#recovery from cocaine

[twopoppies]

The article is in Spanish, but it's a very trustworthy source from Argentina. That Roger was a fucking leech, hope he rots in jail

https://www. infobae. com/sociedad/policiales/2024/11/08/pesos-argentinos-para-comprar-droga-negocios-en-comun-y-dias-libres-el-oscuro-control-de-rogelio-nores-sobre-liam-payne/

This is so fucking disturbing. I know fans have had a bad feeling about Roger for a while. It sounds like they weren’t wrong.

Today, Nores is charged with abandoning Liam Payne and killing him , as well as supplying and facilitating him with drugs, in a relationship that sources in the case describe as “almost Maradona-esque, a friend of the champion , like those who surrounded Diego at his worst .” To charge him, Madrea and his team analyzed 800 hours of footage from the CasaSur hotel and opened Liam’s phone. In addition, they took a large number of testimonies, including that of Liam’s father, Geoff Payne.

Liam's father said the same thing that the courts were able to confirm through the analysis of communications and the comparison of other testimonies: that Nores, after meeting Payne in Miami at the beginning of this year, became the force that dominated his life. If the Payne family wanted to know how the singer was, then they should contact Rogelio. He was not just another friend of Liam's, under any circumstances. Geoff Payne himself said it: "Roger" was always the intermediary. "He is better than ever," he would have told the family when asked.

And this explains the charge of abandonment of a person. It is not about the fact that the businessman did not come to the singer's aid, but about the long road that led to the CasaSur hotel.

The businessman would have become a sort of de facto manager . Although they did not have a specific contract in this regard, sources in the case say that Nores operated as an "investment advisor" and that they had business in common in view of Payne's possible return to the world stage. For this, the singer's recovery from his addiction to drugs and alcohol was key. He just had to be detoxified.

Nores accompanied Payne in a deep detoxification treatment in the United States. There, a psychiatrist prescribed sertraline, the antidepressant that was found in the toxicology test on the singer's body. The specialist said it clearly: if you mix alcohol and cocaine with sertraline, the result can be lethal.

Then, another treatment in Spain was carried out, which also failed. So they ended up in Argentina. Payne was put up in a prestigious five-star hotel that was used to hosting big rock stars. They kicked him out of there. They even visited a local psychiatrist, who testified in the file. After the five-star hotel, they both went to the Patagones polo club with the singer's last girlfriend, Kate Cassidy, where the singer was photographed wearing a helmet and heels on a horse. They spent a few days there. However, Payne quickly became nervous and left the place.

Thus, they arrived at the CasaSur hotel in Palermo on the Sunday before the death. Liam did not even have a bag. There, according to the testimonies and analysis that are part of the case of the prosecutor Madrea, Nores' control would have been much more evident, with alleged orders to the hotel staff to report each expense. Nores, this time, managed Payne's expenses , while receiving calls for each whiskey, champagne or tequila that the former One Direction member ordered, with physical money delivered at the reception. The evidence also speaks of "free days" when Liam could consume cocaine.

The day he died, precisely, was a “day off.”

Thus, Nores frequently returned to the hotel to top up the bill. Payne, meanwhile, insisted on the phone, asking for Argentine pesos to pay the dealers who offered him cocaine, with photos of the bags they offered him and the corresponding prices. The prosecution suspects that Nores had obtained cocaine for him himself, which led to the second charge against him.

Meanwhile, hotel cameras filmed Liam as he wandered the halls , drunk and with a distant look.

For the time being, Nores is free, with his passport handed over to the courts and a ban on leaving the country, while he awaits being summoned for questioning by Judge Laura Bruniard. Article 106 of the Criminal Code, which defines the crime of abandonment followed by death, speaks of “anyone who endangers the life or health of another, either by placing him or her in a situation of helplessness, or by abandoning to their fate a person who is incapable of taking care of himself or who must be maintained or cared for, or who the author himself has incapacitated .” Here, the alleged supply of narcotics plays a key role.

If convicted, he could face up to 15 years in prison. Given the amount of the sentence, the crime is not bailable.

[flippinpancakes64]

Hi! Hope your doing well

Can I get the cullens with reader who is sick and wants nothing but cuddles?

The Cullens with a sick reader

Hello! I am doing well thank you!

I went for just a general sickness not really like a specific one so imagine whatever you want.

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

He's really concerned

The most concerned of all of them, actually

His mother died from the flu and he was going to as well

So any illness reminds him that you're human and that what happened to his mom could happen to you too

He insists on Carlisle staying home to look after you

He is pacing, he is breathing heavy, he looks like he's on the verge of death

It's only when Carlisle manages to get through to him that you'll be fine does he finally calm down

Then he notices that your skin is really clammy and you're really hot

What better way to cool down than a literal block of ice?

He will lay there with you as long as you need

It doesn't matter if he's hungry and needs to hunt

If you're still sick he is not leaving the house

Much less leaving your side

Alice:

She saw this coming

Maybe you did something stupid and like stood in the rain with a t shirt and shorts on

Or maybe you just accidentally crossed paths with a kid who was sick at your school

Either way she saw you being sick a couple of days in advance

It gave her enough time to prepare everything that you would need

She was also able to see that you ended up being fine, so she doesn't worry too much

You don't even need to ask for cuddles though

She is already there

The good part about being prepared ahead of time is that she has everything she needs

She doesn't need to leave the room to go get you anything

She doesn't need to go hunt

She is just there at your service, ready to comfort

Jasper:

He could tell you weren't feeling good when you walked in the room and your upset mood made its way to his senses

He's a little lost on how to help

In his time, when people got sick you threw them out of the wagon so they didn't infect others

Or, alternatively, you just set them up in a nice, comfy place to die <3

So yeah he's a little helpless

If you're lucid enough to tell him what you need he'll do it

Other than that he gets Carlisle's help

The moment you open your arms and ask him to hold you, he is there

Like immediately

If he can't help any other way on your road to recovery, this is the least he can do

Like the others, he would hate to leave you

But he's a lot less used to the vegetarian diet

And being so close to you doesn't help

So if this falls at a bad time where he needs to go hunt, he's gonna have to leave

He would hate to do it

But it's for your safety

Rosalie:

Basically built for this

I mean, she wants to be a mom really bad

Those little shits get sick every 2 business days

I feel like she's read enough parenting books to be able to know how to help you

She doesn't let anyone near you

Not even Carlisle

She insists she has it under control

And to her credit, she does

However she gets a bit lost in the technicalities of it

Like checking your temperature every ten minutes, making sure the food she gets you has the right amount of nutrients, keeping the room at a solid temperature

You're gonna have to be the one to stop her

Just tell her that while you appreciate everything she's done for you, all you really want is to be held

She takes a moment to process it before she gets in the bed immediately

Does not leave

Even if she's starving

Emmett:

When he was still alive, he had a younger sister

So I feel like he wouldn't be too inexperienced when it comes to taking care of someone when they're sick

However I feel like he has a very antiquated sense of medicine

He'd go out and buy like cocaine-infused adderall or smthn and say that this is what he used to take when he felt sick

Don't take anything he gives you

It's for your safety

Just tell him the best medicine he could give you is some cuddles

And he'll drop whatever else he was planning to try to give you

If you can stand, it would be in your best interest to ask Carlisle to help you instead

He has the spirit though

And I feel like cuddling with him would be the best

Esme:

Another one with a bit of trauma surrounding illnesses

Her baby died due to an illness and now she's scared

She doesn't want to lose you too

Even though she knows the likelihood of you dying is small, she still can't help it

Another one who's asking Carlisle for help

Sorry Carlisle

Anyway she is at your beck and call

Soup? Done. And it's homemade

Water? Done. Fresh from Fiji

You want the room to be colder? Yeah just hold on a sec while she goes and harvests a piece from an iceberg

In the middle of all of her running around you're gonna have to stop her and just tell her that all you want is cuddles

Instantly she is setting up some candles, putting on a movie, and holding you in bed

Is not convinced that you are all better even after you've completely recovered

For at least another week she is still hoverinfg

Carlisle:

The man of the hour

When you told him you were sick it was like saying you're thirsty as you're standing in front of a stream of fresh, clean water

No need to worry you're in good hands

Instantly gets to work

He finds out what you're sick with, how long you'll have it, what your symptoms will be, and the best treatment options in the blink of an eye

Gets everything set up at lightning speed

But after he's got everything set out for you and he knows you don't need anything else, he takes a step back and sees that you are still missing something

When you ask if he can cuddle, he wastes no time

He calls into the clinic and tells them that he can't make it today or tomorrow

Unfortunately, though, he will leave at some point

He takes his job very seriously

Hence why he's still working even though he has enough money to buy all of Europe twice over

So he will leave to go back to work

But he won't work extra long shifts

Or stay up late doing paperwork

You are the priority

Vampire! Bella:

She's a little helpless

Charlie wasn't the most ideal parent to be sick around

He believed that everything fixes itself

And though Renee was a lot better at that, a little of Charlie still rubbed off on her

But of course, she does remember the agony of being sick

It's not that she's not sympathetic, it's just that she doesn't know what to do

So again she leaves that up to Carlisle if it's really bad

She was already curled up with you before you even got the chance to ask

She figured that since there was nothing else she could do she might as well just comfort you

Will leave a couple of times though

She'll go hunt or go pick up a new book if she finishes her old one

So I'd say she's there like 98% of the time

[darlingdekarios]

bending to the honeysuckles.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 17,216 content: William "Ironhead" Miller x f!reader, reader has a prior drug addiction, drug addiction recovery, drug rehab, mentions of past abuse in a relationship, pining, fluff, Will is a simp, smut [oral, unprotected p in v]

while you insist you don't want a relationship, Will Miller falls for you like it's his destiny to do so. he's willing to meet you where you are while he waits for you to let him love you.

Life had been hell for Frankie Morales since he’d returned from Colombia. While he was able to keep decent control of himself for the first couple of weeks, the things he’d done caught up to him – they always did. He’d retreated into himself, away from his friends and into the confines of his house, numbing his feelings with whatever he could. At first, it was several beers every day, and when that wasn’t enough it was liquor. When the liquor wasn’t enough, he’d remembered what could truly help him – cocaine – and it had all just sort of spiraled from there. 

Three months after his return home Frankie staggered into his birthday dinner with dilated pupils, a running nose and an air of confidence only to be met with an intervention from Pope, Benny, and Ironhead. The reminder of how pathetically few people cared about him stung initially, but he quickly remembered he deserved even less than that. He found himself in a rehabilitation program then, spending the next 90-days of his life with far-too-nice people trying to help him get his shit together. 

As he expected, Santiago had taken up residence in his spare bedroom in Frankie’s absence, deciding to stick around in the states to ensure his best friend actually recovered this time, found a career for himself, and didn’t lose his house. He’d started attending a group session for recovering cocaine addicts the same week, and that was where he’d met you. 

You were at least a decade younger, quiet until you were directly spoken to, and sarcastic and quick when it was your turn to talk. The message deciphered from your introduction of yourself was that you had just moved to take over your grandfather’s company, you were coming up on six years of sobriety, and you did not like to be around people. His second meeting, a week later and your six months of sobriety, you’d approached him at the end of the meeting to propose being his sponsor. 

The two of you had been friends since. Wednesday nights you met for dinner before you made your way to group together, and Sunday nights you had a quick phone call to check-in with one another. As much as it helped Frankie to have someone outside of the Delta Force to understand his situation – that he trusted to understand him – it helped you just the same. You had moved to the area a month ago and finding people tolerable was difficult. He quickly became your closest friend, and he was more than happy to introduce you to the other people in his life. 

When Will had first suggested coming along to group with Frankie to offer some support, it was a surprise when the older man agreed and mentioned you immediately, almost proud to have someone to introduce to the man he looked up to so much. You’d agreed it was fine to skip dinner that week so Frankie could come along with Will, almost relieved for the extra time alone between work and group. It gave you a chance to shower and change into something a little better than your pink work overalls, ready to meet the first additional person in Frankie’s life. 

Frankie walked in much later than he normally would, and while you would normally jokingly call to him from across the room for cutting it close, you lost whatever wit you’d planned on using when your eyes landed on the gorgeous blonde following behind your friend. When Frankie spotted you he raised a hand to wave, which you returned feebly, eyes a little too focused on the newcomer. 

“We’re cutting it close, I know,” Frankie breathed when he approached you, your senses suddenly returning and forcing you to your feet in politeness. “This is Will. Will, this is my friend I’ve been telling you about.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were late for your own birth, Frankie,” you greeted him with a quick hug, fixing your eyes on Will with a smile as you mentally swooned under the gaze of his blue eyes. “Nice to meet you, Will.”

William Miller did not get distracted.

When he had a responsibility – a job to complete – Will was laser-focused, in-control, and driven. Whether he was in an active combat zone or giving a speech to a group of veterans trying to rejoin society, he was always able to stay on the task at hand until he’d completed it – until he’d excelled at it. Tonight, his task was to support his friend, his brother, Frankie – and tonight was the first time in months he felt he’d truly failed at his task. 

He couldn’t pull his attention away from you for the next two hours. No matter who was talking, even Frankie, Will found his eyes glancing to you, eager to see your reactions and expressions and your body language. On one particularly long-winded monologue from a woman about how she had just tried cocaine for fun, and it ended up ruining her marriage (she cheated on her husband, that’s what really ruined the marriage), you rolled your eyes in Will’s direction while mouthing:

“Are you having fun yet?” Will nearly laughed at the question but opted to respond with a much more situationally appropriate light smile and subtle thumbs up. Your eyes flashed with mischief as you mouthed again. “Liar.”

He couldn’t get you out of his head after that meeting and found himself asking Frankie if he could go with him again the next week, and again, and soon enough he was a regular supporter of the meeting, showing up early to set up snacks and coffee and keeping track of the sign-in sheet. Each time he found himself falling more and more into whatever trap you’d seemingly laid out just for him, and even though he really didn’t get the chance to talk with you much, his interest was sparked enough to want to get to know you more. It was after the fourth meeting he’d joined that he lingered in the parking lot with you even after Frankie had left. 

That was the night he’d begun to understand the depth of his fascination with you. Sitting in his trunk bed drinking bottles of water Will permanently kept in his backseat he marveled in you as you opened up to him and showed him who you were…at least as much as you were willing to share. As much as he hung on your every word, you did the same for him, unable to look away from his face as he spoke and enamored by the things he told you about himself. 

“I like hanging out in parking lots with you, Will Miller,” you’d complimented, eyes sparkling under the full moon’s light. “You’re good company.”

“Yeah, we should do it again sometime,” came his reply before he could stop it. Reaching to scratch the back of his neck, he opted to continue – there was no going back now. “Maybe the parking lot of a restaurant…after dinner?”

You felt your cheeks burn immediately and, even more embarrassing, the smile that spread across your face like the sun breaking through clouds on a stormy day. All too soon, though, the clouds returned, the melancholy filling your voice. “I’d love to say yes but I…can’t. I’m not looking for anything serious right now with…well, everything. And I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

While it wasn’t the reason you’d given, on your drive home you had to think about the fact that Will Miller deserved far more than a recovering addict who was just figuring out how to really take care of herself. If you had only seen his thoughts on his own drive, about how long he’d wait until you were ready, you may have turned around and given into him. 

Things settled a bit over the coming weeks. You offered Frankie a job helping you out with jarring the honey and making local deliveries for you, which he’d been happy to accept in the meantime until he could get his license back. It was nice to have him around – he was often the one to remind you to take a moment to hydrate, but he never bothered you while you worked. He even took it upon himself to make some minor repairs to your barn in some of his spare time. Another month had passed faster than you could believe, the time filled with settling into your business and spending time with Frankie and his best friend, Santiago. 

Frankie had offered many times – at least once per week – for you to join them for drinks, or dinner, or at the beach. You’d refused every offer, unwilling to face Will again for fear of your wavering resolve. But this week, a Friday, it was different when Frankie asked you to join them before he headed out in the morning to spend his day making deliveries. The loneliness was finally catching up to you, and you figured some time out with other people would serve you well. Plus, despite the bickering you and Santi often found yourselves in, you knew Frankie surrounded himself with good people, and you could trust spending time with them. You agreed to let him pick you up at 7:30, and he agreed with a nod and a smile. Even if you had a miserable time, at least going would ensure Frankie’s happiness for the night.

By the time Frankie’s shitty truck had pulled into the driveway of the old farmhouse you now found yourself living in, you were moments away from sending a text that said you’d changed your mind, the nerves of your horrible day making you dread an unfamiliar place. As you pulled a jacket on and locked the door behind you a sigh released from your lips before you began to make your way to him. While you were finalizing your mental argument about whether it was too late to cancel you saw Frankie’s face peering out of the driver’s side window, an earnest smile on his lips. He was unrelentingly kind and made the decision you faced easy – there was no way you could cancel on Frankie Morales and sleep at night.

“Hiya, Crankie,” you greeted as you climbed into the front seat, rolling the window down before you’d buckled yourself in. Your use of the nickname you’d bestowed upon Frankie made the man shake his head, a quiet laugh sounding as he began the drive.

“Hi, abejita,” came his usual reply, glancing out of the corner of his eye to take in more of your expression. You’d obviously tried to get in the mood to go out, but the tired expression was one Frankie recognized – you probably just wanted to be alone tonight, and yet you were still seated next to him. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

Of course he knew – he always did. The two of you had spent the last few months bonding over a similar addiction background, and it was nice to have someone that truly understood you. There were no niceties with you and Frankie, and it was the reason the two of you had become such close friends.

“Oh, you know me, Francisco…’I’ll sleep when I’m dead,’ yada yada yad,” you turned your head toward him, offering a falsely reassuring smile. “What’s your excuse? I swear there’s at least five more greys in your hair.”

“I only counted three this morning,” he matched your taunting, chuckling softly at your joking. 

“Yeah, well, I’ve told you that you need glasses, and this just proves my point,” you joked, rolling your head back the other way to rest it on the cool glass of the window. “I probably shouldn’t even let you drive me around…talk about self-destructive behaviors.” 

He laughed again and the comfortable silence set in, the rest of the drive to he and his friends’ chosen bar passing with light conversation about your days, and both of you agreeing to keep one another to the one drink maximum you’d set. Frankie thanked you for deciding to come with him, and it was a sincere show of appreciation – having someone unbiased and understanding of his situation there to support his recovery was important. And, truthfully – he was helping yours just as much. 

Plus, there was the promise of seeing Will again. While it was annoying, it was also impossible to admit that the mere thought of seeing his pale blue eyes again in the flesh caused your stomach to fill with butterflies. It was ridiculous – you’d meant what you said when he’d asked you out a month ago, you didn’t want to pursue anyone or be pursued right now. That didn’t stop you from thinking about his sparkling blue eyes, or the lines of his smile, or how he’d looked at you like you were the only thing he wanted to look at. You wanted to see him, and could only hope, maybe cruelly, that he wanted to see you as well. 

“What are you over there thinking about, abejita?” Frankie pulled you back to reality with a quiet voice as you pulled into the bar parking lot, glancing over at you briefly. “You didn’t complain about my driving at all.”

You smiled and shook your head, unwilling to admit to Frankie you’d been thinking about one of his best friends – one of his brothers. The question of whether Will had told them about asking you out flashed through your mind, and fortunately Frankie shifting his truck into park gave you a feasible reason to not answer his questioning. “Let’s go do this. And remember, if someone offers you cocaine in the bathroom…just say no.”

Frankie laughed in bewilderment nearly the entire way into the bar, a bright smile still spread across his face when the two of you made your way through the door. The sounds of Metallica from the jukebox confirmed Santiago was there before your eyes even landed on the mess of grey and black atop his head, drifting over to the golden locks of Benny Miller with his girlfriend sat beside him. As you walked toward their table you released a sigh of relief, though at the same time your stomach knotted in disappointment – no Will. 

After your hellos and introduction to Benny’s girlfriend, Frankie excused himself to grab both of you a soda from the bar to start with – it was refreshing to see that this group didn’t even bat an eye at the two of you not ordering alcohol, and you had to mentally commend Frankie for his taste in company. Leaning on the counter height table with an elbow you met Santiago’s lingering gaze. 

“You better not be standing to do what I think you’re going to do,” he warned, his words met with a mischievous smile from you. His arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowing at your body language. 

“Oh, I’m definitely standing to do what you think I’m going to do,” you taunted, sticking out your leg slightly to block him into the booth. “And you are just going to have to deal with it, Santiago.”

His hand twitched toward the glass of dark liquid in front of him, taking a sip as his eyes stayed on yours. You offered another smile, lazily drumming your fingernails on the table beneath you. Benny’s voice interrupted the stare down, both of you turning to look at him. “I’m sorry, what is happening here?”

“I refuse to subject the people of this bar to Santiago’s Greatest Hits playlist all night. I’m picking the next song,” you replied, offering another smile to the man you were blocking in the booth. Benny was the first laugh you heard, but from behind you another laugh rumbled – and Frankie still hadn’t returned from the bar. 

“Nice to see someone keeping Pope in his place,” the older Miller brother commented from behind you, immediately sending a chill up your spine and a rush of heat to your cheeks. Forgetting to leave your leg planted you turned to greet him with a smile, eyes brighter than they should be for someone who’d turned him down a month earlier. He didn’t care to hide the smile he offered you back. “Sorry I’m late. Got a little hung up at work, hope I didn’t miss anything.”

Your willingness to spar faltered, and all you could manage under his gaze was a nod, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth. He turned to greet Benny, who had stood, with a hug before saying a quick hello to Danielle and offering her a gentle hug. Even Santiago got a quick version of a hug. You tried to ignore the jealousy that twisted your stomach. 

“You were just about to miss the musical showdown of the century,” Benny remarked, planting himself back into the booth with an arm around Dani’s shoulders. “Someone is finally standing up to Santiago’s musical monopoly.”

“Just because you people don’t know how to appreciate the American classics,” Santiago began, ready to fling himself into a grandiose monologue before Benny beat you to the punch, entering an argument with the older man about the definition of “classics”. You took that as your sign to exit to the juke box, unnoticed by Santi, but not unnoticed altogether – William had followed closely behind you. 

“Are you my escort for the evening, Mr. Miller?” you questioned, attempting a playful tone to cover the nerves you felt around him. “I don’t think I’d get lost on the way to show up Santiago. There’s too much at stake.”

Another laugh rumbled in his chest – it was nice to make someone laugh as much as you made him. “The buttons on that old thing stick sometimes, and I wanna make sure you can use it.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little slowing down your steps to join at his side and glancing up at him as you walked. He had to mentally remind himself not to wrap an arm around you, no matter how badly he wanted to. “You know, helping me figure out the machine makes you an accomplice. I wonder how Santiago will feel about your mutiny.”

“Probably about the same way he feels about most things.”

“Forlorn and personally affronted?”

He laughed again in response, siding up to the juke box with you. He allowed you a moment to get your bearings on the machine, and though you likely quickly realized his white lie about the buttons sticking, you didn’t call him on it. “I was happy when Fish said you were coming out,” he admitted, leaning on the machine on his side next to you. When you broke concentration to meet his gaze briefly, he had to remind himself to breathe. 

“I almost cancelled. Had a bad day at work and didn’t want to look miserable and stupid,” you replied with a shrug, returning your focus to the juke box and flipping through albums. What Will wanted to do was sit down somewhere quiet with you and talk to you about your day, to listen to whatever complaints you wanted to hurl to a listening ear – but it wasn’t the time or place. He lowered his voice as Santiago’s previous choice finished up. 

“Miserable may be one of the last words I’d use to describe how you look,” he drawled, removing his appreciative glance from you to focus on what album you’d sought out. He felt you glance upward at him and could swear he heard the quick catch of your breath. 

“You’re very distracting,” you joked, eager to break this tension. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth slightly in an attempt to stifle the smile that was threatening to break under his attention, but it was to no avail – your burning cheeks gave away the fluttering in your stomach enough. “It’s impossible to put Santiago to shame when I can’t focus on this very important song decision.”

He hummed in understanding, nodding his head as he fixed his eyes on you again. Gazing up into the blue pools that waited expectantly you were met with a slightly raised eyebrow. It was infuriating how he managed to look effortlessly flawless. “Should I go back to the table and leave you to it, then?”

“No,” came an embarrassingly immediate reply. “No, just…shut up. Stand there and…keep…looking like a fucking magazine cover, but shut up.”

Will smiled first, a rumbling laughter sounding in his chest. It was impossible not to smile at the laugh you’d pulled from him, eyes taking in the lines of his smile at the corners of his mouth and own eyes. You felt the pull at your heart and had to swallow down the feelings building in your chest, forcing yourself to look back at the juke box – though the smile he’d earned lingered as well. He wanted to reach out to touch you in the short summer dress you’d worn, to hold you closer to him with a hand on your hip – but it wasn’t his place to do so.

Once you’d queued up your song choice you made your way back to the table with Will, glad to see Frankie had returned with a lemonade for you. When you slid into the booth you were delighted to have Will slide up next to you, the warmth continuing to pool from him. As he moved in a little closer, perhaps, than he needed to your song choice began to play over the speakers.

“No way she’s embarrassing you with Donovan right now, Pope!” Benny called, his laughter loud over the music. You smiled a victorious smile across the table at him, eyes bright now that you had confirmation at least one other person at the table agreed with you. 

“She thought really hard about her decision,” Will added, taking a drink of the bottled beer sat in front of him. You nudged him with your elbow lightly adding in a playful eye roll. 

“I took my duty serious,” you explained before turning your attention back to Benny. “At least someone in this group has good taste. Sometimes Frankie’s music is shit, too.”

“Hey now,” the named man intervened, offering a raspy laugh at your call-out. 

“You could try to tell me I’m wrong, but you haven’t reached six months of sobriety yet and your opinions are, understandably, questionable,” you joked, giving him a playful nudge to communicate you were joking if it wasn’t clear. 

“So, you have Frankie working down at the…is it called a bee farm?” Benny questioned, pulling Dani in closer to plant a kiss to the top of her head. In the far end of the booth Santiago rolled his eyes, scoffing out a laugh as Frankie nodded.

“Yeah, I took over the business…about five months ago now. It was my grandfather’s, and he passed away,” you explained, taking a drink of your lemonade and wishing you’d had Frankie get you something stronger to get you through the questioning. “I was looking to move, anyway so it…kind of worked out, though I’m not sure my grandpa would appreciate that phrasing.”

Will loved how easy it was for you to find your place in the group. 

“Where’d you move from?” Dani questioned, sipping on her hard seltzer to savor it. “I don’t hear an accent, really.”

“Middle of nowhere Montana,” you answered, anticipating the next question. Might as well answer it before someone asked. “I’d been in a relationship but…well, it wasn’t a good one. I left him earlier this year and ended up in a rehab program for cocaine addiction. When I got out…I had a couple of months in sanctioned housing, but I needed a change of scenery. It wasn’t long after that the family lawyer called to say the farm and business were passed to me in the will.”

Will caught the way you chose your words carefully as you spoke about your relationship, noticing how your voice had a slight shake to them. The possibilities of your cryptic words tore into him, festering in quiet anger as he ran through what that could mean. It was possible you’d simply been incompatible, perhaps fighting frequently. It was possible he’d broken your heart by being unfaithful. Or, and Will seriously hoped this wasn’t the case, it was possible your ex had been abusive toward you. The thought made him dig his fingers into the table’s edge.

As he allowed the thoughts to consume him for longer than he’d intended the conversation carried on, Benny beginning to understand why his friends had spent the last few weeks talking up this woman. His thoughts were broken by Santiago slapping his fist to the table quickly. 

“Let’s play a round of darts. Winner picks the next five songs. Loser deals with it,” he offered, reaching upward to run his fingers through his hair. With a shrug you finished your lemonade, offering a mischievous smile once again.

“Let me drag up a chair for you to sit in while we play so your knees don’t give out with all that standing, peepaw,” you joked, pulling a round of laughter from everyone at the table except for Santiago, of course, and none louder than Will. The latter took his cue to stand and let you make your way across the bar with Santiago, bickering back and forth as you went. His gaze lingered far too long to go unnoticed. 

“I know our mom taught us that it’s rude to stare, Will,” Benny chimed in first, throwing back the remainder of the whiskey in his glass. Will returned his attention to the men and woman still at the table, reaching to scratch the back of his head as he searched for an answer. 

“Just trying to hear her give Santiago a piece of her mind,” he attempted a cover, reaching again for his beer and swallowing a large drink. He immediately felt the familiar twist of guilt knot his stomach for his white lie. 

“Bullshit,” came Frankie’s retort, a scoffed laugh pulled from his chest. Admirably, only a water sat in front of him still. Benny nodded his head in agreement, and even Danielle raised her eyebrow at the blonde man’s lie. 

“You’re into her,” Benny concluded, setting his empty glass on the table. There was no point in trying to cover himself, and even if there was…it wasn’t in his nature to lie to his family.

“I’ve been into her since I met her,” Will conceded, directing another longing gaze in your direction. You stood with your arms crossed, the smirk on your lips evident even from the side as you watched Santiago struggle to take the perfect aim – his eyes weren’t what they used to be. He saw your mouth move and the glare Pope shot your way, and he wished he could hear what you’d chosen to taunt him with. “I asked her to dinner. A month ago,” he began, taking another drink. “Said she’d love to say yes, but turned me down anyway. Said she didn’t want anything serious right now.”

The genuine disappointment in his eyes had Frankie and Benny sharing a look – it had been a long time since Will Miller had acted so bent out of shape over a woman. 

“It’s a recovery thing,” Frankie offered some comfort, reaching to pat his back carefully. “She’s afraid if she doesn’t get far enough and the two of you don’t make it, the disappointment will make her relapse. At least…that’s what I’d think.”

“You should have seen her face when she realized you were behind her,” Benny added. “That’s not a woman who wants to turn you down.”

“I’m going to wait for her until she’s ready,” Will sighed, pulling his eyes away from you to look at his brother. “I don’t care if that sounds stupid, or desperate. I’m gonna wait.”

On the other side of the bar, you’d tied with Santiago and split the next five song choices – two from you, one decided together, and two from him. While he made his individual choices after you, you made your way to the bar to order yourself another lemonade to take back to the table. It was while you stood there waiting that a man decided to bother you, standing far too close and making incredibly lewd offers that no one wanted to hear from a stranger. 

“Why don’t you come on back to my table with me and my friends? We’ll show ya a nice time, darlin’,” he drawled, moving closer to run a hand down your arm. “Pretty thing like you needs something stronger than a lemonade, and a strong man to show you a good time.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you replied, taking a step back which he chased with a step forward. 

“’fraid I don’t take no for an answer, little lady,” he retorted, reaching to grab your arm and pull you closer to him. “You won’t regret it when I have you in my bed later, I can promise you that.”

A large, flattened hand on the back of the man’s neck cut his sentence off before more vulgarities could come through his lips. From behind the man, William Miller kept his icy gaze on your face, searching for any sign of true distress. When he saw the slight quiver to your lip his grasp on the man noticeably tightened, fingers digging into the sides of his neck. 

“Let go of her arm,” he ordered, his tone free of any room for argument. It was a tone you’d not heard yet from him, and one you felt bad for anyone that was on the receiving end. The man’s sweaty hand released your arm, the red mark from his tight hold prompting Will’s jaw to tick briefly, a deep breath releasing from flared nostrils. “I should kick your ass for that, but that would ruin our night. Instead, I’m going to give you the opportunity to apologize.”

His eyes were burning into yours, yet he still didn’t miss the man’s attempt to turn and land a punch on his jaw. Catching the incoming fist with his free hand he pushed the man’s head downward, forcing it to the bar top as he twisted his arm behind him. Shifting his intense eyes to look at the back of the man’s head he shook his head, taking hold of the man’s hair to twist his face to look at you. If he was angry before, he was irate now – but he was controlling himself for your benefit. The man’s nose was unbroken but bleeding, and he spit blood onto the bar as he began to beg. “Look, man, we were just having fun…just let me go and she’s all yours.”

“It doesn’t look like she was having fun,” Will corrected, his grasp unfaltering. “I’ll give you one more chance to apologize to her.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, okay? I’ll leave, just let me go, man,” the man begged, breathing shaky and anxious as he feared the wrath of the man behind him. Will used his remaining grasp to lift the man straight upward again, pushing him toward the door with disdain. 

“You should walk off this mood you’ve got yourself in,” Will began, moving to stand closer to you but keeping his eyes on the staggering man now. As the man made his way toward the door, Will left him with another parting threat. “If I see you back in this bar it won’t be good for you.”

Subconsciously William slipped an arm around your waist, turning you to face him as his other hand reached to lift your arm gently. The handprint around your wrist was now bruising lightly – barely there – but it was too visible for Will. His eyebrows pulled together in frustration, trying to steady his breathing and heart rate so he could ask you if you were okay. You beat him to the punch. 

“Shhh,” you soothed, removing your arm from his hold and placing your hand on his bicep gently. Your eyes met his again, releasing a shaky breath once you realized how close he held you to him. Chests pressed firmly together you could feel the rapid beat to his heart and his fight for a normal breath – he needed to calm down, and Will being calm was far more important to you than a bruise. It’s not like this was the first one in your life. “I’m okay, Will. I’ve had worse from bumping into the coffee table, it’s alright. Breathe with me.”

Storms darkened his eyes, his hands grasping at your sides now as his chest gave a solid heave. Brushing your thumb against his arm you reached your other hand to rest against his cheek. You pulled him backward with you toward the quiet hallway by the bathrooms, offering a gentle smile once you were alone. Drawing in a deep breath as your eyes remained locked on his you gave his arm a light squeeze, encouraging him to pay attention to you – only you, not on following the guy outside and knocking his teeth out. 

He could follow orders, though – that was something that no situation could turn off in him – and he soon began to mirror your deep breaths, hands still clutching you to him. By the time he’d released his fifth deep breath his mind was less clouded with anger, but that didn’t mean it was clear. If anything, it was even more clouded, but now it was clouded with you. You’d never been this close to him. He’d never felt the way his fingers could dig delicately into your skin. He’d never felt your chest pressed to his. 

He’d never been only inches away from claiming your lips with his – and that’s exactly what he did as the adrenaline rushed through him. Grasping your hips tighter he anchored you against him, his lips soft and rough as you stood frozen, a quiet gasp slipping through your lips in shock. The quiet sound brought Will back to his senses, immediately pulling away from the kiss with a shock-laced look of horror on his face. 

“I’m…so sorry,” he began, though he still hadn’t released his hold on your hips, his eyes transfixed on yours. The concern behind his eyes was unmistakable – he was terrified of how badly he’d just messed things up with you – and yet that didn’t stop his cheeks from darkening slightly, or his tongue from running over his bottom lip briefly for another desperate taste of you. “I shouldn’t have – mmph.”

Your hungry lips cut off his words quickly as you grasped at his bicep, the hand you held against his cheek sliding to the back of his head to hold him closer. He returned your kiss like it was something he’d been waiting to do for years, his hands sliding to rest on your lower back and pull you into him completely. A pleasant sigh slipped through your lips as he ran his tongue across the seam, granting him access to explore your mouth. When he’d kissed you breathless, he withdrew from your lips, his own curving into a smile as he bumped his nose against yours lightly. Leaning his forehead to rest against yours he took in a deep breath, savoring the moment he'd fantasized over for weeks.

“I still don’t want anything serious,” you whispered, eyebrows pulling together in frustration at so many things, none of which were Will’s fault, all of which fell on you and your past. ‘Live in the moment!’ a voice screamed in the back of your head, begging you to see that the man in front of you was a direct pathway to happiness. You’d silenced that optimistic part of you long ago. “I’m sorry I just…don’t. I can’t.”

“Sh,” he cooed, sliding one of his hands to rest on the top of your back to hold you closer. He bumped his nose against yours again lightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before looking deep into your eyes. “I know. I don’t care.”

Your teeth bit into your bottom lip lightly, a sign you were nervous and uncertain. “It’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t care.”

“I can’t even promise…what this would look like, Will.”

He shushed you again, shaking his head before he rested his forehead against yours again. “I will take whatever you want to give me for as many days as you want to give it.”

He’d followed through on his word throughout the weeks that followed, thankful that he had turned out to be a very patient man. Even with the generally negative outlook on life you maintained, always finding a fault in every situation – you couldn’t find one with Will. Yes, it was adorable that he’d show up at the farm during lunch to see you, wanting nothing more than to simply see you in “work mode” and to kiss you as he ran a thumb across your cheek to wipe the dirt away.

Frankie didn’t mind at all that you’d started up this…whatever it was with Will. He enjoyed the fact that both of you were happy, and he wouldn’t complain about the lunches Will dropped off when he visited. Frankie wasn’t the only one in the group to know about the time you spent with Will, of course – Will didn’t believe in keeping secrets between the four of them. 

You’d joined them for nights out a couple of times since but remained purely friendly with Will while in the view of others. The car rides home were when he would kiss you breathless in your driveway, holding you close, greedy for every moment you offered him. Things had never escalated past heavy kissing and touching, and that was comfortable – you still felt you could quit him any time you needed to, and it was safer that way. 

It was Frankie that had asked you to take a Saturday off with him to spend time with them at the beach before the weather started cooling off a bit for the winter. You weren’t really one for the beach, not having lived anywhere near the ocean or going into the ocean much for most of your life, but Frankie’s pleading brown eyes won you over. It would be cruel to leave Dani alone with the men, anyway. When you’d walked onto the beach with Frankie that Saturday afternoon, Will thought his heart was going to burst from his chest. You and Frankie had elected to keep your presence a surprise, which worked in your favor as he smiled the brightest smile he’d offered you yet as you made your way over to their umbrellas, chairs and towels. 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he greeted, unable to help himself from hugging you. His voice was teasing as he continued. “You know I don’t like secrets.”

“Oh, well I’m full of ‘em,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around him and tilting your head to look into his face. “Like…I actually assassinated JFK, and I helped fake the moon landing. I admit it. All me.”

He smiled at your joke and allowed a soft laugh to leave his chest, shaking his head slightly as he released you before the hug lingered too long for your comfort. “I wish I’d known you were coming; I could’ve grabbed some lemonade for you. I’ve got water in the cooler, though, and I’ve always got a pack of those cashews that you like in in my truck.”

You nudged his arm lightly with your shoulder, cheeks turning red under his thoughtfulness and sweet intentions with you. Before you could thank him, Benny had joined up with you, picking you up in a crushing hug as Danielle said hello from behind. Will had never really envied his brother until he got to witness your effortless acceptance of him, and the way Benny could hug you however he wanted. 

“Benny, Jesus, you’re going to crack one of my ribs, you behemoth,” you laughed, gasping for air through his hug as you attempted to wiggle free. Benny placed you gently back on the ground and offered a wide grin, immediately draping his shoulder back around Dani who rested her head on him gently. “Hope you guys don’t mind Frankie bringing me along. I couldn’t leave Dani alone around all you men all day.”

“And that is so appreciated,” the named woman replied, here signature sincere smile on her face. “I am going to work on catching up with Benny’s annoying natural tanning abilities, if you want to sit with me. You don’t seem much of a ‘get in the ocean’ kinda gal.”

You did sit on the beach for most of the day with the woman, getting to know one another more deeply, your conversations free of the hindrance of men being present as the group of four gallivanted about the shore and in the waves. Every so often, Benny would yell a quick “hi, baby!” from the water, causing Dani to smile, roll her eyes and wave, a small laugh falling from her lips. It was well past 4 p.m. and the seventh time he’d done it when she gave a different reply.

“He’s an idiot!” she yelled back, her voice full of laughter and love for the man she’d spent just less than a year with now. She quieted her voice back before she added to you. “I knew that when I agreed to date him, though. I can’t complain.”

“You’re perfect for one another,” you asserted, watching as Benny smiled and blew her a kiss before returning to the group. Your eyes wandered, briefly, only to confirm Will had stopped in his tracks to gaze at you, too. Danielle wasn’t the only one with attention focused on her today. Several times now Will had reminded you – gently but firmly – to reapply sunscreen and drink water. As the men set to work on building a fire, he had called to you again to remind you about the water, pulling a quiet giggle from Danielle.

“That’s five times for that one, then,” she counted aloud, watching as you grabbed the water from beside you to take a large drink. “Benny and I aren’t the only ones perfect for one another. That man loves you, you know.”

You felt the heat in your cheeks and knew they must be several shades darker. You finished the bottle of water and released a deep breath before you chose your words, not wanting to be taken off-guard and say something stupid. “He doesn’t…love me. We just…we get along well.”

“He loves you, and no amount of self-deprecating denial from you is going to change that,” she remarked, taking another drink of one of several hard seltzers she’d had that day. You knew those things barely contained alcohol, but you also had to wonder if it was contributing to her willingness to be so open. “You should let him.”

“I should let him what?” you questioned, feeling the answer in your stomach before she spoke it. 

“Love you. You should let him love you,” she replied, rolling her eyes with a soft laugh. “He seems pretty good at it.”

As you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth you turned your face away from her, noticing that the other half of this conversation’s topic had found his way back into the water alone. Finally cracking under the pressure you felt to be alone with him for even a minute you decided the ocean couldn’t be that bad, really, and made your way to the chilling water. You really didn’t want to find your way into the ocean, but if it meant time with Will, so be it.

You’d almost made your way to him when something touched your leg, sending you into an immediate panic as you made your way to him, essentially launching yourself into his arms as you screamed his name. William immediately cradled you against him, smiling down at you with an all-too amused smile.

“I’ve got you; I’ve got you,” he cooed, raising a thumbs up to the shore so no one worried after your scream before he brought that arm to hold you as well. “What’s the matter?”

“Something touched my foot,” you whined, unused to being in the ocean like this. The chuckle that rumbled through him shook his chest, his reminders to reapply sunscreen not influencing him – he’d gotten some color on his cheeks and nose. Even in your distraught state, it was impossible to not recognize how handsome he was. 

“Well, there are fish in the ocean, honeybee,” he drawled, his voice full of amusement. His nickname for you caused your stomach to flip in the most annoying way, and you felt yourself curl into him more despite yourself. “What do you want me to do, hmm? How can I fix it?” 

“I want to get out. Carry me out,” you stated, clinging to him. Whether it was him holding you that felt so good or genuine fear keeping you to him, he really couldn’t say. He nodded, but instead of going toward the shore he moved away from it, swimming out with you further. “William! I said OUT!”

“I thought you said you wanted me to take you further out!” he replied, his tone too full of amusement. You moved to wrap your legs around his waist instead, narrowing your eyes at him and setting your face to be serious, eyebrows furrowed. He wanted to lean in to kiss the lines. “Hey, hey, hey…” he cooed, turning his back to the shore and leaning his forehead against yours with a light smile. You could see the light freckles on his cheeks that the sun had brought out throughout the day, his eyes light in the fading sunlight as he gazed longingly at you. No one had ever talked to you as soft as he did. “���m not gonna let anything happen to you. You don’t need to worry about a thing as long as I am right here with you.”

His lips pressed to yours in a gentle, reassuring kiss briefly before he returned to simply leaning his head against yours. You lightly bumped your nose against his, resting your hands on his chest gently. It was impossible not to believe him. “Still not nice, William Miller.”

“I know, I just wanted you alone for a minute,” he conceded, angling his head to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. You couldn’t help but smile under his affections, maintaining that hard exterior proving difficult as his kisses chipped away at it. “I’m sorry, honey. Let me make it up to you?”

You tilted your head and raised an eyebrow in curiosity, slipping one of your hands to his bicep. “How do you plan on doing that? I was pretty distraught.”

“Let me take you home,” he offered, his eyes so sincere it hurt. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before he continued further. When you didn’t give him a response, he continued. “I have feelings for you.”

“Well…stop it,” slipped from your lips before you could stop it, your cheeks immediately burning at your own callousness. It was second nature to push people away now…especially Will, who was getting closer than anyone was allowed right now. Instead of being hurt, Will could only smile at your attempt. 

“Yeah?” he questioned, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. His words came between kisses as he spoke. “You want me to stop?”

As the kisses grew deeper and you felt the warmth of arousal spreading through your body you had to shake your head, knowing he’d recognize the longing in your eyes and call your bluff if you insisted. He smiled as his hands slipped down from your sides to grasp your ass under the water, pressing you into him firmly as you shook your head and released a defeated sigh. 

“You can take me to your house,” you conceded, running your fingers through his hair as you looked at him through your lashes, devouring him with an unashamedly lascivious look. His eyes lit up even further, finally listening and carrying you closer to the shore so both of you could leave the ocean and get to his truck as soon as possible. As you wrapped yourself in a towel and gathered the items you’d brought with you in a bag you ignored her quiet giggles, unwilling to even consider the conversation Will was having with the men behind you. You supposed you owed Frankie a conversation as well on Monday. Dani called to you to have fun as you walked to Will’s truck. 

When he had you secured in his truck, he leaned to press a kiss against your lips as he buckled you in. He was a safe driver and had incredible reflexes, you reminded yourself of this frequently as he drove back with one hand rested on your thigh, kneading his fingers into the soft flesh occasionally. He pulled into his driveway sooner than he should have – he’d never speed with you in the car again – and immediately had you cradled in his arms again as he carried you into his house.

When he began to make his way up the stairs he finally spoke, trying to cover the happiness in his voice with seriousness. “You’re sure this is what you want?” You responded by reaching your head to plant kisses on his shoulder, trailing them to his neck as best you could as you nodded. As he opened his bedroom door, he gazed down at you finally, not taking another step forward just yet. “Have to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Will,” you confirmed, and those two words melted his resolve. He placed you on his bed carefully before he crawled between your legs, keeping one hand on your hip and cupping your cheek in his hand as he kissed you deeply. You returned his kiss immediately, just as desperate for him as he was for you at this point. His fingers began to work at the ties of your bottoms as he traced the seam of your mouth with his tongue, groaning appreciatively as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. When he was satisfied with the taste he’d received he released your lips, trailing his kisses to your jaw and neck as he removed the bottoms. 

His kisses trailed lower on your neck, Will fighting the urge to suck purple marks into your skin in such an obvious place. Your hands ran up his back to the back of his neck and head, holding him closer as he trailed his kisses to your chest just as he’d worked that tie free as well, removing the fabric from your body and leaving you finally bare for him. He leaned back to run his eyes down you appreciatively, one of his thumbs rubbing gently over one of your nipples slowly. 

“You look so fucking pretty in my bed,” he complimented before leaning forward again, claiming one of your nipples in his mouth with a flick of his tongue. He happily familiarized himself with each of your breasts, earning the most beautiful moans that had ever graced his ears from you as your hips pressed up into his in desperation for friction. When your hot core was met with his obvious erection in his swim trunks you moaned in unison, Will pressing his waist into you further. He released your nipple from his mouth to trail his kisses downward again as he whispered. “Bet you’re gonna taste fucking delicious mixed with salt water…”

His hand that had been holding your hip moved to spread your legs as his lips reached your hip, smiling against the skin before kissing it gently. Experimentally he spread your already soaking folds with a swipe of his fingers, groaning appreciatively as you gasped. “Will…”

“All this for me, baby?” he cooed, lowering his head to swirl his tongue around your clit before sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves lightly. “You always get this wet for me? Is this pretty pussy this wet every time I kiss you?”

You whined your confirmation as he ran his tongue through your folds, an appreciative groan rumbling in his chest as he finally tasted you. His name fell from your lips again and he nodded in encouragement before setting in on his first task of the night, devouring every inch that your hot core had to offer him. For as many times as you’d imagined Will’s head between your thighs, nothing compared to the way he tended to every inch of you, groans and grunts vibrating through his mouth as he fucked his tongue into your velvet entrance. 

He had your legs shaking on either side of his head in no time, his lips curving into a smile as he connected his thumb with your clit, continuing to swirl his tongue inside of you as best he could. When your breathing became erratic and your hands reached to grasp his hair, he knew he had you on the edge, nodding in affirmation when you warned him you were going to come. When euphoria rocked through you with a loud moan your hips arched off the bed, giving him a much better angle to appreciate the nectar he’d earned.

The ceiling above you turned to a white light as pleasure rushed through you, your moan turning to a scream when he didn’t relent at your entrance or clit, continuing to stimulate you through your orgasm. By the time he’d crawled his way back up your body and removed his trunks you had come down somewhat, only enough to be somewhat aware as he rubbed the head of his cock through your folds with a low groan. 

“I can get a condom…” he offered, whatever his full sentence was intended to be cut off as you pressed a lazy, half-aware kiss to his lips as you shook your head, quiet please leaving your lips. Briefly arguing with the responsibility of the decision he was about to make. When you quietly begged him to fuck you again all reason escaped his mind, lining his already throbbing cock at your entrance before thrusting in carefully. Your wet heat welcomed him in like you were meant to do so, the heat of your velvet channel caressing him inch by inch until he was buried in you. He groaned low in appreciation as he pressed his lips to yours in a loving kiss, stilling his movements to give you both a moment to savor the feeling of him filling you. “Better than I could have fucking imagined…”

One of his hands slid carefully up your body to rest on your cheek, pulling you closer as gently as he could to claim your lips in a kiss as he withdrew from you almost completely before thrusting back in, grunting as your walls fluttered around him. As your lips and tongues entered a dance they had done so many times now your bodies came together fully for the first, his cock massaging your walls with each of his well-purposed thrusts. You wrapped your legs around his waist to draw him in closer, holding him against you as close as his thrusts would allow you. He pulled away from the kiss to bump his nose against yours gently before running it along your cheek affectionately, placing a kiss just below his ear when he’d reached the sensitive spot. 

“Like you were made for me,” he whispered in your ear, his thrusts increasing in pace as he neared his finish much sooner than he wanted to. He reached to grasp one of your legs, sliding it so your ankle hooked over his shoulder so he could angle into you deeper. The new depths he reached pulled you closer to the edge, his thumb connecting with your clit again, causing your walls to flutter around him. 

“I’m on the pill,” you offered, feeling a second orgasm approaching you as he rubbed steady circles around your clit and the velvet head of his cock brushed against the coveted spot inside of you, sensing the end approached for him as well as his thrusts became more erratic and desperate. Your quiet suggestion pulled a groan from his chest, his head turning to claim your lips again in a messy kiss. 

“You want me to fill you up, princess? That what you’re asking me for?” he questioned between deep thrusts accompanied by deep breaths, his hand sliding from your cheek to your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your lips. “You tell me that’s what you want and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

You could only bring yourself to nod as you kissed him deeply, your own orgasm rushing through you as you moaned against his lips. Feeling your walls tighten around him he couldn’t hold his own release back, spilling his seed into you with a groan as he pulled away from your kiss to lean his forehead against yours. He could have told you that he was falling in love with you right then. 

As you both came down from shared euphoria he rolled to his side next to you, wrapping his arms around his waist as he went to hold you against him gently. You listened to your instincts by tucking your face into his neck, breathing in deeply to steady your breaths as Will pressed gentle kisses to the top of your head and whispered quiet praises and thank yous to you. One of your legs slid up between his to cuddle closer, your arms wrapping around his middle as your eyes slid closed. 

You probably could’ve fallen asleep right then, if his words hadn’t woken you from your peaceful lull. “I’ve got extra clothes and…we can shower before you change if you want.”

The sweet suggestion snapped you back to reality, and you forced yourself to let him know you'd have to go home now. In all honesty, it was the last thing that you wanted to do, but you were unwilling to relent just yet on your insistence to not pursue something serious. Will, of course, didn't want to tell you no because he wanted you to feel comfortable with him - he wanted you to know that he would listen to you, and support whatever you felt was best for yourself. That included you leaving him for the night, even when he wanted you more than he had any night before.

Not hearing anything about accepting a ride home from him, insistent on being independent for the night, you sent Frankie a text to grab you on his way back from the beach if he hadn't made it home already. 15 minutes later Frankie was in Will's driveway, a sympathetic look on his face as he waved to the younger man through the windshield as you climbed into the truck.

Will watched silently as the truck backed out of the driveway and you disappeared down the street, mentally vowing to himself that he would willingly spend as long as you needed waiting.

When November’s curtain call came and the evening chill of December rolled in, you’d found your match with William Miller, who was acting by his promise and providing you with consistency, with reverent tenderness. No matter what distance you tried to maintain from him he was just as unrelenting, finding ways through your obstacles day after day. He never pushed, never overstepped, but he was always there, ever willing to cherish you in entirety whenever given the chance. Lately those opportunities had grown, proliferating into prolonged post-coital kisses and embraces that could hardly be passed off as anything less than adoration any longer.

Falling wasn’t enough to describe the feeling – falling was too subtle. A plummeting nosedive, a cascade…an avalanche, a crashing meteor – so consuming it swallowed you until all that was left was Will, his affections blanketing you with unwavering warmth.

“Honeybee!” Will called as he entered through the front door, the sound of him removing his boots and setting them by the door causing you to smile as you crushed candy canes in the kitchen. All your meetings had been reserved for his home but today you’d offered to host him and his friends at your farmhouse for dinner – Christmas Eve dinner.

“In here, Will,” you replied from your place at the counter, taking a deep breath as you started sprinkling the candy canes atop the cupcakes you made for dessert. An immediate advantage to having Will in your home was the sound of the creaking floor beneath his large frame – even without shoes – meant you could hear him coming behind you. “Don’t mess me up, Will. This is serious business.”

A laugh rumbled through him as he delicately wrapped his arms around your waist anyway, resting his chin on your shoulder for a moment before turning inward, burrowing his face in your neck with a deep breath. He pressed a gentle kiss behind your ear, assessed your response, and then repeated the motion when he realized you remained focused on your task, smiling into your skin lightly. When you finished you slid the cupcake stand back further on the counter for safety before turning in his arms, a playful smile lighting your features. It was only now Will noticed what remained of a candy cane in your mouth, his mind spinning already at the thought of what your lips must taste like now.

“Did I mess you up?” he questioned, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead with a quiet hum of appreciation as your arms found their way around his neck, not before your hands slid over his chest. He opted to forego the ugly sweater party – you knew that was coming – but he did at least wear a red sweater, the color bringing out the coolness of his eyes. Even in the winter he was managing to keep up plenty of color, but not enough to hide the redness to his cheeks as you held his gaze.

Sometimes he couldn’t decide if it was better you could hold his eye contact now or not – he still hadn’t grown used to feeling somewhat embarrassed just under a woman’s gaze. The way you removed the candy from your mouth          with a pop and placed it in the trash behind you certainly didn’t help.

“Nearly, but I’ll let it slide seeing as it’s Christmas and all,” your fingers found their way into his hair, pulling him closer so you could press your lips to his in a gentle kiss. One thing he would never grow accustomed to was the clench in his heart whenever you initiated affection – some of his favorite kisses sparked by you.

“Christmas Eve, honeybee,” he replied when you released him, pressing a kiss to his cheek as best you could from standing on your toes. He tightened his hold on your waist to hold you against him tighter, relishing in your attention and uncaring about the inevitable mess that would transfer from your apron to him.

“Mm, you look handsome in this little red number, Will,” you teased, bringing more color to his cheeks. It was too easy for you now – you loved it.

“I wore it just for you,” he drawled, seeking out another taste of peppermint on your lips with a gentle kiss. The fact that you knew that was true only made your chest swell more.

“Well, you’ll have to wear something else for me, too, since technically…you are out of dress code,” you remarked, eyebrow raised slightly in a manner he knew to be playful. Whatever you had in store he would play along with, as long as it meant this mood you were in would continue, particularly with how the two of you had left things last time – an argument that had been eating at both of you for days.

"You’ll have to make a decision sooner or later,” he’d stated as he leaned against his truck in the parking lot after one of Benny’s fights, trying to appear much cooler on the outside than he was on the inside where frustration bubbled under his skin. He’d slipped – called you his girlfriend, and it had been too much of a reality check for you to handle. Despite his harshness he reached a hand toward you, beckoning you closer – you did not follow.   A wild animal backed into a corner – hissing and feral and scared. So many questions remained in his mind about why it was so hard for you to accept love, but he’d never push for those answers. You’d give them freely in your own time. The topic at hand remained to be that Will had spent weeks earning your affection, and while he was patient, it had been worn somewhat thin. “We don’t spend the night together…months now and I’ve never woken up next to you,” he continued, eyebrows pulling together as he crossed his arms again. “And if that’s not frustrating enough, I can’t even slip and call you my girlfriend – to my brother – without you getting upset. I’m doing everything I can here, I just need you to give a little back. Anything.”   Your lip had quivered, tears pricking at your eyes. Will hated to see you that way, hated to have caused it – it would gnaw at him in the days that followed, as would all the words that followed, so unimportant now. As much as the argument shredded his heart day after day the same was true for you – perhaps if he knew how guilty you felt because you were still resisting what was right in front of you, he could have gone easier on you.

Even now the guilt festered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, unwilling to spark any sort of disagreement today. You reached behind you to the counter to grab a Santa hat before lifting it onto his head, smiling a sweet smile before flattening his hands against your lower back to pull you closer. He offered you a smile in return, withholding any fussing about the hat as his eyes met yours again. One of his hands left its position to lift to your cheek, callused fingers lightly dusting across your cheekbones. “I’m sorry about Friday night, honey. I shouldn’t be pushing you like that…I knew what I asked for when I asked for it.”

It was in your nature to lean your head toward his hand, your eyes drifting shut briefly to enjoy the moment. You only met his gaze again when you’d chosen your response, words leaving your lips quiet and sincere. “I’m the one who should be sorry, Will,” you sighed, leaning forward to lay your head on his chest, calmed by the familiar rhythm of his heart. “I do need to make a decision, you were right.”

“Yeah, but I…lost my temper. I raised my voice,” he rested his hand that had been on your cheek on the back of your head, stroking your hair and internally smiling at the streaks of flour leftover from your day in the kitchen. “I should never do that to you, there’s no excuse.”

“Apology accepted,” you whispered, burying your face into his chest to inhale the smell of him – saltwater and oak, subtle and resolute. He leaned to press a kiss to the top of your head, holding you for a moment before the day needed to continue. “Can you help me get the star on the tree and put presents underneath while I set the table? Dinner should be done by the time everyone else shows.”

He nodded, pressing a final kiss to your forehead before releasing you so you could get back to work. “You know at least one of ‘em will be late.”

“I included an extra twenty minutes on the cooking time to accommodate,” you quipped back cheerfully, removing your apron and hanging it on its rightful hook, giving the kitchen one final look over to ensure nothing was forgotten before setting off into the living room, remarking how Will needed to hurry because you had everything planned to the minute.

He’d never been more certain he loved you.

“Why’d you get a tree you couldn’t reach the top of, shortcake?”

You turned to throw him a look, cheeks burning with heat despite the amused smile that broke out across your face. He returned it with one of his own, straightening the Santa hat on his head before walking over to where you stood by the tree. He adored the mood you were in today, and wondered briefly if you were this way every Christmas. Your playful tone had returned. “Size does matter with some things, love. No one wants a wants a tiny tree with no needles.”

It wasn’t the first time that nickname had slipped, yet his chest still tightened. He wrapped his arms around you again, unable to resist pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulled you in close before lifting you up so you could situate the star atop the tree. Satisfied with the state of the living room you tasked Will with starting the fireplace, putting music on via the record player in the living room, and lighting some candles while you finished cooking.

It was easy being domestic with you.

Everyone’s arrivals staggered from there forward. Benny arrived next, early and eager to spend time with his brother, with an arm slung around Dani, smiling and remarking how fantastic your house was before giving himself a tour. By the way his eyes kept raking over her you could only assume they found a hallway to defile. Dani joined you soon after with a smile and offered to help in the kitchen, which you accepted with some relief.

As Will and Ben broke into a bottle of bourbon and eggnog (Benny had threatened not to come if there was no eggnog available), Santiago showed up – surprisingly not in an ugly sweater after weeks of talking trash about how his was going to put yours to shame. You opted not to even bring it up given the expression on his face – today was clearly not the day to pick at Pope – and instead greeted him with a sweet smile instead. Frankie was last – really to no one’s surprise – and everyone had found a seat at the table as you loaded it up with food.

Santiago had jokingly requested an entire turkey – the largest one you could find – perhaps as a challenge, and you’d agreed to make it without second thought. Frankie was simple and asked for macaroni and cheese, Benny sheepishly requested sweet potatoes and dinner rolls, while Dani was sensible and requested “any kind of vegetable.” Will had shown his sweet tooth by requesting something sweet for dinner, hence the cupcakes you’d finished earlier.

“This looks incredible,” Benny complimented, pulling his eyes away from the food in front of him to look toward where you sat at the head of the table. Frankie and Dani both voiced quick words of agreement while Santi nodded, checking his phone quickly. “You have to give a toast.”

“Oh, no,” you laughed, waving your hand dismissively as you shook your head. Your face burned so badly you felt like all your head had become was a flaming ball. “No one wants to hear me do a toast, seriously. Dig in before it gets cold.”

Ben crossed his arms and Frankie’s face set into concrete resolution. It was the younger Miller who spoke, tone unwavering and serious. You weren’t entirely sure you’d heard him be so serious before…even before his fights. “We’re not eating until a toast is given.”

“Will can give a toast,” slipped from your mouth, nervousness causing the words to spill freely – maybe a little too freely. With a nervous laugh you continued. “He’s basically the man of the house.”

Will’s eyes noticeably widened up at you to your right, his mouth falling open slightly in surprise as his cheeks mirrored the fire in your own. Ben’s head snapped toward Will, giving a light smirk as his brother stood, never pulling his eyes from your face as he lifted his glass from the table.

The toast he gave was short, and yet he still struggled to make it through its entirety. Several times he cleared his throat, feeling the tingle in his tear ducts that threatened to pour with each passing moment, each beat of his heart causing a tightness in his chest.

“And…” he began the final sentence, releasing a shaking breath as he looked around the table. His eyes settled back to you like it was the most natural place in the world for them to be. You reached out to where one of his hands grasped the edge of the table, sliding your hand atop his and giving a gentle squeeze. The simple act spurred him through the rest of his speech. “And here’s to hopefully many more Christmases with all of us together.”

Dinner went smoothly from there, the table’s mood lighthearted and happy as everyone ate, light conversations being passed around – which included stories from both Will and Ben about their Christmases growing up and the trouble they used to get themselves into. Once the table was clear the group relocated into the living room to sit around the tree to complete the Secret Santa gift exchange you’d all planned.

Santi gave Frankie the gift he’d gotten him first – a new fishing pole, a hat (it was the same one he’d always worn, just a new version – you had to wonder how many times he’d been gifted the exact hat), and a pack of new socks. Frankie was enthralled by each of them, saying they’d have to plan a trip soon. As a result Frankie went next, handing Danielle her gift in a bag (he’d tried to wrap it, truly…he gave up when half the roll had been used). Danielle’s face lit up at the various candles and candy inside the bag and waved the spa trip for two pass in your direction with a smile.

Dani gifted Santi with tickets to a concert he’d been complaining for weeks he didn’t secure tickets to, which brought his trademark soft smile to his face as he thanked her profusely. Not before multiple comments were made about how the group hoped there was seating in the venue, so he didn’t have to stand on his shitty knees the entire time, you announced you’d go next since Santi had already handed out his gift. Passing a sizeable box to Ben with a wink and a smile you leaned back against the fireplace, watching as the younger Miller tore into it with excitement.

“You did not get me an original Nintendo 64,” he exclaimed, eyes wide as he pulled the old console out of the box. As Will watched on his chest tightened as you smiled at Ben, the word family seeming to repeat itself in his mind.

“You’ve been complaining about how the new model isn’t the same,” you explained with a shrug, taking a drink of the cider you held in your hand. “I can’t wait to kick your ass in Mario Party.”

“Next weekend, you’re on. Hope you’re not a sore loser,” he smirked, digging through the games that littered the bottom of the box as well. Wrapped up in admiring his gift he almost forgot to pass the envelope he was holding to his own brother with a playful smile. Will laughed – your heart swelled – and as he opened the envelope, he shot his brother a smile. ��I know we usually say no gift cards…but you’re impossible to buy for. Figured you could use it on dinner or…somethin’.”

The brothers shared another knowing look and smile before Will reached out to pat his back, mentally noting to give him a proper hug when they weren’t sitting later. Which left Will to give the gift he’d purchased for the only person that remained without…you.

He moved closer to you on the couch, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close as he slipped his phone from his pocket, glancing down at you first to offer you a smile. “So, you’ve been saying that you miss the snow…”

As his sentence trailed, he turned his phone screen so you could see it, the sight of a small, warm-looking cabin surrounded by snow and pine trees filling your eyes. You turned your head to look up at him, eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion and questioning as your mouth opened briefly. Will beat you to talking.

“Now, obviously…I didn’t buy it, but I did rent it for a weekend…next month when there still should be plenty of snow,” he offered, crystalline eyes transfixed on yours as he spoke. “I thought we could take a nice trip…together, especially since that weekend will be your anniversary of going to rehab. It’s big enough for people to join –“

“Not a single one of us wants to be in that cabin with you two that weekend,” Santiago interrupted, quickly dismissing the thought with a shake of his head.

“…no offense, of course.” Frankie chimed in, elbowing his best friend.

“Oh, full offense intended,” Ben joined in, his words chased by a laugh. “You two in a cold ass log cabin somewhere in the fuckin’ Rockies? Count all of us out.”

Your cheeks burned at their teasing and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Will, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth briefly as you grasped his hand gently. There were a lot of words that ran through your mind in appreciation – three not-so-little ones squeaking quietly in the back of your mind. You tried to silence them – something you had to do often now. It was getting more and more difficult to do.

Everyone else was ignored, even their taunting. As was so often the case, it was only you and Will.

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly, melting at the gentle curve of his lips. Without thinking you leaned upward to kiss him once quickly and gently, a small action that quickly silenced the group. They knew it happened, but seeing it was far different than hearing about it.

It was thanks enough for Will.

Now the gifts had all been received you excused yourself to gather plates and cupcakes from the kitchen. Once everyone had plates with multiple cupcakes each, it was time to watch a movie – the choice of which was yours.

The movie you chose really didn’t matter – your focus was almost entirely on Will. Taking the loveseat close to the fire, Will had his arms wrapped around you tightly seemingly from the moment you’d sat down, pulling you back against his strong chest to support you while he balanced a plate of cupcakes on his knee. He left no room for you to protest such an obvious display of affection, keeping one arm slung around your shoulder and seemingly pulling you closer and closer by the second.

After everyone had eaten their cupcakes and really settled in, you had to wonder if the other men and woman in the room minded the state you found yourself in with Will. His arm remained around your shoulders, your hand reaching up to lace your fingers with his…which allowed you the ability to press kisses to his fingers with ease. Several times Will turned your head, to press a gentle kiss to your lips, your nose, your forehead…smiling earnestly each time and pulling at your heart.

Halfway through the movie Will leaned to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against the shell. The mint lingering on his to his breath and huskiness in his voice send a chill up your spine – you knew he felt it when a quiet chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Let’s split the other cupcake on the plate.”

You turned your head to flash him an amused look, raising an eyebrow. “That’ll be your third one.”

“We’re splitting it,” he defended with a shrug of his shoulders, his other hand reaching for the aforementioned plate on the table beside the couch. “It doesn’t count.”

“Mm,” you smiled, taking the cupcake to unwrap it before taking a slow bite. When you offered it to him his eyes flashed with a look entirely indecent for company, his voice lower as he held your gaze. A subtle shake to his head confirmed what your mind had already begun to infer. “Gimme a bite.”

You fed him a bite slowly, eyes locked with his as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth slightly, watching his pink tongue dart out to run along his bottom lip to collect the peppermint icing there. He offered another smile with an appreciative hum

“Would you two get a room?” Benny questioned over the movie, shooting his older brother a playful look. He wasn’t serious, he truly didn’t mind seeing his older brother finally loosen up a bit and be happy – but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give him hell. It was, after all, the responsibility of being a younger sibling.

“They’re all my rooms, Benjamin,” you taunted, shooting the man a bright smile that Will took the moment to cherish. Taking another bite of the cupcake with a smirk on his lips he opted to settle back in then, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on the top of your head.

The two of you remained that way for the rest of the movie, his arms clutching you against his chest and rubbing gentle circles on your stomach occasionally. There was nothing stopping him from pressing kisses to the top of your head, either – which he considered fair, given that you were irresistible this close to him.

Santiago cleared out first in a haste, jaw clenching through his goodbyes which he seemed less-than-focused on as he checked his phone’s screen several more times. It was then that you offered a room to anyone who wanted to stay, which was quickly shot down by both Ben and Frankie who shared a knowing look.

“We do not want to be in this house when your…canoodling escalates,” Ben asserted, glancing between his older brother and you, who were now standing a few steps further from Will in an attempt to be less obvious. It was far too late for that.

With a hug and kiss on the cheek from Frankie and a promise to call you tomorrow, Dani gave you a gentle hug which was quickly contrasted by a crushing hug from Ben, who then only had to hug his brother goodbye before the two of you were alone. Will immediately wrapped his arms around you when the front door was shut, pulling you into his chest while releasing a deep breath.

He loved his brothers – but solitude with you was bliss.

“Let’s go clean up that kitchen,” he began, pausing his sentence mid-way through to press a kiss to your forehead. “Get it over with so we don’t have to worry about it, darlin’.”

You’d do almost anything he asked so long as he asked in that molasses thick tone.

You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, teasing him by pulling away slowly with a light smile on your face before you removed yourself from his arms, making your way to the kitchen with him following. When you began to run the sink to fill it you glanced to watch him lean against the counter to wait, his arms crossed like he was trying to control himself. Following his gaze your eyes landed on the cupcakes that remained (you’d made extra knowing he would be this way), and a smile passed over your features.

“I see you eyeballing those cupcakes, Mister Miller,” you teased, smiling further when he turned to you with red cheeks and a bashful gaze. You leaned across the counter to grab one, taking a slow bite as your eyes stayed on his. He wasn’t quite sure the cupcake was so important anymore. “C’mere and share this one with me before we do the dishes.”

He was good at following orders.

He didn’t need to tell you to feed him bites this time, you gladly taking up the task with adoration pooling in your eyes as you fed him almost the entire cupcake. He offered you a gentle smile as you reached upward to remove icing from the corner of his lips, popping the digit into your mouth with an appreciative hum before handing him the kitchen towel.

“I’ll clean, you dry.”

The rhythm the two of you entered was the same as every other way the two of you seemed to effortlessly fit together these days. Will could reach cabinets you couldn’t which made the task go much faster, and while he found himself quietly humming seasonal songs you soaked in the relaxation the sound brought.

“Today was good, yeah?” Will questioned from beside you, drying off another dish before placing it in its rightful place in the cabinet. “I think that’s the best Christmas this group has managed in years.”

“Benny said he’s going to pay me to make him those cupcakes every week. That Miller sweet tooth is something fierce,” you joked, rinsing out another glass. His cheeks reddened at your teasing. “Did you talk to Santiago? Something was up with him, he looked at his phone at least twenty times an hour, and he was bragging for weeks that his ugly sweater would put me to shame and then he just…didn’t wear one.”

“Mm,” he mused, taking another glass from you to dry it. “Pope is doing a poor job at keeping a secret he thinks he’s doing a great job at. He’s on edge.”

“Doesn’t he know better than to try to keep secrets from you?” you questioned, handing the last dish and turning to fix your attention on him as he dried it. At some point, damn him, he’d rolled the sleeves of his sweater up, and he looked so natural in your home it was starting to make you feel sentimental. Whole. “But today was great. We did a good job.”

“We, like I had hardly anything to do with it,” he hummed, smiling lightly as he put the dish away before leaning on the counter with his hip to face you. “It was practically all you. But…I’ve been telling you we make a good team.”

He reached out his hand gently toward you, pulling you closer to him to press a kiss to your forehead, not expecting a response. Wrapping your arms around his waist you stepped in as close as you could, resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes. He held onto you tightly, shifting to lean his back against the counter to hold you closer. Flashes of the day spent together ran through both of your minds –you’d sat in his lap on the couch in front of everyone – because the living room didn’t have enough seats (lie) – but the feeding him bites of your cupcake was entirely optional.

Will loved you. It was a fact that was growing harder and harder to ignore by the day, the ache in his chest growing every time he heard your name or saw your face.  He didn’t want to say his next words, but he had grown so used to them – so used to this routine now that he accepted when they needed to be said.

“It’s getting late. I should probably head out, before the idiots get out on the road.”

It was a long pause, putting William on edge for a moment as he waited for your words. Even hesitation like this wasn’t normal for you. Your voice was soft, slightly wavering as you tilted your head back to look up at him.

“I don’t remember asking you to leave.”

Will paused, brief confusion flashing on his face before he smiled lightly, clearing his throat as he gave a slight nod. He was truly doing his best not to look overjoyed, though that’s exactly what he felt. “Are you asking me to stay, honeybee?”

“I thought it’d be a good Christmas present.”

“Maybe the best one I’ve ever gotten,” he smiled, leaning closer to brush his lips over yours again. His hands slid lower, pulling you closer to press a kiss to your lips gently. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, at his desperation to be close to you now that the two of you were alone, and his poor attempt at hiding how happy he was. His hands slipping lower still he ran his fingers over your thighs, eyes searching your face for a response. You were getting far too good at the poker face you’d developed against him.

“Are you trying to take me up to bed this quickly, Ironhead?” you cooed, looking up at him with a hooded gaze through your lashes. You hoped your face remained straight despite the burn that surged toward your core – feeling a bit proud of yourself again as you noticed him swallow hard. “You’ll miss out on the matching pajamas I picked up for us…”

“I’ve waited all day,” he pointed out, dragging one of his hands upward to push your skirt up, trailing kisses down your neck and chest. You grasped the edge of the counter to steady yourself, his eyes glancing up into yours again as he began to sink to his knees, using one of his hands to lift your leg over his shoulder. “I’m still starving.”

An embarrassingly wanton moan fell from your lips, one of your hands reaching to slide your fingers through his hair as his hand slid up your thigh to push your underwear to the side. “Is this what you thought about all day, Will?”

“You know it is. That little stunt you pulled earlier wasn’t very nice,” he drawled, eyes hungrily running over your already soaked cunt. “Look how wet you are for me, honeybee. You’ve been thinking about me today too, haven’t you? You sweet thing.”

You whimpered as he ran his fingers through your folds, his lips curving upward into a light smile as he taunted you slightly – waiting for you to answer. “Thought about me all day and now you can’t stop talking.”

He chuckled as he leaned forward, running his flattened tongue through your folds with a low groan as you rocked your core against his face, his nose bumping your clit and causing you to moan. He set in on his task then, satiating the hunger he still felt by licking and sucking and kissing every inch of your sex he could, relishing in your fingers tangling into his hair as you threw your head back with a moan. “God, this is a Christmas present…” The muffled laugh he released vibrated through you, the sensation causing you to buck your core into his face with a gasp as you pulled his hair slightly. “Fuck, William, you’re so fucking…so good at that.”

He removed his mouth from fucking his tongue into your entrance to smile up at you crookedly, his lips and facial hair glistening with your arousal. Slipping a finger into your tight channel he turned his head to press a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. “Love when you tell me how good I make you feel.”

He began to thrust his finger into you as he connected his mouth with your clit, giving the sensitive nub a flick with his tongue before sucking it gently. You whined his name quietly, keeping a hold on his hair as you moved your aching core against his face and hand, already desperate for more. He groaned against your skin with a particularly slow swipe of his tongue, adding a second finger to begin to stretch you.

The tips of his fingers massaged against your walls perfectly each time he pushed them back into you, particularly against the perfectly blinding spot behind your clit. You cried out, hands grasping his hair to steady yourself as you rutted against his mouth desperately. His tongue circled around your clit again, one hand slipping behind you to cup your ass and hold you against him closer, his blue eyes still burning up at you.

“Fuck, Will, I…” you began, words trailing off with an uptick in pitch as your thigh began to shake behind his head. Ensuring he tightened his hold on you he nodded, flicking his tongue against your clit with more fervor. Not long after you moaned his name again loudly, your eyes rolling back as heat rushed through you.

He removed his fingers but continued to lap at your folds, groaning appreciatively at the taste of your release coating his tongue. When he’d drank enough of you down he began to kiss up your body again, holding you close by the hips with one hand and undoing his belt and pants with the other as his lips connected with yours again. You tasted yourself on his tongue and – damn it – all of the cupcakes he’d eaten that lingered as well. After pushing his pants and briefs to the floor and kicking them aside.

Before he could lift you to the counter you broke the kiss, trailing your kisses down his neck before sucking a light mark above his collarbone with a smile. His chest rumbled with a groan, his hands slipping to your lower back to hold you closer. Your hands moved to hold his shoulders, applying pressure to encourage him to swap positions with you, smiling as you looked up at him through heavy lashes.

“Where you goin’, honeybee?” he asked, voice heavy as he reached his hands toward you again. Widening your smile you reached to wrap your fingers around his hardened length, eyes flashing with adoration when his hips jolted forward to meet your touch, a low groan sounding in his chest again. As you continued to rub along his length you sank to your knees, not breaking eye contact as you ran your tongue along the slit of his velvet head to taste the precum leaking from him already. His hands immediately grasped behind your head, fingers lacing into your hair. “Fuck.”

You removed your hand, running your nails down his thigh lightly as your tongue traced the thick vein on his cock, a light smile tugging at your lips when he moaned out another profanity. You continued to lick up and down his length and suck only on the head briefly, enjoying the frustrated huff to his breath that grew as you teased him slightly.

His usual sense of self control was obliterated by his need to feel the warmth of your mouth around his length. Before you could pull your lips free of him again he grasped your hair tighter, holding you in place as he slipped more of his length into your mouth. “Do you like teasing me, sweet thing?” You moaned in affirmation around his length, managing to run your tongue around as much of his length as you could manage. He pushed more of his length into your mouth, head falling back briefly before he corrected himself, eyes meeting yours again. “This is what you want? For me to fuck your mouth?”

You moaned again and he took his command, thrusting his length into your mouth greedily and with almost embarrassing speed. He seldom got to enjoy the feeling of your mouth around his length as he’d always opt to bury himself in your tight cunt before he got the chance, but on these occasions when you insisted – when you wanted him to bruise your throat – he was never one to resist. When his velvet head hit the back of your throat and you gagged slightly he huffed out a deep, sustained groan as his cheeks flushed, one of his hands moving from your hair to cup your cheek and stroke it gently.

It only encouraged you further.

You reached your own hand to cup his balls, fondling them gently as he began to thrust repeatedly into your mouth – gentle as he could manage in his clouded mind. “Fuck, baby…” he began, hitting the back of your throat again and holding your hair slightly tighter to keep you in place for a moment. “God, you’re doing so good. You look so pretty. Going to make you feel so fucking good soon.”

You moaned around his length which spurred him to brush your cheek again before he returned to fucking your mouth, some part of his brain keening at the sight of you drooling around his length. He may have been a clean freak, but there were some messy sights when it came to you that he loved.

He continued to praise you while he enjoyed your mouth, lasting for several more thrusts before he removed his cock from your mouth, gently tugging you upward to your feet again. “Let me fuck you right here. I can’t wait for the bedroom.”

There was something so intrinsically commanding – and sexy – about his tone that had you scrambling to allow him to lift you onto the counter, removing your skirt and underwear and tossing them to the pile with his pants as you went. “You’re fucking me in every room in this house, William Miller. This is just the start.”

He used his hand gently to raise one of your legs and hook it over his shoulder, his other hand fisting his cock to smear your remaining spit around his length as he groaned at your words. Leaning forward he lined his cock up with your tight entrance, releasing his length to grab the hand towel on the counter beside you, holding the fabric behind your head gently as he pressed a kiss to your lips gently.

“Don’t want you hitting your head,” he explained before beginning to push his throbbing cock into your velvet walls, groaning deeply as he leaned his forehead against yours with his eyes screwed shut in concentration. You leaned your head back, grateful for the cushion of the towel and his hand rather than the cabinet as you gasped, keening at the feeling of his cock splitting you open again.

When he’d bottomed out in you he stilled for a moment, kissing you again deeply and hungrily as he enjoyed the feeling of being fully wrapped up in you again. When he released you from the kiss he lowered his head to burrow into your neck, breathing in the smell of you deeply as he began to thrust into you carefully, perfectly. Even with you on a counter he knew the perfect angles to enter you, each thrust knocking the head of his cock against either the spongey spot that made you moan or your cervix, which always made you cry out his name.

It was impossible for him to say which he preferred.

After thrusting slowly and carefully for a while, enjoying the steady beat of your heart against his chest and your pulse beneath his lips. He raised his head to kiss you again, picking up the pace as his tongue danced across your bottom lip again, a deep groan sounding in his chest when your walls fluttered around him. He was unwilling to release you from the kiss fully so he muttered against your lips – how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how wonderful you sounded moaning for him, how fucking perfect you were…

He was burrowing into your mind and heart now. You were letting him.

You intentionally clenched your walls around him slightly, wrapping your other leg around his waist to force him deeper into you, pulling what was practically a growl from his chest. His hand on your hip grasped tighter as he gave several deep, pointed, slow thrusts, his forehead falling to lean against yours as he released a shaky breath.

“Wanna fill you up again,” he breathed out desperately, fingertips digging into you roughly as his pace became sloppy. “Can’t stop thinking about seeing my cum leak out of your pretty pussy.”

“Will, fuck…” you moaned again, hands grasping his shoulders to help ground yourself somewhat, feeling the building pressure again and knowing euphoria approached. His hand left your hip to slide lower, his thumb rubbing quick circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves to coax you over the edge.

“You like that? You like hearing me talk about filling you up, my love?”

“Yes, Will, fuck, f-f-fu-fucking love it,” you moaned out, your eager-to-please tone scratching an itch in his brain and causing his pace to increase – he now pounded into you relentlessly, knowing full well you wouldn’t walk well tomorrow. He’d be here to care for you anyway.

“I know ya do,” he groaned, nipping at your bottom lip lightly. “Means you’re mine.

”You could only nod up at him as your lips stayed open, eyelids heavy. He managed a light smile at the sight, losing himself in the fantasy of filling you so often that one day it would really take and that the two of you would fill this big farmhouse with a family – one day, he thought. For now, he could at least enjoy claiming your womb in practice.

Your orgasm washed over you quickly and powerfully, walls tightening down around his cock causing him to stay buried to the hilt as you cried out his name loudly, eyes rolling back. He ground his waist against you best he could with your tight, hot walls spasming around him until his own release came, ropes of his hot seed spilling into you. He kissed you throughout your orgasms, pulling you in closer to his chest to have you as flush against him as possible.

He continued to kiss you repeatedly, gently, reverently, worshipful as both of you came down from your shared high.

“You still want me to stay?” he questioned quietly against your lips when both of you seemed to have your breath returned to normal. You offered a gentle smile, pressing a kiss against his bottom lip – it was lazy, tired. Some of his favorite kisses from you were such – when you had no energy left and you still tried to give it to him.

“Only if you carry me to bed, soldier.”

He smiled – one of his pure and genuine smiles – as he scooped you up into his arms bridal style, holding you closer to his chest as he nodded. Flipping the lights off, Will began to exit the kitchen to make his way to share your bed for the first time, before a final thought ran through his mind. For a moment he questioned if he should voice the thoughts – but he knew you wouldn’t judge him.

“…You want me to grab more of those cupcakes before we go up?”

masterlist.

[dragonnan]

Nightmare

May 15

This one was published back in 2021. While it isn't a dreaming type of nightmare, I think it still qualifies.

Please let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged :)

He could have taken the helicopter but, quite frankly, he had needed the drive in order to structure what he would say to them. Though, even as he pulled the sleek vehicle into the drive; gravel snapping and popping beneath the narrow tyres, he was no more prepared than he'd been when he'd left London. After turning off the engine he hung back for a beat – hands gripped around the wheel.

Whatever gods exist please let them not be home...

The house door opened and Mycroft swallowed – eyes closing for just a moment.

Before they could step out into the yard, however, Mycroft schooled his face and exited his car; feet settling onto the dusty drive. He should have changed into something more fitting; his polished black shoes were going to be scuffed beyond recovery.

“It's been three days; we've heard nothing – not even from that assistant of yours...” Words trailed away as Mycroft neared the door – those keen grey eyes taking in his features. Then, finally, his mother swallowed. “I'll go fetch your father.”

He followed inside. The trappings of the holiday still bedecked the walls and tucked in corners – red and green and things that glittered. The ghost of that wretched holiday nearly enough to spin his gut. Had it really been just three days? Having hung back in the sitting room, surrounded by the ruin of Christmas, Mycroft waited until he heard the back door open and shut – until he heard the tread of work boots cross the floor and the hiss of the tap as his father washed up at the sink. He'd been out in his workshop, then.

When he eventually made his way into the kitchen, his mother was setting the kettle to boil. There was a rum cake on the table – a holdover from their broken celebrations. Mycroft was quite certain he would never again deign to eat another slice of rum cake.

He felt caught in a current – his limbs disconnected from the floor below as he watched his parents carry out familiar movements cast in the die of decades – repeated and worn into the shape of the spaces around him until the very molecules in the air had been carved to fit their steps. It was nearly a head-rush that would have staggered him had he not been clinging with one hand on the door jam – that sensation of events playing themselves out to infinity. That sickening slip of déjà vu that wanted him to carry out his own predetermined patterns. He had taken these steps before... sat at the table, unburdened dire news which would fracture their family with regards to the youngest of them... that pall of death that had followed Sherlock from the very first time Mycroft had forced air into his stilled lungs in a filthy doss house. Seventeen years old and ODed on a tainted dose of cocaine from a disreputable dealer. Had he been the one, then, to stay that boney specter – to demand favor that would, eventually, demand its due?

Was this to be the payment demanded? To stand to the side while the blade of the guillotine fell?

Or was he the one required to let slip the rope from his fingers?

“Mycroft?”

His father's voice and proximity sent a rush of inhaled air through Mycroft's nose – head jerking back a fraction until his dark musings returned him to the room he'd fled. The tea was ready and Mummy stood next to the table while his father was less than a foot away – concern on both of their faces.

He stiffened his shoulders and walked to the executioner's block.

Once sat, he took his cup in hand and even sipped the warmth – his body so cold that it felt like a blaze sliding down his throat. He was aware that he was handling this all very badly.

His mother, likely sensing the impasse holding his teeth together, finally spoke to life the fear wrapping them all.

“Sherlock will not be allowed to go free.”

Mycroft's eyes fluttered shut, then, and he shook his head.

“No.”

“But you did not travel for over an hour to tell us that. We knew there would be a punishment of some sort. It's worse than that. Isn't it.” Her own tea remained untouched. At the edge of his vision, Mycroft watched his father take hold of his mother's hand. When had their home ever been so silent?

“He is to be held in solitary until the week's end. He is to have no visitors; myself included. On Friday, Sherlock will be escorted to my private airfield. There he will board a jet, to be taken to a location, deemed by M16 to be of high-value, which I am not at liberty to disclose... even to you. Such is the nature of this mission that, upon successful completion, Sherlock's debts will be forgiven and his slate wiped clean.”

Throughout this Mycroft kept his eyes fixed on his cup – watching the surface steam as it dissipated above the rim. When he finished, he considered another sip before noting the tremor in his hands that were held gathered in his lap. He breathed, measured in a count of eight, until they stilled.

Mummy, however, dithered with the cup in her free hand – the porcelain skidding on the old tabletop. Her voice, when it came, was stripped to a jerking hush. “Will he...?” Whatever remained of her question locked up tight behind her throat and when Mycroft lifted his head it was to watch a tear seep down one pale cheek.

But, then, he knew what it was she was asking. And maybe his silence, in reply, was more than enough answer because she turned into Siger's embrace and, with shaking shoulders, began to weep.

Some time later, Mycroft was halfway through his third cigarette, while overlooking the back garden. The burning fag jutted from between two fingers where they rested on the black metal gate. How recently he stood in this very place.

It had grown quite chilly, the past several nights; dipping down as low as six degrees. There was even the chance of snow flurries in the morning.

Finishing the cigarette, Mycroft tapped the ash tip against the fence before tucking the butt in his pocket. It struck him, then, that he would never steal away for a smoke with his brother ever again.

He didn't remember when he moved. He only knew that he came to himself as he was pounding his fists against one of the rough stone posts that stood on either side of the gate. The blood in his ears was pumping so loudly that he could not hear what tore from his throat – could only feel it in the vibration of his vocal chords. In truth he would have remained lost in his rage far longer had not arms wrapped around him from behind. In that moment Mycroft knew his father's embrace.

He sagged, then, in those strong arms. Stronger than the older man appeared to anyone who didn't know him. He held his oldest child as Mycroft tipped his face down into his spread hands and began to sob. Rough, jagged pieces of glass that left behind bleeding wounds where they ripped through his chest.

How long they stood there was lost to time. Mycroft only knew that at some point his father had laid an arm across his shoulders and was guiding him inside with soft words while Mycroft had all he could do to place one foot before the other in a mostly straight path.

When next he was logging events it was to blink owlishly at the stout mug of something steaming and alcoholic resting on the coffee table, before him. He lifted it and took a sip. Ah – father's special hot toddy spiced with cardamom. He had taken several sips before finally taking in more of the room. His eyebrows lowered when he noticed that the only other person in the room was his father – the older man sitting in his favorite chair next to the fireplace. His face was haggard and eyes rimmed red. At Mycroft's glance, Siger tipped his head towards the hall.

“She's lying down. It was... it's too much. We almost lost him, so recently, and now...” his throat bobbed and he subsided – long fingers twisting together. Mycroft held the warm mug in his hands – his fingertips tapping against the rim. Only then did he feel the sting rising in his knuckles. Blood filled every crease – though it was obvious the injuries had been cleaned and treated with a topical ointment. His eyes closed and he felt the flash of burn from his dried out stare. He was aware of losing time repeatedly and, were he not so emotionally flattened, it would have been troubling.

He held the mug in his hands until it cooled – setting it aside once he finally noticed the absence of heat.

“I've failed him.”

The words whispered free before his mind had fully formed them. Yet, the moment they were voiced he knew the truth of them. He had failed. The only mission in his life which truly mattered and he had failed... abysmally.

And his brother would pay for that failure. And there was nothing he could do to repair this.

He expected no response from his father – what was there to say? He was aware of Siger looking towards the low flames in the fireplace. His eyes were wet.

And so they remained; each trapped in their own misery.

An hour later his father stood, approaching to rest a hand against his cheek, for a moment, before going off to bed.

He had only intended to deliver his news before returning home but Mycroft found he scarcely had the energy remaining to slip his shoes from his feet before curling on his side.

He was asleep before he even finished the mental note to call Anthea in the morning.

The following day was possibly worse than the evening which had preceded it. His mother was, by turns, furious and horribly silent. Even his father, normally a stoic man, had a tremble in his jaw and more than once wiped beneath his eyes. It was a journey through hell as Mycroft forewent breakfast in his urgency to flee.

There were six additional texts from John as well as two voicemails. Certainly no point in perusing them – it was readily apparent what the man had to say and Mycroft deleted them without bothering to listen. He had no answers for him and the ones he could have provided would be a disservice to his brother's friend. There were too few things he could do for Sherlock. This, at the least, was a mercy he could offer.

There were many affairs he had to put into order. As it was they were not entirely new – having been established the last time Sherlock had confronted a madman. The difference, of course, was that Mycroft's involvement, back then, was to provide the greatest assurance of his brother's survival. Now...

It struck him, all at once, in a sort of breathless fashion so strongly that he was forced to pull to the side of the road. His hands clasped on the steering wheel and he felt a wild pounding through his chest and it was some outer observation of himself that recognized panic. That part of him, though, was incapable of offering more and even his sense of time was wiped away until he finally, eventually, came back to himself layered in sweat that felt icy against his temples. His mouth was tacky and dry so he opened his door to walk around back to the boot where he had a cooler among other supplies. The water almost hurt when he first swallowed – his throat was so parched. In short order, however, he'd emptied it and screwed the cap back onto the depleted bottle – tossing it into the cooler before retrieving a second and taking it back to the driver's seat.

It was an additional ten minutes before Mycroft felt confident to drive. But as he pulled out onto the roadway it was with a hum of determination that had begun to build from the moment Sherlock had pulled the trigger to end Magnussen's miserable life. He would not allow Sherlock to face this alone. Not while blood still pumped though his veins. No, he may not be able to alter this fate. However, he still had the autonomy his position afforded.

Even if it meant walking with his brother into the flames.

His uncle would have accused him of excessive drama. Rudy, though, had long viewed sentiment as little more than a tool for manipulation. And, in that moment, Mycroft found he didn't care one whit what Rudy Vernet thought.

He needed to contact Anthea again – an adjustment to protocols which had been previously established. She would not thank him, once she became aware of his intentions. However, she would, he hoped, understand. There was no other way.

In three days he would watch his brother board a private jet.

An hour later, Mycroft would take a temporary leave – boarding a commercial flight under an alias known only to Anthea.

He was quite certain he would never see London again.

He found no regret in this choice. In fact, for the first time since Christmas, he felt peace.

He only had one last task to accomplish – something he had promised his brother before Sherlock was locked away in a private cell. Contact dialed on his mobile, Mycroft was unsurprised when it was picked up scarcely after a single ring.

“Mycroft – what the hell is going on? Where is Sherlock...?”

“John. My apologies. Sherlock has been detained and I'm afraid he has not been allowed contact. However I...” he licked his lips; suddenly aware of a dangerous tremble which he forced aside before it could slip into his speech, “I was able to procure... a moment.”

“Moment? What...”

“To say goodbye. John.” Not fully silent, on the other end, Mycroft was able to note the sudden deep breaths. One last mercy, perhaps. “As recompense for the shooting, Sherlock is to avail himself to MI6 as a field operative. It was deemed a far better fate than to waste away in a cell.”

The breathing caught as John composed himself. When his voice returned it was subdued.

“How long?”

Mycroft rubbed his thumbs against the steering wheel. “Indefinitely.”

He had no trouble imaging John's eyes shuttering closed. “I see.”

They disconnected shortly afterward.

As grayed hills gave way to London streets, Mycroft pulled the tatters of self back around his shoulders. This was for the best. After 6 months, John Watson would receive a substantial deposit into his bank account – more than enough to see to his child's upbringing and education. He would know only that Sherlock had arranged for the funds via his trust. He would wonder – likely assume, correctly, that Sherlock was no longer alive. He would mourn and he would move on. After all, he had done so, once before.

As to Mary; Mycroft would have her under watch. Anthea would see it through personally. Should the former assassin ever show any indication of returning to her former life... should she ever present a danger to John or their child... it would be handled. His parents...

And here Mycroft faltered in his manic plans.

And not only his parents. He had responsibilities that only he, and very few others, were aware existed.

He... he could not do as he desperately wished.

There was only a vast emptiness of winter pale hills beyond the windscreen. The promised flurries had begun to fall shortly after five that morning – the roadway gilded with sparking flakes that frosted the browned grass and clung to the branches of trees. As the flakes began to thicken, building into a proper snow, Mycroft switched on the fog lights in spite of the fact he shared the road with no other vehicles.

Before the weight of it all could drag him beneath the rising waves, Mycroft mentally took hold of himself. He had allowed emotion to wrest control of his faculties. He had... indulged a fantasy. But that was all it would ever be. It was over now. It was all over, now.

It was time to move forward.

His parents would never forgive him. This, though, was something he had been prepared to face. And it wouldn't be the first child he had taken from them.

Before his maudlin thoughts could overtake him, yet again, Mycroft dialed a number on his mobile once again. There was no sound of a ring and only moments passed before he heard the click of a connection. “Anthea. I need you to make arrangements. It's for John Watson... and Sherlock.” He licked his lips; moving into a lane that would take him into the city and on to Whitehall. He remembered, with sudden and breathtaking vibrancy, a tiny face with watery blue eyes, peering up at him from the folds of the blanket cradled in Mummy's arms. And he knew, as well, that he gave himself away with the tremble that broke in his voice.

“It's time to say goodbye.”

Comment on AO3

Tagging: @totallysilvergirl

[dancingtotuyo]

Home | Part 2

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Rating: PG-13

Summary: You and Frankie come to a crossroads

Tags: fluff, angst, family, recovering!frankie, girl dad!Frankie

Warnings: references to past drug use (cocaine), addiction recovery, struggling to cope, let me know if I missed anything

Notes: once again- thank you to the lovely @wannab-urs for beta reading!

I don’t think this is going to turn into a full fledge series but I definitely foresee myself revisiting this little family at least once more.

Words: 2225

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist

Life either feels like it’s rushing by in a blur or crawling at a snail's pace. Layla is growing like a weed, standing as tall and as straight as a yardstick. You celebrate her third birthday in the summer, filling this old house with smiles and laughter. You wish it could always be this way.

Frankie gets his helicopter license reinstated the year before. It helps, but you still see the struggle in his eyes. Despite his assurances that he’s not touched cocaine since he got busted, you find yourself checking his old hiding places and searching for new ones. You haven’t found anything yet. He’s given no indication of using again, but you see the stress carved out in his forehead and the weight of the world on his shoulders. It feels like a when, not an if. You don’t know how to slow down the barreling train.

Then, one night he’s not home. It’s well past midnight as you sit on the couch wrapped tightly in a blanket staring out the window. You pray for his high beams to blind you. There’s a pit forming in your stomach. He always tells you when he’s coming home. The only pictures you can conjure up are of him snorting lines. The background changes, but you always see the same blown pupils staring back at you.

The night you met, you’d done lines together off Frankie’s dealer’s coffee table. The dealer was dating your roommate at the time. It hadn’t been the first time you used or the last, but you could count the times you had on your hands. You escaped the addiction. Frankie hadn’t.

It’s after 1 am when his headlights finally shine in your eyes. You stay on the couch, not eager to greet what’s coming through your back door. Frankie’s feet are heavy on the back stoop. There’s a pattern, a routine to them. Two knocks on the side of the house, three stomps on the doormat. The rattling storm door opens and then the ever present squeak of the backdoor echoes through the quiet house.

Taking a deep breath, you pull yourself up. Frankie's eyes meet yours as you flick on the kitchen light. It stings both your eyes. You search for any signs of a fading high. He seems calm, a bit shaken but not in a coked out way. His eyes dilate as they should. He catches your careful inspection. “I’m not high.”

You bite your lip. “Then where have you been?”

Deep bags stain under his eyes. His shoulders slump. He looks exhausted. “I went to get high… sat in the alley for hours.”

“Fuckin’ christ, Frankie!” You hiss, pinching the bridge of your nose. You’re not sure you can survive another relapse.

“Baby, I didn’t. I told you.” He grabs your hand, voice breaking. He needs you to believe him. “Please.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I’ve been worried sick!”

“I’m sorry. I had a bad day and-” a sharp little cry interrupts him, and then another. It reminds you of a kitten. They seem to be coming from his duffel. “Shit.” Frankie drops your hands, rushing over to his duffel.

Carefully, he unzips the bag, catching a ball of black fluff that threatens to escape. Your jaw drops. “Francisco Morales! What the fuck is that?”

He holds the kitten to his chest, fingers scratching behind its ears. It’s tiny, probably not old enough to be weaned from its mother yet. “I saw him in the alley.” The kitten nuzzles into Frankie more. “I couldn’t find any other kittens or the mom. The little guy was all alone.”

“And probably infected with fleas.”

“So, I’ll throw my bag in the dryer.” Frankie shrugs. “and pick up some flea and tick medication tomorrow.”

“We can’t take care of a kitten. We’re not prepared.”

“Can’t say we were prepared to take care of Layla either, but she’s still alive,” A faint smile graces Frankie’s face either from the joke or the way the tiny animal is falling asleep in his solid arms.

You bite your lip. Frankie is tired and worn and barely fighting off the demons, but he’s smiling, maybe even relaxing a little. He chuckles as the kitten perks back up, swatting at Frankie’s fingers.

You sigh. “He has to stay in the bathroom tonight, and he’s going to the vet as soon as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Frankie winks, stepping toward you.

You sigh, letting the night’s tension out. Frankie is here. He’s okay physically. He’s not coked up. Of all the outcomes you spent hours worrying over, this one is sunshine and rainbows. As the tension eases, you feel more inclined toward the kitten. He’s a little ball of midnight fur, not a speck of other color to be seen.

“I swear to god, Frank if he has rabies-”

“Then I’m already dead.” He teases.

You smack his shoulder. “Or any other communicable diseases, I’m going to kill you.”

“He’s just a kitten, Babe.” Frankie smiles, kissing the tuft of fur between his tiny ears.

You sigh. “I’ll grab some newspaper. You’ll have to give him milk.”

“Don’t kittens like milk?”

“He’ll probably get the runs. Cats can’t digest milk.” You shoot Frankie the side eyes, gathering the necessary supplies to get the kitten settled.

Frankie is in the bathroom with him until almost 3 am. You have to admit. You almost feel bad leaving the tiny animal alone. Almost. The last thing you need is a flea infestation.

Frankie eventually curls up next to you, sighing as he nuzzles into your neck. “Think he’ll be okay?”

“You found him in an alley. One night curled up on a towel in our bathroom won’t hurt him.”

“Layla is going to love him.”

A laugh sputters from your lips. “If she doesn’t choke him to death. We’re still working on gentle hands.”

Frankie’s laugh joins yours from deep within him. It’s the kind that brings a smile, a true one, about. It’s something that’s been rare as of late.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His hands wander haplessly. You bite your lip, soaking in the feeling of his warm hands across your body as you remember how close you came to losing this tonight.

He kisses your neck. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

You squeeze his hand. “You always worry me.”

Frankie inhales sharply, squeezing you tighter. His lips play at your ear. “I’m sorry for that too.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It kinda is.”

“Addiction is a disease, Frankie.”

He huffs, never accepting that response. He feels guilty. He feels responsible for getting hooked on coke, putting you through hell and back.

“If I never-”

“If you never- we wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t have met. We wouldn’t have Layla.”

Frankie sighs, dropping his forehead into your shoulder. You feel the hot tears slipping down your neck. Kissing his head, you thread your fingers through his thick brown curls. Something else is waging war inside him and you think he may finally tell you.

“I think I almost died tonight.”

Your fingers still. Frankie pulls back so that he can look you right in the eyes. The moonlight flickers off of them in your favorite way. “What happened?”

Frankie shakes his head. “Nothing. I looked at that alley for so long tonight. I just had a feeling that if I went in, there was no coming back.”

Your heart clenches in your chest. You’ve felt it too, the boulder hanging over your heads, like a sixth sense. If Frankie slips again, there’s no coming back, and relapse has felt so close.

He clenches your pillow in his fist. More tears pour from his eyes. “And what’s worse is the only thing that kept me from it was that damned cat.”

You thumb away one of his tears. “I don’t think that’s true, Frank.”

“I was about-”

“And how long did you sit there before the cat showed up?”

“I don’t know. An hour, maybe two. It took me just as long to catch the cat.”

You stifle a laugh, caressing his cheek. “He might’ve given you a reason to walk away, but I don’t think that cat is the only reason you didn’t relapse tonight.”

“We need to do a better job at talking.”

You nod. “Agreed.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep checking my hiding spots.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “You know about that?”

“Yeah,” Frankie nods. “And I don’t blame you either.

You stare at him for a moment. His eyes seem clearer today than they have in months. He’s warm against you. He’s home, and he’s your Frankie.

“Will you tell me what happened in Colombia? What really happened?”

He sucks in a breath, rolling onto his back. His hand travels to the meat of your thigh. He squeezes and rubs as if he’s self-soothing. “Please don’t leave.”

It comes out just above a whisper. Your heart clenches. This is why he won’t talk about it. Not because of the trauma, but because he’s scared you’ll walk away from him after. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

He takes in a long breath, holding it, and then releasing it. Then, he recounts it all until the sun is peeking through your bedroom windows.

As predicted, Layla is obsessed with the kitten the moment Frankie brings him out. You give him a bath before you let her touch him, treating him with flea and tick medication Frankie grabbed from the grocery store that morning.

Once he’s bathed and treated, the three of you sit on the kitchen floor for hours with the newest member of your family. You’re exhausted and you see the same in Frankie from not sleeping the night before, but your daughter is enthralled by the kitten as the two of them stay occupied with an old shoelace. Nap time is a long way off.

Layla throws a fit to get the kitten to take a nap with her, but you stand firm. He needs at least 24 hours for the flea medication to do its job. You and Frankie fall into sun-soaked sheets once she’s down. Your eyes drift close immediately and Frankie pulls you flush against him.

“Kitten needs a name.” He mumbles.

“Never said it was staying.”

“Ya didn’t need to.”

“You name him. You’re the one who brought him home.”

It’s quiet for a second. Your brain slips further into darkness.

“Cocaine.”

“What?”

“His name. I went into the alley to find Cocaine and I found him.”

You sit up, eyes bleary, but sleep the furthest thing from your mind now. “Our three-year-old daughter is not going to yell out for Cocaine, Frankie.”

His chest shakes with laughter, a smile dancing on his lips. “C’mon. It’s cute. She can call him Coke.” You cross your arms across your chest. Frankie sees none of it, eyes still closed. “... or Coco. That’s cute.”

You huff. Frankie still doesn’t seem to notice but pulls you back down against him instead. “Said I could name him, babe.”

“She’s not calling him Cocaine.”

You fall asleep to Frankie’s deep chuckle.

To Layla, he’s Coco. Frankie calls him a rotation of things like Coke and Cokey, his actual name, and sometimes Little Shit. You call him Crack from the way he zooms through the house at all times of the day.

Layla is obsessed with her newest little pal, always wanting him to be in her room or bed, or to take him to the grocery store, but he spends the nights curled up in your bed – usually around Frankie’s legs.

The times that little Cocaine Morales isn’t flying through your home on a fruitless hunt, he’s curled up somewhere. If Frankie is home, you can find him on his lap, or riding his shoulder. You know he’s much more than a cat to Frankie.

You like having him too. He’s brought joy into your home. It’s a joy that had become rare- only showing up for Layla’s milestones and sparing minutes. You know it’s not just Cocaine. It’s what he represents. He’s a marker for the night things changed for the better.

You and Frankie are talking about it all, the nightmares, the demons. Something that’s been absent for too much of your relationship. You both have begun to seek out help, separately and together. You don’t check Frankie’s hiding spots anymore. The deep, swelling love you’ve always had for him once again bubbles over, filling every crack and crevice of your home. Frankie is more present, more attentive. Slowly but surely, ghosts flee one by one.

Layla’s nickname for the kitten dies the moment Uncle Ben walks into your Labor Day cookout. From the moment on, she spends her time calling out for Cocaine. Her plethora of uncles are a gaggle of hidden chuckles and mischief each time. You shoot glares their way, but you can’t help but find it just as cute.

This thing that nearly tore your family apart, is now something you laugh about bundled into a cute little ball of black fur. The catalyst for things getting better.

There are still dark days, but they’re few and far between. While the thoughts play through Frankie’s mind from time to time, he never returns to the alley.

[dathen]

I had learned to dread such periods of inaction, for I knew by experience that my companion's brain was so abnormally active that it was dangerous to leave it without material upon which to work. For years I had gradually weaned him from that drug mania which had threatened once to check his remarkable career. Now I knew that under ordinary conditions he no longer craved for this artificial stimulus, but I was well aware that the fiend was not dead, but sleeping.

CONGRATS TO MY GOOD FRIEND SHERLOCK HOLMES ON HIS ADDICTION RECOVERY

It’s too bad that people tend to rush to make jokes about Holmes and cocaine, because it’s rare to find sympathetic depictions of addicts, let alone ones that see them through the healing process and the challenge of resisting relapse. I’d rather see his recovery celebrated than “lol did you know Holmes was constantly on cocaine?! those weird Victorians!”

And this is the most powerful facet of Watson’s friendship: that he encouraged Holmes through the battle for years and stuck with him in the end.

[artofdeductionbysholmes]

Hello there Mr Holmes. I heard that apparently you used to do drugs but you've been clean for a few years now? That's epic :D

Do you possibly have any words of advice for a 15yo currently 6 months clean from opioids? I can't really go to any of the adults around me, as they're not too aware and it's a surefire way of getting in trouble.

Hello.

I am uncertain where you acquired such information, but it holds truth. Yes, there was a time when I turned to cocaine and occasional morphine to stimulate my mind and alleviate boredom. However, I've been clean for several years now.

First, let me congratulate you on your perseverance. Staying six months clean from opioids (or any substance), especially at your age, is a tremendous achievement. Your strength and determination are admirable, and you have every reason to be proud.

Managing your recovery without the immediate support of those around you presents challenges, but it is a challenge that can be overcome. Here are some points to consider:

Establishing a daily routine is crucial to managing cravings and triggers, providing stability and normalcy.

Stimulate your mind with engaging activities. Find hobbies that capture your interest and keep you occupied. For me, it was playing the violin and solving cases, but any activity that interests you will help.

If you can't turn to adults around you, look into support groups or online communities. Many of these resources ensure anonymity, and the shared experiences can be incredibly valuable.

Prioritise your physical health through regular exercise and a balanced diet, which significantly impact mental well-being.

If you haven't already, consider reaching out for professional help. There are helplines and organisations specifically designed to assist individuals in your situation.

I also have John @consultjohnwatson now to anchor me and chase my demons away. I truly hope that you have a "John" in your life—a person who unconditionally loves and supports you.

Take care of yourself. Recovery is a path with twists and turns, and setbacks may happen. It is not the fall that defines us, but the strength to rise again.

Stay vigilant, and remember: the game is afoot, and you are capable of winning it.

SH

[edosianorchids901]

The Calm

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "Silver Sparks"

Cw: past drug use, depression

“Holmes, you’re in the paper!”

Holmes groaned and curled up, pulling his favorite blanket tighter around himself. He had been ensconced on the settee since last night’s return to London. He had no intention of moving. “Really, Watson, must you make me even more miserable?”

“Listen to this,” Watson said. “The headline is ‘Silver Sparks Fly!’, and the story runs ‘Despite a mysterious detour, sparks flew as Silver Blaze soared across the finish line. The champion racehorse, which was reported missing earlier this week, returned to the track due to the heroic efforts of the famous Mr. Sherlock Holmes’.”

“Heroic? Well, well, well.” Holmes stared across the room at the desk drawer which had once housed his cocaine bottle and syringe. At the moment, he missed it dearly. “Out of all my services for humanity over the years, it is my recovery of a horse which is deemed heroic.”

Watson gave him a look full of admiration. “It was a splendid resolution of the case. I do not know that I have ever seen you in better form.”

“Not you too, Watson.”

“No, I’m serious. It was a magnificent triumph.” Setting the newspaper down, Watson leaned forward. He was sitting in Holmes’ armchair at the moment so they could see each other. “And that’s why you are having such a severe reaction.”

He was entirely correct, but Holmes groaned in protest anyway. The usual post-case reaction had set in quickly, in fact even before he had finished revealing all the answers to the interesting questions posed by the case. Every noise had started to trouble him, the ringing of a dinner bell deeply offensive, and he lost all appetite.

By the time he and Watson boarded the night train to return to London, he had been lost in the mire of his melancholy, sinking lower each moment. Watson, as devoted as ever, had sat close beside him and tried to keep him at least somewhat stimulated while he smoked his way through every cigarette in his case, and then started on Watson’s supply.

Holmes had slept horribly, boredom keeping him from relaxing enough to drift off. When he did manage to doze, his dreams were full of malevolent horse trainers, lost horses, and the annoyingly omnipresent Moriarty.

It would be easier to manage this crushing sense of meaninglessness if he could indulge in artificial stimulants. With cocaine, his scattered, desperate thoughts coalesced and focused. Cocaine would steady his mind, ease it from a frantic gallop to a steady, even canter.

But he had given it up, and although he had an emergency supply in his bedroom, it would worry Watson immensely if he surrendered to that particular little craving. Perhaps he could find some small relief through more ordinary means of stimulation.

Scattered and agonized as his mind was, it took him a moment to collect his thoughts enough to even speak. “Watson?”

“Mhm?”

“Would you perhaps do me the courtesy of providing me with an inexhaustible supply of coffee?”

Watson chuckled and stood. “Well, I don’t know about inexhaustible, but we do have an almost full coffee pot. And I’m sure Mrs. Hudson will be happy to make more if you need it.”

“I shall likely need it.” Holmes did not wish to sit up, even for coffee, but it would be worth the exertion if it eased his misery even a little. “All my apologies for troubling you, Watson. I know I am difficult.”

“You are not difficult.” Rising, Watson came to the settee. He did not rest his hand on Holmes’ arm as he ordinarily would, which was fortunate as most touch sounded utterly horrific right now. But he bent, lightly kissing Holmes’ brow, and then gave him a kind smile. “I knew you would be struggling today. I have been with you for a long time.”

“So you have, and you are most patient.” The gentle understanding made Holmes nearly feel like crying, but he would not permit himself to indulge in such nonsense even while wallowing in self-pity. “I fear this may continue to be something of a strong reaction. This case did prove quite compelling, and the solution of it most satisfactory. The horrors of commonplace life seem all the more inescapable now.”

“You will escape them.” Watson returned with the coffee and offered a hand up. “I’m quite sure you will have another case soon.”

Although Holmes still did not wish to be touched, he took the helping hand and struggled upright. His head pounded, and he tugged his hand free of Watson’s in order to press it to his brow. “Another case cannot possibly come soon enough. All this idleness will kill me, Watson.”

“You have only been idle for a little over twelve hours.”

“Precisely.” Holmes took the coffee cup and stared into its dark depths. “It is horrible.”

“All right, old man.”

“I do not expect you to understand.” That wasn’t an entirely fair thing to say, but he knew Watson would not hold it against him. “You are the sort of man who enjoys idleness.”

Watson snorted. “Admittedly, I do like having time that isn’t solely devoted to working.”

“I do not, unless it is well-occupied with other stimulating activities.” And what could possibly compare with the excitement of this recent case?

“Well, for now, drink your coffee and see if that settles your nerves.” Looking primarily amused, Watson drew the armchair closer and sat. “And while you drink, I’ll read you the rest of the article on your triumph. Then I can read you what I have written so far.”

“Written?”

“My first draft of our case with Silver Blaze, Holmes.”

Holmes groaned again, but he drank his coffee. Regardless of activities, today would be miserable. But pointing out all the errors and romanticism in Watson’s account of their adventure would certainly occupy his mind for a time.

[joe-spookyy]

asks you about american werewolf in london

hoooly shit it’s finally happened. someone asked me The question. thanks anon.

i am now going to try and sell you all on this movie cause i can’t recommend it enough and i think everyone should watch it. so: let me tell you a thing or two about hit 1981 horror comedy an american werewolf in london!!! and this is off the top of my head so if any of it is slightly off numbers wise im sorry. if you like 80s horror, men, queercoding, re-animator, the thing, jaws, saw, the lost boys, or just werewolves in general. hear me out on this one. link included to watch.

The Premise:

fresh off the heels of his cocaine fueled jazz musical masterpiece The Blues Brothers (1980), director john landis decided he was going to cook up the greatest film ever made. and he did. he was actually gonna have john belushi (jake blues) and dan akyroyd (elwood blues and yes the ghostbuster) play the two main characters, david kessler and jack goodman. now, who are these fellas? well i’m so glad you asked. david (played by david naughton) and jack (played by griffin dunne) are two dear pals from new york on a cute little backpacking trip across europe. david's the tall one. he's silly and gleeful to be out and about. jack is the short one. he's very much not gleeful about the fact that they're on the rainy moors and wishes they were in rome. together they find their way to a cute little pub and go inside, looking for hot drinks. the locals do not love this. they also do not love when jack asks them why there's a five pointed star on the wall (since lon chaney and universal studios assert that that's the mark of the wolfman!) it gets awkward. so they leave, with nothing but the warning to stay off the moors, stick to the roads, and beware of the moon. obviously, they do not follow this. wouldn't make for a very interesting movie if they did. and, as i'm sure you've assumed, they encounter a werewolf, leaving jack like this (dead):

and david, who survived the attack, with the curse of the werewolf. but fear not! david is transported to a hospital where he makes a lovely recovery, and jack um. well he stays dead. but he comes back to haunt david! he shows up a few more times in further states of decay to tell david that he really ought to just kill himself so that the curse is broken, jack and all the other werewolf victims can rest in peace, and david won't accidentally maul any additional civilians as a werewolf. hey while we're talking about jack heres me when i dressed up as him at a horror con. and the man himself.

anyways. hijinks ensue, and you're taken on a delightful romp across 97 minutes of fun as david tries to navigate life as... you guessed it. AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON!

why it rules:

in my opinion, that's enough to make this movie flames as fuck. but if you're not convinced yet? let me tell you some more. first off. the practical effects on this bad boy are straight up excellent. they're done by my personal favorite vfx artist rick baker (who also worked on star wars, men in black, videodrome, king kong and more!), and he does not hold back. the picture of jack shows how nasty and detailed the wound is pretty well, but in action it's even better with all the nasty fleshy bits dangling and wiggling and eugh. it's gross. but it's so well done. and he does a terrific job showing how jack decays throughout the rest of the movie. but of course, what really matters is the werewolf. it's not called an american dead guy in london. which is good. cause that would be a dumb name for a movie. anyways. if we’re going to talk about the werewolf, we have to start with the iconic transformation scene. sped up.

wow! pretty impressive stuff right? it’s all practical, no cgi, and i think the way it’s almost drawn out and the relative silence of the scene adds to the impact it has, since it sort of forces the audience to sit with and feel just a little bit of the discomfort that david seems to be feeling. we just have to watch him scream in pain and beg for mercy. yeesh. now, the transformation scene is hard to top. but i think the final werewolf design is actually pretty solid. it’s distinctly not man, but it’s also distinctly not wolf. i would include a picture, but i feel like part of the allure of the film is how it (jaws style) doesn’t really let you get a good look at the monster itself until the end of the movie. it’s a great way to build the tension and leave a little bit up to the audience’s interpretation. and the audience will always imagine something way more horrible than you could have ever created. which is kind of beautiful. the first time i watched, i found myself kind of disappointed in the werewolf’s appearance - its face seemed to be stuck in a sort of permanent scowl. i was kind of lost, because i couldn’t imagine why a static face had won out over whatever the vfx team was clearly capable of making. but Oh. dear reader. when nurse alex price, david’s dear love, who cared for him in the hospital, allowed him to live with her, and even banged him, approaches the wolf. when she tells david she loves him. the wolf’s eyes soften. it begins to drop the snarl. see. i lied here’s part of the wolf. all snarly like and scary. before it melts at three simple words from alex. god.

it hits me like a huge truck every single time. rick baker never misses and this movie was certainly not an exception. he got an academy award for it and it was well deserved.

not so into the technical stuff? that’s okay. i have more to praise about this movie. it is one of the best blends of horror and comedy that i’ve ever encountered. although some of it looks a little dated, i do think it maintains its fear factor. it’s plenty gory, and in my humble opinion, the subway scene (you’ll know it when you see it) is one of the most effective bits of horror i’ve ever encountered. even when isolated from the film, it still packs a punch. but i’m not gonna put it here because i want you to just watch it with the rest of the movie. sorry. and on top of the horror, it’s honestly hilarious. if you don’t think seven dead people ganging up on one dude and listing ways he should kill himself in the middle of a porn theater while a porno plays very loudly in the background. well. i don’t know what to tell you. you probably won’t like this movie that much. also, the final needle drop over the credits at the end is so abrupt and so funny. love it.

and of course, being an 80s horror movie with two male leads. i’m sure you can guess what i’m going to say. it is not hard to read jack and david as friends, but it’s also not very difficult to read them as having a little something going on. like love. fellas is it gay to go on a little trip across england with just yoh and your best bro? hard to say. textually, i do think it’s kind of telling that every time jack shows up, it’s either right after or while david is having a heterosexual experience (flirting with alex, banging alex, watching straight porn in the porn theater.) it’s almost like… something other than jack… is haunting david. i dunno. i’m not a cop. but it’s interesting. seems like something the average tumblr user might like to keep an eye on, so i’m letting you know. also they have a conversation while david is completely naked which is like. hello. plus the inherent queerness of the werewolf narrative is something i could talk about for HOURS and was especially prevalent, alongside vampire movies. in the 80s during the aids crisis. my short essay on this ⬇️

also, there’s a classic john landis third act car crash scene, where, in the same vein as the blues brothers, an obscene amount of cars are absolutely demolished.

also also, the muppets make a brief appearance in this movie. this made me jump for joy, because i love the muppets. and you should too.

fun and true facts

still not sold? well, check out this last ditch effort in the form of fun facts. or, if you just want to know more, read on.

micheal jackson was so impressed by the effects in this movie, particularly the transformation scene, that after seeing it, he promptly hired rock baker (vfx guy) and john landis (director guy) to work on the music video for his hit song thriller. you’ve probably seen it, but if not, go watch it. tbh, even if you have seen it before, go watch it again.

david naughton was a doctor pepper spokesman before the filming of this movie. he was in at least a few bits of promotional material, including at least one commercial. unfortunately he lost the job because of the amount of time he spent dick out in this movie. doctor pepper did not want that to be the representation of their brand. cowards, the lot of them.

speaking of his dick, you actually never fully see it at any point in the movie despite the fact that it seems they never felt like telling david to wear pants on set. there is a reason for this! david (character) is jewish and canonically circumcised (dunno how else to put it) and david (actor) is neither of these things. so, to avoid ruining the realism in his. werewolf movie. john landis took great care to never show the whole thing.

the american ambassador who visits david in the hospital is played by frank oz, who also voices miss piggy. because of her brief cameo, he technically plays two different roles in this movie, although miss piggy is simply credited as “Herself” in the end credits of the movie. he also voices yoda which isn’t relevant but it is really funny to me.

see you next wednesday, which is the name of the porno in the movie, is actually a fun john landis easter egg! many of his movies include the phrase “see you next wednesday.” it’s also seen on posters in the subway scene.

in the scene where jack first visits david in the hospital, he was supposed to take a bite of david’s toast, after which it would immediately fall out of his ruined and torn to shreds throat. however, it was cut for being too gross. which is sad i feel like it could have been funny.

when david calls home to talk to his parents, he mentions two siblings: rachel and max. these are the names of the directors children in real life.

griffin dunne, who plays jack, also appears as the family therapist in a season 2 episode of succession. this was a jumpscare.

while they were filming the naked in the zoo scenes, they were unable to actually close the zoo, so when filming carried on past the opening time of the park, they just kept going and allowed butt naked david naughton to run loose around the zoo. they did, however, succeed in closing piccadilly circus for the car crash scene.

in the beginning when jack is being attacked by the werewolf, it was in fact half a wolf prop on the front of a wheelbarrow. this is a very funny vision for me.

jack is right - the five pointed star is considered the mark of the wolfman, according to 1941’s The Wolf Man, played by lon chaney junior and produced by universal pictures. the guy knows his stuff. interestingly, rick baker did the makeup for the 2010 remake of the wolf man as well. he did pretty good, i think.

this isn’t even about this movie but blues brothers is an awesome film too and a fun fact about that one is there was a whole part of the budget devoted to buying cocaine. and you can tell. great movie.

director john landis did in fact kill three people the year after this movie came out. so. i do feel a little bad promoting it because jesus christ. but. no harm no foul in pirating it. it’s one easy internet archive search away. and sometimes it’s on tubi. but just in case, here’s the internet archive link. https://archive.org/details/an-american-werewolf-in-london

so. anyways. please check out this baller ass movie and talk to me about it. thank you so much to whoever asked this. i love you. thanks for reading. bye.

[saintundying]

re: yr danielposting hate & ashbury anon, i am constantly trying to figure out whether or not the book is a reference to “The Night of the Gun” by celebrated investigative journalist David Carr. (Carr also developed Hodgkin’s lymphoma likely due to covering 9/11 & iirc there are also uncommonly high rates of Parkinson’s amongst first responders & reporters etc which I’m also like maybe Daniel’s Parkinson’s is another nod to Carr??) anyways, here is Carr’s book blurb from archive dot org:

DO WE REMEMBER ONLY THE STORIES WE CAN LIVE WITH?

The ones that make us look good in the rearview mirror? In The Night of the Gun, David Carr redefines memoir with the revelatory story of his years as an addict and chronicles his journey from crack-house regular to regular columnist for The New York Times. Built on sixty videotaped inter-views, legal and medical records, and three years of reporting, The Night of the Gun is a ferocious tale that uses the tools of journalism to fact-check the past. Carr's investigation of his own history reveals that his odyssey through addiction, recovery, cancer, and life as a single parent was far more harrowing-and, in the end, more miraculous-than he allowed himself to remember. Over the course of the book, he digs his way through a past that continues to evolve as he reports it.

That long-ago night he was so out of his mind that his best friend had to pull a gun on him to make him go away? A visit to the friend twenty years later reveals that Carr was pointing the gun.

His lucrative side business as a cocaine dealer? Not all that lucrative, as it turned out, and filled with peril.

His belief that after his twins were born, he quickly sobered up to become a par-ent? Nice story, if he could prove it.

The notion that he was an easy choice as a custodial parent once he finally was sober? His lawyer pulls out the old file and gently explains it was a little more complicated than that.

In one sense, the story of The Night of the Gun is a common one—a white-boy misdemeanant lands in a ditch and is restored to sanity through the love of his family, a God of his understanding, and (continued on back flap)

HOLD ON….i think you’re so right and this is the inspiration. ​you are number 1 daniel molloy understander to me so if you tell me something is daniel know i’m just nodding my head in full agreement

[jjasen]

3 a.m.

request: omg part 2 to white lines and black beaches, white lies and black beaches where rafe gets sober for her PLS bonus if there’s more groveling 

warnings: deals heavily with drugs and substance abuse, please read with care

word count: 1.25k

a/n: this in no way is meant to be a romanticization of addiction! if you or a loved one is going through addiction/recovery, please seek help and know that you are not alone!

Rafe’s hands trembled, cold and clammy as he licked his lower lip, his mouth cottony. He kept his phone close to him always, especially now, and he read your text over and over as he convinced himself not to go to Barry for more cocaine. “Stay sober and we’ll see,” he whispered, gripping the cool marble of his bathroom counter. “Stay sober and we’ll see.”

But the idea of sweet relief flowing through his veins, abating his internal conflict and feelings of self-doubt was such a tempting seductress. Just a little, he thought. That’s all I need. She doesn’t need to know. Rafe sank to the floor, his lips trembling, his thumb hovering over your contact icon, and threw his head back against the bathroom wall.

“Rafe?” Your voice from his phone speaker, distant but so familiar, eased some of his itch for the mindless euphoria that he knew would rush, liquid smooth, through his body.

“Tell me it’s not worth it,” he panted at you. “Tell me not to do it.” His voice was raspy, desperate, and you could tell it was taking everything in him to not give in to his cravings.

“Oh, Rafe. I’m coming over, okay? You’ll be okay. Just- just stay there, alright? I’ll be there in five minutes.”

It had been a few days since the party where Rafe promised he would get sober, and you’d spent every waking minute trying desperately not to think about him, about his words. You were curled up in bed, eyes glazed over as you scanned the same page of your book over and over again, not absorbing any of the words, but rather wondering if Rafe would commit to his vow of sobriety. If he really meant it, that he would choose you over the cocaine.

In five minutes flat, you were standing outside of Tannyhill, your heart thumping. You let yourself in, closing the doors gently behind you, tip-toeing throughout the foyer and up the stairs to his bathroom. Even through the door, you could hear his shallow breathing, feel his panicky fear. With your knuckles you lightly rapped on the doorframe.

“Rafe, I’m coming in,” you called softly, clutching your tote bag to your chest.

Your heart twisted painfully at the sight of the tawny-haired boy slumped on the marble tile, gasping and trembling. He looked up at you with that brilliant blue gaze, something like shame in his eyes. A silent apology that you had to see him like this.

“You came,” he whispered hoarsely.

You sat down next to him carefully and offered him your water bottle. “You called,” you said. You could tell that he was surprised. Surprised that you showed up, that you were really there, that you hadn’t given up on him long ago. A pang of sorrow for the boy who had been neglected so many times ran through your chest. Wordlessly, you took his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. Despite his shivering, he was warm, and the familiar weight of his palm was soothing. 

You aren’t sure how long you sat with him in silence, the only sound filling the air that of his inhalations, whether hours or minutes had passed while you watch the heaving of his chest subside and his breathing become even and slow, his grasp on your hand slowly relaxing. Despite several months of hooking up with Rafe, you were certain that this was the most intimate and vulnerable of the moments you had shared with him, that some unspoken boundary had been crossed and there was no going back.

Absentmindedly, you rubbed circles into his hand with the pad of your thumb. Rafe cleared his throat. “I blocked Barry,” he said quietly, breaking the silence and turning to look at you, his red-rimmed eyes remaining affixed to yours. “I can do this.”

“Rafe.” You paused to look down at your hand entwined in his, cast in a bluish tint by the moonlight filtering through the bathroom window. “This was always supposed to be a no-strings-attached sort of thing. So that we wouldn’t get hurt.” You looked at him, silently begging him to understand. Do you know how much I want to be able to be trust you? Do you know how much it hurts me to see you like this? 

“Why won’t you just admit that we could be so good together if you’d just give us a chance? Why’d you even come here?” he asked, looking away. You could tell he was frustrated, and you opened your mouth to speak. He cut you off. “No, let me finish. It’s like- like you don’t want to wait for me to become the person you believe I can be. And that hurts.” He exhaled slowly and looked at you, his gaze piercingly bright. “You gotta give me the chance to prove it to you, baby.”

 “Hey,” you said softly, “I really want this for you. But- I don’t even understand why you’re doing this. We were- we were fine just hooking up. Weren’t we?” 

It was certainly easier that way, to keep sex and feelings separate. Easier to just shove away the sparks that shivered down your spine each time he looked at you for just a moment longer than necessary. Easier to ignore the way you had slipped into his life, into his routine, to ignore the way that you had no longer become a placeholder for a relationship, but something more.

Rafe shook his head and chuckled, his voice hoarse. “No. Because- because, shit, baby. You make me want to be better. You make me want to be good. I- I want to become someone who could deserve you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Won’t it be hard?” Your question was so quiet it wasn’t even a whisper.

Rafe blinked quickly, as if he wasn’t expecting you to give in this easily. He looked down, almost bashful, then back at you. “Yeah,” he breathed, nodding. “But it’s not hard when I’m with you. Never when I’m with you.”

Your hand moved of its own accord upwards to trace his jaw, fingertips skimming over the light stubble on his cheek. You could tell that it was taking all of his strength to keep his composure; he let out a controlled breath slowly and closed his eyes. The muscles of his neck strained and his hand tightened around yours. “Please just say something already,” he rasped, opening his eyes and searching yours, silently pleading you to see that there was nothing in the world he needed quite as badly as you.

Softly, hesitantly, you pressed your lips to his. He groaned faintly, almost imperceptibly, reaching to tangle his free hand into your hair, pulling you closer to him. It’s a slow and gentle kiss, and you could feel Rafe smile into the crescent of your mouth. When you pulled back, he rests his forehead upon yours, his eyelids fluttering closed, hand still entwined in yours. 

You sat together contentedly, Rafe’s head resting gently on your shoulder. His eyes closed and his breathing even, several minutes pass in peaceful silence before you realized he had fallen asleep. Smiling down at him, his brow smooth and the corners of his mouth curving softly upwards, you kissed his head.

“I love you,” you whispered. And right now, it’s enough for you to hold his hand and fall asleep on the bathroom floor. It’s enough to have him here with you, with the promise of tomorrow on the horizon.

[quinloki]

Okay so

Wb pirates but Yandere, they slip up and when teach stabs thatch(he survives cause I said so) he takes reader with him and everyone proceeds to freak the fuck out like a dog on cocaine

Like???? I think marco and thatch would have it the worst cause Marcos the most obsessed and grilling himself on how this could happen and thatch is sitting in the recovery room pissed he couldn’t protect them? But I can imagine everyone is spiraling.

How far would teach get? Would it still just be ace who goes after him?

I love the idea that at some point the reader had told Teach they really missed home. Like, they’ve come to terms with being a part of the crew no matter what, but it’d be nice to be able to go home.

So when Teach’s reason to bounce happens, he brings them along. (Grabbing the reader is what makes the stabbing job just sloppy enough that Thatch survives). In this way he’s almost a good guy? But even the reader’s like “I appreciate the intent, but turning traitor still not cool.”

Plus now that they’re off the ship and on the run, the reader’s a nervous wreck. Are they really free? Are they really going to be able to go home, even for just a little while? Is there really any place in the world they could disappear into and not have to worry?

And there are SO MANY WAYS this could go too.

Maybe they’re too attached to whoever and Teach’s plan to “save” them ends up with them stabbing him in the back? Whether it’s Ace or more, they find the reader sword in hand, covered in blood, just kind of losing it by Teach’s corpse.

Maybe they do manage to disappear and start a new life, and it’s not until it’s all said and done - where the news says everyone from the crew is dead or imprisoned and no one even knows where Marco is. They go to the island to pay their respects at the gravesite, not really guilty about leaving, but the crew did care for them, even if it was twisted.

I’m saying farewell they learn that Marco is indeed alive and well. Fully retired on the island. Doctor and protector. The sweet ending is the both of them apologizing - Marco for how they trapped the reader, the reader for how they left. It’s a long LONG road of hard conversations and compromises, but it works out in the end.

Or it’s just as it was and they’re chained and restrained in his home until they break again, accepting their fate and filling the void of his grief.

But maybe the four famous commanders catch up with Teach. The fight that ensues could go a few ways, but is the tragedy that the reader doesn’t survive the fight? Does the pain of that loss shatter the others that Teach ends up with far greater treasures? Izou and Thatch won’t survive, but who does the WG want more? The King’s brat, or Pops’ most beloved son? They could have both but Teach feels he’s earned the other as his own prize.

There’s certainly a lot in there to play around with. Including a real turning point where the reader foils Teach’s plans entirely and he dies on the Moby. The reader earns way more freedoms after that, even though the crew still essentially keeps them. But for them to risk life and limb to protect Thatch puts everyone at ease.

[nerdytextileartist]

In this edition of "Sigh, Another Day, Another Tumblr Post..."

If the reasoning for why they keep shipping make Roy interact with Jason is because both Roy and Jason's stepmother were both addicts (BTW Roy is a recovered addict and Catherine Todd was retconned from dying of cancer to drug overdose which smacks of classism because Jason came from poverty), then what's keeping people from having Jason recruit Snowflame for his crew?

Think about it, there's a bunch of fics that erase Dinah and Hal from Roy's recovery in order to force Jason into the role of caretaker despite Roy being eight years older than Jason. Let's see people write a fic where Jason tries to make and keep Snowflame- a villain who gets his powers from cocaine- clean.

Aaaaaand now I want there to be a "Red Hood and the Outlaws" with Snowflame instead of Arsenal in the roster. Now which D/C-list honeypot villainess should take over Starfire's slot?

[ssuperficialspacecadett]

The Sunshine State

Chapter One of the Through the Scope series | Chapter Two

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4K

TW: Mentions of sexual assault in readers past, mentions of drug (cocaine) use

Chapter Overview: You're desperately looking for a job when one falls right into your lap.

Notes: I have decided to try my hand at writing for Frankie (: He is my favorite Pedro character after all. I don't have a posting schedule, so chapters will be coming at you sporadically. I apologize in advance for that (uni is outrageously time consuming). I hope this first chapter gets your interest peaked for whats to come ! Happy reading <3

*No use of y/n & female presenting reader*

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The serene music that is emitting from the coffee shop speakers is doing nothing for your nerves. Maybe that is due to the fact that you were on your third cup of coffee in two hours or maybe it is that you have already been in Florida for a week and still haven’t found a job. You blow a strand of hair out of your face and continue staring at the seemingly endless job applications on your computer. You find yourself cursing under your breath for the thousandth time that day. Why couldn’t you find a job you liked? When the words on your screen start to blur together, you lean back in your chair and let out a heavy sigh. You need to remember why you were here in the first place: your dads recovery. 

After your mom died a few years ago, dad decided to move into a retirement home. He realized how hollow the ranch house was without her life enhancing presence and opted to venture to Florida. You were cross with him for up and abandoning you, but you tried your hardest not to let your resentment show. Her death hit him the hardest. He seemed to be doing well whenever you visited him over the holidays. Unfortunately, it was an illusion. You mom’s constant nagging at him to stay on top of his diabetes died with her. 

As soon as you got the call you were on the next plane to Florida. He had suffered a stroke that left his walking impaired. The two of you fought back and forth about your being there. He didn’t want you to have uprooted your life back in Texas, but it wasn’t up for debate. Hair and eye color weren’t the only shared traits between y’all, stubbornness was just as deeply ingrained in your DNA as it was in his. An agreement was reached between you after a tear filled argument. You would reside in Florida for six months, the amount of time when the most progress is made for stroke patients, and then leave. Unable to live in his retirement home, you found a cheap apartment the next day. 

You drain the last bit of coffee from your cup and close your laptop. As much as you dreaded going back to your empty apartment, you couldn’t stay here any longer. You place your laptop back in its case and slip it into your tote bag. The buzzing of your phone snaps your attention back to the table.

“Hey Robbie!”

“Hey! How’s the sunshine state treating you?”

You let out a low groan. Robin, or Robbie as you lovingly dubbed her, was your best friend and roommate back home. You had very little emotional connection to your home state, but Robbie was your life line. She was there for you when your mom died and then when your father subsequently left. You didn’t know how she managed to be so attentive to you and juggle law school at the same time. You owed her a debt you could never repay.

Your attention gets pulled away from the call when a group of women sitting in the corner of the coffee shop start laughing and talking loudly together. For a brief moment you try to picture yourself sitting and laughing along with them. Robbie, the ever logical one, pulls you from your delusion. 

“Are you still there?”

“Fuck. I’m sorry. God, it's so lonely here without friends. Don’t get me wrong I love spending time with my dad, but when I’m done visiting with him I just come home to an empty, barely furnished apartment.”

“I told you that I would come visit you over my spring break.”

“I know, but that's over two months away.”

“Why don’t you spend your free time looking for a man? Maybe you will have better luck there than back home.”

“I don’t have time!,” you counter. “I have been here a week and I still haven’t found a new job. How am I supposed to pay rent, furnish my apartment, or even feed myself if I don't have a job? My savings is only going to last so long. Besides, all the men that I have interacted with so far are practically geriatric.”

“You always did like em’ older.”

The two of you talk for a little while longer. She manages to pick your spirits up despite her teasing you. She lets you know that she has to run because one of her lectures is starting soon, but she promises to call you back later this week.

You stand up and place your phone in your back pocket. You easily slip your tote onto your shoulder and gather up the empty cups you collected over your time in the shop. While you walk to the trash a bright orange flier pinned to the corkboard above it catches your eyes.  

HELP WANTED

Receptionist for Brass Knuckles Boxing Gym

432 Peach Dr, Jacksonville, FL 32246

Contact Ben Miller at (904) XXX-XXXX

Starting pay: $20.00

Honestly, you ponder, you have nothing to lose. Beggars can’t be choosers. Plus you recognize that street. It wasn’t a far drive from where you are now which means that it’s close to your apartment. The pay was higher than minimum wage and being a receptionist couldn’t be that hard. You toss your trash into the bin and pull out your phone to dial the number. The ringing of the phone next to your ear muffles the sounds of the still laughing group of women as you exit the coffee shop. 

“Brass Knuckles, this is Benny speaking.”

The subtle southern accent that comes through your speaker washes a wave of calmness over you. Maybe you did have some attachment to back home.

“Hi,” you introduce yourself to him. “I saw your flier for needing a receptionist at your gym. I was wondering if you were still hiring?”

“We are! Would you like to come in and tour the place right now?”

You take a peek at the time displayed on your phone. 3:15 P.M. You should have enough time to check it out and then head to your dad’s before the after work traffic rush.

“Actually that would be great.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you soon then!”

***

The gym was a stand alone building constructed of rough looking red brick. It had large windows that allowed you to see some of the equipment and, more importantly, the front desk. You hop out of your car and check both ways before crossing the parking lot. As you turn your head from right to left you see a bar across the street. The rickety, wooden sign on the building has a shotgun painted onto it and the bar’s name, The Barrel, is appropriately painted onto the barrel of the gun. At least you know where to go to get a drink now if you don’t get this job. You take a deep breath and swing open the glass door to the gym. 

A sharp ring of the door’s bell and the potent aroma of sweat and cheap men’s body spray are the first things that greet you as you enter the building. You swear that if you get this job, fixing the odor in this place will be one of the first orders of business you carry out. You look over at the front desk as you wait for Benny. It is positioned to sit squarely in the middle of the lobby. There is a brick wall, the same type as the outside, directly behind it. The back wall only extends as far as the desk does. This makes for two entrances into the gym. One on the right and one on the left of the desk. 

“You made it! Thanks for comin’!”

You shift your gaze from the white blocked lettering on the brick wall that reads “Brass Knuckles Boxing Gym” to where the voice rang out from. You're stunned when a man rounds the corner shirtless and out of breath. Good fucking god he’s toned. He smiles boyishly at you and pushes his grown out, sandy hair back. He turns his head to see what caught your eye.

“You like the new sign? I paid someone to paint it on the brick a few weeks ago. It looked so empty before.”

“Y-yeah, it's lovely.” 

“See?!,” he throws his hands up exasperatedly. “The guys said it was stupi-that’s not important now. Anyway it’s good to meet you in person. Wanna start the tour?”

You nod at him and he waves at you to follow him back into the gym. He points out each of the stations he has set up. 

“We have machines for your legs here. Then in that corner are machines for your upper body and core. Our heavy bags are kept in this area. I also have some weight benches set up over there for people to use on lighter workout days.” 

You’re trying to soak up everything that he is saying, but to be honest, most of the machines look the same to you. He takes you to view the showers, the laundry room, and to his back office.

“When I’m not training with a client I’ll usually either be here in my office or in there with a heavy bag on a stand.” He points behind you.

The center of the gym holds its crown jewel: the boxing ring itself. The walls of it are made from a red, tarp like material and the center of the ring is a deep shade of blue. Poles, wrapped in white padding, protrude from each of the four corners and four rows of thickly braided, white rope encase the entire thing. 

“I’ve never actually been in one of these before to be honest.” you laugh. “I’ve only ever seen them on T.V. when I’m channel surfing and land on WWE.” 

“No way,” he looks genuinely shocked.

“Yes way.” you shrug apologetically. 

“Being in there is electric, man. Gotta be one of the best feelings in the world hands down.” 

You feel at ease talking with him. He seems really passionate about what he does and all that goes into it. You give the gym another once over and then it dawns on you; it’s a ghost town. 

“Hey, where is everybody?”

“It’s usually pretty slow around this time of the afternoon. Our busiest times during the week are when people come in here around 12:00 P.M. to burn off steam during their lunch breaks and then after 5:00 P.M. when work gets out. Saturdays are packed most of the time because we aren’t open on sundays.

“Ahh.”

“But all hell breaks loose when we have our famous Friday Fight Nights!,” he nudges you in the ribs. “There isn’t a free seat in the whole damn house! People screamin’, beer sloshin’, bets bein’ made. It’s my bread and butter.”

“That sounds insane, Benny.”

“You mean you have never heard of it before?”

“I moved here a week ago actually. I’m sure I would have heard of it if I had just been here longer!”

“Alright, you get a pass. What made you choose Florida to call home?”

You normally don’t like telling people your personal business so soon after meeting them, but Benny has a trustworthiness about him that you can’t ignore. Maybe making friends would be easier than you thought.

“I moved here to help my Dad actually. He’s having some medical issues and I want to be here to help him work through them. I figure that I’ll be here for maybe six months? I’m not sure if that would work for you though. That’s kinda the reason I’ve been struggling to find a job.”

He looks at you with genuine understanding.

“If six months is all you can give me then I’ll take it.”

“Wait? I got the job?”

“It’s perfect if you think about it. You need a job and I need a receptionist ASAP. If you want, since you’re new and all, I could be your tour guide. Born and raised here.”

A weight seems to immediately lift off your shoulders. If he wasn’t such a sweaty mess you would have given him the biggest hug.

“Okay, great!”

He claps his hands together. “Drinks on Santi tonight!”

“Santi?”

“He’s one of my older brothers and I’s friends. He bet that I couldn’t get a receptionist within a week of the last one leaving and you just helped me prove him wrong.” 

“I’m happy to help. Do you mind if I ask why your last receptionist left?”

That wipes the giddy look off his face.

“Well,” he scratches the back of his head. “She ended up leaving because she said some of the patrons were a bit too forward. I asked her to tell me which ones so I could ban ��em, but she wouldn’t give ‘em up. I totally get it if that changes your mind about taking the job.”

Your throat goes dry as an icy tingling sensation makes itself known on your skin. Fuzzy images of unwelcomed hands being a bit too forward as you lay on the couch. The smell of tequila burning your nose as he whispers to you. Clinging to the sounds of the movie he put on in the background to distract you.

“You alright?”

“Yes!,” you rush out too quickly for him to believe. “I’m fine. I just zoned out for a second there. I’m sure I’ll be fine. Plus I promise that I will tell you if anyone tries anything.”

He seems satisfied with your answer and walks back up to the front desk with you.

“You want to come get drinks with me and the guys tonight? It’s going to be me, which you already know, my brother Will, Santi, and Frankie. We usually go to The Barrel. You would be the guest of honor.”

“I’m flattered, but,” you look at the time on your phone. “I should head out before traffic gets bad.”

“Next time, next time. You already have my number so just text me and I’ll let you know what time you can come in on Monday. Don’t worry about the rest of this week. I can hold it down until you officially start.”

***

“Dad, I needed a job and I found one. What's the issue?”

He puts his hand up to let you know he is catching his breath. You sit in a chair next to him while he rests in between his physical therapy. The exercises mainly consisted of his physical therapist, Maggie, working the muscles in his legs. Even still, they took a lot out of him. He was still a ways away from standing or walking on his own. 

“The issue is that you’re going to be the only woman in a place full of men on steroids. I don’t like that.”

“God, that's such a you thing to say,” you argue. “I’m not a little girl anymore. It’s also not a male only gym, dad. A lot of women work out and take boxing classes too. The manager, Benny, seems really nice. He was the one I met with earlier today.”

You watch as he opens his mouth to presumably hurl a retort your way, but he stops himself. Your heart breaks as he sighs and turns away from you. He hasn’t been himself since the stroke. You know that you can’t even begin to understand what he is going through, yet you’re trying. The anger he is feeling isn’t directed at you, but it still hurts nonetheless. He is a proud man at heart, so all of this attention and fretting over him must be weighing heavy. You extend your hand and place it softly on top of his. Although he is still looking away from you, his brows unfurrow and his lips fall from the tight line he held them in.

“I’ll be fine. I promise. I told you that I would be here with you for your recovery and that's what I intend to do. This isn’t a little issue, dad.”

He turns to look at you again, eyes glossy from fighting back tears. “I know, I just-I just feel like a damn burden.”

“You aren’t,” you squeeze his hand. “Everyone needs help sometimes and now it's your turn. You took care of me my whole life. The very least I could do is be by your side right now.”

A soft knock on his room door pulls the two of you out of your conversation.

“Hi, hon. I don’t mean to interrupt, but I need to finish Greg’s session.”

“That’s fine, Maggie. I was about to head about anyway.”

You stand up from your chair and give him a hug before you collect your purse. He reminds you that he has his poker tournaments on Sundays, so you didn’t have to come in to see him then. Getting ditched for a deck of cards and a bunch of old dudes. That’s gotta be a new low. You wave at Maggie as you pass her while heading to the door.

“Hey, sweet pea?”

You turn around to a name that you have been called since before you can even remember.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

***

The Barrel is unsurprisingly empty on a Thursday night. Benny, Frankie, Will, and Santi all sit at their usual table in the back corner of the bar. The small army of empty beer bottles huddled in the middle of their table makes up for the lack of local patrons in the building.

“She seems really great. Even complimented the way ‘Brass Knuckles Boxing Gym’ looked painted onto the brick. I told y’all it wasn’t stupid. It also doesn’t hurt that she's beautiful, man.” 

Santi lets out a low whistle before tipping his still half full beer in Benny’s direction. “I’ll drink to that.”

“I don't think you're going to be able to break this one man. She’s got a lot on her plate so the last thing she needs is a piece of shit like you comin’ in and adding more trouble.”

Will and Frankie snicker at Santi’s face that shows faux offense to what Benny just said.

“I enrich the life of every woman I meet. No one has ever left my bed unsatisfied.”

“A lot on her plate?” Will chimes in to direct the conversation into a more appropriate one. “What does that mean?”

Frankie nods his hat in the direction of Will signaling that he is thinking the same thing about you as well.

“Yeah. She was talking about how she moved down here to help her dad. Said he had an accident or somethin’.” 

“Think she will be able to boost Friday ticket sales?”

“For the love of God, Pope,” Will laughs and shoves the man sitting next to him. “Can you get your mind out of the gutter for two fuckin’ seconds?”

“No, he’s onto something, Will,” The other three men can see a plan unfolding in the reflection of Benny’s eyes. “If I can get her to double as my ring girl for the fights we would be swimming in it boys.”

Benny tells them that he had invited you to come celebrate with them, but you had plans already. The more he talked the more curious the group was to meet you. 

“Why don’t you let Fish get a word in, huh?” Santi interrupts. 

Benny puts his hands up in surrender and turns to the man sitting beside him at the table. Frankie had been quiet since they closed up the gym for the night and headed to the bar.

“What’s wrong, Fish? Cat got your tongue?” Benny jokes.

“Fuck off, man.” 

“Yeah, what’s up? We are celebrating tonight.” Santi adds.

Frankie downs the last of his beer. It isn’t cold anymore due to the fact that he had it in an iron grip.

“Rochelle texted me,” a unified hush fell over the table of four. “She said she wants to get back together. That she wants to ‘make it work’ this time.”

Benny is the first to break the silence.

“Rochelle? God I hate that woman and I’ve never hated a woman in my fuckin’ life.”

“Shut up, Benny,” Will grumbles in the direction of his younger brother. “What are you going to do, Fish?”

“I don’t know. I miss her. I just- she’s just- I don’t want to relapse.”

Another silence envelops the men. Each and everyone of them knew what he meant. After Frankie got out of his last tour he fell into the arms of the first woman that came along. They all knew she wasn’t the one for him, but he hadn’t been happy in such a long time so they let it slide for as long as they could. Then the coke came into the picture. Benny tried, Santi tried, and Will tried to get him to cut her off. He was spiraling and didn’t even realize it. When he was on coke he didn’t remember all of the horrible things that he did and that he saw. It felt like he was on top of the world, until he fell right into the unforgiving ground of reality. 

He failed a routine drug test at work. They fired him right on the spot and put his pilot's license under review. Ironically flying was the only thing that kept him grounded. Now that he didn’t have it the guys knew they had to help him. They managed to convince him to cut Rochelle out of his life. Then they urged him to check into a rehab, even if it was a temporary one. Once he got out, he found a job at an auto body shop. It wasn’t aviation, but it was a start. He had been clean ever since. Seven months to be exact. But even the sight of seeing her name light up his phone screen made his body ache for a fix.

“We didn’t let you drown the first time, Fish. We won’t let you drown this time.”

Will’s words hit him like a ton of bricks. He knows it's true. They never once gave up on him through the entire thing. The only thing Frankie can do is tip his worn, black cap in Will’s direction. Benny lovingly claps him on the back and then the conversation is put to bed. 

While the rest of the men move on with their night, Frankie can’t seem to turn his brain off. All he can think about are his two vices: Rochelle and Florida snow. He can already hear the water beckoning to him. Calling his name in that alluring, all too familiar voice. Begging him to come back and be cradled by the waves until they swallow him whole.

“Everyone shut up. She texted me.” Benny exclaims.

They all lean in to look at what you sent him.

“She’s just asking about the schedule, dumbass.” Santi scoffs. “Have her send a picture.”

“And how the fuck am I supposed to ask for a picture without sounding creepy?”

“You could tell her that you need a picture to use for her login profile at work?” Frankie offers, desperate to distract his mind from his own thoughts.

“Fish, you’re a Goddamn genius.”

Santi gets up to buy another round for the table while Benny crafts his text to you. He hits send only after he has gotten the green light from everybody. They all wait anxiously for the next few minutes until they see your name appear on the phone screen. Benny scrambles to type in his password as the guys all crane their necks to see a glimpse of the photo. 

“You way undersold her, Benny. She’s gorgeous.” Santi marvels and Will agrees.

“Wow,” is all Frankie can muster as he looks at you. He tries to memorize everything about you. The way your hair falls, how kind your eyes are, and how soft your lips look. He feels his ears burn as he looks at your nose and wonders what it would be like to kiss you on the bridge of it. With each new thing he finds on your face to admire, the water’s voice gets quieter and quieter until it's nothing but a whisper. Still there, but only a whisper.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

[sebsxphia]

sickness.

rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: rhett comes to your aid in the middle of the night to ease your sickness.

￫ c/w: drug and alcohol use, recovery, swearing, crying, kissing, sobriety and one mention of the word “cocaine.”

￫ a/n: as i go through recovery, i’ve found it comforting to myself to write these pieces. due to my long time drug use, when i get colds, they stick forever. i’ve just gotten over, hopefully, the last bad one i’ll have for a while. this was born in the midst to comfort myself. i hope it brings any level of comfort to all who read! <3 my ‘sobriety’ masterlist can be found here! my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

“The feeling of having shared in a common peril is one element in the powerful cement which binds us.”

- Alcoholics Anonymous by William D. Silkworth, M.D. & Bill W.

“Stupid fuckin’ nose, with a stupid fuckin’ cold, can’t even—” You let out a grunt of hushed frustration as you rifled through the medicine cabinet above the bathroom sink. The overhead light that was attached to the mirror cabinet above was dull, but it still managed to sting at your sleep deprived eyes. “—for fuck’s sake,” you grumbled again, louder this time, in defeat for not finding the nose spray you so desperately needed right now.

You heard the creak of the bed frame behind you and then followed by bare padded footsteps trailing after one another. A naked Rhett stood in the doorway to your en-suite with his arms wrapped around his torso, in an attempt to incubate some of the heat he’d left behind from your bed.

“Darlin’, what’s gon’ on?” His voice was laced thick with sleep and confusion, and his Southern drawl appearing deeper at three in the morning.

“Shit, sorry, baby. Did I wake you?” You turned to Rhett with a sympathetic look at the dishevelled cowboy. Rhett’s bleary eyes squinted back at you and blinked away the sleep.

“What’d ya’ need, baby?” He asked again.

“That nose spray I had, couple of months ago, I can’t find it. My fuckin’ sinuses are blockin’ up again. Hurts too.” You mumbled wearily, the throbbing ache along your cheeks and forehead not dulling any less with time.

“C’ ere.” Rhett linked a guiding hand into yours and drew you back to bed. He would be damned if you were caught out of bed for a moment longer and catching a further chill. “Let me check.”

You slumped back under the duvet in defeat and watched from the side as Rhett moved through the medicine cabinet himself, pulling away bottles and small boxes to try and find the elixir that would soothe you. He hummed and poked his head out from the door, “nothin’. Do y’ want some painkillers for now? We can get some ‘morrow?”

You nodded and Rhett pulled the packet of painkillers from the medicine cabinet. He grabbed your glass from your bedside table that was already dried up with your throat feeling parched and scratchy during the night. You heard the faucet gently running and then Rhett was next to you, painkillers in his open palm and handing you the glass.

“Hate this,” you mumbled as you sank back one pill and a sip of water. “My fuckin’ fault. I get clean ‘nd still get ill, because I did this to myself.” You sighed with exhaustion as you swallowed back the second pill and water in unison.

You were sober. You felt good. You could feel your brain re-wiring something anew. Neurotransmitters that weren’t reliant on a little bit of powder at the bottom of a bin liner. However, gnawing away in the pit of your stomach was the ever growing guilt that physically, your body inside was on the brink of collapsing. Internal corrosion that would take years to fix—

“No.”

“What?” You blinked back at Rhett as he drew you out of your endless stream of thoughts.

“No. No, I won’t let you say that.”

“Say what?” Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched Rhett squat down by your knees at the edge of the bed.

“That it’s your fault. What d’ they say? The first thing?” He took both your hands in his larger ones and squeezed at them gently to encourage you.

You grimaced ever so slightly. You already knew what Rhett was getting at. What point he wanted you to prove. But admittance to yourself struck a cord deep inside of you that hurt more than any gruelling week long come down, or your nose feeling as though it had been burned by a hot stove.

“We admitted we were powerless over cocaine—”

You mumbled the first half and Rhett joined in with you in unison to finish the statement.

“—that our lives had become unmanageable.” Rhett paused at noticing how your eyes crinkled tightly together in the corners and how you squeezed them shut tight. It was in an effort to hold back the tears that stung at your waterline.

“That. That right there, darlin’. You were powerless and this wasn’t your fault, never was. You couldn’t keep livin’ the way you were.”

You couldn’t speak. You were powerless.

Your eyes peeled back open at Rhett and you let out a stuttered gasp of air when a small sob broke through your chest. You finally felt the roll of a damp tear stream down your cheek, but Rhett was quick to bring up his thumb and wipe it away, like he always did. Hand still in his hand, he took it to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckle.

“I’ll always, be here to take care of you, m’ love.”

taglist: @beachbabey @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @wkndwlff @flames-thebitch

[haggishlyhagging]

Recovery is a term used to describe the phase in which an addict chooses to begin discarding addictive behavior in favor of previous nonaddicted behavior, for example, "I'm a recovering alcoholic" or "I'm in recovery from cocaine addiction." Now we find recovery being applied to codependency, such as "I'm in recovery from codependency." Many regard codependency as an addiction, in the same category as substance addiction, and the process by which we move into and out of it the same. Once again, my feminist self squirmed in discomfort. I felt recovery was somehow inappropriate when applied to codependency.

I resisted this discomfort. I enjoyed claiming the power of recovery; the word felt active, exciting, vital, moving out of the numbness of codependency's robotitude. In terms of physical addiction to a substance, recovery is accurate: To reclaim a healthier way of being, the addict decides to go back to a time when she or he was not addicted to the substance. But applied to codependency, the message is mixed. To say that recovery from codependency is possible implies that we can return to a previous time in our lives when we were healthier, when we related to our loved ones differently. It implies that there was a moment when something happened—we changed, we fell in with a bad crowd, or we took up bad ways—but now we are recovering what we lost. I suggest this is impossible.

Recovery from codependency is a myth. We cannot recover what we have never had. When we redefine codependency as internalized oppression, we see that as women we are conditioned to accept and practice our subordinate position from the moment we are born. As Subby has determined, the typical family system thoroughly trains us in this behavior. Born into patriarchy, we are groomed into codependency from the beginning of our lives. There was never a time that I was not codependent. To say I am "in recovery" is inaccurate, can lead to self-blame, and distracts me from noticing the influence of the culture of dominance. Here lies the danger to women of unscrutinized acceptance of the popular approach to codependency.

If I believe that challenging codependency is solely a matter of recovery, then I ignore the political context of oppression in which I live. I accept full responsibility, viewing codependency as an individual character disorder, something wrong with me personally. As such, appropriate treatment would be therapy, Twelve-Step programs, or at the very least a slew of self-help books. I will fix myself, "recover" my "sobriety," and then I will be capable of healthy intimacy. But when I try to "recover" from codependency, there is nowhere to go. Every road out leads back to codependency because my focus is limited to my personal inadequacy and does not include the culture that designs, maintains, rewards, and benefits from codependent behavior. With all due respect to the Twelve-Step programs of AA, these groups do little to develop a critical consciousness of the society that nurtures substance addiction and other forms of oppression. If I attempt to "recover" from codependency without this analysis, the oppressor remains invisible, my oppression a misnamed affliction, and I stay in a cul-de-sac of self-blame. Who does this benefit?

-Kay Leigh Hagan, Fugitive Information: Essays From a Feminist Hothead