her face growing curious as she looks up at Jake.  “What’s got you so smiley all of the sudden, Peralta?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Jake hunches slightly to drop a quick kiss to Amy’s lips.  “I’ve just spent an afternoon in the sunshine with a beautiful woman beside me, watching my favourite team win.  There’s a lot of reasons to smile right there, babe.”

Resting her weight against her passenger door, Amy rests her hands on either side of Jake’s waist and looks up at him with an equally happy grin.  “Thank you for taking me here, Jake.  I loved every second of it.”  Lowering her grip slightly, she digs her fingers into his side in a request for closeness; and Jake bridges the gap for another kiss, letting both of them sink into it as the lack of surrounding strangers lends to a sense of privacy.  

The subtle scent of her perfume lingers over his senses as Jake pulls away, held closely still by Amy’s curled fingers around his belt loops, and he leans his forehead against hers.  “What was that you were saying earlier about hitting some bases tonight?”

He chuckles as she pushes him away with a gentle shove, giving him the Santiago wink (also known as a slow blink).  “How about we head back to my place and I show you what I mean, detective?”

The car fills up with laughter and the easy conversations of two best friends in love as Amy navigates them through the streets of Brooklyn - and as they head closer to home, Jake already knows that whatever the future may hold, with Amy by his side, they were going to knock it right out of the park.  

[puckngrind]

Puppy Love - PL Dubois

Warning: language, nsfw content

Word count:1,150

wrote a little something for my favorite puppy.

“BABIES!” You hear Luc’s voice booming out of your phone’s speaker but cannot see over the two wiggly butts in front of you. “Let Mommy put the phone down.” He laughs. You lean the phone on the base of flowers Luc sent the day he left. Sitting on the floor you pull both Philly and Georgia into your lap. “There’s my girl!”

“Hey Baby.” You smile taking in his soft appearance laying on the hotel bed with his hoodie up over his hair. “How was practice?”

“You know, practice. I don’t wanna talk about me. How are you doing? The dogs? Columbus?” He shifts to place the phone on a pillow next to him.

“We all miss you. Don’t we miss Daddy?”  You look down at the dogs and then back at Luc.  “Philly sits at the door about the same time everyday waiting for you to come home from practice. G sits right with him not knowing what she’s exactly doing but does it anyway. It’s cute. We’ve also barked at every bird and squirrel in the arena district.” This makes Luc laugh.

“So you guys are getting out and walking? They are doing okay for you?  Team taking care of you, yes?” A touch of concern crosses his face.

“Yeah, someone recognized the dogs yesterday. Said they wondered what you were doing with them while in the bubble. I laughed uncomfortably as always and moved along.” You pat Phillip’s head and he settles in your lap. Georgia long gone off to find her favorite toy.

“I guess the whole not being on my social media thing had people wondering why I brought them back with me.” Luc’s hand rubs over his face. “You know you can post them and tag me. I don’t care.”

“I know.” You whisper. “So tell me about the bubble? Food? Fun?” Changing subjects is noticed.

“They are treating us well. We get to have a day off tomorrow and I cannot decide if I want to go to the stadium to pick around a ball or go swimming.”

“I assume whatever Tex decides, huh?” Laughing knowing it’s exactly how your man will select his activity.

“I’m sure. May catch a game too.” Luc rolls into his stomach so his chin is pressed into the bed. “I miss you.”

“You’ve been gone less than a week Luc.” You roll your eyes. “Roadies have been longer.”

“It’s the KNOWING that I cannot just come home and see you is absolutely killing me.” He closes his eyes and when he opens them there is an intensity to them you know all too well.

“Well it’s at the most 5 weeks. I’m sure you can handle no sex for 5 weeks.” You call him out and he moves his face into the bed then back at you.

“I know. I just...” Luc licks his lips.

“Don’t you start.” You point your finger at him though the screen.

“Come one, Baby.” His eyebrows wiggle. “Give the kids a bone and go into our bedroom.” His velvet voice smooth and hard to resist.

“I’ll call you back in 5 minutes.” You hung up hearing the distinct sound of accomplishment leaving Luc’s lips as you pressed end. You get the dogs in their space with bones then head back to your bedroom. Slowly sitting on the bed and FaceTime Luc again.

“That was fast!” His face close to the phone then he places it down and you take in his appearance.

“Where the fuck did your clothes go Luc?” In the short time he had stripped down to nothing and placed the phone close enough that he could see you but far enough that you could see all of him.

“Why aren’t you undressed? How are we having virtual sex with your clothes ON?” Luc laughs. “I forgot what you look like without my sweatshirt on... so...” his fingers swirl at the phone. You huff out in a pretend annoyance. You pull off his sweatshirt revealing your naked chest. “No bra! Well fuck.” Luc’s hand moves down his body.

“What do you want me to do now?” You pull your lip into your teeth and bat your eyes.

“Well you can see all of me and I can see half of you. Maybe, lose the shorts too? Please.” He adjusts his body so he’s propping his head on his hand. You pull off your shorts and panties to reveal your whole self to him.

“Can you see everything?” You try to lean forward to look at yourself in the small window then decide that’s a bad idea.

“Oh yes. That’s what I’ve been missing. Now, tell me how wet you are baby.” Luc coos. You dip your finger down into your folds and rub from your clit to your opening.

“Wet.” Your voice is low as you feel yourself and stare at the screen.

“Fuck that’s hot. I wish that was my hand.” He groans.

“Me too. Now spit on your hand and run your hand down your length.” You demand in a surge of confidence from how turned on he was making you over a screen. Luc follows your directions and moans in response to his actions.

“Flick at your clit like I would then dip in (y/n). Let me hear you.” You didn’t realize you were silent until he mentioned it. The size difference between your fingers and his was noticeable as your try to hit the spot he always does. Your frustration in missing that feeling noticed. “I know, I would get you good if I was there. You gotta make yourself cum for me. Can you do that?” He grunts while encouraging you. A nod was all you could muster while you pump in an out. Luc watching your fingers disappear.

“Luc.” You moan finally feeling your orgasm build.

“Come on babe. Come on. Together. I’m there. Can you!” His hand feverishly pumping his length and see his abs tense knowing his close.

“Yes.” You place your thumb on your clit while curling you fingers into yourself. Luc swearing in French keeping his eyes glued to the screen. You pull your leg up and feel the climax of your actions. Luc coming right along with you making his abs glisten. You both breathing heavy and then you giggle taking in the sight of your boyfriend.

“Why are you laughing?” He pants out.

“You are a ridiculous mess!” You laugh harder rolling over so your face is closer to the phone.

“Well I didn’t really think it through. I need to shower anyway.” He winces.

“Do I get to watch that too?” This time you lick your lips.

“Shower curtain.” Luc laughs.

“Well damn.” You snap your fingers.

“We will be doing this again! And roadies just got a whole lot less lonely.” Luc smirks at you.

“Oh yeah?” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“Fuck yeah!” you both laugh.

[thwip--thwip]

MTBI

“Pete,” Tony whispers, and his breath has a hint of cayenne in it, what did he eat for breakfast? Peter’s never felt this overstimulated, what the hell happened? “Stay awake. You need to focus.”

“I can’t,” Peter’s embarrassed that it comes out a whimper, but frankly he’s surprised it came out at all. “I can’t, Tony please - “

*

Written for @iron--spider.

Read on AO3 | Or below the cut!

Peter wakes up to screaming.

When he puts it like that, it sounds alarming. It’s not. Well, mostly. Sometimes the screaming is Mrs. Reyes’ soap operas, three doors down the hall. Sometimes it’s the elementary school children down the block, chasing each other in circles on the sidewalk while they wait impatiently for the bus. Sometimes it’s a car horn, or a bird, hitting a frequency that makes Peter wake up in a sheen of sweat, breathless, fists curled. It’s not that bad.

Well, okay, this is bad. He’s the one screaming.

Peter jerks awake to white hot pain. Alright, maybe that’s an exaggeration. It’s red hot. Blue hot at best.

(“I’ve had worse,” Peter says later, defensive. Tony’s expression does something complicated and awful in response. “That’s not exactly a comfort.”)

His brain feels like it’s on fire, like somebody opened a hatch and poured bleach straight into his skull. And the smell! It burns his nose, makes him gag, something chemical that smells like piss -

“Kid!”

Peter clamps his hands over his ears, but Tony’s voice echoes painfully anyway. It rings and rings and rings, a neverending corridor in his brain - except it does end, at his eardrums, and it fucking hurts.

“Shh! Shh!” Peter says frantically, curling into a ball. Now that his hearing is rushing in, filling the void his unconsciousness left, he can hear everything in agonizing detail. Someone - presumably Tony - is struggling against something fibrous, something that chafes and scratches and tugs at his skin - and the harsh breaths dragging up Peter’s esophagus sound like sandpaper rubbing against itself.

There’s something beeping -

Drip drip drip

A dog barking -

Watch it, asshole, that’s my lane!

A gas stove clicks, clicks, catches -

I think I’m gonna pass out.

“You’re not gonna pass out.” Tony’s voice is a whisper, but it still makes Peter cringe on cold, hard, dirty - ew I can taste it - cement. “Peter, focus on me. Focus, kid, you can do it.”

He can’t, though. He can’t focus. It’s so much, all at once, and Peter keeps his hands clapped over his ears so hard it hurts. His mouth tastes like rainwater, like the muffins from the bakery he knows is around the corner because he can hear, feel, smell, taste -

“Pete,” Tony whispers, and his breath has a hint of cayenne in it, what did he eat for breakfast? Peter’s never felt this overstimulated, what the hell happened? “Stay awake. You need to focus.”

“I can’t,” Peter’s embarrassed that it comes out a whimper, but frankly he’s surprised it came out at all. “I can’t, Tony please - “

“You can.” Tony insists, his tone softening even more. Peter squeezes his eyes tight and tries to will the nausea away. “You’re Spiderman. You can do anything.”

The faith makes determination sit heavy in Peter’s stomach, and he takes a deep breath (ignoring the onions he can taste from the Philly Cheese truck, parked four blocks away), trying to find something to focus on. There’s too much, he can’t do it - but he’s Spiderman, he has to try.

Tony’s heartbeat is too fast, thumpthumpthump...thump, thumpthumpthump...thump, with an irregular arrhythmia Peter can only assume is leftover from the arc reactor. It’s something, though, loud and strong, and he takes every scrap of his focus, betting it on black.

Thumpthumpthump...thump

Thumpthumpthump...thump

Tony doesn’t say anything, as the minutes pass, but even with his eyes closed, Peter can feel the tension radiating from him. He listens to Tony’s heartbeat, which never falters, letting all the other sounds and sensations fade away. He’s not sure how long he lies there, be it minutes or hours, but eventually the overwhelming cacophony abates. His nausea subsides, and Peter’s left with just the dull ache in his skull. He’s not great, but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to faint anymore, so that’s something.

“I’m okay,” Peter whispers, slowly opening his eyes. Tony’s concerned face blurs into focus - the man is bleeding from his temple as well as his wrists, from where he’d pulled too hard on ropes binding him. “What...what happened?”

“Bastards got us outside of the falafel joint.” Somehow, Tony manages to infuse a helluva lot of anger into his whispering, and it makes Peter smile, despite everything. “They knocked you out, hard. You probably have a concussion, kid.”

Well that explains the pain in his head, and probably the sensitivity. If a concussion was bad for somebody normal, why wouldn’t it be extra horrible for someone like him?

“It’s a hard knock life,” Peter says, and Tony’s eyes narrow dangerously. Peter can’t help but grin, raising an eyebrow, even though he still hasn’t moved from the floor. “What, too soon?”

“Less than five minutes after you recover from having a seizure on the floor is the definition of too soon.” Tony hisses, and Peter knows he’s in for a classic round of mother-henning as soon as they get the hell out of there.

“Alright, alright, keep your pants on.” Peter picks himself up off the ground, swaying a little as he does so. He takes a minute to stabilize, and Tony watches him dubiously, like he’s expecting Peter to keel over at any second. Which, okay, fair. But still.

“Are you sure you’re good?” Tony’s head cranes to follow him as Peter walks around to undo the ropes; they’re knotted tightly, and flecked with Tony’s blood, where he’s rubbed his skin raw. Peter crouches and picks at them carefully, not wanting to cause him any more pain.

“Why wasn’t I tied up?” What, was he not good enough for rope? Did they run out? Are they just terrible kidnappers? Tony’s fingers flex impatiently, ever the fidgeter. Peter manages to undo the first knot and starts to work on the second.

“You were out cold, and you look like you’re twelve. I don’t think they thought of you as a threat. Are you sure you’re good, kid?”

“I’m threatening! I’m totally threatening. Grr.” Probably not the best way to prove it, if Tony’s pointed silence in response is anything to go by. Peter gets him out of the binds, dropping them to the floor, and circles back around to face his mentor. “I’m good, Tony. I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

“You’re not threatening.” Tony points out, hiding a wince as he pokes at his tender wrists. “You’re about as threatening as Elmo on sabbatical.”

“I won’t stand for this abuse.” Peter sways dangerously, and Tony catches him with a firm grip on his shoulder. He guides Peter into the chair he had just vacated, pushing him down firmly, and Peter can’t help but oblige. “...I guess I’ll sit for it.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“We can’t just sit here.” Peter protests, even as he does just that, and sits there. Tony’s firm grip on his shoulder is too much to fight, at the moment. “We have to get out of here before they come back.”

“No, we don’t.” Tony finally releases Peter’s shoulder and taps two fingers to the face of his watch, pulling up a hologram. There’s two red dots, and one of them is moving closer. “Morons didn’t take my tech. The team’s already enroute.”

“Oh,” Peter slumps in the chair, relieved. That wasn’t too bad, then, was it? Tony eyes him critically, flicking another hologram up that Peter has to assume are his vitals. The fact that Tony’s watch has the capacity to scan his vitals should be more worrisome. “What’s the ETA?”

His question is answered when the door flies open, making Peter flinch, hard. Two of the wannabe kidnappers are thrown bodily into the room, cursing and groaning when they land on hard concrete. Peter can see Falcon’s outline, as he flies into the room, hear Cap and company chatting on the man’s comm line, and it’s all so damn loud. Peter tries to concentrate on Tony’s heartbeat, thumping along, but before he can think too much about it, the man’s hands are on his ears.

Peter looks up, confused but grateful, as Tony’s palms cover his ears completely. Tony smiles gently, reassuringly, before pulling Peter’s head forward into his chest, giving him somewhere dark and quiet. Peter closes his eyes, blocking out the fighting - he can’t block it all the way, but it’s better, and more than that, the gesture brings a small smile to his face.

The fighting lasts a few good minutes, and Tony says something muffled that sounds like, Get them out of here, the kid has a concussion. When Tony does release him, the room is empty again - but the doors are wide open, beckoning freedom.

“That was easy.” Peter notes, and Tony snorts, stepping back to let Peter up out of the chair. “That wasn’t so bad, really. Pretty short for a kidnapping. Nothing even happened.”

“They gave you the mother of all concussions, I wouldn’t call that nothing.”

“What’s a little MTBI among friends?”

“Please tell me you didn’t just call the criminals your friends.” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose before rolling his eyes skywards, as if he could ascend to Heaven and leave Peter’s mortal plane bullshit behind him by sheer force of will. “MTBI?”

“Mild Traumatic Brain Injury.”

Tony sighs loudly even as Peter grins a bright, shit-eating smile. He loops his arm around Peter’s shoulders, pulling him into his side, and waggles an accusatory finger at him. “I hate you, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Peter snickers to himself, wrapping his free arm around Tony’s waist to return the one-armed hug. “I know.”

[babbushka]

The Rabbi Is Coming

Flip Zimmerman x Reader (Darling Jewish Wife AU)

A/N: This oneshot is based entirely off of one of my favorite videos of all time, Company is Coming by Chris Fleming. Every time I see it, it reminds me of preparing for my own family holiday gatherings, so I’ve taken it and run with it lol. I just wanted to write something short and silly for Passover, lol, and I hope you enjoy! 

Also inspired by this prompt sent in by anonymous: From your Passover prompts, will you please do this one for Flip? It sounds just like him!“They tried to kill us. We survived. Let’s eat.”

2k, crack treated seriously lol, humor. Putting a small cw for the Zimmerman’s son, in case folks don’t like reading about kids (this is the last time he’s mentioned for a while I promise lol)

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

Early in the morning, just after sunrise, Flip yawns and stretches awake. The golden light of morning shines through the curtains that gently move from the breeze of the ceiling fan, and a melody of chirping birds signal the official start of morning. Despite having to get up early for work every day, Flip isn’t much of a morning person. But something about Springtime and the warmth that’s on the way makes him appreciate getting up, even on the weekends.  

“Good morning, sunshine, light of my life – ” Flip rolls over onto his side, ready to coax you out of your sleep as well, ready to kiss you and start the day together, but when he reaches you’re your sleep-snuggled body, he finds the bed empty, and frowns.

Sitting up, he looks around the bedroom. Your side of the covers are neatly made, and Flip can only blink, his frown deepening. He clears his throat, raspy from disuse overnight, “(Y/N)?”

It isn’t until he hears the vacuum cleaner going downstairs, followed by a frustrated groan echoing through the house, that he remembers just what day it is, and falls back onto his pillow with a wince, lighting up a cigarette and scrubbing a hand over his face with a low,

“…Oh shit.”

He checks the clock, sees that it’s practically seven o’clock, and gets out of bed. Pulling on a casual t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans, he leaves his room to see his son standing tentatively in his own doorway, as loud sounds come from downstairs.

“Pop?” The five year old asks with no small amount of hesitation in his voice, immediately reaches for Flip, who scoops him up and balances him on his hip.  

“Mornin’ honey.” Flip kisses his son’s cheek, and the boy giggles, clinging to him as Flip walks down the stairs.

He’s obviously annoyed that it’s not you who gets to wake him up and carry him downstairs, as he normally prefers, but Flip doesn’t know how to tell him that today isn’t a normal day. Still, the boy is always filled with questions, and his little eyebrows furrow into an all too familiar frown as they move closer to the chaos that is you deciding to vacuum first thing in the morning.

“Why is Mama acting like that?” He demands to know, as the two of them stop at the landing, watching as you, still in your pajamas, are fighting with furniture.

“Tonight’s the first night of Pesach.” Flip explains.

“So?” His son challenges, and Flip wants to laugh, because he agrees with the kid, but when you get into a mood like this, there’s no stopping you.

“So, there’s a very special guest coming for dinner tonight, and she wants to make sure the house looks nice and clean for him.” Flip sets the boy down, and he purses his lips, like he’s trying to assess the validity of that, eventually settling on complaining,

“But we already cleaned the house.”

Flip sighs, because he’s right, you spent the entire week cleaning to prepare for Passover. It wasn’t like a normal house cleaning, Passover had special rules that had to be obeyed. One of which, was the complete and total elimination of chametz, or food made from leavened dough. The other, was the koshering of the kitchen.

But he wasn’t so sure his five year old would care to hear about all that this early.

“I know son. Let’s go see what she fixed up for breakfast,” Flip leads his son through the living room carefully, before crouching down to his level and saying very seriously, “And then when you’re done eating, just do whatever Mama says, you hear me? Whatever she says.”

Just then, you come barreling through the living room with the vacuum and a tangle of cord in your hand, shouting at a completely inappropriate volume for the hour, “Zeeskiet if you haven’t made your bed just throw it away it’s too late to make it now!”

The boy looks up at Flip, and Flip immediately shakes his head and amends, “Not that.”

Flip is a good helper. He likes to help, and he wants to help, but sometimes when you get like this, it’s a danger to himself and everyone around for him to try and insert himself into a situation where you are a hurricane of anxious energy. He busies himself with getting your son settled at the kitchen table, giving him a big breakfast of fresh fruit, nuts, and yogurt, before bracing himself to venture back towards the dining room.  

“The Rabbi is coming – get rid of the couches we can’t let people know we sit!” You shout, pointing an aggressive finger at one of the dining chairs, “This chair needs to be pushed in, there cannot be any signs of living in this house.”

Flip is quick to do as you say, even though what you’re saying is nonsense – he knows better than to point that out.

“I don’t care if we have to throw everything out,” You’re mostly talking to yourself at this point, just…loudly, and aggressively, “I want this place looking like a contemporary fusion restaurant by noon.”

It was a miracle and a half that the Rabbi agreed to lead your Seder dinner, and to say that the pressure was getting to you was the understatement of the century. You had everything picked out, what you were going to wear, what Flip and the kids were going to wear; you’d been cooking and prepping all week, and now the day was finally here and you were totally freaking out.

“Flip?” You shout, walking in circles around the dining room, trying to get rid of any possible point of contamination of chametz.

“Yeah?” Flip replies, already knowing that because he’s in the other room, you probably can’t hear him. He already is walking towards you when he hears you again.

“Phil!” You call a little sharper, and Flip huffs out a laugh, his suspicion correct.

“I’m right here ketsl, what can I do?” Flip startles you by suddenly being behind directly behind you, and you throw your hands up in exasperation.

“Oh my god – we need more pillows.” You gesture to the den where the conversation pit is decked out entirely with pillows. “Can you fluff the pillows? I need these things looking fluffed.”

Flip does exactly as he’s told, and the rest of the morning follows suit.

You wandered around the house cleaning; vacuuming sweeping dusting sanitizing every possible surface, the floors, even the ceiling, shouting out random demands and requests like:

We need more flowers. We gotta put flowers in every window. Philly can you put flowers in the kitchen?

We can’t have any clothes! Everyone take off your clothes!

At that, your son cast a semi-distressed look to Flip and asked, an uncertain, “Pop?”

“Not that either!” Flip immediately answered, lest his son think it’s okay to go running around in the nude tonight.

Somewhere around hour two, your mood shifts from manic to meltdown. Your son had been instructed to make sure his toys were all nicely put away in his room, mostly to keep him out of trouble or to prevent any accidental tripping over wires. Flip though, is still running around trying to keep up with you, out of breath from your own chaos.

“What is this?” You yank the perfectly good little towel out of the oven door handle where Flip had just watched you place it, and near-tears, you groan, “This is a dish towel! We need a hand towel! What are we, barbarians?”

He’s about to say something, try to console you or at the very least calm you down, but then you come to a complete and sudden stand-still and point out, “Phil oh god there’s muffins on the counter.”

Frowning, Flip whirled around and wondered how the fuck those even got there. All of your friends knew that there was absolutely no leavened product allowed in the house, Rabbi or no, and he’s trying to wrack his brain around where they came from as you back against the wall.

“Oh my god oh – that’s it -- we have to go into the witness protection program folks!” You chuckle humorously, effectively giving up. “Shalom Rabbi! Welcome to the Zimmerman household. We live outside. We eat mud. And sticks.”

At this, you give one big overwhelmed sigh, and a little sob hiccups out of your chest.

“Hey,” Flip frowns, kicking himself for not trying to get you to take a breather earlier than this, “Hey it’s going to be okay.”

Flip gets down on the floor with you, and pulls you into a tight hug. You shove your face under his neck and cry it out, and Flip soothes your back. He knows how big of a deal tonight is for you, and he wants to do everything he can to make you happy, but letting this go on any longer won’t be good for anyone.

“I’ll get rid of the muffins, we won’t tell anyone about it, okay?” He pulls you to face him, your eyes wet and wide, your chin wobbling. He thinks you’re so ridiculous, working yourself up like this, but he loves you so much to see it regardless.

“Did you fluff the pillows?” You ask in a small sad voice, and Flip nods seriously, brushing some of your stray locks that escaped the scarf you have wrapped around your head to protect your hair, away from your face.

“Yes ketsl, I fluffed the pillows.” He kisses each of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your forehead.

“Okay, alright okay, everyone calm down.” You say, wiping your tears away and taking deep measured breaths, suddenly asking, “What time is it?”

“Uhh,” Flip cranes his head around to try and catch a good glimpse at the clock on the wall, wondering how the hell it’s only, “Nine-thirty.”

You blink, and blink again, and then shuffle to sit upright there on the kitchen floor.

“Oh.” You reply, pursing your lips and scratching the side of your jaw. “In that case…I’m going to take a nap.”

Flip chuckles and lets you go. You’re too much all the time, and that’s exactly why he loves you. He’s never met anyone who cares as much about something like this, than you, and he wants you to go relax while he takes care of everything.

And he does, his son a proper helper as you snooze in bed, already having worked yourself to exhaustion and needing your strength back for the long dinner that’s going to come. The offending muffins are given to a neighbor, the surfaces re-sanitized, the kitchen all prepared. Your son even sets the table all by himself, enjoying being tall for his age thanks to Flip’s genetics.

When evening falls much later, and all your other guests have arrived, you feel your pulse spike as the doorbell rings. You’re dressed to the nines, as is everyone else, but Flip thinks that you’re the most radiant thing in the universe. You’re holding your son on your hip as Flip opens the door, already extending a hand for him to shake.

“Shalom Rabbi, thank you so much for joining us tonight, we can’t tell you how much of an honor it is.” You beam, as if you hadn’t had a total breakdown only that morning, as Flip invites the Rabbi inside.

“Of course Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman, the honor is mine. And may I say, you have a beautiful home.” He looks around appreciatively, giving a nod of approval that has all the air rushing out of your lungs.

“I’m thrilled to hear you think so.” You grin, leading him through your home and into the dining room where your other guests have been happily entertaining themselves, “Shall we get started then?”

“They tried to kill us, we survived, let’s eat!” Flip announces, and that has everyone laughing, including the Rabbi.

And as the Seder commences, Flip looks across the table and gives his son a wink. In return, he lets out a small giggling laugh, glad that all the preparations and chaos you put them through have successfully paid off.

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

Taggin’ some Flip lovin’ friends! @mochabucky​​ @sacklerscumrag​​ @artsymaddie​​ @bitchydecisions​​ @direnightshade​​ @reyloaddict55​​ @thembohux​​  @sunflowersinthesnow​​ @babayagakeanu​​ @safarigirlsp​​  @steeevienicks​​  @the-unmanaged-mischief​​ @materialisthicc​​  @hswritingrecs​​  @han68000​​ @rosi3ba3z​​ @chapterhappygirl​​​ @loverofallthings​​​  @bxnnywriting​ @groovetoob​ 

[ask-marcus-cally-and-ari]

Only Human

Chapter 12: Welcome to Hell

Two weeks had gone by since the hunt for three teenagers began- two weeks of being hidden by two Freaks and eating small rations to make money stretch out and last longer.

Eggs had become a luxury to Marcus, sausage a meal fit for a king. He wolfed down a plate of toast like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“What I wouldn’t give for some pancakes,” Ari remarked as she ate their third biscuit in a row for breakfast that week.

Cally ate her cereal, looking around. “I mean, we’ve saved enough to go to McDonald’s for lunch. Spyper, do you think it’s safe?”

Spyper briefly scanned the area, then nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I don’t see any Freaks around.”

Marcus whooped. “Meat, here I come!”

The trio and the two Freaks that accompanied them stepped out of the van and headed towards McDonalds. Intelligent and Spyper stood on either side of the teenagers, acting as a buffer between them and any Freaks in hiding.

Marcus kept his hand on his gun until he was sitting at the table, and even then, he looked around, ready to pull it out if anything moved wrong.

“Once we’re at HECU, we won’t have to worry about rationing food,” Spyper said, glancing around. “They have this huge cafeteria there and the food is really good. Last time I was there I had a philly cheese steak, potato wedges, and a chicken sandwich.”

“That’s awesome,” Ari beamed. “So how’d you meet them?”

“Me and Intelligent actually saw them in action when we met them. They were trying to contain a dead Freak called Friendly Scout. He got away, and we went up to them to see what was going on,” Spyper explained. “Granted, we haven’t had the best relationship with them since. Pure wrapped us up in this scheme to kill a demon a few years ago and HECU had me and Intelligent placed under house arrest for putting people in danger.”

“Wait, the f@ck?!” Marcus squawked. “How did you do it if it was this Pure mofo’s fault?”

“We were accomplices,” Spyper said. “That, and I kinda helped him escape from HECU when they had us cornered in an apartment…”

“And we lied to an HECU officer so they would help us,” Intelligent added, wincing.

Cally nodded. “Yeah, that would sour relationships. I remember Marcus lying to a teacher to cover for me when I was stuck at home once.”

“I still think I should have told her from the start. Your parents not letting you go to school because your room wasn’t clean isn’t even fair.”

“Yikes. Your parents sound horrible,” Spyper frowned.

“Eh, they tried,” Cally replied. “I- hey, check out that guy. Is there a cosplay convention around?”

The group followed Callys gaze and saw a guy in a Jason Vorhees costume sitting at a table nearby.

“What the hell…?” Spyper whispered, raising an eyebrow.

Marcus put his hand back on his gun. “Don’t look at him.”

“Please tell me there’s not a Freak who looks like that,” Intelligent winced, averting his gaze from the costumed patron.

“How would I know?” Spyper asked.

“There isn’t,” Cally replied.

“So either that’s someone who’s way too into cosplay, or we’ve got a Team Killer wannabe on our hands,” Spyper winced.

Ari shuddered. “Team Killer?”

“A pretty infamous Freak. He kills anyone who wears red.”

Marcus looked at his clothes, took off his red sneakers, and put them in the garbage.

“Good call,” Spyper said. “I have an extra pair of brown boots in my van if you want them.”

“Thanks. I-” Marcus froze. What was he feeling? Nothing was touching him, but there was warmth he could feel. Body heat, to be specific. Body heat and the cold, sharp blade of a… oh, no. “...Ari, sit still and close your eyes.”

“What, why?” Ari whimpered.

“Because my sense of touch is now bullsh@t levels of keen, and the world won’t let us rest,” Marcus replied- then pulled out his gun and fired.

A scream filled the restaurant and a Spy decloaked behind the Trio, collapsing to the floor in a bloody heap.

Cally gagged. “WHAT THE F-”

“SH_T WE GOTTA GO!” Spyper screamed as the entire restaurant was sent into panic. He and Intelligent Heavy grabbed the Trio and ran out the front door to the van, leaving the masked figure to follow them.

Cally slammed the door once they made it, locking it. “DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE-”

Spyper jammed the keys into the ignition and slammed on the gas, sending the car lurching forward. “Ok, who the hell was that!?”

“I don’t know!” Marcus replied. “I just felt him come closer!”

“You felt him?! The hell does that mean?!” Cally shouted.

“It’s like I could feel... like my sense of touch got way keener.”

“It’s the power of the Body,” Intelligent said, watching the restaurant from the rear-view mirror. “The Body enhances all human senses.”

“I hate this power so much,” groaned Marcus- and then something shot out Spyper’s tires. “OH, THAT’S BULLSH@T!”

“GAH! What just happened!?” Spyper screamed, jerking the wheel to stay on the road.

Cally looked out the window. “Guys, we got company!”

“Who is it!? I can’t look away from the road!” Spyper shouted, fighting against the pull of the blown tire.

“I see at least five people.” Cally squinted. “And one of them is pointing a rifle at us.”

“Oh sh_t, it’s Brutal!” Intelligent hissed. “Since when is he still good with a rifle!?”

Marcus scowled. “Do you guys have a rifle?”

“Check in the compartment under my bed! My old rifle should be under there!” Spyper grunted as another car slammed into his van.

Marcus pulled out the weapon, loaded it, and headed to the top of the van, where he opened the trapdoor and came out, aiming for the drivers of the closest car. “EAT LEAD, MOTHERF@CKER!”

He fired into the car and the front windshield shattered on impact before the car began veering off the road, its driver out of commission.

Ari whimpered in the back, and Cally went to go hold him.

“Hang on to your hats!” Spyper shouted, reaching for the clutch. “We’re about to go airborne!”

"SH@T!" Before Marcus could go back in, he found himself in a struggle for the rifle with Brutal. "Get lost, you son of a b@tch!" he snapped.

“Not until you get lost first!” Brutal hissed, trying to kick Marcus off the van.

Marcus, deciding the rifle wasn’t worth it, let it go and ducked back into the van, only for the Sniper to prevent him from closing the door.

“You’re not getting away that easy!”

Ari screamed, and Cally panicked, reaching for the nearest knife.

“Get the hell OUT!” Intelligent screamed, trying to slam the trapdoor shut to keep Brutal out.

The back door to the van opened, and a Scout with a hole in his chest, no eyes, and chains coming out of the hole hissed at the Trio, grabbing Marcus with the chains and trying to pull him out. “MOTHERF-”

Quickly slamming the trapdoor in Brutals face, Intelligent ran to the vans back door and tried to rip the chains off of Marcus’ leg. “Let him go!”

“Get off me, 2 Chainz!” Marcus squawked.

2 Chainz hissed and yanked Marcus out of the van and on to the open road where their fight continued.

“MARCUS!” Ari screamed, running to the door.

Marcus got up, holding his side, then looked at his knife. “You wanna go, weirdo?!” he asked challengingly.

2 Chainz snarled and the chains from his chest angled towards Marcus, tipped with razor sharp blades.

Marcus didn’t back down. “COME ON!” he shouted. “You want some so bad?! Come get some!”

2 Chainz lunged at Marcus, slashing at him with his claws and bladed chains.

Marcus caught one chain and tried to wrap it around 2 Chainz’s neck, ready to strangle him.

As they brawled in the road, traffic was eventually jammed and several people got out of their cars to begin recording the whole fight.

It didn’t take long for people to begin watching, including HECU.

“COMMANDER! WE GOT A LOCATION! ONE OF THE THREE KIDS IS FIGHTING A NEW FREAK!” cried an intern.

Rudra came barreling down the hallway to see the feed. “What the - Who’s recording this footage!?”

“Multiple people! I’ve got a squad on the way!”

On the screen, Marcus turned to whoever was holding the camera. “AYO! YOU ENJOYING THE SHOW?! HOW ABOUT YOU BE IN IT AND HELP ME?!” he snapped.

“What!? I can’t fight!” The bystander cried.

“YOU GOT A CAR, DON’T YOU?! GET IN IT AND RUN THIS F@CKER OVER!”

The bystander dropped their phone and ran back to their car to do exactly that. Cranking their car, they drove through the traffic and barreled straight for 2 Chainz as Marcus leapt out of the way.

As 2 Chainz found himself occupied, Marcus dropped the knife and took a breath as Spyper doubled back to pick him up.

“Marcus! Marcus, come on!” Ari shouted in fright. He was leaning out the back of the van, holding out their hands to catch Marcus.

The teenager ran to meet her, reaching for his ticket out when Brutal leapt from the top of the van and tackled him to the pavement.

“You’re not going anywhere!”

“HEY!” Marcus snapped. He rolled onto his back and kicked Brutal off before quickly leaping back to his feet. “That’s my ride!”

“Not while I’m here!” Brutal grinned, brandishing his shiv.

“You’re sooooo tough with that knife, aren’t ya? I dropped mine, now drop yours! Fight me like a man!”

“And risk you getting away? Not a chance, bloke,” Brutal hissed, charging at Marcus.

Ari gasped. “We gotta get over there!” she cried. “Marcus isn’t gonna win this fight!”

“Hang on! Road safety laws, prepare to be IGNORED!” Spyper shouted, jerking the wheel back. His van veered sharply to the left and began careening straight for Brutal, only for a Medic in a mask to appear and call up giant spikes to block the van’s path. Spyper screamed in surprise and slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding crashing into them.

“Marcus! We can’t get through!” Spyper called.

Marcus scowled. “Well, I guess I’m throwing hands,” he grumbled, cracking his knuckles.

“Soon enough, you won’t have any hands to throw!” Brutal bit back, pulling yet another blade from his vest.

“Another knife. Coward,” Marcus sneered, then charged.

Marcus quickly grabbed Brutal by his wrists and forced the Sniper back, keeping Brutal from swinging the knives. Brutal hissed and kicked Marcus in the leg and shoved him back towards the spikes. Marcus staggered, but managed to dig his heels into the road to keep his balance.

Marcus, having taken a knife, grinned. “Now it’s fair.”

“Not for long,” Brutal grinned, producing yet another blade from his vest. “I can do this all day!”

“THE F@CK?!”

Brutal chuckled and swung his blades, slowly closing the gap between him and Marcus. “You should have paid more attention to my entry in HECU’s database.”

Meanwhile, the person who’d gotten said database was running scenarios in her mind as Spyper drove, trying to avoid the new Medic Freak. “Alright, so what are these spikes made of?”

“You asking me? Cause I sure as hell don’t know!” Spyper grunted, trying to find a way through the spikes to reach Marcus.

“If I knew that or could figure out a pattern, I could figure out how to take out the spikes and this new guy. Speaking of, do you know him? Because HECU’s files don’t.”

“No, I’ve never seen this Freak before!”

“They sent new ones under the assumption that I’d know all the old ones,” Cally hissed as Ari wrapped a blanket around himself, terrified. Then an idea hit her. “Alright, let’s see. Start driving like crazy. Don’t think, just go.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice!” Spyper grabbed the clutch and jerked it forward, causing his van to go airborne. “Hold on to your a$$es! This is gonna be a bumpy ride!”

The Medic threw spikes as the van flew, and Cally turned to Intelligent. “Your pot. I need you to drop it on his head.”

Intelligent glanced out the window and nodded, taking the pot off his head. “Got it.”

Cally called up to Spyper, “Give Intelligent a clear shot!”

“Already on it!” Spyper spun the wheel and started heading straight for the Medic before sharply pulling up. Without a moment's hesitation, Intelligent leaned out the passenger side window and dropped his pot, shouting triumphantly when it landed squarely on his target's head.

As the Medic clawed at his face, the nightmarish images filling his head, Cally grinned. “Alright. That takes care of him. Now we can get to- MARCUS!”

Marcus, though still fighting valiantly, was squarely on the other end of a beatdown, if the rips in his clothes and visible injuries were any indication. Didn’t seem like he wanted to show it, though; he picked up a broken spike and shouted, “That all you got?!”

“I could do this for eternity!” Brutal cackled, not relenting in his assault on Marcus.

“SH@T!” Cally cried. “Do you have a rope or ladder here, Spyper?”

“Under my bed, there should be a foldable ladder there!”

Cally pulled it out. “Ari, help me throw this to Marcus!”

Ari got up and ran over, grabbing one end while Cally grabbed the other. Then they tossed it to where the fight was happening. “MARCUS! COME ON!”

Marcus immediately dropped the spike and ran to grab the ladder. Leaping for it, he narrowly managed to grab on while avoiding scraping his legs on the spikes below.

Grinning down at Brutal, he held up a middle finger before climbing up and into the front seat.

Marcus smiled in relief once he was in. “Thanks!”

“You ok?” Intelligent asked, already getting out the first aid kit.

Marcus paused, then decided, “Everything hurts.”

“Alright, just hang on.” Intelligent opened the glove compartment and pulled out a small first aid kid. “Uh...I’ve got some bandages and some alcohol wipes. Any chance these will help?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Alright, where’s it hurt at?” Intelligent asked, sitting Marcus up beside him.

“I think it’d be easier to know what doesn’t h- Ari?” Marcus looked over his shoulder to the living quarters of the van. Ari was leaning against the wall and holding her side, his hand red with blood. A knife was laying on the floor nearby covered in blood.

Marcus gasped, all his injuries forgotten. “ARI!” He leapt over the front seats and grabbed Ari as they went down. “Ari, what happened!?”

“Brutal threw a knife,” Ari gulped, gripping Marcus’ arms.

Cally grabbed a first aid kit and went to work, panic written across her face. Ari sucked in breath as Cally set about cleaning the wound with alcohol and wiping away excess blood.

“That stings,” Ari winced, gritting their teeth when Cally stuffed gauze into the wound.

Marcus scowled. “Okay, now I’m p@ssed.”

“Same,” Cally said, a dark coldness in her voice. “It’s personal now.”

“Is Ari ok back there?” Spyper quizzed, flying away from the scene on the road.

“He will be. One of Brutal’s knives that he threw while on the car hit her.”

“It’s not deep, is it?” Intelligent asked worriedly.

“Kinda. They’ll need stitches, but it's not fatal,” Cally said, wrapping up the wound with a clean bandage.

“Do we know anyone who can do stitches?” Marcus asked, wrapping a bandage around his hand.

“Uh...I kinda know how, but I don’t think you want me doing that,” Spyper said, gesturing to the fact that he was still driving.

“Yeeeeah…”

Cally sighed. “I can do some. I need the practice.” Cally poked around in the first aid kit and found a needle and surgical thread inside. “Now hold still, this is probably gonna hurt…” She warned, beginning to sew the wound shut as gently and as steadily as she could.

***

That night, the group had taken up residence in an abandoned shack with just a power outlet. The kids sat watching Marcus’s miniature TV, and Intelligent sat beside Spyper, writing notes.

“Cally seems to be really good on her feet,” he mused. “She came up with that plan to take out someone we didn’t even know about in, what, half a minute?”

“You think part of that's coming from her powers?” Spyper asked, glancing over at Cally.

“Maybe. It makes me want to run tests, but I’m pretty sure Marcus would turn me into a pencil with all the lead he’d put in me if I tried.”

“I think we should leave that to HECU,” Spyper remarked, taking a sip of his drink. “Not that Marcus would let them do that either, but still.”

“He’s incredibly protective. And he looks more p@ssed now than he did when he was the one being threatened or getting the sh@t beaten out of him.”

“That’s true for anyone who’s close to their friends. I mean, if I got threatened, you’d be pretty p_ssed too.”

“Yeah,” Intelligent nodded. Spyper lit a cigarette, then noticed his phone ringing.

“Hey Intelligent, can you get that? I’m expecting a call from Madic.”

Intelligent reached over and picked up the phone, holding it awkwardly in his large hands.

It was an unknown number. Weird. Intelligent swiped to answer and held the phone to his ear. “Hello? Who is this?”

“Hello, Intelligent,” an all too familiar voice greeted in a cold tone. “Enjoying the peace and quiet?”

“Gentle. What do you want?” Intelligent hissed, pulling out a laptop and hooking it up to the phone.

“Just wanted to catch up. Give you a little grief for screwing Brutal over earlier today.”

“I didn’t do that. Marcus did. I’m proud of the kid for lasting as long as he did.”

Marcus, noticing the call, had gotten up to come over and listen. When he heard his name, he cut in. “Someone call my name?”

“It’s Gentlespy,” Intelligent replied, focusing on his computer screen. “Keep him talking, I’m trying to track his phone.”

Marcus hissed. “You motherf@cker. If you were here I’d-”

“I saw your fight with Brutal. I know exactly what you would do if I was there.”

“Then thank whatever god you pray to that you’re not. The hell are you even after?”

“Haven’t we already made this clear to you? We want you three gone.”

“You wouldn’t even have to deal with us if your stupid @sses hadn’t come after us. We knew jack sh@t about this whole thing.”

“Oh well. Hindsight is 20/20.”

“Yeah. And regret is a nasty feeling.”

“Is everything okay over there?” called Ari nervously.

“Considering who’s on the other line? Probably not,” Intelligent replied.

Ari came over, still holding their aching side. “Who is it?”

“Gentlespy.”

Ari tensed. “What does he want?” he whined. “Is the other guy with him?”

“I’m not sure. Just try to relax. You don’t want to pull any of those stitches out.”

Marcus hissed. “If your pal is with you, put him on. I got something I wanna say to him.”

“I don’t see why not. Once you and your friends are out of the way, you won’t be saying much anymore.”

Marcus grunted and cracked his knuckles. “Just put him on, I don’t want to listen to your pretentious-@ss voice anymore.”

A scoff came from the phone as it was handed off to the Sniper Freak. “What do you gotta say?” Brutal hissed.

Marcus spat on the ground. “Well, pal, listen. I’m not a hard guy to p@ss off. Really, you could throw a rock at me and I'd get mad. And I was content to just run my @ss off to avoid you f@ckers. That said, I am a hard guy to make an enemy out of. It takes you trying to kill me or the ones I love. And you did that. Like, way beyond that. When you put your disgusting hands on Ari. So now that we're enemies, I am gonna rain unholy hell down on you, your friends, and your entire plan,” he growled, eyes flashing with the blood-red power of the Body.

Intelligent looked up and silently gestured to his computer as a location popped up. “I’ve got Gentle’s location. They’re about five blocks away from here in an old warehouse,” He said quietly.

Marcus cocked his gun and hung up. “Then let’s go.”

“What are you doing? We still need to head to HECU and Ari needs to recover. We can’t go after them,” Spyper warned. “Especially not when they could have backup.”

Marcus huffed. “We can’t stay here! They’re five blocks away!” he snapped. “If they figure that out, Ari won’t have time to recover!”

“Then let's get out of here!” Spyper said, grabbing his keys and starting for the door.

[urlocalfrogmammy]

i like this boy, and he likes someone else—donald malarkey

inspired by

donald malarkey was the love of your life. but he belonged to someone else. the nights in the pubs of aldbourne become less and less appealing, and skip muck decided enough was enough.

i’m soft as heck for my little ginger baby. warnings: major feels. proceed with caution. word count 1.6k.

the first time you realised you were in love with donald malarkey was in toccoa. when sobel wasn't watching, he'd hauled you over the wall when he could see you were struggling during the obstacle course. his smile had been soft and warm and it made you feel like you were floating on cloud nine. the second time you realised you were in love with donald malarkey was at fort benning. you'd hurt yourself on a practice jump, and the concern in his eyes was genuine as he helped you up, and even offered to carry you when he notice you wince. you failed to mention your legs were like jelly because of him. the third time you realised you were in love with donald malarkey was boxing day 1942. you'd all received your jump wings, and to celebrate the PX tent was full. the party was in full swing, but you found yourself gravitating towards the quiet corners of the room. don insisted you dance, despite your constant reminders you had two left feet. he left you blushing profusely after you'd trodden on his feet one too many times.

you finally admitted you were in love with donald malarkey when you were on your way to england. the feeling of don's hands around your arms, gently steering you forward from behind, made you feel safe. but what really caught you off guard was the way he'd punched that dog company soldier when he'd grasped you tightly and refused to let you go. malarkey gave him one look before hitting him straight in the eye. your stomach was doing cartwheels, and you declared then and there you would never find a man like him. of course, as with most things, there was a catch. donald malarkey belonged to someone else. a broad waiting back in oregon for him. how you were jealous of her. you would spend each night, eyes closed, dreaming of her place being taken by you. dreaming. it would never be more than a dream. you learned to accept that early on, though it pained your heart to think of him writing to her, telling her how he was feeling. you wanted that more than all the money in the world. aldbourne had only complicated matters. the horrible feeling of being surrounded by beautiful women made you feel extremely self conscious of your appearance. admitting there was no use in clinging onto hope, you slowly began to back away from malarkey. there was no use hurting yourself more than you needed to.

you sat in the dimly lit pub alone, enjoying your own company. the bitter beer was hard enough to stomach, but much to the men's horror it was served warm. "hey kiddo, mind if we sit?" it was bill guarnere, followed by toye.

"no, no of course." they both shuffled into the booth and you took a sip of your beer. joe must have seen your pained expression because he laughed to himself. "what?"

"still not used to beer, y/n?"

"never will be." you said it with a half smile. the two men were soon joined by george luz, then perco, then penkala, then skip, then finally donald malarkey. you found yourself a tad bit squashed between bill and george, and you tried to smile through it politely. much to your disappointment, don noticed this and said: "you need some help y/n? you're looking a little squashed there." you smiled in a helpless way and shrugged to motion you had no idea how to get out. "come on fellas, move, let her out." one by one, half the booth stood up until you were free to leave it. you could finally breathe clearly again, without the scent of heavy testosterone fanning your nose. "better?"

"much. thank you." you the addressed the table. "i'm gonna call it a night." all the men frowned and begged you to stay, and insisting you really were tired, they let you go. "i'll walk you back."

"don, you don't have to—"

"i want to, y/n."

"thank you." you smiled softly.

you both walked silently though the streets of aldbourne. watching don look up into the sky, you smiled as he smiled, and he declared that the sky was too cloudy for stars. you looked up too, and he was right. a thick layer of clouds shrouded you from above. two girls in dresses and kitten heels, linked at the arms, were staring at you and whispering to each other. after they giggled, you felt an arm wrap around your shoulder, don whispering: "don't take any notice of them."

"i can't help it."

"they're not a patch on you." you're not a patch on his broad. that's what you had to keep telling yourself, though tonight you would make an exception, allowing his arm around your shoulder. even after the girls had walked past, he didn't slip it away, instead he started to rub it slowly. the barn you all shared came too quickly. you sighed as he stopped, pulling his arm away and smiling at you, hands in pockets. "be safe. i don't think the fellas are in there, and i don't think they'll be back for a while."

"i'll be fine. thank you don."

"you're welcome y/n. don't be a stranger."

you hadn't been to that pub since. two weeks later, you instead opted to have an early night in the barn rather than go drinking with the guys. it would only break your heart, make you want him more, when he wasn't yours to have. the men begged, luz even getting down on his knees at one point, for you to come with them, but time after time you told them no. after all the men had cleared out, you lay down on your cot and sighed. "y/n? please come?" skip had come back to plead with you. turning to face the wall of the barn, you told him no. "oh, y/n. come on! come to the pub."

"i don't want to skip."

"you've not been yourself the past few weeks." skip nudged you. "it might cheer you up." you didn't reply. rolling over to face him, you sighed heavily and sat up.

"what's the matter with you? really y/n, we're all worried about you."

"i like this boy..."

"yeah?"

"and he likes someone else." you thudded back down into the flimsy cot.

"it's not the end of the world—"

"that's easy for you to say. you have sweet faye tanner waiting at home for you, and he has someone waiting back home for him—"

"don and his broad aren't a thing no more." there was a silent minute. your heart was thudding and your hands were shaking. "how did you know?"

"it's obvious. the way you look at don... it's the way all fellas wanna be looked at." you scratched the back of your neck. "does... everyone know?" skip laughed and nodded. "oh god. i'm a mess skip i can't impress anyone in this state." you attempted to run a hand through your hair in order to demonstrate your point.

"give me a comb, huh?" skip said softly, "i'll fix you up real nice."

skip really did fix you up. your hair was down and (due to a lack of rouge) you'd pinched your cheeks as hard as you could to mimic a blush. guarnere smiled this great big grin and nodded with approval. "you don't scrub up so bad, y/n."

"thanks bill." he lazily slung an arm around your shoulders, and offered to buy you a drink. "i don't like the beer."

"then let's drink something else, huh?" three vodka shots in and you were both sloppily dancing around the pub. the men and women taking their dancing seriously didn't approve of you and the philly spinning round at a hundred miles per hour, him giddily lifting you up and swinging you around. after you were both out of breath, you allowed yourself the luxury of settling back onto a seat, panting and smiling madly. donald malarkey sat facing you, and you grinned at him. "you having a nice time, doll?"

"yeah... do you want to..." you motioned to the dance floor.

"sure. anything for the lady."

don knew you weren't a good dancer, but as he watched you spinning wildly, he couldn't help feel a warmth rising in his chest. god you're beautiful. reaching your hands out for him to join you, he grasped them and pulled you into his chest. the benny goodman was soon changed to a vera lynn song. swaying gently together, don leaned down. "you look lovely tonight."

"so do you! not that you... don't look good all the time... i was..." he watched you trailing off, eyes locked with yours. you were giving him the biggest puppy dog eyes he'd ever seen, smiling lazily but contentedly. for a moment, he thought you were about to kiss him, but you leaned your head into his shoulder. he shook his head as skip gave him two thumbs up, penk mouthing go get em.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“i’m in love with you.”

the words that left don’s mouth made you feel as though you’d just been given a congressional medal of honour. “i’m in love with you too.” you didn’t give him time to reply, leaning in and pressing your lips against his. the men cheered and whooped, but you barely heard it. the world seemed to have slowed in the most wonderful of ways. as you both pulled apart, don instantly grabbed your hand and made his way out of the pub. the cheering intensified, and you just grinned and waved at them before slipping out the door, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

[lonelypond]

Parent Trap, Ch. 3

Love Live, NicoMaki, 3.1K, 3/?

Summary: Maki heads to Philly, after some pointed questions from Grandmama Nishikino; Nico seizes the stage; Eli worries.

Another First

Eli hadn’t been sleeping so when Mischa came out and saw her Mama sleeping on the couch again, she curled up against her, humming.

“Nontan?” Eli muttered, but the weight on her side was a light one, “Misha?” Eli was wide awake.

“You have a bed, Mama.” Misha stated.

“I know, baby. I’ve just had to stay up late and I don’t want to disturb your mother.”

“What’s been keeping you away from me, Elichi?” Nozomi drawled, wrapping her robe around herself as she entered the kitchen.

“Well, you.” Eli thought, but she just hugged Misha and yawned, “I’ll be in bed early tonight.”

Nozomi leaned on the counter,“I look forward to it.”

Eli ignored that, giving all her attention to her daughter, “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Caramel popcorn.” 

“Popcorn isn’t breakfast food. How about cereal, that’s crunchy.”

“Okay.”

“Here you go,” Nozomi pulled puffed corn cereal off the shelf, “Put some blueberries in.”

“Good idea, Mom.”

“Thank you, baby bear.” Nozomi winked at Eli, “All my ideas are good ones.”

Eli remained silent. She couldn’t figure out, besides her usual matchmaking tendencies, what Nozomi might be up to. But she needed to know details before she needed to do damage control. But Nozomi, unusually, wasn’t being quick to gloat. Which worried Eli even more.

###

Maki was glad Dia was asleep. The Nishikino matriarch was about to make Dia’s Mama’s life very difficult and Maki didn’t want Dia picking up on her stress.

“So, Maki, why are you suddenly flying to Philly?” Coffee was never just a pleasant drink shared.

“Got a ticket to a concert. It’s the only one I can make. I want to pick up a lot of local history books for Dia.”

“Concert? The symphony? Philadelphia is….” “No.” Maki shook her head, speaking slowly calmly, nothing to see here, “Singer, friend of Eli’s.” “Oh.” The strategic sip.  Maki countered with a glance at the time.

“Thank you, Mama. Dia was very excited about coming here…” Her mother raised an eyebrow, “Has Dia met your new…” hesitation, fraught with meaning, “friend?” Maki shrugged, “We had a casual lunch. She knew a fun place to go skating. The Ribbon downtown. You should take Papa.”

“I’ll be sure to get the details from Dia.” Her mother was really going to interrogate her one year old grandchild for details about Maki’s date. And then the internet. Oh gods, Maki paled, what did you get when you searched Nico? What kind of things did she wear onstage?

“I really have to go.” Maki stood, going to kiss Dia before she left. “I’ll call you when I land.”

Her mother nodded, “Be careful, dear.” “I always am.”

Maki wondered what her life would have been like if she’d been a little less careful.

###

Nico stared at the message that had just pinged in.

M: So, I’m in Philadelphia tonight. But your show is sold out.

Nico snorted. Of course her show was sold out, all the tickets were gone in two hours. 

Another ping.

M: I was hoping you could sneak me in ; )

N: Nico doesn’t do groupies.

M: Does this outfit work? I usually go to symphonies. Then the snap. A short, plaid skirt, textured and torn stockings, the kickiest of designer boots, a cropped NicoNi t-shirt under what looked like a cashmere swing coat. Nico whistled.

“Cocoro?”

“Yeah, sis?” “Find Maki and bring her to the green room. Fast. She looks like this.” Nico handed Cocoro her phone.

“Is she the one with the little girl?”

“Yes.” “Doesn’t look like anyone’s mother.” Cocoro snapped. “Just go get her.” Nico ordered.

Exasperated, Cocoro zoomed out the door.

“And be friendly.” Nico yelled as the door closed. 

Nico leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, willing herself to focus on the concert, the audience, the fans eager for a Nico Ni knockout show. She could feel the buzz, the call to burst out onstage. She never started late, but tonight, tonight, there would be a slight delay because Nico was going to claim a good show kiss from her newest fan.

###

The screaming. It was everywhere. It was insane. And EVERYONE was singing along with Nico, waving lights, hands and banners in the air. And Nico was a shower of meteors, almost literally, lights and energy and sound making her seem like a series of explosions speeding across the stage.

Maki sat on a stool after trying to keep up for awhile when she caught a glance and a wave in her direction from the star of the show. The nosise and bustle was starting to give her a frowning headache; she wanted to have bought earplugs. She caught glimpses of molded foam in the ears of all the staff. Because they were music professionals who wanted to retain as much of their hearing as possible. And Maki was an idiot fangirl in too little clothing to be warm. She pulled her cashmere coat around herself and watched, unable to look away, from Nico executed sharp and perfect breaking moves in summer beachwear. Constant motion and spotlights must keep Nico warm, because there wasn’t enough fabric to.

Maki zoned out, watching Nico in a detached fashion, as she ignored the blur and bustle around her. And then the stage went black, and the audience was still for enough of a heartbeat to startle Maki out of her fugue state, and then when the NICO! chants picked up volume, Nico was suddenly in front of Maki, hands on either of Maki’s knees, curving upward to smack a kiss on Maki’s lips. Maki fumbled backward and one of Nico’s hands reached around her waist.

“AMAZING RIGHT!” Nico was glowing and shouting and Maki was too aware of all the people rushing toward Nico and crowding both of them. Awkwardly, Maki slid off the stool, into a sweaty Nico hug. And Maki was calm for however many seconds that lasted, but then Nico had her hand and was pulling her toward the stage, and her sister, headset on, was covering her mic to yell things at Nico Maki couldn’t understand. At the edge of the stage, Nico turned to Maki, “Encore. Wait here.”  And then the roar as Nico walked out for another song, Maki, realizing she was on the verge of hyperventilating, turned and sprinted to where she thought the exit to the what must be a cooler quieter hallway would be.

###

Maki paced. She had leaned against the wall, eyes closed, already caught up on her messages, made a sad sounding TWIG post, hummed through the Nico songs she could remember, wondered if Dia was sleeping okay and if she’d missed Maki’s usual bedtime story. All of that and Nico was still somewhere else. So Maki was pacing. And then a door banged open and there was a slightly out of breath Nico, oversized neon pink hoodie over white and pink heart leggings.

“There you are. Nico couldn’t find you.” Nico waited for Maki to finish her circuit and return to where Nico stood. 

“Are you done?” Maki grumbled, then winced.

“Nico’s never really done on a concert tour. Perqs of being the boss.” Nico waved her arms, “Everything is Nico’s.”

“Don’t you eat. Or sleep?” This was obviously going to be  more complicated than taking Nico out after the show to the quirky diner Maki had researched

“Yes, Nico eats. We go back to the hotel. Cocoro’s already ordered enough food for three crews.”

“Oh.”

“Did you want to take Nico out?” Nico almost giggled about how cute it was, but the tremble of Maki’s jaw stopped her and she swivelled into enthusiasm, “That sounds perfect. Nico is starved.” “Really?” Maki’s body language looked less defeated.

“Let’s go.” Nico took Maki’s hand, and with the other, pulled her phone out of the hoodie’s kangaroo pocket, “Cocoro? Nico needs the limo now...and make sure everyone is taken care of…” Nico glanced at Maki as she listened to the reply, “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Don’t worry,” Nico winked, “Maki’s taking care of me.”

“I could call a car?” Maki offered. “Nah, Nico’s driver is used to things and doesn’t mind driving around if there’s no parking. And the sound system is crazy good. We can play anything you like, if you’ve had enough Nico.” Maki, with Nico on her arm giving her the complete Nico charisma package, couldn’t keep the huge grin off her face, “Well, I did sit through an entire concert.” “But Nico didn’t sing your favorite song.” “Huh?”

And Nico, grinning devilishly, dropped her voice and “Stuck On You” echoed through the hallway.

###

The third restaurant/bar that had a kitchen that closed early. Maki had growled and stormed out, Nico had smiled, apologized, and tipped the bartender who had delivered the bad news. Then she’d rushed outside before Maki flipped a car or wandered into traffic...Nico stopped, Maki was standing outside the bar, a couple steps down from the door, one arms holding her coat closed, the other holding a phone she might have been shouting at, but she was looking more like crying than car flipping. 

“C’mon.” Nico grabbed Maki’s arm, pulling her toward the car, “We’re going to grab a couple of the coolest pizzas in Philly, take them back to Nico’s suite, and catch up on Nancy Drew.”

“Nancy Drew?” “CW teen horror with a diversity of brave, pretty people, and a conniving lesbian lovely. It’s fun.”

“Horror?” “Spooky mystery. Scarier than Scooby, but not too gory. Nico and Cocoro watch on the road so we can catch up with Cocoro and Cotaro when we get back home. You like pizza right?” Ah, something Maki could grab onto, “Yes, I like pizza.” “Did you pack pajamas?” “No.”

“No?” That made Nico pause.

Maki twirled a curl of hair into a thin twine, “I mean I brought sweats…”

“Uh huh,” Nico held the car door open, “Nico will grab you sweats and a t-shirt from the merch stash. Fresh off the runway. That outfit is super hot, but doesn’t look curl up on the couch with pizza comfy.”

Maki smiled, finally,  as she adjusted the very short skirt for sitting, “It’s really not.”

###

The pizza was square. 

“It’s square.” Maki said, sitting back from the box, sliding farther back into the corner of the sectional, the lights of Philly bright behind her in the floor to ceiling windows.

“It is.” Nico sat solidly center, setting up her laptop.

“And gooey.” Maki pulled a piece out of the pie, examining it quizzically, “Crispy crust, then cheese, then sauce.” 

“Smells amazing.” Nico leaned down the couch to sniff, then snagged a bite. “Nico likes.” “Hey!” Maki pulled the pizza away from Nico while managing to lean toward her, “My slice.” “Sharing is sexy.” Nico stared into amiable amethyst, trying to keep her eyes off the slightly too tight V neck she’d pull for Maki.

Maki raised an eyebrow, “Leaving enough pizza for your date is sexier.” “Hey.” Nico opened the second box to wave under Maki’s nose, “Nico bought two pies, with the selection of their best toppings. Paid cash.”

“Yeah, good pizza in Philly seems to be a cash only deal. It’s weird.” Maki sat back, pizza gone in three bites. 

“Puts more money into pizza, less money into credit card fees.” Nico started on a slice of her own as Maki grabbed one from the second box. “Philly’s got weird vibes, cool weird vibes, though. All the history stuff adds awesomeness.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait to see the Liberty Bell tomorrow. I told Dia I’d bring her back a lot of books.”

“Nico can make some time in the morning..” “Really?”

“Sure.” Nico wasn’t actually sure Cocoro would agree but the thought of Maki bright eyed and eager wandering historical Philly in search of things to take home to Dia was too cutesweet to miss. “It’s right downstairs.”

“So,” Maki swivelled her way out of the corner, now fully leaning on Nico, “What’s this scary teen show you want us to watch?” “Haven’t you ever heard of Nancy Drew, girl detective?” Maki giggled, “Of course, I have, Nico. But you’ll need to catch me up on the plot so far.” Nico decided she’d had enough pizza and dropped her arm around Maki’s shoulders, encouraging closer snuggling, “Nico is the best at catching people up. So, there’s Nancy. And George, who’s running a diner, and then Bess who’s living out of a van, and Ned Nickerson is working out of a garage and he and Nancy have this relationship that she won’t admit is a relationship and…”

Maki put her head on Nico’s shoulder, still managing to keep a constant pizza chew going, “Where’s the scary?”

Nico leaned over to hit play on her laptop, “Oh, you’ll see.”

###

Voices. Maki must be up. Nico smiled at the memory of an adorably exhausted Maki too sleepy to keep her eyes open through more than one and a half episodes of Nancy Drew. Nico let the coziness on the couch linger for the rest of the ep, but then grabbed a pillow and blanket from her bed and tucked in her surprise overnight guest right where she was. Nico wrapped a robe around her camisole and shorts and stepped into the sitting room. Maki was sitting in the solo chair in the far corner, staring out at the Philly skyscape, mug of something on the table next to her, smiling at her phone.

“No, Mama won’t be back for lunch, Dia. We’ll have breakfast tomorrow. I had square pizza for dinner last night. And cold pizza for breakfast.” Maki waved a slice at the camera. “PIZZA!” came the squeal from the phone, “Mama, want pizza.”

Guess it ran in the family, Nico chuckled to herself, probably best to leave Maki and Dia alone, no telling who else was in on the call and waking up in someone else’s hotel room usually required explanation. Nico ducked into the bathroom.

Dia had been fussy last night, missing Maki. Maki hadn’t missed Dia as much as she feared, but gleamed when Dia wanted to video chat over breakfast. 

“We’ll get pizza for dinner tomorrow, bun.” “NOW.” 

Dia seemed more interested in having pizza than having Maki there.

“I’ll talk your grandmother into pizza for you, all right.”

“Pizza.” Dia's volume was a shout, “And Mama.” “I won’t be back until late tonight, Dia. But I’ll have a bunch of presents. I’ll read you a book if you’re awake.” “Book…” Dia’s face lit up, “Bedtime story.” “Bedtime story for Dia, about the Liberty Bell.”

“Ring!”

Maki laughed, “Let me talk to your grandmother.”

###

A knock on the door. Maki must have ordered something. Maki seemed to be saying goodbye so Nico answered it. A hotel staffer stood, black waxed canvas duffle bag and matching garment bag in hand, “Ms. Nishikino had her luggage sent over.” “Oh, thank you.” Nico was still in her bathrobe, so she took a good look at the nametag, “Nico will leave you a tip when she checks out, Terry.” Nico took both bags, surprisingly heavy. She didn’t hear Maki’s voice so she figured it was safe to speak.

“They brought up your luggage.” “Oh thanks.” Maki bounced into the main part of the sitting room, “I’ll take that.”

“Nico needs a tip.” Nico refused to turn over the garment bag when Maki’s hand closed over hers. “Oh…” Maki seemed confused and reached for a pocket but the Nico Ni pink sketch sweatpants had none. 

“Not what Nico meant.” Nico stepped closer, lips pursed, closing her eyes but not before she caught the flaming blush across Maki’s cheeks. A quick, tingling brush across Nico’s cheek and Nico let Maki take the luggage.

“Did you leave Nico any pizza?”

Maki nodded, not making eye contact.

“Maki?” “‘m sorry I feel asleep…” A mutter, then a sigh, “It wasn’t much of a date.”

“Don’t worry about it. Nico had a great time. I was really glad you came to see the concert.” Nico raised a hand to her temple, “It’s a big change from the first night we met on that balcony, Nico Nico Ni. Nico likes this better.”

Maki, eyes suddenly glowing like Nico had stirred up banked embers, stepped in, one hand sliding around Nico to pull her closer, as their lips fumbled into a demi-passionate melding. 

“Me too. You’re amazing.” Maki whispered, still close enough that Nico wanted to bite forward, “I’d love to come to every concert.” Another kiss, even less breath left for talking, Nico pushed a little, “Free tonight?”

And that broke the spell. Maki stepped back, regret pursing her lips into frown lines, “Evening flight. Sorry, Nico.”

Nico slid her hand down Maki’s arm, until their fingers were intertwined, “Can’t blame Nico for trying.” Maki’s grin gleamed, “Are you planning to monopolize my time from now on?” A quickly stolen kiss as Nico said, “Yes.”

“Good.”

“Hey,” Nico, hand still holding Maki’s, pulled her toward the couch, “If you ever want to come back to Philly and stay longer, we can get a crib in this suite. Probably take a week to really find out what Philly’s best square pizza is. I’m sure Dia’d like a vote.”

Giggling, Maki let Nico pull her into an embrace, her head falling back to Nico’s shoulder, “Sounds like fun. Dia’s first plane ride.”

“Do you really want to go sightseeing now?” Nico whispered in Maki’s ear, fingertips playing with the hair at the back of Maki’s neck. “Nico…” there was a shiver in Maki’s voice so Nico’s lips followed the path of her fingertips.

Nico’s hand was now sliding into the V neck of the Nico graffiti portrait shirt, “You can pick up something for Dia on the way to the airport. My driver knows all the best places.”

Maki slid down the couch, forcing Nico’s hand to linger by her ear, “Nico…”

“Yes?” Nico flipped, so that she had Maki pinned down, leaning in, hovering near enough to lick Maki’s lips if she’d moved her tongue at all. And then in a blink, Maki had surged up, her arms around Nico, lips crashing in a completely unguided, stunner of an amorous explosion.

Another “Nico,” more plea than pleasure.

Maybe Maki wouldn’t be making her flight. Or Nico’s concert would go on without the main act. Nico didn’t really care. Time could stop right now. Maki was melting, hair vivid and sexy as she curved sensuously against the pale neutrals of the couch, and Nico, all Nico wanted to hear was how often Maki could moan her name. No audience had ever hit exactly that tone, that grab, that fuel. A new world, just for Nico. Time to explore.

A/N: Howdy.