#such a nice day out too and I have to spend it in a goddamn grocery store oh brotherrrr

[loumauve]

I snapped today at work, and by snapped I mean I politely commented on a help desk ticket by summing up an mess of an (type of) issue that's come up for at least the fourth time in the 2+ months I've been managing user accounts, and asked the person responsible to fix it (himself for once) because last time I fixed his mess-up it took me two whole days to work out the details with at least four other colleagues from different departments and I really don't want to do it again. there's other shit that needs doing, I've been working 10+ hour days for most of this week already, so I need to cut down not add on more.

(good thing tho - at least we managed to fix the issue where the dataset of a newer employee got mixed up with another one of the same name and therefore wasn't able to apply for any of the access/accounts she needed. technically not entirely my area but it does impact us not being allowed to create an account for her so I figured I might as well track that issue down. took three days and at least three other people, but hey - it should all work out now. yay for that)

[primordial0riginator]

The temptation to call in today is quite strong

[thesquidgame]

Predictable

Hwang In-ho x wife!reader

Part One Part Two

Summary: Your peaceful married life is disrupted by strange symptoms.

Warnings: ANGST, money issues, hospitals, disease outbreak (MERS), disease symptoms (not MERS), poor working conditions, bad coworker, (implied) understaffed hospitals, panic, health problems, medical condition, neurological symptoms, blood, graphic depictions of medical emergency, vomiting blood, stepping on glass, extended TWs: here

Word Count: 2k~

Your apartment was dingy and small. It was on the outskirts of Seoul, and your had to take three buses to get to work. But it was alright. Your house was clean, and In-ho came home every day before you and made dinner. Your schedule was a bit more unpredictable. As an ER nurse, you tried whatever you could to get home on time, but mostly, you ended up at work until midnight. 

It was a hectic job, but you were used to it. Unlike some of your colleagues, nothing extreme had happened to you in years, the first and only time being when you were accidentally stabbed with a needle. Still, it was stressful, but In-ho made all of that anxiety go away the second you saw him.

Whenever you came home, your husband would smile, kiss you, and present the delicious dinner he had made you. You would then sit at the dinner table and talk about your days, sometimes for hours, into the early hours of the morning. Then, you would wake up and do it all over again.

Your friends remarked on how boring you and In-ho’s lives were, that there was no real excitement, and that you were just going through the motions. You couldn’t disagree more. You loved going through the motions, and waking up every day knowing what you would do, and that your husband would be waiting for you at home. The predictable joy was your paradise. In-ho would wonder too, questioning if this was what you wanted. He couldn’t imagine how someone like you would want to be with a boring policeman with a 9-5 job. You couldn’t explain it, didn’t need to, you just loved spending time with your husband.

Your wedding was small and cheap, in the worship hall of a local church on a Saturday afternoon. Your family didn’t have the money for a flight to attend, and you couldn’t afford to bring them to you. So, your family was replaced by your friends, and Jun-ho walked you down the aisle.

The reception was in your house, and you and In-ho had stayed up late the night before making food. It was the best day of your life, and your friends and family stayed up late eating in the basement of the church at folding tables.

That night, you and an In-ho made love for the first time (always a gentleman), and as you slept on his chest he promised you that he would do anything for you. Even if he couldn’t give you much in terms of nice clothes, or a nice apartment, he would make you as happy as he possibly could.

In the fifth year of your marriage, both your and In-ho’s careers became enormously stressful. The MERS outbreak in South Korea made your hospital one of the central trauma centers for victims, and In-ho received a promotion, giving him more and more hours away from home.

One day, during a long shift, you almost passed out. The hospital was loud and frantic, and you fell over in the middle of the ER, the voices and lights around you becoming a blur. You only were able to regain focus when a doctor grabbed you by your shoulders and screamed in your face, “Get the fuck up and treat your goddamn patients!” He screeched, the force of it causing spit to fly into your face.

Dazed, you got up and continued treating patients, pushing your brief pass-out back into your mind as just a brief fluke.

Over the next week, you were less and less hungry when In-ho would make food. He would look at you concerned, “Honey, is there something wrong with the food? I thought this soup was your favorite.” 

You offered a weak smile in return, “I love it In-ho, I just don’t have an appetite today. Sorry.”

He smiled back, “All alright, just let me know if I can do anything.”

Work got more hectic for both of you, and moments of exhaustion grew in you more and more, but all could likely be attributed to the stress of the job.

The nausea started a month after the exhaustion. At least once during a shift, you would have to run to a bathroom to throw up. After one especially hard day, where, with still six hours left in you had already thrown up three times, you called In-ho crying.

“In-ho.” You said through sobs.

Nothing else passed your lips, but immediately your husband broke out into a flurry of questions, “Honey, what’s wrong? Is everything okay, did something happen?” You could hear the panic in his voice as clearly as you could see it if he was standing right in front of you.

You didn’t say anything for a minute, just continued crying as you heard In-ho try to interject several times, but each time he stopped himself, waiting for you to say something.

You were just about the explain the situation when you heard someone knock on the door of the bathroom, “Nurse Hwang, are you in there?”

“Yes, I’ll be out in a minute.” You said, your hand shaking as you held the phone.

“We need you out here now, you can’t waste time in the bathroom.” Your coworker said. She was nice, and a recent graduate of college. Her inexperience and fear were evident, and while whatever problem she was facing was likely her responsibility, she would be torn to shreds by your boss if she didn’t do everything right, and you had to help her.

“In-ho, let’s talk when we get home.” You said, forcing your sobs back into your throat.

“(Y/n), wait-” You didn’t let him finish, hanging up now was already hard enough but if you let him talk longer it would only get worse.

The chaos of your shift only got worse and worse, and it was nearly 4 AM by the time you got home. You felt like death itself had risen and slapped you across the face.

In-ho was sitting at the table, his leg bouncing so hard you could feel the vibrations through the floor. “(Y/n), what’s wrong are you okay?!” He said, panic radiating off his skin as he reached up and grabbed your hands, searching his gaze up and down you.

You had called him earlier tonight, hadn’t you? But for some reason, the why just wasn’t there, “I- I called you earlier today, right?”

His brow furrowed in confusion, “yes, you were crying. I’ve been terrified for hours. What happened?”

You looked away from him, “I- I don’t remember.”

“What do you mean, you don’t remember? Honey, what’s going on?” He grabbed your shoulders, out of concern, and you winced away from him.

“Ow, that hurt.” You muttered, rubbing your shoulders.

The fear only seemed to grow in his eyes, “I didn’t grab you that hard I didn’t think. I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, it’s just been a long day.” You gave him a half-hearted smile, “can we just go to bed?

He frowned but nodded and gently wrapped you in a hug, “Of course, let’s sleep, and tomorrow we’ll see if you can remember.”

Nothing came to you in the morning, and when you took your shirt off to change into your scrubs, you noticed purple bruises on your shoulders from where In-ho had grabbed you the night before. 

“Honey, is everything all right in there, you’ve been changing for a while?” In-ho called in from the other room.

“Yeah- yeah, everything’s okay.” You put your shirt on, not telling In-ho so as to not upset him. You knew that he hadn’t grabbed you that hard, so you didn’t want to scare him with freak bruises.

In the next month, it became harder and harder to function. Your body constantly felt exhausted and weak and sore, and you almost never had an appetite. Sleep was rare to come by due to a constant itching feeling that would spread over your body.

The world felt blurry a lot of the time, you got more confused and forgetful at work and at home, and your bosses would tear into you more and more. It was difficult to bring anything up to In-ho, his schedule became so busy that you talked less and less, and you didn’t want to stress him out with problems that were likely just caused by a stressful job.

Whenever he would notice something, and ask you what was wrong, it felt like pieces of a puzzle that wouldn’t fit when you were answering. Your responses wouldn’t quite make sense, you would say something a little bit incorrect, or wouldn’t completely answer the question. Both you and In-ho were confused by it, but neither had the time nor energy to prod further.

Everything in your life was falling apart and getting worse and worse, but you felt too dazed most of the time. You couldn’t really think about everything happening, and it all just spiraled out of control.

In-ho awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of gagging. He stumbled out of bed, wondering if you had eaten something that upset your stomach.

“(Y/n)?” He asked as he walked to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw in front of you. You were crouched down on your hands and knees, a couple of feet in front of the toilet, throwing up. Throwing up near-black dark vomit.

“(Y/n)!” In-ho, in that moment, felt more terrified than he had ever before in his entire life. He ran over to you and crouched down on the ground next to you. Your entire body was shaking, and you kept throwing up. “(Y/n), what’s wrong? What’s happening? What’s going on?” He didn’t know what to do. No amount of disaster or emergency training he had received had prepared him for this moment.

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. He grabbed you in his arms, and you shook against his chest as he ran out of the apartment. He didn’t put on shoes, or a jacket. A broken bottle his neighbor dropped in the hallway cut his feet as he ran to the elevator, but he didn’t feel it. You were still throwing up on his chest and his fear for you was all he could focus on.

The car ride felt like it lasted hours. You were in the passenger seat, never stopping throwing up. His feet were cut up, and his white shirt was covered in blood.

He parked right in front of the ER you worked in, not pulling into a parking space. He carried you in his arms to the front desk, and all of the staff stared in shock for a brief moment at the sight of their coworker being carried by her husband, covered in blood. Within a quarter of a second that felt like an hour, they all rushed into action.

Someone took you out of his arms and placed you on a gurney, wheeling you into a trauma bay, while blood from In-ho’s feet followed you in a trail. Your eyes opened and shut, and you focused on your husband yelling your name, “(Y/n), (Y/n)!” As his face and voice faded in and out.

Part two will be out soon!

[bucketbueckers]

LAYUPS & LAYOVERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader wc: 2.9k content warnings: language, fluff, author is southern and doesn't understand how snow or marketing works, plot where there doesn’t need to be plot synopsis: It’s Christmas Eve and you’re in Connecticut, exhausted and just trying to get to Minnesota for a work conference. You could cry when it’s announced that all flights are being halted due to the incoming blizzard. Irritated, tired, and overworked, you pray for a miracle, although it takes an unnatural shape in the form of a six foot blonde athlete who’s just trying to make it home, too. Late night airport conversations lead to something more. notes: merry christmas eve from my delusions to yours! the last chapter of irp was super heavy so here's my apology and christmas gift (do i drop another one tmr...i really dont wanna write chapter 8 😩). i hope you all enjoy this short n sweet lil ramble i threw together and happy holidays 🫶

This can not be your life right now.

It’s actually kind of impressive how all of the stars aligned on this one particular night to fuck you over. You’re not a terrible person. You hold the doors for everyone, give up your seat on the bus for sweet old ladies, and you always allocate a portion of your paychecks to donate to Wikipedia. By all accounts, you should be overwhelmed with good karma, although it seems your luck has depleted on this night and this night alone.

It all started on the 20th when you flew out to Connecticut. You work a cushy job as a marketing consultant for the WNBA, which means you spend a lot of time in the air and across the country trying to unfuck – sorry, trying to optimize and rejuvenate – the state of the league and its teams. It’s a task easier said than done. Nobody seems to want to listen to you until they realize that your master’s degrees in marketing and business analytics actually mean something and aren’t just really expensive pieces of paper that you hang in your office. You spend a couple of days in Uncasville talking strategies to boost ticket sales and to gain more traction; they’re the only professional team the state has – it should not be hard to get people to show up if you can market it right, but here you are.

Connecticut is nearly a bust. It’s cold and you spend two full days in meetings getting talked over by men who think they understand numbers and branding. Then, on the third day, the front office suddenly realizes what you’ve been talking about (this shit was covered in your sophomore year intro to marketing class, but hey, the less people know, the more you get paid, so who’s really complaining?) and the trajectory of your trip makes a sudden turnaround. On the 23rd and early on the 24th, you help the Sun roll out the new optimizations, and what do you know? Ticket sales surge by 17%, including some season tickets, all is well in the world and it’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

Then, all is suddenly not well and you remember that Christmas miracles are for people not surrounded by idiots. Your boss emails you just before you leave for the airport: The Lynx need your help. I’ve sent you tickets for the first flight out of Connecticut. Meet with them on the 26th. Said “flight” departs from Connecticut at 8:30pm on Christmas Eve, which means you’re not even in Minnesota until 12am if you’re lucky, which means you have to figure out hotel arrangements so you can take a nap because you’ve barely slept in five days, which means you have to figure out how to be nice to people again because the Sun front office has you pissed all the way the fuck off.

So, you’re tired, overworked, extremely irritated, and hungry, although that last problem is solved by airport Subway. You just hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, either – you firmly believed that you were better off betting all of your money on black rather than taking the chance on airport food, but you didn’t have much of a choice and your stomach was growling. You eat, settling in a chair at your gate, and patiently await for your plane to arrive.

Then, the overhead PA clicks on with some static noise, announcing, “Flight 932 to Minneapolis and all other flights exiting Hartford will be delayed due to inclement weather. I repeat–”

The blood rushes to your head. Your eye twitches. There’s a crying baby somewhere in the airport and you can’t take it anymore. Honestly, what’s stopping you? Flying a plane cannot be that difficult. You’re pretty persuasive. You can tell TSA you’re just young for a pilot and you’re not wearing a pilot’s uniform because it’s Christmas Eve and what are you, the feds? All you’re really asking for at this point is a nap but there’s no way in hell you’re making it to a hotel in these conditions and the chances of you sleeping in an airport with all of your belongings out for someone to grab are even lower.

A commotion towards the check in counter commands your attention. You turn, dreading the eventual crash out of an airport Karen, but it’s better than the crying baby who still hasn’t shut the fuck up.

“Please, there’s gotta be something else you can do,” a tall, broad-shouldered blonde is begging, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. “It’s Christmas Eve, I have to get home.”

The lady at the check in counter sounds sympathetic when she responds. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but our hands are tied. We can’t send our planes out in this weather, but if it eases up, the next flight out should have you arriving in Minneapolis by tomorrow afternoon.”

You hear the blonde groan, her tone sounding something like, I can’t fucking believe this is my life, which is a sentiment you whole-heartedly agree with. “Can you please lemme know if there’s anything earlier?” she pleads. “Like, if by the grace of God this weather clears and we can leave sooner.”

“Of course, ma’am. All updates will be announced.”

The response is almost robotical, but you can tell the receptionist is trying her best, too, and the last place she wants to be is hanging out at the airport on Christmas Eve. The blonde sighs, thanking her, and from the corner of your eye, you watch her hike her bag up over her shoulder and she moves to sit directly in front of you. That’s when you truly get a good look at her, at the dejected blue of her eyes, the chisel of her jaw, the logo on her hoodie. Paige Bueckers is no stranger to you. You grew up watching ball, so obviously you’re familiar with her game – any self-respecting basketball fan is. But by virtue of your job, Paige Bueckers is a name that makes your marketing heart beat just a little faster. Ever since Dallas won the lottery, you’ve been all over their marketing team. Paige’s entire existence and the chance she gets drafted to Dallas is the sole reason the Wings’ tickets are flying off the shelves. She’s the most marketable college athlete there is right now, one of the top rookie prospects for the league, but one look at her face in person and you’re forgetting all about your job. Her jaw is tight with a simmering anger, and honestly, you feel terrible for her – she already spends so much time away from her family and here she is trying to get out of Bumfuck, Connecticut, so she can be home in time for Christmas.

You find a little bit of bravery when you raise your voice slightly to ask her, “No luck?”

She looks up, glancing at you and taking in your features, and laughing slightly when she realizes you’re genuinely just trying to make conversation and not trying to get a soundbite out of her. “You heard that?” she asks sheepishly, sinking a little in her seat to get comfortable. You pretend to not notice her manspread.

“Well,” you begin, glancing over at the receptionist. “The desk is like, ten feet away.” She laughs again and nods, murmuring touche under her breath. “932 Minneapolis?” you ask, referring to your flight.

Paige nods again, quirking a smile. “You stalking me or sum’?”

You shrug your shoulders, a coy smile on your face. “Just observant,” you quip.

Paige grins fully. “What about you?” she asks. “You work for the league?”

At that, you can’t help your surprise, raising a brow. “How’d you know that?”

“Just observant,” she throws your words back at you. You laugh. “Kidding. I see your ID pokin’ out of your bag. You from here, or they got you workin’ on the holidays?”

“Work,” you respond. Paige whistles lowly. “I’m a marketing consultant. Been up here for a few days working with the Sun, then I’m heading to Minnesota to fix the Lynx’s bullshit.” You blink, registering your words, blushing as Paige laughs. “You did not hear that. I’m usually nicer to my employers.”

“They got you workin’ and flyin’ out on Christmas Eve,” Paige points out. “You should be meaner.”

You incline your head in a nod, huffing. “All of this for office potlucks and dental coverage,” you joke. “Don’t quit basketball.” Paige grins again and you’re suddenly reminded of your manners. “Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself.” You do as such, only mildly surprised when she stands to shake your hand and introduces herself, too, which is honestly kind of endearing. Then, she plops into the empty seat next to yours, smiling widely.

“So, marketing consultant,” she says, her tone nonchalant as she gets comfortable next to you, extending her long legs across her suitcase. “How often will I get to see you?”

You glance at her, raising a wry eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?” you ask.

Paige shrugs a shoulder, smirking. “A little. Is it working?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit. You can see the pride that shines in her eyes. You roll your eyes in amusement, still in slight disbelief, but you redirect back to her question. “Honestly, probably a lot. The league is super messy from a business perspective and their actual marketing sphere isn’t that great, either. As soon as you get drafted I’ll probably have to fly down to whichever poverty team you land at and teach them how to market you.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and despite the tease in her tone, she does seem interested. “How would you market me?”

“How much time do you have?”

“Well…” Paige glances down to her watch, then out the windows where snow falls in heavy sheets. “Looks like a lot.”

You snicker. “Alright. Bear with me, okay?” Paige nods in earnest, her attention fully on you as you begin to ramble. Truthfully, you did like your job when you were able to do it. The issue is and always will be the idiots you have to work with who overlook your credentials. “So, I’m not thinking about your personal brand at all. Like, that one’s already incredible. Your PR team did their big one with you. But the issue with athletes like you, wide-eyed and fresh out of college with an insane resume of endorsements, followers, deals, whatever – the issue is that whatever team you get drafted to is gonna want to rebuild their entire image around you. Think Clark, Brink, Reese, Jackson, Cardoso. It’s textbook – you advertise the person who’s gonna get you the most clicks, the most sales. So, how can we use that to actually grow the game, the league? I’m talking about longevity. There’s so many people tuning in for you that don’t know shit about basketball, and honestly, they’re gonna be scared to ask questions.

“So we push something corny. Social media segments with a catchy name like Ball With Bueckers or some shit where you break down basketball plays, rules, the stuff you’re gonna see and hear when you watch a game. What’s a pick and roll? A screen? Why is she getting fouled for blocking that shot, isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? Education, interest, loyalty, and competition sells. Stories sell, too, which is why the league is still trying to push the Clark/Reese rivalry. That’s old news, though. A more compelling story would have been the Fever/Sun rivalry, especially after the Sun beat the Fever and the Fever hired their coach. Or Fever/Wings, for reasons I’m not gonna ruin your night with.” Paige laughs at that, and you smile, clearing your throat and trying to find your train of thought. “So, when I’m undoubtedly called in to fix your team’s mess, that’s what I’d be suggesting. People already love you. Using that connection to get them to love ball, too, is my goal.”

“You’re really passionate about this,” Paige comments, her lips quirking into a slight smile. You can’t help but preen a little, flushing. “Like, about basketball. You really care about the sport. Feels like that’s harder to find lately.”

“Well, I was too short to play it, so gotta settle for something, right?” you joke.

Paige looks you up and down. You’re wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt from college, but her gaze is shameless, appreciative despite your casual airport wear. She chuckles, a disbelieving noise building in the back of her throat. “Nah. You’re what, 6’5?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Try a foot less. But I appreciate you for believing in me.”

Paige smiles, nudging you a little. “I was serious, though. You’re super passionate. I like that.”

“Still flirting?”

“S’not everyday you get snowed in at the airport with a pretty girl,” Paige says, her gaze warm, and you can’t help but blush again. “Gotta shoot my shot, you know?” She mimes throwing a ball, her wrist bent, and you shake your head fondly. Admittedly, she did have you – hook, line, and sinker. You enjoyed the conversation, her company. There were certainly worse people to be stuck with, but you’re glad it was with her.

You shrug your shoulders. “Shoot away,” you say. Her subsequent grin is wide and you find yourself drawn in just a little further.

She asks you virtually everything under the sun – where you grew up, where you went to college, the team you were rooting for, and you answer. You tell her you’re an Atlanta native, born and raised, although you moved up north to study at Columbia. You were 8 when the Dream was founded and that was your team, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. At 10, you watched them win the eastern conference finals on your birthday and that was easily the moment your life changed. Basketball was your future and that much was certain. She asks how you landed the league job (connections, a thick resume, and lots of persuading), how you adjusted to the constant traveling (lots of caffeine and really good concealer), and the hard-hitting question of, are you satisfied?

For that, you really had no answer. Sure, you’re always busy, and that’s better than the alternative of sitting in your office and watching the seconds tick by. You’re good at what you do and your job makes a positive impact on the league. Your colleagues will be who they are; your work speaks for itself and that’s what you pride yourself on. But there’s always going to be a small part of you that yearns for something more, like someone else to share your life with. Someone who sits, and listens, and engages with you; someone who loves basketball just as much as you do (even if it’s a different type of love), someone who’s steady and spontaneous and adaptable.

Then Paige is smiling at you, her gaze warm and soft despite the below freezing temperatures outside; she’s listening, and engaging, steady, spontaneous, adaptable, and probably the only person in the world whose love for basketball could rival your own. You’ve known Paige for all of three hours and it’s nearing midnight in an airport in Connecticut, but it’s Christmas Eve and she feels so right. You would really like to see where this goes, and judging by the way her fingertips brush your knuckles, you think she might like to see that, too.

The two of you talk all through the night, waiting for the weather to ease up. The conversation never slows and you’re certain you’ve never smiled or laughed this much in a long time. It takes you twelve hours of delirious conversation to realize that your luck never depleted. Paige was your overwhelming karma, sent by some sort of Christmas miracle to answer all of the wishes you’d kept to yourself for years. The stars aligned not to fuck you over, but to trap you in an airport with Paige Bueckers, and you find that she’s possibly the best Christmas gift you could have ever gotten.

When the weather finally clears and your plane arrives, you find that your seats are right next to each other – and, well, fate works in funny ways, doesn’t it? You’re both exhausted, but when she lowers the armrest and wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into your side, you can’t help your relieved sigh, leaning into her chest. You and Paige sleep through the entire flight. You dream of soft blue eyes, the lingering scent of her cologne, the promise of how this could last.

You land in Minneapolis and you eventually have to go your separate ways. The two of you exchange numbers, saying your goodbyes, although Paige doesn’t let you get anymore than three feet away from her before she’s catching you by the wrist and pulling you into her. Her hands are cold against your cheeks as she kisses you gently, something deep and lingering and a confirmation that tastes like ‘you and I aren’t done here.’ The falling snow lands gently on your cheeks, melting under the heat of your blush, and you can’t help your smile, interrupting your kiss as the both of you dissolve into laughter. Paige kisses you again, something softer that leaves you feeling warm all over despite the chill, and you thank your Christmas miracle for leading you here.

[harmonictechnicality]

Eddie develops a strange habit after sex. It’s not exactly cute or romantic or nice. Nothing bad either. It’s just… well, Steve isn’t too sure what it is. But every time, it’s the same damn thing.

He collapses onto Steve’s chest and says:

“My boyfriend is a cyborg.”

Usually, Steve is still recovering from the fucking downpour of post-orgasm endorphins. So he doesn’t question it. Hell, he stopped challenging Eddie’s tolerance to geek out months ago. Dude holds fantasy knowledge in his brain better than he holds his liquor.

Which is saying a lot.

Anyways, Steve never has the mental capacity to react or respond. Instead, he runs his fingers through Eddie’s sweat-soaked hair for awhile. Scratches out little patterns on his scalp because it always makes Eddie go limp. Quiet.

Quiet is a rarity for him. And while Steve is totally weak for Eddie’s chattiness, the quiet can be nice too.

The only reason Steve finally decides to ask about it is because Eddie slips up. Says it before they have sex.

Steve is against the bedroom door, his nails dragging down Eddie’s back. God, he loves this kind of kissing. The lung draining kind. The type that’s sort of filthy from all the heat and grinding. 

Eddie hasn’t marked him up this bad since that time someone at work noticed his neck. Asked if Steve was having an allergic reaction during an office-wide meeting.

And this is going to be even worse. Steve can tell by the sounds and the soft pricks of Eddie’s teeth. He can tell by how long Eddie spends over each spot, like the bruising skin needs more attention than the rest of him. Like licking them over will make the colors last longer.

The damage has been done. Really no point in stopping him when it feels so fucking good. Steve forgets to worry about  how mauled he’s gonna look tomorrow because his head is swimming with Eddie’s lips on his neck. His collarbone. His chest.

That’s when it happens. That’s when Eddie’s strange habit makes an early appearance. 

He kisses over the blistery mess he made, practically growls the words out this time: 

“My boyfriend is a cyborg.”

“Okay, time out.” Steve says. Heaves some air back into his lungs. Pulls Eddie’s face up before he can continue making Steve look like goddamn target practice. 

Eddie blinks a few times. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Gonna have to wear fucking high-collared shirts all week, but whatever.

He’ll bring that up some other time. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Saying what?”

“That… thing.” Steve barely can spit it out.  It’s like his throat is physically rejecting the nerdy shit he’s about to say. “You keep calling me… a cyborg or something.” 

“Oh that.” Eddie sighs. Casually shrugs to one side. “It’s your fault actually.”

“How is it my fault? I don’t even know what fucking language you’re speaking.”

Eddie walks over to the bed, chanting Steve’s name over and over. Definitely not in the way Steve prefers him to chant his name. Very un-sexy chanting.

“Remember that day you asked me to grab your car keys?” He asks, patting the bed for Steve to join him. 

No. “Kinda?”

Steve hesitates before walking over. He didn’t necessarily wanna stop their primal makeout session. But it was bound to lead to the bed at some point, so…

Just not like this. Not talking while fully clothed. Blech.

He sits next to Eddie. Hands awkwardly fidgeting in his lap.

“Well, I couldn’t find them.” Eddie admits. “So I ended up going through your desk drawers.”

Of course he did. Perpetual snooper.

“Ended up finding a binder full of medical records.”

Well shit.

Steve’s throat tightens. Swells around the sudden guilt he feels for keeping this from Eddie. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a metal plate in your head?”

“Dunno. Hardly even remember it.” That’s only partly true. Steve doesn’t remember the surgery or much of the recovery process. He was only a kid when it happened.

But he does remember the hospital smells. He remembers the sounds of his IV bag dripping throughout the night. All the sensory indicators are still fresh in his mind.

“Well, that’s why. You're part-machine.” Eddie points to Steve’s head, expression softening. “And every time we fuck around, I think about your bionic skull. And how glad I am that it keeps your brain from leaking out when I bend you over the way you like it best.”

Steve laughs. The jokes help lighten the mood. Not enough to replace it entirely, but enough for it to be easy to swallow again. 

They’re both quiet as they get ready for bed, folding the covers down. And yeah, sometimes quiet can be nice. Just maybe not right now.

“Hey, Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

Steve stares hard at the pillows. “Are cyborgs like… cool?”

Eddie pauses for a moment, then hops onto the bed. Starts crawling over to Steve with a smug grin. He lifts up to meet Steve’s lips. Kisses him sweeter than normal. Lighter. Starts nodding his head mid-kiss, keeps nodding as he breaks away.

“Yeah, babe. Cyborgs are so fucking cool.”

[lovebugism]

Okay maybe Eddie bought a silly couple costumes for himself and r (something cute with “Why aren’t you wearing a costume?” and “I’m not wearing that.”) 🩷

ty for requesting lovie! happy fictober! ily! — eddie buys you a costume you don't feel pretty enough to wear and the gang crashes your cuddling session (hints of smut, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 2.5k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Your bare bodies stick together beneath a decade-old quilt. Eddie’s nice enough to let you use his lanky bicep as a makeshift pillow while you cuddle on the couch. His other hand hovers over your face, smoothing out the subtle furrow between your brows with the pad of his thumb.

“What’s this face for, huh?” he singsongs into the heavy, golden, post-sex silence of the trailer. His smile is swollen and crooked and barely there. It’s a very hushed sunshine compared to your distant pout.

“‘Cause I still feel bad,” you confess, voice so soft it’s nearly inaudible. Your feet knock with Eddie’s when your anxious legs entwine with his. “I made you miss that movie.”

“You didn’t make me miss shit,” Eddie laughs, assertive but not unkind. His warm palm spreads over your cheek. His chocolate eyes dance between both of yours. “I stayed in ‘cause I wanted to, alright? I wanted to spend time with you.”

“You called me a succubus,” you tease with a gentle giggle.

He had, though he doesn’t have much recollection of it. You looked far too pretty underneath him, and he’d been far too close to his orgasm. 

His hips rutted sloppily against yours, his rhythm gone totally stupid after feeling you gush around him. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” he babbled into the sticky skin of your neck, voice tighter and higher than usual. “You’re a goddamn succubus, you know that, baby? Pussy’s so good… I’d fucking— I’d do anything you wanted me to— shit.”

His legs are still numb from the mind-blowing climax he had a moment later.

Eddie’s chuckle is louder and more boyish than yours. It fills the trailer with sunlight. “Well, yeah. ‘Cause you are. Which means I’d much rather be here with you than at The Hawk with all those other schmucks.”

He kisses you to seal his promise — a chaste peck upon your smiling mouth. It’s beautifully innocuous compared to how good he was making you feel hardly more than five minutes ago.

“I know you don’t like those movies anyway, so…”

“That’s not true,” you argue with a very believable pout.

His gaze goes sympathetic. “Babe… You almost cried when we watched Nightmare on Elm Street the other day.”

“No, I didn’t!” You most certainly did.

“You said you weren’t gonna sleep ever again.”

“I like horror movies ‘cause you like horror movies, dummy.”

The term of endearment makes him grin. He likes it when you get all mean, though you never really mean it. “Is that so?” he lilts with raised brows that disappear behind his fuzzy bangs. The ends of the umber strands are damp with sweat.

You nod lazily against his arm. His fingers are starting to tingle with numbness, but he loves you too much to move.

“Mm-hmm. That’s how relationships work. Compromise. I tolerate horror movies, and you tolerate—”

“Your Harrison Ford obsession?”

You lose your firmness and get all sheepish. “Shut up…”

“I’m pretty sure they were showing Return of the Jedi in the theater over, right after Sleepaway Camp,” Eddie observes suddenly, brushing stray strands of your wild hair from your temple. “We coulda had a double feature tonight, but you wanted to stay in with little old me.”

“That’s ‘cause I love you a whole lot more than some guy I’ve never met.”

Eddie beams at your words. His eyes start to glitter like he’s won something, and his cheeks speckle pink with pride. He’ll never get tired of hearing you say that. He’ll never get tired of you loving him.

“I’m flattered,” he singsongs and means it.

You smile and lean in to kiss his grin. The boy gasps before you can. He springs up from the couch at a moment’s notice, climbing over you with naked limbs. He flashes you his bare ass just before he tugs on the crumbled pair of boxers left forgotten on the floor.

“What are you doing?” you wonder aloud, eyes narrowed in curiosity and mouth quirked in amusement. You twist on the couch so you’re propped against the back of it. You clutch the heavy quilt to your naked chest.

“I forgot something,” Eddie mumbles, halfway to himself, then sends you a lighthearted glare over his shoulder. “Don’t move!”

You still, grinning softly at the boy as you peer at him from beneath your lashes. You watch him while he rifles through a plastic bag beside the TV stand. “I got us something while I was at the Halloween store with Harrington earlier,” Eddie explains over the noisy crinkling sound.

“Oh, god…” you murmur.

Eddie laughs and looks at you over his shoulder again. “C’mon, babe. Have a little hope, would you?”

He returns to the couch with a smirk and something he hides behind his back. He grins like a kid when he reveals them to you — two packages of Star Wars themed costumes held in both his hands. 

Pictured on one is a guy who looks eerily like Han Solo — complete with the vest, blouse, and holster triad. The other is an uncanny Leia Organa in a skin-tight white suit, beige knee-high boots, and a flowing cape.

You blink at both of them, then at Eddie. 

“…I don’t know what I’m looking at.”

“Our Halloween costumes!” he exclaims with a beam. “See, I’m gonna be Han Solo— ‘cause I’m, you know, charming and sarcastic and handsome.”

“Don’t forget humble,” you joke with a lovesick grin.

“—And you will be my beautiful, hard-headed Leia Organa.”

You glance again at the package in his right hand, at the pretty woman on the cover. You know you won’t look nearly as good in the costume as she does. Your soft smile flickers. 

“Eds…” you mutter in a wavering lilt.

A frown forms between his bushy brows, similar to the one you’d been sporting earlier. “What?”

“I told you I wasn’t gonna dress up this year, remember?” you remind him, shifting awkwardly on the couch and clutching the blanket closer to yourself.

“But it’s Halloween, babe! Why wouldn’t you wear a costume?”

Your mouth opens and closes as you stammer out an excuse. “Because— I don’t know— I’m too… indecisive. Like, that’s a lot of pressure.”

“That’s why I picked for you!” Eddie grins, totally oblivious.

You laugh. It’s a bit cynical but not totally unkind. “I am not wearing that.”

He pouts, like a child or a hurt puppy. “But why not?” he wonders with a crestfallen inflection.

Again, you stammer. “Because— I mean— Just look at her, Eds!” you gesture to the package he holds with a significant focus to the girl on the front. “I don’t look like her!”

He grows from sad to confused. His brows pinch as he tilts his head to the side. His wild curls tickle his bare, pale shoulder. “Oh… kay?” he mutters, trying his best to understand you but not getting it completely.

You huff. Your chest stings as you explain it all to him.

“I’m… I’m not gonna look like the girl on the cover. You know that, right? I’m not— I’m not Princess Leia kind beautiful, you know?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugs, seemingly agreeing with you and smiling all over again. “You’re a you kind beautiful. That’s what makes you so damn sexy.”

He leans down over you with the intention to kiss you. 

Still pouting and inwardly aching, you pull back from him.

“Eddie…” you murmur, still gentle but obviously sadder.

He concedes with a small sigh. The couch cushions dip with his weight when he sits down beside you. He leaves the packages abandoned on the other side of him and gives you his full attention. 

“Look… You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, alright? We can stay in for Halloween for all I care. I just… I think it’d be a lot of fun, you know?” the boy rambles with a seriousness that’s typically foreign to him. His palm smooths across your knee over the thick quilt. His lips quirk into a crooked grin. “And I think you’d look… very pretty as my Princess Leia.”

His chocolate eyes twinkle with an undeniable sincerity. It makes your chest feel so warm it burns.

“Yeah?” you mumble, not quite believing him but wanting him to hear him say it anyway.

“Totally,” he scoffs like it’s obvious. He presses a lingering peck to your lips, then melts when he tastes leftover sex upon them. 

A switch flips within him then. His belly twists, and his eyelids get all heavy. His smirk is weighed down by lust as he pulls back from you and shrugs. “I think I could show you better than I could tell you, actually…”

Across the living room, the door busts open. 

Sunlight explodes throughout the dim trailer, making the two of you squint. 

Steve enters first, knocking on the open door to announce his arrival. “Phone’s off the hook,” he observes, pointing to the telephone lying face up on the table beside the front door. 

Eddie had two fingers inside you, and the thing just wouldn’t stop ringing. He grumbled in annoyance when he had to part from you to hang it up.

Steve puts the thing back on the hook while Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle walk in behind him.

Mortified, you watch with wide eyes as your uninvited friends file in. Your grip tightens around the blanket. You use one hand to make sure every inch of your naked body is covered with it.

Eddie doesn’t seem nearly as bothered by it as you are. Instead, he huffs in annoyance and spreads his arms along the back of the couch. They were the ones barging in, after all. If they had a problem with his pale, lanky figure and his thin, plaid boxers, then that was on them.

“Oh. Come in,” he hums, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “Make yourselves at home.”

Robin’s got a thousand-year stare in her eye and a blue, red, and purple mouth. “Can I use your bathroom?” she wavers, voice strained. Her fists are clenched beneath her baggy flannel. They tremble beside her baggier jeans.

“Uh, yeah. Knock yourself out.”

She’s already rushing down the hall before he can get the words out.

The two of you watch her leave and then turn to Steve. He’s an expert in all things Robin Buckley nowadays. He shrugs and tells you, “She had, like, four slurpees while we were waiting on you guys at The Hawk.”

You shift awkwardly like you’re getting scolded. Eddie only laughs.

As all the gang settles around the trailer — Jonathan on the recliner, Nancy on the arm of it, and Steve sitting on the adjacent table — Argyle is the only one without a place to sit. He idles beside the couch, smiling at you with rosy lips and rosier eyes.

“How are you doing today, amigo?” he wonders with a curt nod, as mellow as ever.

You smile up at the boy, not nearly as fazed by the bright style and long raven hair as you used to be. Actually, you’ve grown quite fond of his slurred jokes that don’t really have a punchline because halfway through, he realizes he’s forgotten it entirely.

“Good,” you respond, crossing your arms over the quilt you’ve got bunched at your chest. “You?”

“I’m peachy, brochacho,” he nods back at you. He grins, but the bright expression is weighed down by the weed. The skunky smell entwines with his musky cologne, creating a deep earthy scene that’s much more bearable than the weed alone.

“Not that I’m not thrilled you guys showed up—” Eddie starts with an inflection that would imply otherwise, wide eyes flitting around the room. “—But what the hell are you doing here?”

“You’d know if you answered the phone,” Steve retorts with a scrunched nose, flipping through a random car magazine. The Beemer on the front matches the sunshine yellow of his sweatshirt.

“Well, I was a little busy, Harrington—”

You nudge Eddie before he can finish the stupid joke. Everyone could already hear it anyhow — “I was a little busy, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” 

He shoots you an innocently confused look. You give him a half-hearted glare in return.

“You guys flaked on movie night, so we brought the movies to you,” Nancy singsongs with a sweet, pink smile.

Jonathan unrolls the folded-up paper bag between his feet. The flimsy cardboard crackles loudly as he rifles through it. He pulls out a number of unblanketed VHS tapes with handwritten stickers glued to the front of them. 

“Uh… We got Sleepaway Camp, obviously,” the Byers boy mutters in his usual Byers way. He waves the tape in his hand and sits it off to the side. He reaches into the bag and grabs two more. “Twilight Zone and, uh, Return of the Jedi.”

Eddie is as grateful as he is confused. Movie night wasn’t totally gone, and both of your movies had been seemingly carrier-pigeoned to his trailer, but neither should be out on VHS yet. “How…?” the boy trails off with pinched-together brows.

Argyle answers. “Let’s just say I know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy…” he smirks, then swirls his features in puzzlement. It looks like he’s trying to do math in his head. “…Who knows a guy.”

“I can pop some popcorn if you guys wanna, you know, make yourselves decent,” Steve teases with a feigned maliciousness as he hops off the square table. The old thing squeaks under his weight.

Eddie’s retort doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh. Right. My bad, Stevie. It’s not like you totally barged in on us or anything.”

You shake your head at their bickering, though you’re still smiling quietly to yourself. Eddie shields you while you rise from the couch. You wear the heavy quilt like a dress as you shuffle down the hallway to his bedroom. The thing trails behind you as you go.

“Sorry about them, sweetheart,” Eddie apologizes as soon as the door clicks closed. 

He’d wanted to say something earlier, but kept his mouth shut instead of making it a bigger deal. He knew you were bound to be embarrassed — because you almost always tend to be, anyway. He didn’t want to draw attention to the situation, or least of all to you, and make it that much worse.

“’S okay,” you shrug and drop the blanket on the carpet. 

Eddie tries not to go all teenage boy at the sight of your naked body, but he nearly loses his mind when you bend over to pick up one of his t-shirts from the floor. 

“We did sorta flake on them,” you reason as you tug the cotton over your head. The baggy fabric falls over you like rain.

Eddie shakes his head, mostly at himself. He couldn’t love you more if he tried.

“Only you would blame yourself when those assholes walked in on us,” he laughs, walking the short distance to you and wrapping you in his arms from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your neck. You smell like flowers, sex, and his cologne. 

“You’re too sweet for your own good, baby. No wonder those schmucks won’t leave us alone.”

Robin’s voice seemingly comes from within the walls — ‘cause the bathroom is only one room over, and the walls are especially thin. “Rude!” she grouses, voice muffled. “I mean, it’s true, but still.”

[pedrospatch]

a safe haven l ten

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: After a long night, Joel and Ellie take you home.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF AN INJURY SUSTAINED FROM AN ACT OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, PREGNANCY, CONVERSATIONS SURROUNDING PREGNANCY LOSS . PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. Ellie and reader are very close to each other, Joel deals with feelings of guilt, Joel and Maria make nice, Joel gives reader a bath and washes her hair, food consumption (i am just gonna apologize to my lactose intolerant folks right now, trust me i must pretend with you), both reader and Joel have some big feelings, reader mentions her deceased father, angst, soft and domestic Joel, fluff.

word count: 5k

a/n: i have not updated this series since october. :l i feel a a mixed bag of emotions updating after all this time, but most of all, i am grateful to know there are a couple of people out there who are still invested in this story. to anyone who has been waiting: truly, it means the world that you have shown me patience, support, and kindness. believe me, i am going to be seeing this story to the end, and it is all thanks to those who continue to show this lil story of mine a whole lotta love. special shoutout to the loveliest human @mrsmando who made me this beautiful mooodboard every single time i got stuck during this chapter, i looked at it and it gave me the boost of inspiration i needed. thank you mimi <33 this chapter is fairly tame, the next chapter is already in the works, and there are a couple of time jumps coming. overall, we are down to the last handful of chapters. let’s finish this story and give these two the ending they deserve, shall we?

“What the hell is taking Tommy so fucking long?” Ellie whines. She’s sprawled out on the couch with her head in your lap, and her arm draped over her eyes. Her feet are hanging, dangling over the edge of the couch at an odd angle after you’d warned her not to get muck from her sneakers on the linen fabric. Despite Joel insisting over and over that she head on back to the house, she had stubbornly refused, not wanting to leave your side. “It’s been over two hours! He’s taking fucking forever, man. What’s the fucking hold up?”

Joel bites back a sigh, masking his own impatience. Or at least, he tries. He’s grown just as restless as the kid, if not more. Much like Ellie, he’s desperate. He’s itching to take you home already, almost too anxious to watch you take that first step over his threshold, and into your new life with him and with Ellie. He aches, aches, to get you settled into the place where you would be spending the remainder of your days with one another, where you would be safe, and loved in the way you deserved to be loved—the place where he would cherish and adore you until his final breath.

“Don’t know,” he answers, his voice sounding rougher, more gruff than usual. Reaching up, he scrubs his hand down the side of his face, adding tiredly, “He might be a while longer, kiddo. It could be another hour, could be more. Like I already told you, s’probably best if you just go on and head back to the house without us, alright?”

“No. I’m not walking out that fucking door unless she’s with me.” She pauses and pulls her arm away from her face for a moment, just long enough to throw a teeny glare his way. “Unless you’re both with me. The three of us go home together, or it’s no fucking deal. Got it?”

He shakes his head in utter exasperation.

“Ellie, we’ll be right here down the fuckin’ road—”

Her hand shoots out and she flips him off.

Just when he’s about to chastise her, he stops himself, clamping his mouth shut. It’s pointless.

Kid’s too goddamn hard headed for her own good, and Joel knows he’s just wasting his breath with her.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” you reassure them both, weaving your fingers through her hair to scratch at her scalp in an effort to soothe her. “Right, Joel?”

He meets your exhausted, worn down gaze from where he’s standing across the room, and his heart lurches in his chest. As the guilt begins creeping in, he’s forced to look away. He can’t imagine the living hell you had been through over the last twenty four hours alone. And the worst part about it was the realization that last night, while he was fast asleep in bed just a couple of houses up the road, that fucking bastard had his belt wrapped around your throat.

Joel feels sick to his fucking stomach all over again.

Horrifying, vividly real images of you helplessly trapped underneath Luke scratching and clawing at the leather around your neck with trembling fingers, struggling to breathe oxygen into your burning lungs as he tugged it tighter and tighter through the buckle flash in his mind, a gruesome nightmare turned into reality.

Exactly how far had Luke taken it?

Until you had grown too weak to keep fighting?

Until you almost lost complete consciousness?

Until he noticed the life threatening to leave your eyes?

Is that when he had finally stopped pulling on the belt?

Joel shudders, a bitter taste climbing up his throat as it sinks in. He could have lost you—and his unborn child.

This shouldn’t have happened.

He shouldn’t have let you walk away that night.

This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let you walk away from him that night.

“Joel,” you say his name, quiet and weary.

His head snaps back in your direction and he glances at you, almost missing the subtle shake of your head. It is a silent warning telling him not to go there, though you know by the tight clench of his jaw it’s too late for that.

Joel makes the futile attempt to hide it, but he sees it written all over your face—you know what he’s thinking because you know him like the back of your own hand, and you just know he’s placing all of the blame for what happened to you on his own shoulders.

But can you honestly fault him for that?

How can you expect him not to feel like he is somehow responsible for this? Just how the hell is he supposed to make himself believe he hadn’t failed you?

Joel promised—he had fucking promised you—that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. He had sworn to keep you safe, made a vow to protect you from Luke, but here you are, your soft, delicate flesh marred with the painful evidence of yet another one of his failures.

And it was all because he had let you walk away on that fucking night.

He should have done something.

Even if it meant running the risk of you never speaking to him again—even if you never forgave him, spent the rest of your life angry and hating him for going against your wishes. He should have something.

“Joel—”

“Be right back,” he mutters, lightly shaking his head.

Shoving away from the doorframe he’s leaning against, Joel pivots on the heel of his boot and starts down the hallway. He walks into the kitchen where he finds Maria standing at the counter, tapping her fingers against the smooth, laminated oakwood as she waits for the coffee she’d offered him a few minutes ago to finish brewing. She’d offered to whip up a quick supper, but food was the last thing on everyone’s mind.

“Tommy’s been gone for a couple hours now. Girls are startin’ to get real tired of just sittin’ around waitin’ for him to come back,” he tells her, exhaling the sigh he’d held back in the living room. “What do you think could be keepin’ him so long?”

With her back still to him, Maria reminds him, “Well, he did mention he was going to round up the council and get them together for an emergency meeting.” She lets out a sigh that matches his own—it’s been a long night for her, too. When the last drop of dark roast drips into the glass pot, she carefully takes the pot by the plastic handle and pours the steaming coffee into a speckled, white and blue ceramic mug. “Do you take it with milk and sugar?”

“No thanks, that’s alright,” he declines as politely as he can.

“I also have cinnamon if you’d like?”

“Plain black’s just fine.” He gives her a nod of gratitude when she hands it to him. “Thank you. And I don’t just mean the coffee, but for, uh—for bandagin’ up my hand for me, too.” He clocks the brief look of surprise on her face and almost laughs. He doesn’t blame her for being taken aback, because truth be told, so is he. Since he’d met Maria, he had known she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. There was something of a mutual understanding between them, a silent agreement they had made to keep each other at arm’s length, to only interact when it was absolutely necessary.

Never did he think he would be standing in her kitchen, thanking her for patching up his hand, and for making him a cup of coffee out of the kindness of her heart.

His brother wouldn’t believe it.

“Don’t mention it.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans back against the counter. “How’s it feel, by the way?”

“S’fine,” he replies, shrugging. “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

There’s a momentary silence. A taste of tension lingers over their heads, and he knows at one point or another, he’s going to have to address the affair, the very reason everything had unfolded in such a terrible manner.

Guess now’s as good a time as fuckin’ any, he thinks to himself with an inward sigh.

Joel lightly clears his throat. “Listen, since we’ve got a minute alone, just the two of us, I was wonderin’ if, uh—if we could talk ‘bout somethin’? If that’s alright?”

“Of course.” Maria gives him the floor.

“I know that she—” Pausing, he shuffles from the heel of one boot to the other, his ears burning hot. He had known it wouldn’t be an easy conversation to have, but he underestimated just how uncomfortable it would be, regardless of what she already knew. “I know she told you and Tommy all ‘bout us, and ‘bout our relationship. See, the thing is, the first time I saw her—”

Again, Joel stops, the burning sensation now radiating, spreading from his ears to his face and down his neck, flushing his skin a deep, deep shade of pink. Unable to meet his sister in law’s gaze, he glances down into his mug, as if he will somehow find the right words to say somewhere in the depths of his coffee.

“It was never my intention, y’know,” he finally says after a minute. “Goin’ after a married woman. I swear, I never meant to fall for her. I just fuckin’ did. I think I might’ve fallen for her long before I even met her,” he confesses. He feels himself darken to a shade of maroon under her curious stare. “And somehow, for reasons I ain’t all too sure I’ll ever understand, she fell for me too.”

Maria raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, I’m not judging you, Joel,” she assures him, shaking her head. “If that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not judging her, either.”

He looks up at her, blurting out, “You’re not?”

She moves her hands to cradle her swollen middle. “Do I wish you two had handled everything differently?” she answers her own query with a nod of her head. “Oh, I’m sure we all do. But I’ve known her for a long time now. I know the kind of woman she is. And I’m starting to see the kind of man you are.”

“And what kinda man is that, Maria?”

He waits without the slightest clue as to what she could possibly say.

“Since you came back to Jackson, I’ve chosen to keep my distance from you—but make no mistake, I’ve been watching you like a hawk since day one. Waiting for any signs of trouble. Waiting for you to fuck up. Waiting for you to give me a good reason to throw your ass out of this community because I didn’t trust you. Not after all the things I was told about you.”

He snorts. “You goin’ somewhere with this?”

“You are not who I thought you were,” Maria admits, smiling wryly. “I’ve gotten to see a different side of you. You pull your weight around here by doing your job and doing it well. You stay out of trouble—for the most part. And more importantly, I have seen the way that you’ve stepped up to be a father figure to Ellie. It takes a good man to do that, Joel.”

“Think that’s the nicest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever said to me,” he muses, setting his mug down on the counter. “I stepped up because I love her. I love them both. Those two, they’re the best parts of me. They’re the reasons I keep goin’ and now I’ve got another reason on the way.”

Maria smiles, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

Catching her hesitance, Joel asks, “What? What is it?”

“What comes next is not going to be easy,” she warns him, lowering her voice. Even with the living room a fair distance from the kitchen, she doesn’t want to run the risk of you overhearing her. “For as hard as we’re going to try to contain the fire, it will spread, and everyone in this town will find out about everything—including the affair. People are going to talk, and believe me, they’re going to have a whole lot to say about it, Joel.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes at her.

“Think I can handle some fuckin’ gossip, Maria.”

“I know you can. But I’m not sure if she can,” Maria tells him, quietly. “It worries me. She’s been through a lot in just one night alone. I don’t want her stressing anymore than she already has. She is in a very delicate stage of her pregnancy right now, Joel. If she’s not careful, she could have a miscarriage. She had one about two years ago when her father became sick—” Observing his lack of a reaction, she realizes, “You knew that already.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. He knows where she’s going with this. “I did. She told me ‘bout it.”

“It makes her chances of having another one higher—”

Joel doesn’t even allow himself to think of it happening to you again. “I get it,” he interjects, trying not to sound too curt. “I’ll make sure she takes it real easy, alright?”

Lifting a hand off her belly, she reaches out and takes a hold of his forearm, gripping it tightly.

“Promise me something, Joel. Promise me that you’ll look after her,” Maria pleads him, gently. “Please. After everything she’s been through—I need you to promise me that she’s going to be in good hands with you.”

He nods. Without thinking, he places his hand over hers in an unexpected token of affection and reassurance. “You have my word, Maria. I’ll take good care of her.”

She gives his arm a grateful squeeze, then glances over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting pretty late. We don’t know how much longer Tommy’s going to be with the council. Why don’t we just go ahead and call it a night?” she suggests. “We can all get together first thing in the morning at your place to talk about it.”

“Yeah, good idea,” he agrees. “She really needs to rest.”

Maria gives his arm another squeeze. 

“Go on then, Joel. Take your girls home.”

“Finally!” Ellie exclaims with a dramatic flail of her arms as she shoves through the front door.

“Alright, kiddo. Get your behind upstairs and into the shower,” Joel instructs her, flipping on the lights in the foyer. “Y’smell like fuckin’ horse shit.”

She lifts the collar of her shirt to her nose, takes a whiff, and makes a face. “Yeah, I won’t argue with you there,” she mutters. She toes off her dirty sneakers and leaves them beside the door before dashing up the staircase, taking two steps at a time.

He shouts after her, “And don’t use up all the hot—”

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking know the rules, dude!”

Moments later, you both hear the shower going.

“Little shit,” he grumbles.

You exhale an amused huff through your nose.

Joel withdraws his arm from around your shoulders and reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “C’mon, darlin’.” He guides you up the stairs and down the hallway into his bedroom where he switches on the light before proceeding to lead you over to his dresser. “I’ve got a bunch of shirts in this top drawer here,” he says. Dropping your hand, he pulls it open for you and gestures to it with a jut of his chin as he takes a step backwards, moving out of the way. “Go ahead and pick one to sleep in tonight. Want you to be comfortable, so help yourself to whichever one you want, sweet girl.”

Nodding, you begin to rummage through the drawer, unaware of the moment he slips away. You reach for a t-shirt, but then a plaid green flannel catches your eye. You pluck it from the drawer, running your fingers over the soft, warm fabric. “Is it alright if I wear—?” You turn around, stopping mid sentence when you realize he’s no longer standing behind you. Puzzled, you follow the sound of running water into the bathroom where you find him kneeling beside the tub. “Joel? What are you doing?”

“Runnin’ you a bath.”

You notice the bloodied bandage beside him on the tile floor. “Joel, are you serious?” you scold him. “Maria just patched your hand up for you.”

“S’okay, peach. I can rewrap it when we’re done.” Joel sticks his injured hand under the faucet to check the temperature, the cold water soothing his cuts. Once it turns warm, then hot, he pulls out his hand, waiting for the tub to fill halfway before shutting the faucet off and rising to his feet. “C’mere, sweetheart.” He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms, then beckons for you with both of his hands. “Let’s get you washed up.”

You remain standing by the door. “Joel, you don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know.”

“I’m capable of washing myself—”

“Yeah, I know that too,” he says, chuckling. “S’only fair, darlin’. Don’t you think?”

That’s when it hits you—how this moment is mirroring that night you had cleaned Joel up after you and Ellie had brought him home from the clinic with an injured shoulder. He allowed you to take care of him, and now, he was looking to do the same for you. And all you had to do was let him.

“But your hand—”

“Will be just fine,” Joel persists, stubbornly. “It’s nothin’ but a few cuts and scrapes. C’mon—or else I’m gonna march right over there and get you myself, peach.”

Knowing Joel, you certainly wouldn’t put it past him to throw you over his should and carry you to the bathtub.

“Fine,” you relent with a small sigh of defeat.

Setting his shirt down on the sink, you slowly walk over towards him and whirl around, letting him help you out of your knitted cardigan. You finish undressing yourself, inhaling a deep breath as you muster up the courage to turn back around and face him—when you finally do, it feels like a punch to the gut to see the heartbreak in his dark brown eyes, the subtle tremble of his bottom lip. You don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror to know it looks about a hundred times worse when you’re not wearing clothes.

Keeping your arms down at your sides, you fight every urge to cover yourself up. You’ve never felt so fucking vulnerable.

Clearing his throat, Joel holds out his hand. “C’mere.”

You accept it, and he helps you into the tub.

“How’s the water? S’not too hot, is it?”

You shake your head and he leans forward, kissing your temple so sweetly, your eyes flutter closed.

He washes your hair first, then takes a clean washcloth, lathering it up with a bar of milk and honey soap—the same soap he would smell on your skin all those nights. Admittedly, Joel preferred castile soap, but switched it when he found himself missing you during those weeks you were apart from him, when he needed the comfort of your scent. He is gentle with you, so gentle, as if he’s afraid you’ll shatter into pieces in his hands.

As he lightly drags the washcloth up your back and around your neck, you stiffen, prompting him to freeze too. “Fuck. Baby, did I hurt you?” he asks, and you hear the slight panic in his tone.

“No,” you say quickly, desperately trying to swallow the lump rising in your throat. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It’s just—” Every overwhelming emotion slams into you all at once, and you can’t seem to figure out which one to feel first. Humiliation? Fear? Relief?

The water sloshes around you as you pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around your knees, giving yourself permission to feel them all. Bowing your head, you begin to sob quietly, hoping that Ellie, who is just down the hallway, won’t hear you crying again.

Joel says nothing. Washcloth still clutched in his hand, he leans forward over the edge of the tub and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, or at least, as close as the barrier between the two of you will allow him.

“Joel,” you choke, trying to push him off. “Stop it. Your clothes, they’re getting all wet.”

“Hush. Don’t fuckin’ care ‘bout my clothes,” he croaks, and for a second, you swear he’s about to cry too. But he doesn’t. He holds himself strong. Tugging you closer against his chest, he buries his nose into your soaking wet hair, whispering his reassurance. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe, my sweet girl. I’ve got you, alright?”

He pulls back slightly, dipping his hand into the water, placing it on your lower belly.

You look down, your eyes glazing over his bruised and battered knuckles. Proof that Joel Miller really would do anything for you.

“I know you do,” you say, softly. “I know you’ve got me, Joel.”

A while later, you’re dried, dressed, and composed. You follow Joel out of the bathroom and back into his room, where he has you take a seat on the bed. Noticing you had missed a button on his flannel shirt, he does it for you. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and says, “Give me a minute while I change.”

He peels off his wet clothes, being careful so as not to further agitate his sore, injured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you’re sitting in bed underneath the covers.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy—and it smells like you. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”

Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home. Alright?”

Home.

You’re home.

He touches the tip of his nose to yours, and then draws himself back up to full height. “There’s somethin’ that I’ve gotta take care of downstairs, peach. I won’t be too long,” he promises.

It’s almost midnight. Joel goes about the kitchen and he prepares you the quickest meal that he can think of. He plates the sandwich he’d thrown together and pours a glass of cow’s milk—he’s always sure to keep a pint of it in the refrigerator to make the kid her oatmeal in the mornings.

He heads back upstairs, only to find that while he had been gone, Ellie had joined you, making herself a little too comfortable on his side of the bed. He stands there at the door, watching the two of you.

“Hey, so is it true babies can hear stuff while they’re in there?” Ellie questions you, curiously.

“Mhm,” you reply with a nod. “They can hear music, for example. Voices—”

“Voices?” She smushes her face into your stomach and he hears a muffled, “Hey, dude!”

You giggle. “Ellie, I think it’s still a little too early.”

“When do you think it’ll be able to hear me?”

“I’m not too sure. In a few months, maybe?”

Ellie lifts her head, humming. “You know, I bet there’s baby books in the library,” she tells you as she sits up. “I’ll have Dina help me look for one tommor—oh shit.” She stares at you with wide eyes. “Dina! How are you going to tell her and Talia about Luke?”

Joel grimaces. He hadn’t thought of that, either.

“I—I’m not too sure.”

“You have to fucking tell them. Dina has to know about him. She has to know what a piece of shit he is, and so does Talia.”

Sensing your discomfort, Joel steps into the bedroom and intervenes before she can say another word. “Ellie, get to bed. S’late.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns her, sternly.

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine.” She climbs off the bed and on her way out, she eyes the plate in his hand. “That chicken?”

“Turkey. And it ain’t for you, it’s for her. So scram, kid.”

“Couldn’t have made me one while you were at it, old man?”

“Ellie, if you don’t get outta here right now—”

“Alright!” Ellie holds her hands up. “I’m leaving. Jesus.”

She disappears, closing the door behind her.

“Pain in my ass,” Joel mumbles, shaking his head as he walks over and carefully perches himself beside you. He hands you the plate. “Here, darlin’.”

“Joel, I appreciate this, but I’m really not very hungry.”

“Maybe not, but y’gotta eat,” he insists. “Baby needs it.”

Thankfully, you accept it without further protest.

“I’ll have Ellie get your things tomorrow,” Joel states as you’re eating. “Maria can go along with her since she knows the house. They’ll get your clothes and whatever else you might need outta there.”

“My father’s belongings.” You accidentally talk through a mouthful of turkey and bread. Swallowing, you tell him, “I have some boxes of his stuff in the basement. But they’re way too heavy for either of them to carry.”

“I’ll take care of that for you.” He reaches up, wiping a breadcrumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “I can ask Tommy to give me a hand. Don’t you worry, peach. We won’t leave your dad’s things behind, I swear it.”

Relieved, you shoot him a grateful look, then polish off the last few bites of your sandwich.

“Here,” he says, offering you the glass of milk. “Figured it’s good for you, and good for the baby. Y’know, since it’s got calcium and…stuff.” He shrugs sheepishly, no clue as to what he’s talking about. “Vitamins, right?”

Nodding, you grab the glass and take a reluctant sip.

“You hate milk,” Joel realizes, raising an eyebrow.

“I do,” you admit with a laugh. “But you’re right. It’s good for both me and the baby, so cheers.” And with that, you somehow force the entire glass down.

He sets the dishes aside on the nightstand, figuring he can take them downstairs first thing in the morning.

Without bothering to rebandage his hand like he’d told you he would, Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you. “All those nights wishin’ I could bring you home,” he muses as you curl into his side. “Wantin’ nothin’ more than to hold you in my arms in this bed. In our bed.” His arm slips around your shoulders, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “Almost doesn’t feel real, darlin’.”

Tilting your head, you nuzzle your nose into the scruff of his beard, prompting him to laugh again. Then, he remembers his conversation with Maria, and his smile fades from his face, his lips pursing together.

You catch the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Joel? What’s the matter?”

“M’fine, baby. It’s just—” He hesitates. “From this point forward, I need you to let me handle things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you gettin’ all stressed out, alright? I don’t want to run the risk of you—” He’s unsure of how to say it.

“Of me losing the baby,” you finish for him, quietly.

Joel winces, knowing he was wandering into sensitive territory. “Yeah. I—I really don’t want that to happen.” He pauses. “Maria mentioned to me you’re in a delicate stage. When do you reckon you’ll stop—how long until you don’t gotta worry ‘bout it?”

“After twelve weeks, my risk isn’t as high. If I make it to the second trimester in six weeks, then my chances of having another miscarriage are lower.”

Though you speak calmly, he clocks your anxiousness.

You’re worried, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fucking worried out of his mind too.

Being a father at his age wasn’t ideal, but he wanted this child. It was part of him, and more importantly, it was a part of you.

Joel squeezes your shoulders. “I only ask ‘cause I was thinkin’ that, y’know, once we get to that point, maybe I can go ahead and start buildin’ the baby’s crib.”

“You’re going to build the crib?”

He nods. “And the highchair too. I can even make you a diaper changin’ table if y’want one.”

“Joel.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Our worlds were just turned completely upside down. You just found out that I’m pregnant, and you’re already thinking about building furniture? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

“Hey, those things take a whole ‘lotta time,” he says in defense of himself. “Besides, winter’s right around the corner and I don’t wanna be out in the garage freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off. If I can get a head start now, I can have them all done in the spring by the time the baby comes.”

You fall silent.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m really scared of losing it,” you confess. “When I first took that pregnancy test, I wanted nothing more for it to be negative. Now, I’m terrified I won’t make it past my first trimester again. I really don’t want to lose it. I want this baby, Joel.”

He turns his head, meeting your eyes in the silver light shining through the lace curtains over his window. “S’why you’ve gotta let me handle things, darlin’. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“C’mere, my sweet girl.” Joel presses his lips to yours, murmuring against them, “I love you.”

His declaration comes with natural ease.

And so does yours.

“I love you too, Joel.”

[red-doll-face]

Imagine reader playing with Arthur's hair while he grumbles and pretends he's not totally into it >>>>>>>>😭🙏 But when you actually stop he's like 😳😞

that sounds so cute, i would love to run my fingers through his hair!!! 💖💖💖🥹🥹🥹 i wanted to do something short but writing for arthur always seems to run away from me, idkkk whyyyy i can never do anything bite sized with this man i stg. 😔😳😭😭😭 idk i guess small just doesnt cut it when it comes to this man 😏 i sort of took this as a request so i hope im not doing too much LMAO beware: sweetie weenie boy arthur...veryyyy fluffffy

Arthur doesn't like his hair as long as you like it but he can put it aside for you.

(high honor) Arthur Morgan x fem. reader

You had always thought Arthur’s hair looked nice, just a little bit longer than he preferred. Ok, maybe a lot longer than he preferred it but you couldn't help but like the way the strands fell in his pretty blue eyes, watching his big hands and fingers push it back over his head. His little frustrated huff when it inevitably slips back to feathering over the sides of his face was all too cute. You liked the way the sun caught the more blond strands; turned them a bright gold. You know the big scary outlaw, Arthur Morgan would never use the word beautiful to describe himself but you could use that word for him every day of every week.

And he doesn't always intend to grow it as long as he does, he runs out of time to get anything done about it, much preferring to return to your little corner of camp to rest with you sooner than stop in town. He’d rather come back to you, to get to lay his eyes on you than to spend another moment away from the sweet kiss you give him when he rejoins you.

 Of course, he was as strong as a draft horse. Arthur could handle just about anything thrown at him. But Dutch had a way of running him ragged. When it wasn’t Dutch, it was the other camp members and when it wasn’t them, it was himself. The pressure to be everywhere, to do everything; it crushed his shoulders down. You did what you could to help. It's why you so thoroughly enjoyed these quiet moments, just you and him in the cool evenings. 

“...Look at all this. Honey, I need a goddamned haircut,” he’d say, standing in front of the little mirror where he shaved his scruff after it grew too bushy. You sit on his bed, pouting at him. He stands with his hands gripping the edge of the barrel, turning to the left and the right. The way his hair bounced around made you giggle. 

“But-” 

“Yeah, you like it, I remember,” He sighs.

“I do, Arthur. I just think you look very handsome with your hair like that,” You look at his hair and then your eyes wander to his strong forearms gripping the lip of the barrel. You had found Arthur to be eye-catching the day that you met him. And his personality only bolstered how much you liked him. He could play at gruff simpleton brute but he had more sense and wit than most of the other men combined. He was more soft than he wanted to admit too, but he showed those pieces of himself to you. His vulnerabilities he liked to keep to himself; now he shares with you. 

“Right. You keep on tellin’ your beautiful lies; I might just start believin’ you,” He chuckles at the word ‘handsome’. You make a face at his self deprecating attitude. How he makes jokes of himself to keep his insecurities from seeming like they're bigger than they are. But the corners of his mouth always tug downwards when he’s looking in the mirror, even when he only intended to look at his hair or at his beard. 

“Arthur, I’m not lying. Come here?” You’re more siren-like than you realize; your beckon makes him turn, huffing a little. As if he knows he’s in some degree of trouble. The little disappointed frown you have is something he can’t help but look away from. Arthur leans away from the barrel and steps closer to you. He reaches for his hat that sits on the table at his bedside but you stop him, a gentle hand over the top of his. 

Your hand tugs him closer and he allows you to guide him. You squeeze his palm, those hard working hands, rough from all that he does with them.

He lets himself relax, which he rarely does, he’s always doing something or on his way there. But you love to hold him in your arms. To make him stay still with you for awhile.

He sits and the sweet kiss he gives you makes you light up. But you motion to have him lay over you while you play with his hair, even if you can tell he wants to keep giving you kisses. His head is in your lap while he uses your plush thighs as pillows. He’s a bit stiff, as if unwillingly and begrudgingly doing as you say. His brow still crinkles a bit, some of the lines on his face from pulling grimaces are creased. You lift the strands upwards to marvel at how long they are. 

“Too damn long,” 

“No, never,” you coo at him through his faux displeasure.

“Never? You’re kiddin’ me, sweetheart. Only you could want a man with hair down to his ass,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. You miss how he softens even more at your laugh, he liked that you found his jokes funny or at the very least, silly enough to warrant such a reaction.

“Ok, ok, you can get it cut, but maybe not so short on the sides? I like when it’s long here,” You look down at his eyes, petting the loose locks he usually wants to cut a bit shorter to keep hair off of his neck. 

“I’ll think on it; it’s still on my head, ain’t it?”

You giggle humming contentedly as you continue rubbing his hair in your fingers. He relaxes more even as he continues to murmur about how much he can’t wait to watch it all get chopped off at the barber in town. You shake your head, feeling him go soft from his usual intensity. 

Your nails lightly scratch against his scalp, your fingers pet his hair this way and that. Then you transition to what you know he likes, a repetitive soothing motion through the locks of his hair. The way the small furrow just over his nose bridge flattens out makes you smile. You can see his hands stop fussing, his lungs fill with a deep breath and puff it out slowly. He props one leg over his bed and the other hangs down to the floor. And he might grumble but those turn into simple rumbles of soft pleasure. You watch the tension leak from him, his usual stiffness weakening.

You’re pretty sure you can lull him to sleep like this, the rhythmic stroking over his hair and scalp like a lullaby. You comb his hair backwards, his thick hair is tangled in some places and you help work through it gently. When you feel you’ve perhaps messed with his hair enough, you remove your hands. One of his eyes slips open from where he had both closed in a sleepy gesture; revealing that gem toned hue. He looks grumpier than when you started, perhaps a little disgruntled. 

“What?” you ask, knowing he misses the sensation of your fingers fiddling around in his hair. “Thought you didn’t like me ruffling your feathers,” you tousle it a little. The teasing in your voice is prominent when you smile down at his small scowl, no real bite behind his bark. 

He seems to flush a little bit, you can appreciate the way his blushes crawl up his face, he can never hide how you make him feel. His artificial glare melts away. 

“It should be you, I guess- ya know, rufflin’ my feathers,” his sentimental tone brings him out of his element, showing his nerves around you. Not so steadfast now. You smile warmly and shyly as well, touched by his genuine feelings, the ones he told you just as bashfully that he harbored for you.

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH HE CAN DO NO WRONG 😍💓🫂😭😳🥰 thank you for reading !!

[sluttyminghao]

Hello I was wondering if you could do a pov ( sorry idk what do you call it ) about seventeen angry sex and how would they treat you afterwards. I'll be really thankful ❤️❤️❤️

seungcheol: probably occurs more than you'd think, but more so out of stress rather than anger towards you. it would be hard, rough, and fast, but he would apologise endlessly after and snuggles and feeds you food

jeonghan: probably wouldnt happen too often but when it does, it's intense and hard, and goes for hours on end. afterwards you would get treated to a 5 star meal at a high end restaurant, and your fave dessert place afterwards

joshua: i think this would be a very rare instance for him, but when it does happen its the best sex of your life and you cant walk for a week after. you would get treated to pizza in bed and wine flowing endlessly

junhui: it's rare, but when it happens it goes for probably a couple of days so that he can get every inch of anger out of himself. you would get treated to a spa day(s) and treated like a goddamn royal after because he feels so bad

soonyoung: it's almost a daily occurence with how short his fuse is, but when hes particularly angry it would be hours of nonstop fucking. he'd repay you with the best head ever, as well as energy drinks to keep you going

wonwoo: honestly his anger doesnt come out in the form of angry sex, but rather angry foreplay. he would be so much more intense during foreplay, and then makes up for it after with the sweetest and most loving sex he can summon

jihoon: it's hard, fast and hot. there's no stopping him unless you use the safe word. he's bringing out all the stops, including toys, but repays you after by letting you lay on his lap and he plays with your hair while he composes music.

seokmin: this would be the rarest of the rare sex for both of you, but when he is angry, he just holds you close and fucks you hard until you both pass out. he'd repay you by buying you a whole new wardrobe to make up for his anger.

mingyu: it's rough and messy, and you'll definitely have to change the sheets. i feel like hes a strong believer in free use so you would be constantly getting fucked everywhere. he would take you to a nice restaurant after a particularly angry session

minghao: it wouldnt be common, but when it does it's intense. you'll be in all sorts of positions and he's filling you right up every single time. you would probably also be resorted to some sort of exhibitionism if he was particularly mad.

seungkwan: practically never happens, he's a sweet angel. BUT, the few instances where it has happened are rough and hard, with a little bit of sweetness. you would spend days after finding apology notes around the house, and flowers for a week straight.

vernon: again, very rare but when it does happen, you'll probably be getting strung up bdsm style and letting him have his way with you until he's spent. you get to take his card and spend it however you like afterwards

chan: probably happens like every fortnight tbh, almost becomes routine. he comes home angry (not at you), fucks you to the point where he's breeding you, cuddles for hours and then runs you a bath with all the stops

[suzukiblu]

Day nine of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems that causes for someone who was in that situation and hasn’t processed it trying to have a relationship with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Tim doesn't let himself kiss Kon for quite as long as he wants to this time. He doesn't want to say he doesn't want to move too fast and then get them both all riled up five seconds later and, well–undercut that, or whatever. Or seem like he didn’t actually mean it, maybe. 

Also he does still need to make sure Kon’s gotten in enough calories today; he definitely still needs to do that. There’s gotta be a decent place they can get in last-minute with a carefully-applied bribe or two, if nothing else. Kon deserves “nice”, still, and also Tim is not gonna half-ass the date after that conversation. Whole-ass all the way. 

“Um,” he says, clearing his throat again. Kon grins all sunny and pretty at him and it is a very, very flustering sight. Tim wants to smudge his eyeliner and mess up his hair and buy him an entire apartment block, or at least a suburb or two. “Wanna find someplace to eat? Maybe look through a couple shops on the way?” 

“Oh, just a couple, huh?” Kon teases, his grin widening giddily. Tim feels very flustered. 

“I mean, we are in the shopping district,” Tim says, refusing to admit to any embarrassment about being that easily seen-through. He has an entire lifestyle to fund for Kon here, alright, and that he is gonna not only whole-ass but double-ass. Triple-ass, maybe. Quadruple. 

. . . though modeling age-appropriate relationship behaviors was already gonna be hard enough with how little personal dating experience he has, much less the sugar daddy thing. 

Yeah, that’s gonna require some planning. 

“And that was totally an accident, right?” Kon asks with a laugh that is actually more like a giggle than anything else, which Tim’s brain unhelpfully burns down an entire metaphorical warehouse district about. 

“I plead the fifth,” he says, tugging Kon back onto the sidewalk, and Kon giggles again and ducks his head as he shakes it, squeezing his hands one last time before letting go of one to follow him more easily. Tim feels stupidly wooed and soft and definitely wants to destroy the lives of everyone who has ever so much as mildly inconvenienced the adorable bastard. Kon wasn’t cute before, dammit. He was not prepared for Kon to turn out to be cute. 

“You are literally fucking ridiculous, babe, I hope you know that,” Kon tells him, still grinning as his face flushes again and tugging the collar of his jacket up over his mouth with his free hand. “Like, you actually got me a friggin’ flower, you friggin’ nerd. Like–seriously?” 

Tim can’t help suspecting Kon’s joking about that because flowers and cute little dating clichés aren’t the kind of thing he thinks anyone should bother doing for him, which honestly at this point seems like a pattern of behavior. Especially after earlier. Which–it's not like he didn't go into this already knowing that Kon's loudly overinflated self-esteem and cocky attitude was partially bluster and self-defense, but the more time they spend together like this, the more it seems less like “partially”, and more like “entirely”. 

Tim is going to get this adorable bastard so many flowers as soon as he gets him in a cul-de-sac to be keeping them in. He is gonna keep Kon in flowers until the goddamn heat-death of the goddamn universe. He’ll get a florist and set up a weekly order of varying tropical flowers and make sure the neighborhood is full of flowering bushes and trees and bring a bouquet to at least two dates a month, if not just literally every single one of them. 

“I wanted to,” he replies with a shrug, because that sounds more normal to say than any of the rest of it and sincerity seems to be the most efficient way to cut the legs out from underneath any attempts Kon’s making at downplaying the point of the gesture. “I was hoping you'd like it.” 

Kon turns red, then ducks his head and grins helplessly wide, still half-hiding his mouth behind his jacket collar. Tim feels an irrational urge to smother him. Like, affectionately, he means, but also kind of literally. 

Maybe he has some wires crossed right now, given how much of a workout the supervillain timeline’s been getting lately.

[angelicsoka]

LAZY (SICKLY) MORNINGS AND MARRIAGE PROPOSALS, q. hughes

word count | 577 words

pairings | quinn hughes x reader

summary | where a common cold turns to the flu leaving quinn and his girlfriend to cancel their plans, leading to a lazy (sickly) valentines morning and a marriage proposal 

warnings | descriptions of vomit and other sickly bodily fluids. not proofread. no use of “y/n”. lowercase intended. this is a work of fiction, i am by no means saying this is how they act in real life.

a/n | i was gonna post this for valentine’s day but never actually got around to writing it lmao, but here it is now!

a groan filled the silent room, followed by someone hurriedly throwing the blanket off of them and running to the bathroom. the sound of heaving could be heard as the other person rolled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom to help. 

quinn rubbed her back with one hand, the other making a makeshift ponytail with her hair as she vomited what little of what remained in her stomach. she sat back against the wall once she had finished, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“you okay?” she shook her head no at quinn’s question, fearful if she spoke she would begin to heave once more. “let me get you some water.” 

she rarely got sick, but when she did it was bad. she gratefully accepted the glass, sipping lightly. it eased the burning in her throat enough for her to speak, “you really shouldn’t be by me, quinny. the team can’t have their captain out sick.” she coughed roughly, trying to clear the flem from her throat.

“i’ve already told you: they can handle a game or two without me. i want to make sure you're okay.” he tried to conceal his own cough as him just clearing his throat, but she knew.

“damnit, i knew you would get sick. i told you!” she tried to come off as angry but she was too tired to portray an emotion she didn’t actually feel. quinn helped her off the ground, the two moseying their way back to bed. she sighed contently when her head hit the soft pillow, shivering slightly as she curled into the blankets. she began to shiver more as quinn got settled, unable to find warmth.

“cold?” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. she moved as close as she physically could, in search of warmth from him. she hummed as she settled in his arms, her boyfriend placing a gentle kiss on her head. “well, this is one way to spend valentine’s day.” 

“don’t remind me.” she muttered, turning slightly to look at him. “i’m sorry i’m sick. i know how hard it was to get that reservation and you got me that nice dress and–” quinn shushed her quietly, placing yet another kiss, this time on her shoulder.

“don’t worry about it.” she turned over fully to face him. “it does have me thinking though.”

“yeah?” quinn smiled softly at her. “about what?”

“about how i want to spend the rest of my life with you, ya know, through sickness and health and all that shit.” she giggled, a hint of confusion on her face. they had talked about marriage and family but she had thought he wasn’t ready.

“what are you saying?” 

“i guess i’m saying– well asking, will you marry me?” she felt the oxygen leave her lungs for a moment, before a smile broke out on her face.

“hell yeah,” she watched him smile widely. “god, i love you.”

“i love you so much, baby, so goddamn much.” quinn leaned in to kiss her, only to be stopped by her placing her finger on his lips.

“you can kiss me after i brush my teeth.” quinn pouted, earning a small giggle before she paled. “fuck.” she rolled out of his grasp, getting up and taking off toward the bathroom once more. it may not have been the most conventional way of proposing but neither party would have it any other way.

[kaylapocalypse]

NOVA

I met a boy in a field.

His clothes were strange— but not too strange—and some of his words were unfamiliar—but not too unfamiliar.

He had been standing in the grass and looking up at the stars. He clutched something shining and bright in his hand.

When he heard me coming over, he turned and grinned.

“Wanna see something great?” He said “Come back here in fifty years and stand right in this spot. A sun will die and this is the best seat in the house.”

His teeth were made of metal and his eyes were hard like flint.

“This is the best century, really. We read about them all, you know. You’ve still got all the good stuff…”

He breathed in the air and let it out with a satisfied whoosh. As if he hadn’t had the opportunity to do such a thing in a long while.

“Why do you look so glum? Come on, sit with me in the sun.”

He crossed his legs and settled down in a patch of heather.

“The sun isn’t out. It’s night.” I said. “And who are you? This is private property.”

The boy laughed.

“The sun is always out. The sun bathes the earth in rays at all hours. God, you’re so young! The schools were so bad back in the day, wow.”

“I’m literally going to call the police. You seem like a nice kid, but you’ve got to go.”

He snorted and rolled a flower between his fingers.

“Whatever lady. You’ll miss me. And it’s not like I’m going anywhere permanent style. Because this is—you know what. I’m not going to tell you what’s going to happen. You’ll deserve it. Ugh.”

He shook the blindingly bright thing he had in his hand and vanished.

—

The next time I saw him I was 32.

It had been ten years, but there he stood. In the middle of the field. Wearing the same threadbare sweater and trousers I’d met him in.

“Gosh it took you a long time.” He said.

“Who are you? What the fuck. Are you wearing metal dentures?”

The boy looked exceptionally offended.

“Metal dentures? Oh that’s rich. Coming from someone with unprotected decaying bone in their mouth. Thank god I haven’t gotten hurt out here. What would you have tried to do? Cure a broken arm with bloodletting or burned a witch? I should have brought my own first aid kit just in case I have to deal with these primitive medical practices.”

That was a tirade I didn’t expect…

“What time are you from?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes.

“I’m not even going to bother with that.” He said. “Come closer, let me see you. You aged finkin’ well.”

I edged closer to him, but not close enough to let him touch me.

“it’s been like an entire decade.” I said suspiciously.

“I see they at least taught you basic math.” He snorted.

The closer I got the more differences I noticed about him. He looked like he was about the same age, but his clothes were a little thinner, a little more ragged. He had circles beneath his eyes and his skin had a grayish tinge.

“Are you okay?”

He looked at me like I was insane.

“Of course I’m not okay. Clearly, we’re from different times. Clearly I’m from the future. If you were from the future, would you go back to the dark ages to wallow with your ancestors in the mud for fun? I can’t talk to you about this. It’s not like you can do anything about it. Just sit down and look at the goddamn sky with me. This is supposed to be romantic.”

I plopped down beside him and looked up at the stars. I knew I had groceries getting warm in the car, but I figured I could afford to spend at least five minutes with an ageless time wanderer —even if he was rude as hell.

“Okay, you see that dark area over there?” He pointed at the sky. I nodded.

“That’s the way out of this mess.”

“What mess?”

“Everything. All of the problems you have here. I think. I’m really bad at explaining this sort of stuff. I’m not like, the best at politics science or physics. That was more my dad’s thing. I was really only ever into sports.”

“What sport did you play?”

“Upjacket. It’s like a mixture of your baseball and your hockey. But the stakes are higher. You play in antigrav and the first person to score a point wins. It’s like… you start off in teams, but individuals win games, and the more individuals win on each team, the more money the team gets. It was fun. Back when they let us play sports.”

He grinned and looked up at the sky.

“I was gonna go pro. It’s all about agility.”

Suddenly the bright thing in his pocket started rattling wildly.

“Oh shit oh shit. Sorry. I’ve got to go. See you in te—”

He disappeared.

—

I took a train from New York all the way back to Michigan, then a bus out into the country.

The field was empty when I arrived. I sat down in the patch of heather and looked up into the sky.

My heels dug into the soft earth. I was 42.

After about 15 minutes he blinked into view with a hiss and a flash of smoke. The boy immediately bent over and vomited. He fell to his knees and gasped for a while, then spit hard to clear his mouth.

He was thinner than when I saw him last. And his sweater had some holes.

I took off my jacket and handed it to him.

He nodded in thanks and draped it around his shoulders.

“What is your name?” I asked gently.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said. “Nobody cares. Nobody’s cares who I am or why I’m here.”

“I care.” I said. “I have a son not much older than you back home. He just left for college. If you want you can come back with me and—”

“I can’t.” He shouted angrily.

His eyes burned dark and hot. He was sweating a bit, and his hands shook as they grappled the edges of my coat. Pulling it tight.

“I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have touched it. I should have left well enough alone.”

He wasn’t talking to me anymore, he was muttering and looking at the ground.

I shifted over so that we were closer together. I fished a pack of gum out of my purse and offered him a piece.

“What is this?” He looked scared.

“It’s gum. It’s a kind of candy. You just chew it and don’t swallow. It’s okay. It’s… Sweet?” I tried.

He unwrapped it and put it in his mouth.

“Gosh that is the weirdest… It’s like… My mouth was all dry before and I’m not thirsty anymore. But it’s just this strange rubbery…That is so…. I mean, thank you. I really appreciate it.”

He smiled. It was like he hadn’t done it in a while. The corners of his mouth looked like they weren’t sure whether to go up or down.

“I hope this isn’t too forward.” I started. "But do you want a hug?”

He blushed and pushed his hair out of his eyes.

“Of all the tarts in the world, I found a nice sentimental one with candy in her pockets and a wish to take me away.” He laughed. “You can have all the hugs with me you like. It’s not like there’s anyone else around to hug.”

He fit neatly in my arms. He was stronger than I’d expected. More wiry. He smelled like ash, metal and the salt of unwashed skin.

“Do you want to know a secret?” He whispered into the shell of my ear.

“We never did get flying cars or hoverboards. It’s not a lack of technology. It’s got something to do with magnetism. You can’t break the rules of the universe— just bend them. And hover boards? Them’s a rule breakin’ invention.”

I laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

“You’re such a marvel.” I said when I was finished.

He grinned back at me. Brilliant and true. The moonlight shining off his stainless-steel smile.

“I could have been much more.” He said cockily.

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” I asked. “We have a spare room at my house up in New York…”

“No. Darling. You’re old as dirt, but I’m partial to you. I wouldn’t want to break your husband’s heart.” He winked.

I scowled. “Why are you so rude? And how old are you really?”

“You ask the worst questions.” He replied and disappeared.

—

I moved back to Michigan alone and went to the field every night for twenty years. Until my hair turned gray and the hike over wore on my knees.

I kept the grass green and tended the heather.

Like always, the boy arrived with a hiss.

He lay still in the grass.

He was thin and filthy and barely breathing.

I turned him over and pulled him into my arms.

The boy sobbed.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t… I tried so hard.”

“It’s okay.” I said.

“It’s not. It feels like it’s been days, but it’s probably been years. I just keep spinning round and round and my own window is out of reach. Yours is the closest so I keep landing here on this stupid rock in the middle of the millennium. I just want to go home.” He curled himself up until he was very small.

The bright thing glowed through the pocket of his tattered trousers.

“What does it do?” I asked.

“I don’t know how it works. It’s either broken or half made. It was sitting on my dad’s desk. I just picked it up and shook it.  It pushes me through time back and forth dropping me in different times. It never stops.  I can urge it one way or another, but I can’t drive it or force it anywhere once I make it work. I’ve been trying to get home for weeks.  I just want to go home. I just want to go home. I just want to go home.”

He repeated it over and over until he fell asleep.

I rubbed his back in circles and stared up at the stars until the sun came up from behind the fir trees.

 When I reached down to wake him up, I realized that he would never wake up again.

There was nothing to eat in the void of time, but star dust. Nothing to breathe but radiation.

I buried him in the heather.

—

Ten years later I went back into the field.

Fifty years had passed.

I looked up into the sky.

After a few hours of darkness, light shot out from the black spot the boy had pointed to so many years ago. The noise shattered the sound barrier and solar winds swept the planet. The night sky bled with reds and blues and purples and white. And it was so bright.

[wandixx]

Christmas in Mount Justice

cartoon version of Young Justice, written instead of sleeping and I'll be honest, I kinda run out of steam at the end, but it'd take me until next year if I didn't push through, so here it is, and hopefully it's not quite visible where I started pushing through it, I hope you'll enjoy

words: 4633

“Since, hopefully, this is the last time we're seeing each other before Christmas–” Black Canary announced, stretching after finished training“ I wish you all merry and healthy and boring Christmas” she finished with a wide warm smile. Danny barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. This goddamn worst time of the year. He checked once more if his mental shields were up. According to M'gann, ghosts were really loud on mind reading wavelengths so he needed to keep them up most of the time. He wasn't an asshole to drown his friend in absolute hatred of Christmas.

“You too Black Canary!” Wally yelled, running like the earth was burning to get cookies M'gann baked “By the way, what are your plans?” he asked upon his return.

Did they really have to keep talking about it? Danny was half considering just dropping through the floor to escape this conversation but chose against it because he really didn't want to answer all the questions it would cause or hear a ‘you can't deal with all unwanted conversations by escaping them’ lecture again any time soon. He could and he would, the Freakshow incident was just one way to prove it.

“B and I have to attend some stuffy rich people party” Robin said with clear displeasure “I still need to plan what mess to stir there. Chandeliers swinging are banned and so is arson so I have to get creative.”

“You actually set something on fire?! That's sick as hell!” the speedster's enthusiasm didn't waver as he threw a few cookies at Danny. It was nice that someone remembered about Danny's slightly enhanced metabolism. They (both Young Justice and Amity squad) still didn't understand it completely but the working hypothesis was that he needed to eat more to make up for ectoplasm he couldn't consume in quantities big enough for his ghost side since it was poisonous to humans and he had to dose it carefully. Being a halfa was rough like that some(most)times. 

“Well, lighter is easy to sneak inside–” Robin explained and honestly Danny never expected to hear Gotham’s feared vigilante go over logistics of arson but he guessed it was his life now, he could use this info to do something about at least one Christmas tree in Amity or share it with Sam. She mentioned some upcoming rich people party too”–and amount of alcohol there is astonishing, really you'd think that people would try to stay sober on event like that but apparently–”

“I'm having dinner with my mom and some family friends–” Artemis interrupted “Can't wait spend God knows how many hours with all of them talking over each other and asking awkward questions” she tried to sound displeased but there was no way she could hide her fondness and wasn't that a wild thing to see. Seriously, he almost choked on a cookie. In theory Danny knew some people genuinely liked Christmes but–

Just like that? Just happy to–

Yeah, he knew but couldn't quite comprehend. Sam was exactly like that, found but trying to seem annoyed to keep up with her goth persona. Tucker was way more open about his delight.

For Danny Christmas was only too loud because everyone was singing badly and too bright because of lights and too stuffy and there was this damned argument about Santa and yelling and fe–

“Oh, me too! We also planned a movie night with Central Rogues, this time it's Cold’s turn. I wish he won't pick Die Hard again…”

Well, Danny guessed movie night with Rogues, that clearly meant an off evening since they wouldn't try to stir things up while watching the movie, sounded like a really nice idea. Personally he would do without people who try to turn him into a pulp every other day but apparently things worked differently in Central.

“King Orin wanted to introduce me to some surface celebrations as well,” Kaldur said with a warm smile and halfa forcefully stopped himself from giving their leader a weird look. Even him?! Betrayal, absolute betrayal! 

“Well, I don't really celebrate so I'm staying here, maybe training a bit, I'm not sure yet,” M'gann announced shyly and it took all his willpower to not hug her for being the only sensible person in the room.

“Yeah, I'm staying too. Apparently I'm not invited to family gatherings” Conner added bitterly. 

“Honestly your not missing much,” Danny muttered “It's just perfectly prepared and measured argument breeding space, believe me”

Wally tried to protest but one pointed glare and it dissolved through power of ‘don't make Conner feel about it any worse than he already does’. Danny felt a little guilty for using it to sooth his own hatred towards Christmas but not too much. He really wanted to reassure his friend and ways he went about it were no one else's business. 

“And what are your plans, Danny?” M'gann asked gently after he didn't continue. He really wished he didn't have to answer but keeping his emotions hidden meant nobody could see that something was up and say ‘you don't have to tell if you don't want to’ or other shit like that.

“Not sure yet. I think I will crash with you here honestly. If we believe this magic book we found, there is a Christmas truce in Zone, so there shouldn't be any ghost attacks and your company is always great,” he smiled sincerely.

“Wouldn't your parents ask questions if you just skipped Christmas, though?” Wally asked a bit cautiously but Danny waved his concern off with a vague ‘eh’ sound.

“Will you show us some Christmas traditions then? As a part of ‘earthly traditions’ course?” M'gann's eyes almost shone with excitement and Conner looked hopeful and it made him feel conflicted. The whole point of crashing in Mount Justice with two aliens was to not touch anything Christmas related with thirty feet long stick but alas M'gann asked nicely and was pretty. These were two big ideals fighting inside of him then and there while he tried to keep his face and outer mind blank enough to not bring any suspicion.

Betrayal to second, no third, power! He wanted to escape this hell of an experience! 

But well, he could shape the experience in a way that's the least painful and M'gann and Conner were really great friends…

“Sure”

He couldn't quite match her enthusiastic grin or even Conner’s bit smaller one.

He was going to regret it, wouldn't he?

***

“Guys, I messed up so bad…” Danny whined,  curling on Sam's enormous bed covered in fluffy blankets and nice pillows.

“What did you do this time?” girl asked with a smirk. Halfa was sometimes mad how well his friends knew him and didn't take his dramatics as seriously as he would like to.

“I wanted to have a sleepover at Team's HQ during Christmas, you know, to escape it. Only ones who will stay are Miss Martian and Superboy, aliens, so I thought it's a good idea. And then they asked me to show them ‘earthly Christmas traditions’ and I AGREED!” he yelled, his hands flying dramatically at the confession.

His friends, little traitors they were, just laughed.

He came to get some help, advice on either doing this introduction well because Danny Fenton was known for a lot of things but half-assing projects he agreed to do wasn't one of them (homework was obligatory without his consents ergo didn't count) or gracefully getting away from mess his idiocy brought onto him, not to be laughed at! He had enough of it at other times.

Though they got to work when they calmed down, making Danny revisit the idea of not talking to them ever again and throwing it out of the window.

“Alright,” Tucker started, preparing his note and planner apps before continuing “what do you want to show them? Gingerbread house?”

“Of course” Danny huffed because as much as he hated Christmas and its traditions, gingerbread house was decent one. Making one at Tucker's place three years ago when he had been introduced to the idea was one of his best memories related to the holiday. Even though it was cut short by trip to the ER because dumbass little Danny had wanted a little gingerbread man he set aside and he had eaten him still all fresh and 350°F hot and got severe burns in his mouth and throat because apparently his instinctual response to burning in his mouth was to swallow instead of to spit.

“Gifts.” Sam raised in a way that meant she was not taking any complaints and Danny didn't really want to argue. His track record with gifts from his parents wasn't too good ever since he had a brief just-like-dad phase and they didn't realize it ended after a month but other people knew how to fix it. The Voyager Lego set he got from Sam the year before still made him smile when his eyes landed on it. 

Tucker noted it down. “What else? Christmas tree?”

Danny winced but nodded. He wasn't too fond of it but it was too big to miss it.

“Ugly sweaters?”

“Superboy would actually develop laser vision if I tried it”

“Movie marathon? I can lend you some DvDs”

“Yeah, it's probably a good idea. Kid Flash mentioned it too.”

“Santa Claus?” Sam asked with a smirk and Danny threw a pillow at her.

“Who is Santa Claus? I never heard of him, must be a Rhode Island thing” he answered with a straight face, not knowing how many times he will have to repeat it.

**

Phantom: hey guys!

Phantom: want a Crisscross Christmas

Phantom: ?

Artemis: The what?

Phantom: oh, you know

Phantom: this thing were we draw aech othres names anf have to buy a gift

Kid Flash: you mena Secret Santa

Kid Flash: ???

Phantom: never heard of that

Phantom: thats a wierd naem

Phantom: but if rules match, call it whatever yoyu wnat

Aqualad: I like this idea

Robin: GIft drop-off on 27th is okay for everyone?

7 people liked this message

Robin: i take that for yes. 50$ budget?

Kid Flash: Robin, Rob, Bob, my best pal. I have 5$ and single slice of bubblegum to my name rn

Kid Flash: No, actually no bubblegum anymore

Kid Flash: 10$ is top I could spend

Phantom: Same

Artemis: Same

Aqualad: Me too

Miss Martian: I'm not sure if me and Superboy have any money, actually

Phantom: See Rob?

Phantom: just be a good samamritanina and give them 10$ instead og flaunting batmans money

***

"Important question. How do one pick a present?"

"You know, it's good if it's something personal, either in a way that it's something they want or need, a gag gift that'd be funny for both of you, or just something that made you think of them"

"Yeah, yeah, I read the mom blogs, none of this actually helps, what am I supposed to get for Artemis?!"

***

"Alright, so. I have a list of things I think you need to learn about Christmas. We're kinda late to the party, so I cut off some stuff because there is no way we would make it in time."

"Sounds about right, what do we start with?"

"Most classic of classics, the Christmas tree, Batman already greenlit it, so it's waiting outside"

***

"So, Christmas tree is evergreen plant, conifer, sometimes only branch or synthetically made model, that, if living, is cut down from Christmas tree nursery, and then put inside the house, usually in the living room or other space that is considered repre-"

"Danny, we live in society, we have basic knowledge on American traditions that is literally everywhere. We don't need it to be spoon fed to us in a voice more robotic way than Red Tornado, literal robot"

"Conner!"

"What?! I'm not wrong"

"Sorry. Let's get to decorating then?"

"If you want to ramble, we'd be more than happy to listen. It's obvious that you took a lot of care to learn everything."

"Speak for yourself"

"Conner!"

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, with what exactly do we plan to decorate it?"

"Oh, this one is easy. I asked around people to donate some stuff, and Batman got us few things after I asked for permission for the tree. He even asked Justice League to drop us some things too."

"That's nice of them"

"Yeah, though I'm a bit worried about gifts from Arrows and Robin, y'know. They all had this type of smile that means either a gag idea, merch or exploding glitter and I'm not sure which option scares me the most"

"Glitter"

"Glitter"

"Yeah, you're right"

***

"Did… um… did Superman bring anything?"

"Yes, actually! He brought pretty big box of stuff and mentioned dropping of some food for Christmas in the morning or the afternoon of the first day. He said he was happy that you got the experience even if he isn't able to be the one to give it to you. I think he is coming around"

It was an interesting thing about Danny. He wasn't all that good with authority figures or frankly adults in general, and he never passed on the chance to tear in Superman for his treatment of Conner, if he saw the man, but in private he was surprisingly pro-Superman and tried to make them "see his perspective" with some pretty convincing arguments. Everyone else was still unimpressed but Danny never gave up.

M'gann still wasn't sure if in these circumstances she found it cute or annoying.

"Bullshit"

"If that's what you want to believe in"

***

"Oh, hello Megan! Red Tornado, would you like to join us in decorating the Christmas tree?"

"This… seems like a decent idea. What is the procedure of it?"

"We already put on the lights, so now we're placing baubles and other hanging decorations, before we finish off with paper chains and these fuzzy boas. We need them evenly spread out on all of the tree, preferably in a way, that things in similar colors aren't right next to each other, alright?"

"Yes, Phantom, instructions are clear"

"Great. Do we want some music in the background? My friends usually play some Christmas songs to get us all in 'the right mood' as he calls it?"

"Good idea, I'll play something."

"Thanks Meg"

"Just hear the sleigh bell jingling…"

"Is this… yeah, it's Carpenters, it's Jazz's favo- oh shit"

"Got it!"

"Nice catch Conner! Red Tornado, sorry I didn't clarify before, we're not decorating the side by the wall."

"Understood"

***

"We have only one last thing left then"

"Yeah?"

"The star at the top. The youngest child of the family usually get the honor. Conner, it's you time to shine~"

"Shut up already"

"How is he supposed to reach the top though? He can't fly"

"Step stool or someone has to hold him up lion king style"

"Lion king- Don't you dare! Keep those hands to yourself! Danny!

***

"So, what's next on your magical list?"

"Gingerbread house. It's a moment for you to shine Meg, because I'm absolute mess in the kitchen and I don't think Conner is much better"

"Actually-"

"blah, blah, blah, absolutely perfect, could be hired at Michelin star restaurant right this instant blah, blah, blah"

"Oh, you little-"

"I believe the arguments are supposed to start at the Christmas table and not before. It seemed to be consensus in my sources. Was I mistaken?"

Conner stopped dead in his tracks, as confused as M'gann at the question.

Danny laughed so hard he fell on the ground.

"Red Tornado, what does that mean?"

"There is no need to spread misinformation until we can get confirmation whether my sources were correct or not"

"Danny? Danny?! What does he mean?! Why are you laughing?!"

Danny just stayed curled on the floor, almost wheezing.

***

"So, we have all of the ingredients, right? Flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves-"

"I think it's still in the cabinet, let me grab it real quick"

"Alright, other than cloves, do we have salt, vegetable shortening, granulated sugar, molasses, an egg- I mean, applesauce? Yeah? Let's hope it'll work. Okay, I think were ready"

"Ginger?"

"What?"

"Do we have ginger ready?"

"I don't think so, I'm pretty sure we've run out about a week ago? Why- oh wait"

"Did we seriously forgot to get ginger to make The Gingerbread House?! It's literally in the name!"

They all just stood in silence for a long moment.

"We're idiots"

"Well said, well said"

"I believe there are better names to describe you in this situation. Unfortunately, I cannot recall them"

"Thanks Red Tornado, that was helpful"

"Maybe we can still buy it?"

"It's 10:34 PM, December 23rd, M'gann, what shop would even be open?"

"Shut up Conner, it's actually not a bad idea. I think I've seen- yes, there is something open until eleven, about five minutes out if I fly"

***

"There was no ginger at the shop, but I got cranberry for later, if needed, and some chips to snack on"

"It's fine, we found unopened pack of powdered ginger in the back of the cabinet"

"That's great! Give me a minute to return this packet I liberated on my way home?"

"Danny!"

***

"Hey, M'gann!"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to invite your uncle to our dinner?"

"That's a great idea Conner, thank you!"

***

"Okay, wait, wait, wait, before you two get weirdly aggressive about it again-"

"We're not that aggressive and it's a serious matter"

"I don't have any ghosts to get of my misplaced aggression out on so I'm funneling it into cake decorating instead"

"M'gann, you literally are trying to choke him right now, Danny, even I know it's concerning and I have less than half a year of learning what is considered normal under my belt. Anyway, before you escalate it again, how about each one of us gets one side of the house and then we work in pairs on the roof?"

"I like that"

"But what about aesthetic integrity!"

"It's quite literally against the point of gingerbread house"

***

"Before we go to sleep, I believe it's a widespread tradition to leave milk and cookies for the Santa Claus on the Christmas Eve evening"

"Huh"

"What is it this time?"

"Nothing really, chill out Conner, I just never heard of that"

It was so clearly a lie it probably couldn't even be called that, but at this point everyone realized, that for some reason bearded man in red was a sore subject, and they stopped trying to learn why. Maybe some day he'd tell them.

***

"Sorry. This person is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone."

"Hey Dani, it's Danny. Merry Christmas, please let me know when you get that. I'm celebrating outside of home, safe, with some friends, so if you want, I can give you an address and you can drop by. They're all more than okay with ghost stuff and have a history of accepting someone similar to you without any questions. I'm sure they'd love you. Let me know you're alright and if you want to join us. Sorry I keep calling, I'm at the worrywart stage. Love you, please stay safe."

Danny was doing pretty well with this whole "organizing Christmas". Really. M'gann did kick him out to breathe a bit of fresh air (and wait for the Superman and food he was supposed to bring in) because his hands were shaking too much, but other than that he was fine. Really. He was getting a bit panicky because he didn't hear a word from his sister in the past week and usually she let them know if she knew she would go somewhere where that could happen but she just as often didn't because she spontaneously decided to do something else. Trackers they made her wear showed she was fine.

It didn't really help, he wasn't sure if there was anything less than actually hearing or preferably seeing her that could reassure him.

It wasn't even talking about all of the trouble that was a bit closer to home, because Christmas never meant anything good for him, with or without his parents stirring up the Santa-fight. They weren't there and yet, he still couldn't make himself believe it could be any better this time. For Ancients sake, he made sure there was no Santa Claus in whole Mountain, nothing to remind him of how it always was and his brain still decided to be stupid about it.

So now he was standing in thin hoodie out in Rhode Island winter, in hopes that cold would shock him out of spiraling, trying to keep his breaths even and not fly away because it felt all like a little too much at the moment. he was standing in thin hoodie out in Rhode Island winter, waiting for a man who would awkwardly try to do the whole 'I'm an adult you can trust' routine and then treat him like messenger pigeon to contact the child that actually wanted and needed him. He couldn't entirely blame him but-

"Are you quite alright?"

"I'm fine"

"Are you sure? It's quite cold to be dressed like this and your heartbeat is quite erratic."

"I'm fine as old wine Superman, please say your piece before someone comes to see what took me so long"

"Danny-"

"I'm serious. Leave it alone and just give me the food"

Superman looked a bit conflicted, clearly considering all of the potential pros and cons of digging in further and choose wrong.

"You're worried about Dani"

"You're the last person I want to talk to about her," Danny spat out, anxiety quickly turning into anger.

"Of course, but-"

"Have two civil conversations with your clone before trying to tell me how I should handle mine" As soon as these words left his mouth, Danny regretted them, if only a little, but he kept pushing "I told you about her to explain why I'm willing to vouch for you. It doesn't make you someone I'll confide in. It doesn't make you someone I trust. It doesn't make me approve of the way your handling it. It just means I understand. But you're an adult man and experienced hero with stable job and adult shit figured out and I'm a teenager with home just safe enough for me to stay and family that'd question how third child just showed up. We are not the same."

Superman flinched away at some point during the rant, looking properly humbled. He avoided eye contact and just reached forward to pass him hard plastic case filled with food containers and smaller boxes wrapped up in nice Christmas themed paper.

"Alright kiddo. Get it inside before you turn into a icicle. And tell Conner I wish him Merry Christmas, alright? I mean, I wish it to everyone but…"

Damn, if the "never meet your heroes" person wasn't right.

"You're a coward Superman. Come in and tell him that yourself"

***

Conner lashed out, as expected, but it was far more subdued than it would be just few month before. To his credit, Superman stayed the whole time it went down and only left when boy mostly calmed down and wouldn't feel like he was being ignored. Man even tried to respond to some allegations, though he wasn't really heard. Conner ranted some more after hero left, but overall it went better than Danny thought it would.

Then they had dinner, which went… surprisingly well. Apparently, not having to worry about being attacked by the main dish did wonders to Danny's overall jitters (and didn't everyone get super weird when he mentioned it). Not having people start nonsensical fights also helped. He knew better than to mention that.

Also, turns out that Superman or whoever he got to make them food was freaking amazing cook, thank you very much. Danny wasn't necessarily fasting, not in a way he knew some people did in the period preceding Christmas or at least on Christmas Eve, but the tension of past few days made it hard to eat a lot. It definitely lessened now that the thing was happening and seemingly going well, so he was absolutely ravenous. To be completely honest, as far as he could tell, everyone else matched his enthusiasm.

There was a bit off moment at the beginning, when Martian Manhunter asked him if he shouldn't be with his family during holidays, but Danny quickly and subtly brushed it off and nobody mentioned that afterwards.

He may have overeaten, actually, for once in his live, which he may regret in the morning, but at the moment, it made him quite content.

Then came the gifts, which also went better than he expected. For once there was no need to act like he enjoyed the gift despite already planning on how to get rid of it. Even better, focus was almost fully removed from him, obviously, because it wasn't his first rodeo.

Conner looked so lost and confused with the gift he got from Superman's mom, it was almost heartbreaking. It was beautiful crocheted scarf, black and red, with his symbol on each end, and an apology note explaining that Mrs Martha Kent would give him something more note worthy but she learned about him way to late to make something better. There was also promise of more worthy gift in near future. Danny knew all that because Conner read it out loud, asking everyone to help him make sense of that. There was only so much they could do.

Other than that, he got some nice flannel shirts from M'gann, quite a few sweets. He also got a book from Danny (it was a sin he didn't read "The Martian" before) and concepts of new hero suits for him, that Sam somehow sneaked between the pages. It was certainly a lot to explain without making anyone angry.

M'gann got two different cook books, that unfortunately didn't include Fenton fudge recipe (Dad was really protective over it), some surprisingly obscure merch from "Hello Megan" and more sweets.

Red Tornado got an apron and few tokens of appreciation, that robot quite liked, as far as Danny could tell.

Martian Manhuter, due to how rarely he visited, was the hardest to pick presents for, which resulted in some general little trinkets.

Danny got night sky projector, which was really cool, and potted plant, for some reason, which, while also cool, because plants are cool (Sam would rekill him if he thought otherwise), he knew far too well, would not survive until July. It wasn't only because he could barely take care of himself, let alone whole ass plant (see also, that one time he either drowned or dried three cacti), but also because of the times ghosts (or home security) attacked him in his room. He was thankful anyway. Maybe it could push him into finally getting some contingencies against that, that’d actually work. After all, it was quite a pretty plant.

By the time they moved to the couch to watch “Die Hard” of all things (it was only DVD that Tucker provided that didn’t have Santa Claus as a prominent character, because of course that little traitor would do that), Danny had to admit that this Christmas was… nice. Enjoyable. Pretty amazing actually. Good enough that he could understand people waiting for it the whole year. He couldn’t tell that he joined their ranks, but he certainly could understand them.

It was also downright exhausting and at some point even dynamic fights of John McClane couldn’t keep his eyes open. It was fine though. He was safe, he was warm, almost squeezed against his friends. It was good place to just relax.

It’s been first time in a long time since he felt that on Christmas.

********

I'm not sure if I managed to properly Conner's... whole thing, if he turned out too hostile, let's just say he was still pissed about the whole "wasn't invited to Clark's family gathering" thing and it made him a bit more antsy.

I'm not sure how well I managed to handle it, but I don't want to bash neither Clark nor Conner. They're both victims in this situation and while the way Clark handled it was far from ideal, it's also far from worst he could do and I believe he deserves a bit more grace. In the end, on psychological level he is just human and humans don't always handle being baby trapped perfectly. Maybe I have more understanding towards him because my prefered way of handling conflicts is walking out and locking myself in my room, but idk. Maybe I'm capable of more coherent explanation when it's not 3:44 AM

Ginger shenanigans were inspired by my own Christmas preparation adventures, when I was making bread dough for the Christmas Eve and decided to add rosemary to make it more ✨festive✨ and got really attached to the idea. My mom agreed, then it turned out we didn't have any, then I went to the shop like twenty minutes before it closed at 11PM so at least one guy was there to replenish his alcohol suplies. My mom called to tell me to also buy some powdered garlic and beetroot. Turned out we had rosemary at home. At shop I only found garlic. I also brought energy drink, because I was tired but had more stuff to do and some snacks just because.

Bread turned out pretty good.

I sincerely believe if I was solely responsible of making gingerbread, I would forget to get ginger (or like, to fit with "it's in the name" thing, pepper, because in Polish it's "piernik")

I'm really sorry if the drop in quality by the end is noticable, if this thing stayed unfinished whole another year i'd do something I'd regret later.

[cevansbrat0007]

Cross-Country Christmas

Summary: When Ari is left stranded at the airport on Christmas Eve, you find yourself in need of a little holiday miracle...

Warnings: Light Angst, Mature Themes, Angst, Ari Being A Menace, Holiday Themes, Smut, Arguments, Oral Sex (fem rec), Spanking (mentioned), Pet Names, Cursing, Violent Thoughts, Minors DNI

A/N: Full story! Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

2:00pm, Christmas Eve – Bell’s Creek, Texas

You couldn’t believe this was happening. After spending the last several days out of town with his family, Ari had been due to fly back to Bell’s Creek tonight so that the two of you could spend the holiday together. 

Your first Christmas as a couple. 

But that was before the surprise arrival of the severe winter storm that was currently sweeping through the Midwest, resulting in numerous canceled flights that had left thousands stranded across the country – including your handsome Bounty Hunter.

“Are they at least trying to get you on another flight, or are you just shit out of luck?” Putting the phone on speaker, you set it on the counter so that you can go back to rolling out more dough for your next pie.

“Well, the airline is being a little evasive.” Ari admits, blowing out a heavy breath. You can practically hear him raking an agitated hand through his chestnut locks. “But with this storm comin’ in, I’m gettin’ the sense that I’m most likely fucked until tomorrow. Maybe a little longer.” 

“This is exactly why you should’ve just stayed at your sister’s place.” You sniffle, blinking away tears as you wield your rolling pin with a touch more force than necessary. 

“Bird.” You can tell he’s doing his best to keep hold of his patience. 

“Oh, don’t “Bird” me.”  

“Bird.” This time your name is spoken with a slightly more authoritative note. It’s one that your body recognizes almost immediately. “Please don’t start with me, okay? I’m not in the mood.”

Too bad you weren’t neccessarily in the mood to obey today. 

“I’m just saying.” You continue, feeling more pissed at mother nature than anything else. “If you would’ve stayed with Evelyn and the kids at least you would’ve been able to be with your family on Christmas.” You toss the pin in the sink, wincing at the loud clatter it makes. “Now you’ll probably be stuck all alone, sleeping with a bunch of grumpy strangers at the flippin’ airport!”    

“That’s enough of the sass, baby.” Ari grunts. 

“It’s not sass if it’s the truth, Ari.” You hum, peering over at the apples you’ve got soaking in a bowl filled with 7-Up. 

“Sweetheart.” The soft rebuke rolls easily off his tongue. “I made a promise to spend Christmas Day with you – all wrapped up in you – and it’s one I intend to keep. Somehow.” He tacks on the last bit, which unknowingly brings a smile to your lips. 

“At this rate, you’re gonna be spending at least part of the holiday sleeping at your gate.” 

“Fuck.” He curses under his breath. 

“Want me to call the airline, sugar?” You ask as you go to rest your elbows on the counter so you can attempt to stretch the muscles in your lower back. “See if I can fight with ‘em enough so they at least put you up in a nice hotel so that you can get a good night’s rest?”  

“Nah, baby. They got me on standby and all that. I’m trying to get away from this shithole as soon as possible.” While you appreciated his determination, not even your big, bad Bounty Hunter could beat a snowstorm. 

“Hey! Omaha is not a shithole.” You chuckle, feeling a little defensive on behalf of a city you’d never visited. “I looked ‘em up. They’ve got some amazing museums.” You fish an apple slice out of the bowl and pop it into your mouth, chewing slowly. “I could have a good time in a place like that.” 

“Then get your pretty ass down here already and we’ll take every goddamned tour they’ve got.”

“Would if I could, Beast.” You find yourself squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. “I’d give anything to have you back in Bell’s Creek with me. I miss you taking up all the space in my tiny kitchen while you help yourself to my treats.” 

“I know. I promise I’ll get there. Just do me a favor and don’t start looking for my replacement just yet, okay?”

Your stomach dips when you realize he’s about to say goodbye. Which is fine because you also still had a ton of baking to do. And while you still weren’t quite sure if you were going to follow through with your original Christmas Day dinner plans, the last thing you wanted was for Ari to hear you crying at the unfairness of it all over the phone. 

It would only make him feel worse than he already did. 

“I’m not sure if anyone could ever replace you, not that I would ever try.” You tell him honestly. “I love you too much.”

“Damn right you do.” Comes your man’s rich, self-assured reply. “No better feeling in the world than being loved by my Duchess.” The warmth in his tone has butterflies stirring in your belly. 

They were the good kind of butterflies – the ones only Ari could cause.

“Go get some food and then call me in a bit.” You glance at the clock to check the time. At 2:06pm, there was no way that all hope was lost just yet. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll be an update.”

“Sure thing, baby. But the same goes for you. And don’t just snack – eat something real for me.” His bossy tone has your pulse kicking up. 

“You didn’t say please.” Your hand goes to cover your mouth as you tamp down a playful giggle.

“Mmm.” Ari groans as he moves to stretch out the kinks in his back. At least that was what you imagined he was doing. “Could you please do me a kindness and keep feeding those curves? I reckon I’m gonna need a little taste of something sweet when I walk through that front door. You with me?”

“I–I’m with you.” You stammer slightly, your mouth suddenly dry. Another effect that man seemed to have on you. “And I promise I’ll eat. Now hang up with me and go make some friends or something.”

“Thank you, sweet girl. But we’ve been over this, and I’m pretty sure you’re the only friend I need.” He quips rather smugly, his voice deepening ever so slightly. 

“Ari…” This had the makings of one of the older, more ridiculous arguments you’d had written all over it. 

“Because the way I see it, we’re best friends.” He continues almost as if you hadn’t spoken. “What with all of the sleepovers, and the hair braiding, and don’t get me started on how many times you’ve kept me up late so you could make sure I’ve had my fill of all that sweetness you’ve got between –”

“Okay, okay, okay!” You cut him off with a hiss, not missing the way he laughs. “Fine, we can be best friends as long as you work on getting your cute butt home to me before Christmas, alright?” 

“Yes, Duchess.” He finally replies after taking some time to collect himself. “You have my word I’ll keep working on that too. Just hold tight and I’ll be in touch with an update as soon as I have one.”

“Thank you, Beast. I’ll, uh, talk to you soon.”

“You can count on it.” Is all he says before the line goes dead, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. 

If Ari couldn’t make it back for Christmas, you would be devastated. Here you were, finally feeling safe in a secure and loving relationship, and now there was a strong possibility that you both might be forced to celebrate the holiday hundreds of miles apart from each other. 

“God, I can feel a headache coming on.” You mumble as your fingers go to massage your temples. 

8:30am, Christmas Day - Bell’s Creek, Texas

“I promise I’ll be fine, Beast.” Drying your tears, you crumble up your tissues in your fist before discarding them in favor of taking a sip of your coffee. “Like you just said, there’ll be other holidays. And certainly other Christmases.”

Ari was still stuck in Omaha. And while you had suspected this call was coming, you hadn’t been prepared for how much the disappointment would affect you.

By all accounts, your Bounty Hunter appeared to be in good spirits, albeit a little tired. He was still on standby, even though all flights were still grounded indefinitely. But you’d at least been happy to hear that he’d somehow managed to catch a few hours of sleep. 

Not only that, but he’d also made a new friend in some guy named Clint. They apparently had a number of things in common, with the most important being that they’d both served overseas. Ari had also alluded to his new buddy being in law enforcement as well. 

But if you were being honest, you’d been so focused on trying to sound positive that you hadn’t quite been able to focus on his words as much as you would’ve liked. Thankfully, Ari seemed keen on having a conversation – even if it came across a bit one-sided.

“The airline keeps offering to put us up for the night. Anyone who accepts will be guaranteed a spot on one of the first flights out.” Ari coughs softly before continuing. “However, if you’re willing to wait a little bit there’s talk about them sweetening the deal with some sort of voucher or somethin’, plus miles and all that shit.” 

“Oh?” Is all you can manage, forcing yourself to take another pull of your now lukewarm coffee.

“Yeah. So, Clint and I were thinking…” He trails off, briefly leaning away from the receiver to comment on something you couldn’t see.

“You two were thinking…what?” Your next sip of coffee tastes surprisingly bitter on your tongue. Maybe you should dump out the pot and brew a fresh one. 

“That we should take ‘em up on their offer and just ride this storm out. We take the points, get the voucher, and then maybe in a month or two, we go on a vacation together somewhere nice.” 

“You and Clint?!” You screech, accidentally knocking over your mug in the process. “Shit!” You scramble out of your chair to grab a dish towel and hurriedly mop up the mess. 

“Hate to break it to ya, baby, but Clint’s not really my type.” The Bounty Hunter chuckles into the phone. “I was talking about me and you, Bird. We can pick a destination and have ourselves a holiday do-over.”

A beat goes by before you respond the only way that makes any real, logical sense. Even though it seems to take every last bit of your resolve.  

“Okay.” Your voice comes out small and resigned. 

“Aw now, don’t fret. I’ll be home soon.” Ari does his best to reassure you. “And once I’m back, we will spend every waking minute making up for lost time. You have my word.”

Well, when he put it like that…

“I guess we can hold off for a little while longer.” You sniff, wishing you could just go back to bed and sleep until tomorrow. “But you had better keep your promise, Beast. Otherwise I’m gonna have to track down Santa and ask him for a new man.” 

Your half-hearted attempt at humor elicits a short bark of laughter from Ari which, in turn, makes you smile as well. Sometimes pushing his buttons a little managed to bring joy to your life. 

“Try it, sweet Bird, and I’m telling you right now that I’ll have you in my truck and over my knee before you make it outta the next county.” Comes his gruff response, clearly not enjoying the image of you hanging off another fella’s arm. 

You know without asking that he’s probably not kidding – so you decide to leave it alone. If he wanted to thump his chest a little, then you’d let him. 

“It was a joke.” You amend when the line falls silent. Standing, you pad towards the fridge on bare feet, stopping once you reach the doors. Yanking one open, you survey the contents, silently wondering if you could even be bothered enough to cook today. 

Granted, the spiral cut ham you’d purchased from the butcher wouldn’t take very long in the oven. All you had to do now was throw together the glaze and it would be ready to do its thing. Plus, you’d already baked the pies yesterday, which meant that all that was left for the day was the cake.   

“Joking about my replacement isn’t funny.” Ari growls, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. “Especially when I can’t be there in person to plead my case.” 

You blow out a frustrated breath at the same time as you roll your eyes. Couldn’t he understand that you needed to make yourself laugh now and then in order to keep from crying? What was so wrong about that?

“I just said I was kidding. But if you wanna plead your case to someone, plead it to your new friend, Clint. See what he says.” The words tumble out faster than you can stop them. 

Now you could feel your sadness slowly giving way to anger. Not at Ari or his newfound airport buddy, but at the situation as a whole. Which meant it was time to get off the phone before you said something you would later regret.

“And just what’s that supposed to mean, Duchess?”

“It’s – nothing.” You clamp your mouth shut and close the fridge, all the while trying to keep the tears at bay.

“Because if I had my way, I’d be there with you right now so we could have this stupid argument in person. You gotta know that.”

“I know.”  

“Do you, sweetness?”

“Yes, I do.” You respond a touch more firmly, scrubbing your eyes with the heel of your palm. “I just hate this. I hate that it’s Christmas, and that you’re stuck all alone in Omaha and I’m here. But I don’t wanna fight with you, Beast. Not really. I just miss you.”

“So then let’s not fight.” His soft plea makes you sniffle. “I’m gonna go figure out how all this hotel bullshit works and get myself settled in. In the meantime, I want you to go take yourself a nice hot shower and just relax. I’ll call you later, okay?” 

For a moment, you allow the gentle warmth of his voice to wash over you. If you closed your eyes it was almost like you could pretend he was with you now. As if he was only seconds away from wrapping his brawny arms your waist and hauling you close. 

A tear rolls down your cheek as you imagine him burying his face in the crook of your neck, planting tiny kisses along your sensitive flesh until he had you giggling and squirming in his grasp. 

“Bird?”

The sound of your nickname jolts you from your reverie, reminding you that it was time to say goodbye. At least for a little while. Good Lord, when had you become so needy for this man? It must’ve happened when you weren’t paying attention. 

“Goodbye, Ari.” You whisper before using your thumb to end the call.

Setting your phone on the counte do a quick spin, silently taking stock of everything you still had to do. If you started cooking relatively soon, you’d be able to occupy yourself until mid-afternoon. And then you would take a shower, and while you were busy doing that you would figure out your next move.

You’re sitting in a chair that isn’t yours with your arms propped up on a desk that doesn’t belong to you while your chin rests on your palm. Instead of spending the afternoon moping, you’d decided to bring a little holiday cheer to your local boys in blue in the form of a home cooked Christmas dinner.  

“Glad you like everything.” You say for what feels like the umpteenth time as you watch Bell’s Creek’s newest Deputy, Milton Foster, happily devour his second helping of macaroni and cheese. 

A few days ago, you would never have imagined that this would be how you would spend your Christmas Day. But, as they say, beggars couldn’t be choosers. So, it was either enjoy a front row seat to watch Milton wolf down his food at an almost alarming speed, or you could go home and maybe watch a Christmas special on TV. 

Alone. By yourself. Yeah, no thanks.  

“Yep.” Milton grunts once he finally comes up for air. He manages a sip of his drink before diving back in for a slice of glazed ham, stabbing it with his fork and shoveling it into his mouth. “Looks like Levinson’s loss is my gain. Sorry buddy.” 

The words are spoken through a mouthful of food, but you understand them just fine. But just because Milton was arguably your favorite member of the town’s police force didn’t mean he was above pricking your temper every now and again. 

And today you were feeling mighty prickly. 

“Another crack like that and no pie for you.” That stops him cold, his sharp gray eyes immediately zeroing-in on the whole cherry pie you’d decided to bring along as dessert. 

“My apologies.” He beats a hasty retreat, using his fist to muffle a burp. “You know I was only kiddin’. I’m just happy I don’t have to subject myself to another year of Ma’s Christmas Tuna Casserole.” He shudders playfully. “I don’t think I coulda’ handled that one.”

“Yikes.” You mutter before pushing away from the desk to stretch your legs.     

“Yeah, it’s a hard-knock life.” He offers you a smile before wiping at his face with a napkin. “You sure you’re not hungry? I know the man’s not here, but I doubt he’d like the idea of me sittin’ here stuffin’ my face while you nurse a Diet Coke.”

“Eh,” you shrug. “He knows how I am. After tasting and smelling everything for hours on end, I’m not typically all that hungry.”

Which was one of the reasons your Beast liked to take it upon himself to help you work up an appetite – usually by stripping down and fucking you senseless. But Deputy Milton didn’t need to know all of that. 

“Hm. More for me I guess.” He hums, snagging another freshly buttered dinner roll.

“Yep.” The word is spoken like an airy sigh. “More for you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go find the ladies room.” You rise to your feet and polish off your beverage before tossing it in the trash. “Be back in a jiff.” 

Forty Minutes Later…

The drive from the station back to your place feels surprisingly short. Loneliness weighs on you like a heavy blanket as you pull into the driveway and kill the engine. Groaning, you let your head collide against the steering wheel with a dull thunk.

As much as you didn’t want to go inside, you knew you couldn’t linger out here in your car forever. It was much too cold for an extended outdoor moping session. You’d probably catch frostbite halfway through. 

You briefly debate giving Ari a call. Other than exchanging a few text messages here and there, you hadn’t heard from him since this morning. The thought of him being upset with you on Christmas just didn’t sit right.

Maybe you’d call him later, after you’d put the food away and gotten ready for bed. Perhaps you’d even convince him to FaceTime with you so that you could enjoy teasing him while nibbling on a slice of the red velvet cake you’d baked especially for him. 

Yes, that was the new plan. But first, you had to get out of the car. Grabbing your purse, you duck out the driver’s side door and make a mad dash up your walkway. It’s so cold that your teeth are already chattering by the time you finally fish your keys out of your bag to let yourself in.

First, you had work to do. And then you would check-in with your man just to make sure that all was right with your world. 

8:30pm, Christmas Day – Bell’s Creek, Texas

Glass of wine in hand, you plop down on your living room couch with a defeated huff. You’d just tried Ari a few minutes ago while standing in the kitchen, wearing nothing but your new lacy, red chemise and matching thong you’d purchased just for tonight.

Because you’d known how much Ari would like it. 

Except your Bounty Hunter hadn’t answered. Instead, it had gone straight to voicemail both times. Even if he was still pissed at you, you were confident that he would’ve answered. The only reason he would’ve ignored you was if–

Just then your phone dings, alerting you of a new text message. Reaching into the pocket of your robe, you’re elated when you see Ari’s name flash across the screen. But your hopes are soon dashed the moment you read the words written on the screen.

“Hey. Out with Clint. We’ll talk in a bit.” 

For a second you’re almost too stunned to speak. Were you really playing second fiddle to a man he’d just met? And all because you’d been a little snippy with him this morning? No. That couldn’t be right. 

Your bottom lip begins to tremble as you hastily type out the words: “I miss you.” And it only gets worse when he responds with a simple thumbs up emoji. That fucking bastard!

“Oh fuck you, Ari Levinson. And you too, Clint!” You snarl, snagging your wine and angrily gulping it down. “I’m sure you both will be very happy in Omaha. Where you can fucking stay. Forever!”

Now thoroughly pissed, you stomp your way back into the kitchen to fetch the bottle you’d left behind before returning determined to find something on television. So you could ignore the fact that your heart was breaking. 

On fucking Christmas Day.

After a few minutes, you settle on the live action version of A Muppet Christmas Carol. And then you grab a blanket and snuggle up. You’d deal with all of this later. Preferably after your second glass of wine. 

Hell, you might even need a third to convince yourself that murder was not the acceptable way to handle these kinds of problems in a relationship. Perhaps you’d simply pour a little sugar in the tank of his truck and see how that made you feel. 

Sure, you were probably being petty. But seeing as you’d been on an emotional roller coaster for the better part of two days, you were more than ready to hop the hell off this ride. Ari could stay put for all you cared. 

Anger aside, there was no denying the fact that you were absolutely crushed. With that in mind, you decide that you’re not answering whenever Ari finally found the time and inclination to call you back. If he was busy, then you would be too.

You finish off your vino before snuggling even deeper under your blanket. It was officially time for you to go to bed. And when you woke up tomorrow, hopefully all of this would be nothing more than a bad dream.  

And if it wasn’t, then you might find yourself asking the Lord for forgiveness after you let the air out of one of your man’s precious tires.

10:45pm, Christmas Day – Bell’s Creek, Texas

“Wake up, little Bird.” 

A faint brush of lips along your cheek has your eyes slowly fluttering open as your body fights through the last vestiges of sleep. You weren’t sure what had woken you up. Hell, you didn’t even know what time it was. 

You take a moment to stretch before sitting up to reach for your phone. Squinting, you scroll through the handful of last minute messages you’d received from a couple of friends during your nap. But unfortunately there’s still nothing from the one person you’d been hoping to hear from the most. 

Ari.

Your eyes stray to the TV and you’re confused when you see the black screen staring back at you. Now that was strange. Maybe you drank a little more wine than you thought. 

You curiously examine the still half-full bottle sitting on your coffee table with so much focus that you almost miss the notes of Nat King Cole’s The Christmas Song filtering into your living room.

It was your favorite song, but the last time you checked, it had not been set to autoplay. Which meant someone was in your house.

“Hello?” You call as you rise to your feet, stepping over your blanket as it falls to the floor. Your hands come up to rub your arms in an effort to ward off the slight chill in the air. 

The warm scent of spiced cinnamon apples fills your nostrils and delights your senses as you round the corner and scurry into the kitchen. Your legs don’t stop moving until you’re standing mere feet away from the one man who seemed to rent space in your mind from sunup to sundown. 

Ari Levinson. 

He’s standing there in your kitchen wearing a pair of dark blue denim jeans and a slate gray thermal, eagerly helping himself to an impressive slice of red velvet cake. He smiles at you through a mouthful of dessert, and it’s impossible to miss the way his sparkling blue eyes darken once he gets a good look at the red silk robe that matched your holiday lingerie. 

“I don’t believe it. Y–you’re home.” You breathe as one of your hands flies to your chest, seeking to calm your increasingly erratic heartbeat. “But–but how?” Clearly, forming coherent sentences wasn’t your strong suit right now.

“I made my woman a promise.” Ari shrugs, setting his now empty plate aside. “And like I told you, I aimed to see it through. That cake is fucking fantastic by the way.”

“You managed to catch a flight?” You’re so convinced that he might disappear again that you’re almost afraid to drink. 

“Nah. Clint and I decided to rent a truck and brave the elements in favor of a little cross-country road trip.” He leans back against the counter, as if bracing himself for your response. And you sure as shit aren’t the type to disappoint. 

“Through a flippin’ blizzard?!” You squeal, gripping your face in your hands. “Jesus H. Christ, Beast! Are you insane?!” 

“Clearly.” His grin quickly fades into a grimace when you let out another scream as you flail your arms wide. 

“I can’t believe you did this!” You tell him as you feel hot tears wet your cheeks. “I can’t believe you–you…you’re here on Christmas.” The words come tumbling out as the dam breaks. 

“Bird…” 

Ari reaches for you then, although you’re quick to bat his hands away in favor of throwing your arms around his neck and hauling him close. At a loss for what else to do, one of his heavy palms comes to rest on your lower back, rubbing in small, soothing circles while you busy yourself with sobbing into his broad chest.

“Breathe, baby. There we go.” He coos softly, waiting patiently for you to pull away long enough for him to get a good look at your tear stained face. 

“I’m so happy you’re home.” You hiccup, using his thermal to dry your eyes. “But I’m also really mad at you for putting yourself in danger like that. You and Clint.” You quickly amend, offering him a watery smile. “You could’ve died, and then I would’ve had to kill you.”

You weren’t joking. You’d been experiencing a variety of violent thoughts lately. 

“Is that right?” Ari wraps your arms around his neck again as you two begin to sway to the beat of the music playing in the background. “Well, I’ll make sure to pass that on.” 

“Please do.” You murmur as you rest your ear on his chest, content to listen to the sound of his heartbeat. “Was it a long drive?” You allow your eyes to fall closed as you wait for him to respond. Regardless of his answer, you’re determined to keep your calm. 

“Eh, about ten hours or so.” He hums, dipping your bodies in time with the song. “Give or take. But the weather got much better around the middle of Kansas. We took our time. We were careful. In fact, Clint’s still out there.”

“Oh God, why?”

“He’s headed to Louisiana. Something about needing to track down an old friend named Nat.” He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead before pushing you away so that he can twirl you around. “But enough about him. I missed you, Bird.” He briefly pauses your dance before bringing your knuckles to his mouth, making you melt.

“Yeah?” You purr, rising on your toes to nip at his jaw. “I missed you too. That’s why I’m wearing one of your Christmas presents. I was gonna show it to you on FaceTime, but you didn’t answer.”

Apparently because he’d been too busy driving across the country at the time. Who would’ve thought?

“This all for me?” His hands go to the belt of your robe, deftly undoing the knot. Once free, you give a little shimmy, content to let the robe pool on the floor at your bare feet. “Oh, yes the fuck it is.” The silky timbre of his voice has you soaking your panties.

As if they weren’t already ruined. 

“Merry Christmas.” Planting your hands on either side of his bearded jaw, you draw him down until your lips meet his. Groaning, your Bounty Hunter wastes almost no time deepening the kiss, his expert tongue sweeping past your defenses to duel with your own. 

God, he tasted so good. Like spearmint and coffee on a cold winter’s night. You honestly had no idea just how much you'd truly needed this man.

“Next time your sexy ass is comin’ with me.” Ari snarls, breaking the kiss to lightly tug at your bottom lip with his teeth. “Was gonna lose my mind if I had to go another day without this.”

“Okay, Beast.” You whimper when he sharply smacks your ass. “Whatever you say.” Right now, this man had no idea just how close you were to giving him whatever he wanted. All he had to do was ask. “Oooh!” You jolt when he delivers another blow. “Yes, baby. More!”

You’re rewarded with yet another delicious spank, which goes straight to your already aching clit. It was taking everything in you not to reach between your thighs and touch your dripping pussy.

But you refuse to give in, knowing that your man would want that privilege all for himself. 

“Mine.” He rasps, his tone taking on an almost feral quality as his calloused palms go to cup your heavy breasts through the thin fabric of your teddy. “Missed these perfect fuckin’ tits.” That’s your only warning before he grips the front of your garment and tearing it in two like it was nothing.

“Ari!” You gasp, arching your back when your man leans down to capture a pouting nipple into his warm, wet mouth. He sucks hard, using his tongue to tease the sensitive flesh. “Ungh!” You squirm in his grasp as long fingers dig into your hips to hold you in place for his sensual assault. 

Eventually, he releases you with a slight pop, just as his hands fall away from your hips. “Hope you’re ready, baby. Cuz’ I ain’t lettin’ you outta bed until New Year’s.” His roguish grin has a fresh tendril of heat unfurling in your belly. “Maybe later.”

“You’re all talk.” You giggle, slowly backing away as Ari continues to stalk towards you, using his muscular body to his advantage. 

“Nah.” He shrugs, his grin growing impossibly wider when your ass connects with your dining room table. “I can’t wait to lose myself between those thick thighs. Want you to fuckin’ suffocate me, baby.” 

Your Bounty Hunter drops to his knees in front you before burying his nose in your panty covered pussy and inhaling deeply. You feel your legs begin to quiver when he does it again, a soft cry escapes your lips when you feel his sharp teeth graze over the outline of your swollen clit.

“Need you to fuckin’ drown me while eat this pretty cunt.” Ari growls, delicately nipping at your inner thigh. “Swear I fuckin' see God every time I get you to sit on my face. That's how divine you taste.” 

“Oh!” You whine as he nuzzles his nose against the swollen bundle of nerves, making your core spasm. 

“But first, I’m gonna fuck you.” He places one last open-mouthed kiss on your mound before standing up and spinning you around in one blended motion. You cry out when your hands slap against the cool wooden surface. “Teach you a lesson for all the sass you fed me earlier today.”

On a growl, Ari makes quick work of his jeans, shoving them down his hair covered thighs along with his boxers almost faster than you can blink. 

“I’m so sorry, Beast…” You moan, offering up your stinging rump for another smack. Thankfully, Ari is more than happy to oblige. “Please…please...” Next thing you know, your thong has joined the rest of your ruined lingerie, putting your weeping cunt on display.

You let out a harsh gasp when you feel his hard, fat cock enter you in one swift thrust. Not wanting to wake the entire neighborhood with your screams, you find yourself biting down on your fist to keep yourself quiet. 

Ari takes a moment to readjust his position, spreading his legs so that he can go deeper, get a  better angle. He loves the way you sob for him, the needy little sounds you make while he fucks the shit out of your greedy little pussy. 

His hips snap in time with the music as your sweat-slick flesh connects again and again – driving you both closer to the brink. Your passion-filled cries fill the room as Ari somehow finds a way to go even deeper, giving it to you so good you know you’re gonna feel him inside you for days. 

Just the way you liked it. 

“Best Christmas ever, Duchess.” Your man grips the front of your throat, holding you in place while he uses you the way he needs to. God, he made you feel so good. Even when he had you ready to pull your hair out, he still had this way about him that made almost everything feel infinitely better.

“Best-oh God! More!” You cry out, your eyes rolling in the back of your head when he spanks your pussy with a measured flick of his wrist. This man wanted you to see stars, and he was more than up to the challenge. “Oh Jesus - f–fuck yeah!”

“There we go, sweetheart.” Ari purrs as his thrusts become a little more erratic. “Now how ‘bout we see how many times I can fill you up before the clock strikes midnight?”

“I–ooh!” You open your mouth to respond, only to let out a small shriek when he administers another wet smack.

“Huh.” He chuckles, leaving a trail of kisses along the curve of your throat. “Guess I’ll just have to take that as a yes.”

END

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[gamergirl-niffler]

Hello! Hope you are having a nice day! May I request for a Kyojuro and/or Haganezuka x fem!reader (separately) who is particulary clingy and loving with them?

I did my best! I hope you will enjoy it! 💗💗

Kyojuro/Haganezuka with clingy fem!reader

🔥Kyojuro Rengoku🔥

‌This man is just as clingy as you are!

Of course, he is clingy! He is in love and there is no better way to show it. All Kyojuro wants to do is to spend every possible moment, having you as close as possible.

‌Cuddles are must for the both of you

It doesn't matter if it's you hugging him or him hanging on you. Both of you love cuddles because there is nothing better than the warm embrace of a loved person.

Kyojuro loves to hug you tightly after every mission, your closeness is the best reward. This feels wonderful when the mission was successful, if it wasn't... Kyojuro will cling onto you. Just be there for him and hold him tight.

He will do the same for you. Every achievement of yours, big or small, is worthy of a tight hug.

The same happens when suddenly fortune turns on you. You can cry all you want, and he will hold you to maybe make it a little better, to show that you are safe and loved.

‌BIG on PDA!

He is not ashamed to show off his love to you.

You can be doing something, maybe talking to other Hashiras or simply enjoying the day, and suddenly Kyojuro is holding your hand, kissing your cheek or forehead, wrapping his arm around you.

Walking hand in hand with you makes him feel proud! Look everyone! I love and I am loved!

By being clingy, he shows his affection... But sometimes jealousy as well.

Of course, trust is a big foundation of your relationship. He trusts you, and you trust him.

But even jealousy manage to sneak between the two of you.

You are talking to Tengen a bit too enthusiastically and a little bit too long? Kyo is there to give you a kiss or simply hug you... Just in case.

You aren't any better! Let's be honest, Kyojuro's beauty is unusual, which draws attention... Female attention…

Once you notice some girl showing interest in your man, you are glued to him! Just nuzzling to him with Innocent smile, showing that he is taken.

‌Bed cuddles! 

Those are MUST just as the regular ones! Both of you get ready for bed and it's a cuddle time.

You are the little spoon because holding you like this gives him the feeling he is fulfilling his duties as a caring partner. Having you close and drifting off to sleep after a hard day is a dream come true.

Morning cuddles are just as fun! Both of you are just as sleepy, muttering a quiet 'good morning' and arguing about five more minutes!

He is just a big teddy bear that loves to hug and be hugged.

🔪Hotaru Haganezuka🔪

‌He hates how clingy you are... But he secretly loves it…

Hotaru isn't the most clingy person. There are stuff more important to do than cuddling all the goddamn time!

On the other hand... He will never admit to it, but he actually enjoys it.

He didn't experience much of a love in his life, not to mention he is kinda difficult person to be around. You are a little miracle that decided to give him a chance, and all those little actions from you feel so good and warm. 

‌Cuddles are a must for you... For him, not really.

Don't get him wrong! He loves it so much... But he isn't going to show it. 

Hotaru will even complain and give you a little grimace, but never push you away, accepting every hug you are willing to give him when the two of you are out of your house.

BUUUUUUUT

It is so much different when the two of you stay home. He will take it all without a word of complaint. You can hang on him whole day and he will even return some hugs.

PDA is not for him...

He is a specific person, he doesn't like to draw much attention to himself or you, so PDA is out of the question.

Let's be honest, there also isn't much need for it. Everyone knows you are his S/O and no one really wants to get into a fight with him.

Sometimes he gets soft

There are days when even he needs some love.

During those days he actually enjoys how clingy you are, and he is just as clingy back. 

He hugs you back and lets you play with his hair, actually whatever you want, you can do and will not hear a word against it. 

Of course, all of this only at your shared house.

Bed cuddles! 

Firstly, you have to get him to bed!

Once it's done, and he is calm, it's so much nicer. 

Hotaru wraps his strong arms around you and cuddles you to sleep, letting you do the same since you love it so much and how can you say no to that?!

In the morning, he is actually more clingy than you are. 

He pulls you back to bed when you try to get up, muttering things like. "Come back here" or "You are staying with me for a bit more."

There is no way to escape his grasps, both arms around you and face hidden in your neck make it impossible to leave the bed. You are his favorite little spoon.

[pedrospatch]

when i’m feeling alone, you remind me of home

Javier Peña x DEA Agent Female Reader

summary: Spending Christmas in Bogotá, Colombia isn’t ideal. Javier knows you’re missing home a little harder than usual, so he comes up with a plan to cheer you up.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. minor deviation from canon timeline (had to make it work), reader is an agent for the DEA, NO AGE SPECIED, NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION, reader understands and speaks spanish but no mention of her race or ethnicity, friends to lovers trope, reader celebrates christmas, reader has a good relationship with her family, minor smoking and alcohol consumption (both reader and javi), reader’s a bit rough around the edges sometimes. fluff, soft javi, he’s a bit of a grinch in the beginning though. switches in pov’s and tenses.

*ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS AT THE END.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: thank you to @hellishjoel for inviting me to join in on this fun project!

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist

Javier Peña doesn’t do Christmas.

He especially doesn’t do Christmas in Bogotá.

He doesn’t see the point even acknowledging it.

There are more important things on his mind.

Capturing Pablo Escobar.

Dismantling the dangerous Medellín Cartel.

Living long enough to tell the fucking tale.

Those were his priorities while in Colombia.

Not decking the halls with boughs of holly.

And yet, there he is, fighting with a string of bright and colorful lights, wishing these damn things would put themselves on the tree. “Puta madre,” Javi curses underneath his breath as he tries untangling them from around his waist. Somehow, he only makes it worse. He grumbles, “This is fucking ridiculous—it shouldn’t be this fucking hard throwing lights on a goddamn fucking tree—” He pauses, spins around to find where he’d gone wrong and then continues grouching to himself. “Can’t believe people do this fucking shit for fun. Stupidest thing I’ve ever—”

Javi manages to free himself and glances down at his watch to see he’s running out of time—it’s past five now, and unless Messina’s in one of those bad fucking moods of hers and decides to dump some last minute paperwork onto your desk, then you’re going to be walking through the front door soon.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling a deep and frustrated sigh.

He’d been an idiot to decline Connie’s offer to help him when she had dropped off the decorations for him earlier that afternoon.

“You sure you don’t need my help?” she had asked as she handed him the cardboard box overflowing with festive ornaments and tinsel. “I have a couple of more hours before I have to be at the clinic, you know. I can help you set it all up for her, make it all nice and pretty.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it handled,” he’d replied. “I’m sure it won’t take me too long to put some—is this fucking fruit?” Confused, Javi shifted the box over to his hip, pulling out a string of dried oranges and red cranberries. “Um, what the hell is this for? This supposed to be a snack for me while I decorate?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a homemade garland.”

“It’s a homemade what now?”

“Garland, Javier. It goes on the tree.”

Amused, he’d raised an eyebrow at her.

“Fruit going back onto the tree? That’s ironic.”

Sighing, Connie rolled her eyes at him once more.

“Last chance. Do you want my help or not, Javi?”

“I appreciate it, but like I said, I’ve got it handled.”

She’d shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself, then.”

Little did he know how he’d regret his decision. It’s a bigger headache than he thought it would be, an incredible waste of valuable time he could’ve been using to hunt down new leads, do the job he came here to do and find Pablo Escobar. Then again, the more he thinks about it, the more Javi realizes this isn’t a waste of his time at all—not really.

Because he’s doing this for you.

Because he knows you love Christmas.

Because he knows you’ve been feeling homesick.

The season you normally adored was bringing you nothing but heartache this year. There is a void—a hole in your heart that only your family could fill.

“Messina denied my request for time off,” you had told him, taking a drag of his cigarette—you’re not much of a smoker, but he’d learned that tended to change on occasion when you were upset. “Said it isn’t fair to let me go home for Christmas. That I’m not the only one who wants to be with their family. And I get it. I do.” Sighing, you took a second drag and then handed the cigarette back to Javier; he’d put it between his lips, the taste of cherry flavored lip gloss that lingered on the filtered tip prompting a craving stronger than his craving for nicotine. “It was selfish of me to even think of taking time off. I just—I miss spending Christmas in my hometown, you know? Waking up to snow outside my window in the mornings. Building snowmen with my sister, hurling snowballs at my brother. I miss my mother and her cooking. I miss my father and how even at our age, he still insists on pretending to be Santa.”

Laughing, Javier leaned forward on his stool.

You’d asked him to meet you at your usual spot—a quiet lounge bar right around the corner from your apartment. When he walked in and saw the scotch in front of you on the table, he’d known something was wrong. You’re not much of a drinker, either.

“Does he eat the cookies and drink the milk too?”

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest, a little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. He tried not to let his gaze longer there too long—he’s just one man. There was only so much strength he could muster to keep fighting the temptation.

“Of course. He takes his role very, very seriously.”

Despite your smile, he’d noticed it right away.

The unmistakable sadness in your eyes.

You were tough as fucking nails.

In this line of work, you had no choice but to be.

But Javier knew your family was your weakness.

His weakness?

His weakness was sitting there in front of him with a crestfallen expression on her pretty face, tracing around the rim of her glass with her finger.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Your voice had thickened, the emotions you’re used to bottling up threatening to boil over.

“Of course not,” he assured you. “There is nothing stupid about wanting to go back home to see your family. There’s nothing stupid about wanting to be with them for the holidays. I promise you that.”

You snorted. “Peña, we’re trying to bring down the most dangerous man in all of South America. Last thing I need to be doing right now is dreaming of a white Christmas. It’s fucking stupid, alright?”

Hesitantly, Javier lifted his hand and placed it over yours—it wasn’t the first time he’d ever held it, not the first time he had shown physical affection, but this was the most vulnerable he had ever seen you and he didn’t want to make things worse. Once he realized it was okay, he brushed the back of it with his thumb softly, soothingly.

“Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño.”

“No hay caso para eso, Javier.”

“Maybe I can convince her to let you go. She’s got me and she’s got Murphy. We’ll handle things here while you head home for a few days, spend a week with your family for Christmas. Doesn’t hurt to try, you know.” Javi squeezed your hand. Knowing just how fucking stubborn you could be, he insisted on it. “Por favor, cielo. Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. Dejame ayudarte.”

You drained the rest of your scotch and swallowed it along with the lump that had climbed it’s way up your throat. Setting the glass back down, you then pulled your hand out from under his and stood up.

“Forget it. I’m here because I have a job to do—we both have a job to do. I’ll get over it, Javier. Always do.”

Before he could say another word, you’d picked up your jacket and purse, making a quick dash for the exit before he could see the stubborn tear slipping out from the corner of your eye and down the side of your face. But he had seen it, and that’s exactly why he knew he had to do something for you.

About an hour later, Javi places a glittering star on top of the white spruce and then takes a couple of steps back, hands on his hips. Cocking his head to the side, he observes the tree and makes sure that he hasn’t left a single spot bare. He decides to add more gold tinsel until he feels oddly satisfied—and once he is, he pulls out his pocket knife, using it to open the small sized box he had brought with him; two different addresses were scribbled on the side of it in your mother’s handwriting, his apartment’s address the destination, her address the return.

“I wrapped it well,” she’d said over the phone. “It’s her most prized possession, so I really hope it gets to you in one piece or she’s going to kill us both.”

Javier slowly unwraps the object inside and feels a wave of complete and utter relief wash over him to see it made it through customs without breaking.

He squints, taking a better look at the ornament.

The little blonde ballerina is made of porcelain and holds a nutcracker soldier in her arms—the skirt of her dress is white lace embroidered with teeny red rosettes that perfectly match the blush painted on her cheeks and the color of the bow in her hair.

“It’s Clara,” your mother had explained to him.

“Who?” he’d asked, stupidly.

“Clara. You know, from The Nutcracker?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he’d fibbed. “Clara. Got it.”

He had no clue what she had been talking about—but if it’s special to you, then it’s special to him.

Carefully, Javi hangs it on tree just as he hears the front door open and then slam shut so hard that it causes the paper thin walls of your unit to rattle.

“Peña!” you shout loudly. “You fucking asshole!”

Lip rolling between his teeth, he stifles a laugh.

You must have seen his Wrangler parked outside.

Grinning, Javier steps out into the hallway to greet you. “Hola, hermosa. Bienvenida a casa.”

“So, let me get this straight,” you say, tossing your purse and unit keys onto a nearby table. “You offer to give me ride to and from work but then proceed to ditch me and leave work three hours early—you leave me with no other fucking choice but to call a cab to bring me home and when he drops me off, I see your fucking car outside of my apartment?”

Rubbing his chin, he hums, “Sounds about right.”

You approach him, your hands curled into fists.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Javier?”

Javi’s quick to hold up his own hands in defense.

He won’t put it past you to knock him out—he and Murphy have seen you bring down men twice your size before without a weapon. Neither of them can decide if it’s hot as hell or downright terrifying.

“Okay, put those away and let me explain,” he tells you, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry I did that to you, but I did it for a reason.”

You scoff, “Well, if that reason was to piss me off, I have some news for you—it fucking worked.”

“That wasn’t the reason. Not this time, anyway.”

Chuckling, Javier extends a hand, holding it out to you.

You peer at it. “What are you doing, Peña?”

“Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti.”

Suspiciously, you ask him, “What did you do?”

He laughs again. He knew it wouldn’t make it easy for him. “You do know how surprises work, right?”

You lift your chin. “I do and I don’t like surprises.”

“I know you don’t, but I think you’ll like this one.”

Javi continues to hold out his hand and waits.

He’s just as stubborn as you are, if not more.

“We can stand here all fucking night, corazón.”

Sighing in defeat, you place your hand in his, heart skipping a beat when he smiles and laces together your fingers with his own.

“Cierra tus ojos.”

“Javier, I don’t want—”

He quickly cuts you off. “Do you trust me?”

Of course. Hell, you trusted him with your life.

And not just because it’s a job requirement.

Huffing, you do as he says and close your eyes.

“Good.” Javier places his other hand on your waist and his fingers brush against the patch of smooth, soft skin peeking out from between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your blouse. Ignoring his burning desire to feel more of you, he leads the way into the living room and positions you in front of the tree. Without dropping your hand, he moves to stand directly behind you, chest pressed lightly against your back.“Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita.”

“Look Peña, I don’t know what you’re up to but—”

Your own startled gasp cuts you off mid sentence.

Squeezing your hand, he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and you can feel his grin as he whispers, “Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parece?”

You open your mouth to speak, then clamp it shut.

His surprise had left you speechless.

Pleased with himself, Javi nudges you towards the tree and then drops his hands down at his sides as he watches you gingerly touch the needles.

Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply, the delicious, woodsy smell of pine reminding you of your family and how you’d all pile into your father’s old pickup truck and head to the Christmas Tree Farm to find the perfect white spruce to take home. Your father took great care in the picking process—he wanted the tallest, fluffiest, most fragrant tree. “Need this place to smell like the farm!” he’d boom. You smile and can’t help but to think he’d approve of Javi—if not because of what he had done for you, then the choice in tree would be enough to win him over.

“Do you like it?” he asks, softly.

You open your eyes and whirl around. “Javi, I can’t believe you did this,” you say, breathlessly. Smiling brighter than the lights on the Christmas tree, you throw your arms around him. “I love it so much!”

He savors the embrace—and wonders if you know just how perfectly you fit right in his arms.

“There’s one more surprise,” Javier informs you as he spins you around to look at the tree once again. “Do you see it?”

“See what?” Peering at the tree, you frown. “What am I supposed to be looking for—wait a second, is that—is that Clara?” Your hand flies to your mouth and you look up at him in complete shock. “That’s the ornament my grandmother made for me when I was a baby! I’ve had her since my first Christmas. How did you—?”

“Santa no cuenta sus secretos.” Javi grins, pulling you closer against his side. “But if you must know, your mom sent it to me,” he confesses. “Actually, I have to be honest—this whole thing was her idea.”

Perplexed, you ask, “This was my mom’s idea?”

“I know you’ve been having a hard time being here during the holidays instead of with your family,” he says. “I called her up a couple of weeks ago, asked her what I could do for you. We started talking and came up with this.” He shrugs and touches a hand to the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I know it’s not the same as going home. But I thought it might be nice to bring a little piece of home here to you.”

Warmth blossoms inside of your chest as you turn to face him. You place a hand on his chest. “Javi?”

Nervously, his throat bobs. “Yeah?”

“Why did you do this for me?”

Javier lifts his hand and tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “I told you. I just want to see you happy.”

“But why?”

You know why.

But you need to hear him say it.

You need to hear it from his own mouth.

Javi’s hand moves to cup the side of your face. “Is it not obvious?” he murmurs as he grazes the silky soft skin over your cheekbone. “Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientas igual.”

“How do you know I don’t feel the same for you?”

“Do you?” His thumb sweeps your bottom lip. “Do you feel the same for me?”

Your hand curls around his red plaid flannel.

“I shouldn’t,” you admit. “We’re work partners.”

He feigns offense. “Ouch. And here I was, thinking we were friends.” He now takes your chin between his index finger and his thumb. Licking his lips, his eyes meet yours. “Breaking my heart, baby.”

Your breath audibly catches. “We are friends—and it scares me to put our friendship on the line.”

“But?” he prompts as he tilts your head up toward his. His opposite hand finds your hip and pulls you closer to him.

“But when you do things like this—it’s hard for me not to fucking fall in love with you, Peña.” You drag your hand down his chest, your fingers relishing in the softness of his flannel. “It’s so fucking hard for me not to fall in love with somebody who feels like home.”

Javier’s chuckles softly.

“For the record, this wasn’t a ploy to get you to fall in love with me, corazón. But if it worked—” Javier pauses, dropping his hand from your face. “Then I guess it’s worth pulling this thing out.”

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Javi, what the hell are you—?”

He grins, holding the mistletoe above your heads.

“Connie said this might come in handy.”

Your eyes flicker to his lips, then meet his gaze.

“Ven aqui, Peña.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull Javi in and crash your mouth against his. You brush his bottom lip with your tongue and he grants you the access you’re looking for. He tastes like spearmint and scotch, and something else too.

He tastes like yours.

And he feels like home.

diver credit to @saradika-graphics ❤️

Translations

Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño. - I’ll talk to Messina, darling.

No hay caso para eso, Javier. - There’s no point, Javier.

Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. - Let me help you with this. I just want to see you happy.

Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti. - Come with me, I have a surprise for you.

Cierra tus ojos. - Close your eyes.

Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita. - You can open your eyes, pretty girl.

Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parch? - Surprise, precious girl. You have a Christmas tree. What do you think?

Santa no cuenta sus secretos. - Santa doesn’t tell his secrets.

Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientes igual. - You know all too well I have feelings for you. Even if you don’t feel the same.

Ven aqui, Peña. - Come here, Peña.