#what if he and opeli had a drunk one night stand once?

[criminalflower]

This is the face of a man who's mentally going through all of his exes to figure out which one he got pregnant.

[graymanshoots]

Try

FWB!Ghost x GN Reader x pastHookup!Konig

Tags: Hookup,semi public sex, regret, angst, yelling, ginger konig, konig doesn't wear his mask constantly like ghost (Only on the field), vulnerability , crying, arguments,no beta we die like men

Part: 1 - 2

A/n: I finally finished this on two days of no sleep and a missing beta reader. Hope guys enjoy the tad bit of spice at the beginning and as needed 18+.

Seeing the head of ginger hair standing out not only cause of its color but because it belonged to the tallest person in the room, filled your stomach with stones.

The memory of the familiar face shot through your mind like a bolt of lighting igniting your nerves as you tensed next to your teammates.

You were all shipped up and sent to a warehouse a couple of weeks after finding out you’d be working with kortac.

Having arrived days before they had you were granted time to stop for a drink with johnny and kyle. Price didnt join claiming he wanted to be prepared and if price isn't coming neither did ghost much to your benefit.

Maybe if he had come you would be piss drunk with the team probably getting dragged back to the warehouse by the man himself, instead you were barely tipsy with your cheek pressed into the leather seating of a stranger's car.

His broad chest rubbing against your back with each harsh thrust, the car surely visibly shaking on the outside.

You dont even have to guess how fucked you would be if he remembered you and decided to ope his mouth.

You cross your arms over your chest and lean against one of the metal support beams that the building had an abundance of.

Despite your wishful thinking the red headed man's eyes fell on you and you knew he knew.

You were quick to notice the slight quirk in his lip before going stoned face once more.

He introduced himself as “konig” before introducing the rest of his team, his eyes occasionally flicking over to you.

“Fuck sake, this guys huge.” Kyle whispered to you coming around to your side.

Kyle had no idea how true his words were, the phantom feeling of being filled by Konig's thick cock.

You nod in acknowledgement to what Kyle says letting out a sigh, “Laswell described him as a battering ram, yeah” you say.

You don't fail to notice the way Konig eyes you up every chance he gets like he had done in the bar nights prior. When you saw him in the bar he was far more blatant with his staring, his interest apparent as he shifted his stance debating on whether to approach you or not.

Rubbing the sweat built from nervousness off his palms and onto the tight cargo pants he wore he finally came over when the boys were getting another round of drinks to approach you.

The conversation between you two was short as you both seemed to have the same goal in mind: get laid.

After Simon you hadn't slept with anyone else but it was a welcomed gift to feel wanted again.

Konig was definitely someone you found attractive, you wouldn't have had breathy moans pulled from your throat in the back of his car if he wasn't.

But he wasn't simon.

A small piece of you felt guilty while the rest was saying fuck it, ghost ditched you not the other way around.

You mentally return to the conversation when you hear your name being said, you realize price is introducing the team and you give a small acknowledgement, your fingers twitching at your hip.

“Oh, I’m familiar.” König responds to your introduction with quick ease causing your teammates eyes to fall on you. Johnny gave you a knowing look of mischief, his bright blues having seen you with the man before you disappeared from the group.

“Just a brief meeting in a bar, unfortunately I did not stay long enough to meet the rest of you.” He clarifies noticing your subtle glare.

The encounter was anything but brief, you thought to yourself as the conversation was then drawn off of you.

It’s wasn’t until later that you bumped into the behemoth of a man.

“You were so vocal a few nights ago now you walk around quiet as a mouse.” He comments a smirk playing on his uncovered lips.

“You pester all your random hookups?” You retort your lips stretching into a thin line as you looked up at him.

“Just the ones I have to work with, mein Freundin.“ he chuckles ignoring your unamused expression.

“Well if that’s all I’ll be going.” You sigh not wanting to get involved any further.

But as you pass his hand grips your wrist and suddenly your back in front of him with his other hand at your chin.

He forces your head to the side and a smirk comes to his lips as he looks at the newly exposed skin .

“So schön, sie sind wie eine Blume .” And then he’s gone and already halfway down the hallway by the time you gather yourself.

Ghost walking down the opposite side of the hallway having seen the interaction from a distance. His eyes arrow on you and then the retreating redhead.

You let out a huff of frustration when you see him and reluctantly start walking in his direction.

“You two seem close, got anything you want to share?” He questioned you his tone accusatory. After weeks of barely speaking to you he breaks the silence to ask about a personal situation.

“It doesn’t concern you lieutenant.” Your quick to respond but he doesn’t want to take that answer.

“It’s concerns me when it’s involves an enemy and You.” He grumbled crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why do I concern you Ghost? I’m just someone you used to use so fuck off cause I already know what your thinking.” The words come out harsher and more bitter than what you intended. Your frustration and resentment to the man you wish you didn’t love coming out almost full force.

Ghost stiffened at your words, his jaw and fists clenching as you brushed past him.

Once he could no longer hear your steps his entire body deflated his shoulders feeling heavy with shame.

He was being unfair to you and he hated himself for it but he felt so selfishly it was hard to stop.

Ghost adjusted his mask and shook off the guilty feeling that loomed over him before continuing down his path.

You could feel your skin buzzing with irritation, your palms stinging from being squeezed into tight fists. Why did he have to make everything in your life harder every time?

No matter how many steps you take away, ghost manages to still be right on your tail. You found yourself spacing for the rest of the day until your sat across from the same person you didn't want to see again that day.

Ghost sat across from you staring you down as you ate the unappetizing food served in mess.

His gaze was unrelenting; he looked as if he was aching to say something but stopped himself instead opting to tap his finger on the edge of his empty plate idley.

“Y’think Lt’s mad at ye?” Johnny questions quietly from his place beside you. You narrow your eyes at the sergeant, “Why would he be?”

Johnny had this look on his face like he did something he wasn't supposed to as he clicked his teeth and shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“He asked aboot whit we were up to at the pub, an i think i might ‘ave talked ye into some trouble.” he confessed glancing over at simon who was still boring holes into the side of your head.

You didn't have time to retaliate against your teammate for his loose lips before simon was standing from his seat arms crossed. “We need to talk, now.” His tone was sharp, his words spoken in that usual gruff manchester accent.

You sucked your teeth and agreed not wanting to make a scene in the mess hall, mentally you vowed to eventually get johnny back for damning you.

After leaving mess ghost lead you to an unoccupied meeting room shutting the door behind the both of you.

“Looks like you got a type.” Ghost started leaning against the door with his arms crossed.

“Don’t fucking start with me ghost, what i do outside of work is none of your damn business.” you hiss plopping down on one of the many chairs in the room.

“Don't tell me it's not my business when you have a drawer of shit at my apartment.” he retorted, his eyes narrowing on you. His body was tense and his shoulders squared like he needed to move but wouldn't allow himself to.

You could feel your eyes burn as your frustration grew, your fists clenching and unclenching.

“You can throw all the shit away, i don't even know why you still even have it.” you mutter looking down at ghost’s shoes avoiding his glare.

“I kept them because i ca-” you cut ghost off before he could say anymore, “Dont you dare fucking do that to me simon!” you snap meeting his glare with glazed eyes.

Standing from the seat you approached Simon's further tensing figure. “You're a jackass, Simon, y’know why? Because i told you how i fucking felt and you fucking left. Now im living my adult life and you want to act like im your fucking girlfriend or something, let me move on!” you were borderline shouting the frustration bleeding out of your eyes and into your voice.

Simon couldnt hold your gaze anymore he couldn't stand that look in your eyes or the dampness of your cheeks. He could feel the words crawling into the back of his throat but none of them were the right thing.

What could he say to fix this, what could he do when your fury spoke so loudly that he wanted to shrink away.

“I…” he took a breath “Im sorry” his arms hung loosely by his side, fingers tapping rapidly at his palm.

“Sorry doesnt change the fact that you left, then treated me like nothing, and ar now trying to grill me about my sex life when you removed yourself from all of my personal life.”

You wiped your face as your tone came down, the short burst of aggression dying down with it.

“I'm tired simon, I devoted so much to you for so long for it all to end because you cant figure yourself out.” You bring your eye’s down to the ground again before back up at simon.

“You’ve had years of us playing this cat and mouse game, if your still confused, if your still unsure, if you don't want…” Your eyebrows pinch together as you clench your jaw.

“If you don't want me, then why are you here? Why are we even having this conversation if your actions speak your truth, because that's all I have to go off of?” Your question struck Simon and his breath caught in his throat.

He rubbed his face over the mask, the feeling of the fabric suddenly becoming so suffocating.

The rough material rubbed uncomfortably on his skin as he pulled it off his chapped lips parting for a heavy breath.

He disheveled with his messy blonde hair and eye bags that seemed deeper than usual.

“You’ve ruined everything for me…” he starts your eyebrows furrowing at his words.

“Everything in my life is so fucking mixed with yours and i can let it go. I thought avoiding you would help make you leave every piece of my being but it just made it worse. You know what happened to my family, and i dont want to use that as an excuse but im fucking terrified of seeing you in my nightmares.” Simon's lips are drawn into a thin line and his body slumps into the wall, his shoulders dropping.

“I know im an arse and big fucking mess and selfish as all hell, but i feel different for you and i dont know what to do with it.” his shaky hands clasped together in front of him.

“You have no idea how many times we’ve been together and i just wanted to have all of you, how many futures that have lingered in my mind over our years together. I want you for the rest of my life but I don't know how long that life will even be.” simon looks to you with a tired sigh.

You feel frozen in your spot the bitterness and frustration in your chest deflating into an equal exhaustion.

“Where do we go from here simon? I love you and I've loved you for over a decade but I can't keep going if you’re going to take years to tell me what you want.” You say stuffing your hands into your pockets unsure what to do with them.

“I like who i am around you, and i dont want to loose one of the only good things left in my life cause im being fucking daft. Am I too late?” his tone was soft almost a whisper. It felt so uncharacteristic for a man like simon ‘ghost’ riley to say something like this, to speak so softly and seem so nervous. You almost felt unsure about how genuine his words were but his glazed eyes had crushed your doubt.

Bringing your hands from your pockets you hesitantly grabbed simons hands before pulling them around you. He immediately melted into the hug, his hands gripping at you as if you'd disappear if he didn't hold you so tightly.

You could feel his relief as you held onto him his shaky breath evening out and his muscles going almost lax.

“We can try again.”

[Good ending] :)

[sleepyrainart]

Little Bits of Valentine's.

A small series featuring little stories including either OP/JJk characters.

Summary: Receiving nudes from your boyfriend. Including: Mihawk, Zoro, Sanji, Luffy and Usopp.

Warning: Male Nudity.

Mihawk was wondering why he was even here. His drunk ….. acquaintance, hugging him around the shoulders. Leaning most of his weight on him. Since the red head was drunk and having trouble standing. Mumbling about some mundane thing. Mihawk would rather be anywhere else. But Shanks grip was surprisingly strong for someone who lost their wits two hours ago.

“You know, um, what was I saying?” Shanks asks as if he was paying any attention. The only saving grace was the rich red wine he was enjoying. Though the drunk had tried numerous times to get him to drink his moonshine. Mihawk didn't need a sensitive nose to know how foul the drink was, “I know why you won't drink.” Shanks whispers conspiratorially in his ear. A giant grin and evil look in his eyes.

“Oh,” Mihawk sighs and decides it's best to play along. “And why is that?”

“Cause, cause you're scared.” Shanks bursts out laughing, nearly toppling. Mihawk rolled his eyes, too dignified to respond. But Shanks continued to laugh, loudly. His crew joining in. Taking a large sip of wine as he felt his patience slip. “Drink.” Shanks says as he tries to push the bottle to Mihawk's lips. The less drunk man pushing it away.

“Drink.” He whines again, pouting. “Drink.” He repeats with a different inclination. Once again, his crew joins in, chanting out of unison. Another sigh and he finally takes the bottle. Taking a small sip. Everyone boos. It's not like he cares about their opinions. But he does want some peace. So he takes a larger gulp. The clear liquid burning all the way down his esophagus. Settling hot in his stomach.

“Happy?” He asks, and the smiling man shakes his head.

---------- Later ----------

It was late at night or early in the morning. His befogged mind could not decide. Struggling to open his hotel door. He finally gets it open with a victorious sneer. He closes it with his foot. It slams loudly, and he hopes that red-headed idiot hears it, and it hurts his dumb head. Oh, yes, he loves that idea.

So his befuddled mind slips to other things he loves, novels and wine on a stormy night. Tending to his garden and having wine afterwards. You, that's where his drunk mind sticks. You were so pretty it makes him blush. Not that he would ever admit that. He thinks as he stares at his reflection. A drunk thought pops into his mind.

Though it may have been planted by a red-headed idiot. He would be the one to take all the credit. Because it was a really good idea. His hand delves into his pocket. Pulling out his phone. He turns on his camera. Struggling with his delicate fly. Pulling his semi hard member out. It was at that moment his door swings open. The red-headed idiot mistaking it for his room. In his struggle to cover himself, his finger slips. Pressing multiple buttons.

---------- Morning ----------

You're surprised to see a text from Mihawk. He usually prefers to call. Opening it, you see a confusing, blurry image. A smear of red that you're pretty sure is his friend Shanks. But you really can't make out anything.

You were busy doing some menial task. Not really paying attention. Daydreaming about a well deserved vacation. Maybe somewhere tropical, hot sand and lapping waves. Fruity drinks on tap. Mouth watering as you're lost in thought.

A quiet ding, breaking you out of your daydream. You see a message from your boyfriend. Opening it, you sigh, you didn't ask for this. A picture of his half erect cock. You find his lower stomach more appealing, gleaming with sweat. His lower abdominal muscles shining. Sharp hip bone and tasty v. He was so strong it makes you blush.

Turning off your screen and getting back to work. There were twenty minutes until your break. Then, you could return the favour.

You're feeling down, a sad mood overcoming you. It had been an okay day, but you were lonely. Your boyfriend had been away all week. You both tried to make do with texts and calls. But it just wasn't the same.

You decided to ask for something, you've never asked for before. It was an impulsive thought and a quick text. Kinda pervy, and you kinda regret it. But it did take your mind off your bad mood.

Cause now you feel worse. Nerves gnawing at your stomach. He doesn't usually take this long to respond. Phone glued to your hand as you go about your chores. You wake the screen each time it darkens.

No response. You feel like crying, but maybe you're hungry. Deciding a bowl of cereal will have to do. You make it one-handed and struggling. Spilling some milk.

You lean on the counter. Mindlessly shoving spoonfuls into your mouth. Dry eyes still staring at your screen. The battery signalling it's low. So you have to charge it. Deciding to shower. Maybe the hot water will make you feel better.

Going through your lonely nighttime routine. You check your phone as soon as you're done. Still nothing. You almost cry, but you're tired. Going to bed earlier than usually wouldn't be too bad. At least not as bad as just waiting.

Lying awake under the covers, shifting again. Finding no position comfortable. You give up and stare at the ceiling. You don't know for how long but finally your phone dings.

Sanji had sent you a text and you're dreading opening it. Shutting your eyes as you press on it. Cracking one eye open before they fly open in shock. A full mirror selfie. Handsome face, grinning and a blushing. Hair weighed down by water, obviously fresh out of a shower.

Droplets of water contouring his muscles. Your eyes following their downward trajectory. Butterflies erupting in your belly. Looking over the sexy v and to his erection. Standing proud and crowned by golden pubes. Long, hard and thick. An ache between your legs. His mushroom tip flushed red and dripping pearls of pre-cum.

Sorry it took so long, darling. But I just knew it had to be perfect. His next text read with an obscene amount of hearts and kisses. Your heart aches, your boyfriend was so perfect. You should reciprocate.

Luffy tried.

Usopp misunderstood.

[abysscronica]

Abyss, can we have some au headcannons for birdie and kid and the crew? Like, how they meet, how they get along, what would they be if they met in our world kinda stuff. If that's not too bothersome ofcourse. With love. ❤

Yo! Of course.

First of all, if you're interested in this topic, I recommend a fic from my fellow fanwriter and friend KiraReno, titled "Modern Life."; I linked it but you can find it on Wattpad. It's a modern!AU Law x OC, but birdie (as "Lotte") is a character that gets involved with Kid there. I was partially involved in the crafting of her plotline. Heads up: unfortunately the story is unfinished, the author is on a hiatus and I'm not sure when/if she's coming back. Either way, she has a lot of OP characters x reader stories, and she's one of the best OP authors out there in my opinion.

Now, moving onto your modern!AU Kid x birdie headcanons! Under the cut.

Birdie is probably a veterinarian of some sort - with the fact that she has a medic aptitude but she doesn't particularly like people, I think it works

Kid is either a mechanic or a mechanic engineer, OR even better, he works in a workshop to pay for his engineer studies

Killer is studying to become a chef, helps Kid sometimes for some extra money

both hit the gym all the time

they are also occasionally involved in some shady stuff like illegal car racing or so

I like the idea of birdie going around with an old vespa that often has issues

so they would meet when she brings it to Kid's workshop to get repaired

Kid would be enthralled because it's a very unusual vehicle, he strikes me as the type that would know anything about old models and they would get him very excited

he takes notice of the sarcastic girl that brings in such motor scooter

if they live in the same town, they might meet at some party - let's say Luffy and the gang throw a big one, he'll probably invite Kid & crew, and birdie can be there through common friends like Koby

I feel like Kid would normally have a lot of casual sex and one-night stands, so it wouldn't be a big deal for him to hit on her - just to be blatantly ignored

then there's a drinking competition that birdie totally rules (not win, as Zoro is there, and Nami is a worthy opponent too, but she certainly impresses a lot of people with her drunk-sassy attitude)

Killer & crew will have a "uh-oh" moment as they see Kid zeroing on her and setting on the pray

he challenges her to a 1v1; if he wins, she goes on a date with him (he would already have her phone number because of the vespa repair)

and that's how they go out for the first time

she's definitely very impressed with the work he did on her vespa, no one had done such a good job before

during the date, Kid definitely catches her eye, she's drawn in by his wild side, it feels new, exciting, refreshing

but she's very insecure, she's the type that has avoidant attachment issues due to being neglected as a child (Aokiji as adoptive, quite distant father maybe?), so she feels intimidated by him

which she tries to cover up by being extra sassy

Kid senses her insecurities, but the mixture with her strengths kinda excites him even more

not much will happen on that first date except for a fun night together

once he gets home, Killer is playing video games (they're roommates), and casually says "oh, you're home early, so no luck with the vespa girl?"

"not yet"

Killer is quite surprised as Kid usually loses interest quickly if a woman doesn't put out

in the following days, he observes how Kid is more attracted to her than he even realizes, but he's not sure the girl feels the same

Killer decides to secretly help out his homie by organizing something chill like a bbq and inviting common friends, so birdie can come over with her own mates and she & Kid can spend time together in a neutral environment

birdie feels more secure in this occasion

they kiss for the first time

their actual first time would happen after a couple more dates, when they both get drunk

it'll be hard for birdie, but she'll tell him before that she is a virgin

this gets Kid extra excited, he loves the idea of being her first, and the whole pain/pleasure situation is definitely his thing

BUT he still tries his best to be gentle (for his standards) and prepares her as much as he can by going down on her first

after that night, they become a couple

it's not easy to adjust as they're both strongheads and totally new at this

they have crazy physical chemistry and they're hot for each other all the time, but there will be a lot of messy fights too

somehow tho they always find their way back to each other (although Killer has to mediate sometimes)

birdie bonds with the crew too, especially Killer and Heat

birdie & Killer become pasta buddies

she's drawn to Heat because he makes her feel very calm and secure, he's drawn to her for the same reason, he's not used to girls feeling so safe around him

plus birdie doesn't care about the shady stuff or the punk looks, so they can be themselves around her all the time

as a couple, Kid & birdie are horny, both jealous and possessive, fierce, sassy

but they have their secret soft moments when no one is around

Kid is sometimes brutal but a huge help for birdie's insecurities, and she's a great incentive to push him trough his studies because she encourages him all the time and believes in him even when he doesn't

the crew don't say anything, but they're definitely overjoyed seeing their boss so happy

There you go, I hope you like it! It was fun, feel free to ask for more stuff. ❤️

[remyfire]

🎲 for bj and margaret if you're still doing them?

You get a kiss on the cheek! This one got extremely sad. ;n; I'm so sorry. CW for one of the characters being drunk! Kiss Roulette

When there's a knock on her door in the middle of the night, Margaret always knows there's a crisis of some kind. She sits up instantly, ears attuning through the pumping adrenaline to the sounds of the camp. But despite how closely she finds herself listening—even to the point of holding her breath—there's no helicopters, no shouting over triage, no running footsteps. There's dead silence, the kind she strictly associates with the isolation past midnight when the only people awake are in post-op or patrolling the camp.

Another knock. Margaret whips the blankets off and rolls straight out of her cot. She snags her bathrobe and just barely gets it tied before she opens the latch. "What is it?"

Of all people, it's BJ.

Margaret cannot recall a time before Korea where her mind worked as fast as it does now. With blistering speeds, she runs through the facts—he's not on duty anywhere, and actually he's off duty because he already worked that afternoon and he has an early post-op shift tomorrow, and if anyone is going to tell her they need her to scrub up, it'd probably be one of her nurses while the surgeon is on their way to the sink, and more than anything else, if she was needed in an authoritative capacity, BJ Hunnicutt wouldn't be here with spirits on his breath.

Margaret curls her nose and furrows her brows at the same time. "I'm going to assume you're lost on your way to your tent."

He blinks at her through squinted eyes. He always seems so light-sensitive once he's started overindulging, and even with her tent in total darkness, it's like she herself is too bright for him to safely perceive. But even with the booze on his breath and the sight of him struggling to see, he's still so incredibly handsome that it makes her fluttering heart take off like a sprinter at the very end of a race.

That won't do at all.

"Hunnicutt," she prompts firmly.

He straightens, then sways, reaches over her head to catch himself on her locker. "Margaret."

She's not even a little boxed in—could step backward, could shove him on his rear—but something about him looming over her like this makes her breath catch. His tall frame blocks the moonlight, bathes her even further in shadow, and if she focuses hard enough, she swears she can almost feel the heat rolling off his body. So she stays.

When Margaret opens her mouth to try and prompt an explanation, he reaches out and she chokes on the words. Those clever, life-saving fingers of his catch the edge of her robe right above her collarbone like a shirt's lapel, and as he rubs the fluffy fabric between his fingertips, she feels every hair on her neck stand straighter at attention than her father ever has.

"H-Hunnicutt?" Her voice is far smaller now.

BJ flicks his glassy eyes up to meet hers, only the edge of their gleam visible on the dark planes of his face. "I thought you might let me in."

Just three nights ago, Margaret tossed and turned in her cot for an hour straight, so tight in her skin that even her exhaustion wasn't enough to let her drop off. She'd fought. She really, really had. If she caught herself squeezing her thighs together, she'd spread them out again. Kept staring at the canvas far overhead and trying to imagine stars there instead. But she'd finally broken. Of course she had. She'd slipped her fingers through her slick folds and brought herself to the brink, and despite all the promises she's made to herself, he was right there above her, blue gaze boring into hers, whispering so softly.

"That's it, darling. Just a little more. Let me hear you, all right?"

BJ's slight bobbing forward clarifies the moment in an instant, and suddenly all she can think about is how anyone could peek outside and see this incredibly married man standing outside her tent's open door, could draw their own conclusions. "You need to go. You're drunk. You're on duty in the morning, and the last thing those patients need is—"

But his palm finds her cheek, and it's so broad, so rough, and Margaret bites down hard on her bottom lip to trap in her shivery exhale. And then he's stepping forward, and Margaret Houlihan, once an impenetrable ice queen, yields immediately.

The moment he's inside, Margaret cranes around him to make sure the door shuts, and he reacts with admirable grace to loop his arm around her waist as though they're dancing. They turn completely, her back to the entrance, and then his forehead is pressing against hers, hard and unyielding.

"Hunnicutt, whatever's on your mind, y-you're not going to," she says sternly. If her fingers come up to cup his sharp jawline, it's just to make sure that he doesn't lean in.

BJ hums, something short and tuneless. "What about what's on your mind?" Moment by moment, his words are losing their fullness. "D'we get to do that?"

Just a week ago, she'd been writing a letter at her desk when she'd thought, of all things, about his legs. Though BJ's grown more passive as their time in Korea continues to be extended, he'd chosen just that morning to take a slow jog around the perimeter of the camp. He didn't keep the same pace as he did when he first arrived, and it took only a glance at his tank top and shorts to show her how his body had softened, but on he went, single-minded, eyes never moving from directly in front of him, and Margaret had nearly run into the wall of the Mess Tent rather than used the door.

The moment she thought of his long legs bracketing her body, she'd had to drop her pen then and there and press her fingers inside of herself, picturing how hard his hands would sink into her hips as he lifted them for a better angle.

"What's on my mind is sleeping. In my cot. Because it's three in the morning."

With how her eyes are adjusting to the darkness and the low stream of light coming through her window, she can see how BJ's lips quirk. "Y'know, not a bad idea." He gently brushes the tips of their noses together.

All at once, danger floods her, and Margaret slaps one hand on his chest to push him back an inch. "You have your own cot."

"It doesn't fit me. I've got a lot of things that don't fit right now."

It's not the first time he hasn't worn his wedding band—in her broad experience, surgeons so rarely do, and for a number of reasons that still put a bad taste in her mouth—but the night swims into dizzying color when he lifts his left fingers to push the hair out of her face. Margaret was never necessarily revered for being top of her class, anything. She was the cute, fun girl in college, flirting wildly and laughing all night with her roommates. But right now, she can't help but wonder if she's reading deep between the lines like a literature class, or if—

He leans in, straining against her palm, and all at once, she knows she's not overanalyzing at all.

"Hunnicutt, enough."

He makes a low sound, something more reminiscent of a kicked puppy than anything else. "C'mon."

Margaret shakes her head. "Absolutely not."

"I-I don't want..." BJ licks his lips. "I don't want that. Promise. Just...just a kiss, okay?"

Oh, Lord, give me strength. She's never wished for wounded to arrive before, but all at once it seems paramount that they do. He's close enough that she can feel the heat of his breath against her mouth, and the goosebumps that explode over her body stir her blood to heat. "You're drunk," she points out again.

"Only a little."

"You can barely walk."

BJ shrugs one shoulder almost lazily. "How's that different from coming out of OR, huh?"

"You're married." She hoped she wouldn't have to fire that bullet.

All at once, he goes silent. Frozen. Though Margaret is breathing loudly, trying to cool herself back down, she can't hear a thing coming out of him. It's as though time has stopped completely, and it's only his heart rushing right under her hand that lets her know the world continues to turn.

His fingers slide deeper through her strands, lighting a tingle across her scalp like electricity, and for just a second, her control slips. The treacherous groan escapes her, and suddenly BJ's other hand is digging into her hip just like she'd fantasized.

"You don't want to?" BJ asks through a sand-rough tone. "You don't wanna kiss me?"

She could lie. She really could. She knows it's what he needs to hear. But also she knows she'd never convince him. She's the one who asked him into her bed just a handful of months ago. She's the one who's been imagining him there twice a week since her marriage fell to pieces. Who is she kidding?

In the midst of her silence, though, BJ murmurs to fill it, and his words are so weak and wretched that they're barely audible. "You don't want to."

"I want to," she blurts on a whisper. That alone seems to be enough to make BJ lose a little more control over his body. He sags almost his full weight into her, and Margaret stifles a sudden ache to cry. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I want to, but you don't. You'll hate yourself."

"I want to," BJ counters, each word slurred as thick as molasses. "I need it. Need you. D'you know how lonely I am?"

Margaret squeezes her eyes shut so hard that they burn almost as much as her heart. "I think if anyone in this camp knows how lonely you are, yes, it's...it's me."

"Just a kiss," he stresses. "Just a few. I'll keep my hands off. It'll be just like, like friends, huh?"

The preposterousness of what he's saying is so immense, she wishes it could make her laugh. In a better world, this would be just another sick practical joke, nothing but BJ coming in flesh-and-blood Little Mac form, and the moment he presses her into her cot, he'll laugh and tease her and she'll slap him, and tomorrow they'll keep being like they always have even still.

"See? No hands." BJ lifts them off of her, and all at once he crashes forward.

Margaret strains, pressing her feet hard into the floor, her calves and arms burning to keep him steady. "We're not doing this. We're not. I-I'm sorry, BJ, I just..."

His arms slide around her waist, and as he refinds his footing, he touches his mouth to her ear. "Say it again? My name?"

Her eyes sting. Barely two weeks ago, she'd pushed her fingers almost violently inside of herself while pulling at her nipple with her other hand, and she'd whispered his name as almost a prayer, an invocation, a desperate plea, and when she broke, there were tears, and the shame of how badly she wanted him burned up any pleasure she might've taken from the act.

The tears come now too. "Captain Hunnicutt," she stresses.

As though he doesn't hear her, BJ presses a kiss to her cheek, gentle as a song.

Her entire body breaks out in tingles, and after taking just one more moment to ground herself, she forces the words out. "I'm saying no."

He goes completely rigid. Something rushes out of him—a sound she can only categorize as a whimper—before he repositions his arms. They loop around her shoulders and squeeze her tight. "Sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. Jesus Christ."

Because she has to, Margaret whispers back. "It's okay." Even though it's not. But nothing she hungers for with him is okay either. Hypocrisy no longer tastes cool in her mouth, like ice or menthol. It's bitter and rancid. She wants nothing more to do with it.

"I-It's just this...this goddamn letter, a-and I..."

If she gives him her ear right now, she'll give him her body before the hour's out, and she knows it. She knows herself. Knows her tendency. Knows how hungry she's always been to comfort a man, to see if he'll pick her first for once in her fucking life—

I'm sorry. Forgive me.

"What you need is to go lay down. Okay?" Margaret pats him firmly on the back like burping a baby and turns her voice higher at the edge of every word. Bright. Sweet. "Hunnicutt, everything always feels better in the morning. You know that."

He huffs. Sniffles. All at once, he leans back, as though he's managed to regain just the faintest tendril of sobriety. "Yeah, no, you're right. O'course."

As BJ turns his head away, he doesn't look like the statuesque surgeon with a body that moves through someone's organs like water. He shoves his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders forward, and all at once he's a shred of himself. This police action has been chiseling them all down a little at a time, but for the shortness of his tenure with them, he keeps evaporating far faster than the rest, and there are terrifying moments where she wonders if he'll disappear before anyone can catch him.

In those fearful thoughts, she can't deny the immense depths of what she feels for him. And one day, she's worried that she's going to tip straight in and never find her way out.

It comes even now, her teetering over the edge. "Do you...want me to walk you back to your tent?"

"Don't," BJ snaps, then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "No. I've got it. You go to bed too. I'll... I'll see you tomorrow."

Tomorrow, when the sun will come up and scorch through the memories of tonight like they've never existed. Where they'll be in full view of each other and pretending they can't see through their skin, right down to their thoughts.

"Right. Of course."

She does catch him by the arm, walk him slowly to her door, but with every step, he needs her a little less. By the time they're finally there, he pulls away, opens the latch, and slips out. He doesn't look behind him, doesn't say a word. There's no one there to see. It's as if he was never here.

When Margaret collapses in her cot, the sheets smell like nothing but her. They're cold, no body heat that kept them warm. And when she cries into her pillow, there's no one to hear. No one to care. No one but herself.

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 07x18 Party On, Garth

🎶party on my wayward garth🎶

“Does the redhead get eaten?” “I guess I don’t hear it” “Besides the wooooo in the background” “not the good drugs” “I mean, his name is Trevor” “what the fuck” “Oh it’s this guy” “She looks much older than the character. Same with the other girl, too. They’re easily late 20s, and they’re portraying high schoolers?” “Good god” “Did it say how many weeks later?” “Is it the same night?” “heavy breathing.” “actually more moderate breathing” “He’s hunting wabbits” “What did he expect to do? He’s gong to see a figure that looks like a girl” “Oh hell yeah” “That was quick” “You want to be sure you’re getting the ghost, but by then it’s too late” laughter

“Oh yeah. They traded brain stuff” laughter 

“I’m not laughing at Garth; I’m laughing at the phrase” “Plus it’s digital camo. The digital desert camo” “thigh slapper ale” while caressing my thigh lol

“Face”

“It’s more of a cheek thing I guess” “Who the fuck is he talking to?” “She reminds me of the art dealer lady with the mirrors” “Killed him myself. Ope. Never mind” “Don’t mix up your screwdriver there. Goddamn. Ope. Never mind” “Kid’s getting wasted now” “Is she drunk?” “No, never mind” “I mean you’d get tipsy pretty fast as a little kid but goddamn” “Off with his head” “Oh shit” “The lady can see it but not him or whatever” It’s funny because Jensen has his own microbrews

“What the fuck is wrong with this dude? Is it tainted or something?” “the fuck” laughter “what a fkn dick” “why the fuck would she say anything?” “HOLY FUCK” “How is that working?” “So you just gotta stay drunk as fuck to see this thing?” “boobies” “huh” “But he said he didn’t drink?” “X-files music” “what’s in the bottle? Or is it some fancy alcohol? I’m already lost” “How do you see it through the video tape? How does that make any sense?” laughter “That was pretty funny” “I don’t think I’ve ever met a vodka that gets poured out of a bottle like that. In fact, it looks like a cognac or whiskey that they put water in it” “hahah” “don’t hang up on that. Gotta talk them out of it” “It’s an alcohol spirit. Haha” “IS that why we call them spirits? I don’t actually know why we call them spirits” laughter

“Ah yes”

“No such thing as localization” “Is that a shadow or just a really hairy spirit?” “I suppose she had a lot of hair” “good luck with that” “Oh it’s his fkn kid” “One helluva hunt. Grab your gun. Grab your liquor. Get drunk before you go” “Same guy for the samurai sword” “He’s not going to even dry it off? Put it away wet???” “Yes” “Wouldn’t you want to put your back up against the wall since the thing can get you from behind?” “As if a monster ghost thing couldn’t hear your whispering” “I mean to be honest, I’d probably run with him too. Fuck it” “He kept zooming out to the lady. Who’s that?” “We met her already, right?” laughter

“Now there’s definitely nothing there. Just fkn run” “Don’t just stand there you idiot. Run. You’re dead now. You didn’t run fast enough” “ugh whatever man” “So if you’re not drunk…they’re all fkn drunk” Laughter

“Who gave him the sword back” “That’s pretty badass” “Even has the sticker on it so you can return it” “That was fkn cool” laughter

“You almost got fucked by a ghost but” “Did Sam do it?” “I thought Sam went through all that. Don’t answer the question. Wasn’t that like S1 or s2 with the special kids?” “I don’t know” “Hug it out bro” “I don’t even know what he said’ “I think he’s the same height he came in at” laughter

“I don’t understand that. Was he already a ghost once?” “He knows how to kill em I guess” “Doesn’t the chair move or something?” “Oh there he is. Hey bitch” “Fkn blue hat” “that must have been a lot of funnier back then. They stage it every time.”

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

In Times Past

Character: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bruce Wayne’s life doesn’t exist beyond the fake storylines he performs for the media and citizens of Gotham. Maybe the only person that can change that is someone who knew him before Batman ever even existed. 

Word Count: 8,200+ [One Shot]

Warnings: Violence, mentions of sexual harrassment

A/N: As I teased before, this was inspired by this scene from Batman Begins. 

Bruce could sense Alfred’s tension when he walked into the kitchen that morning. The man was not one to hold back his thoughts and feelings. It was both a blessing and a curse. But Bruce sensed it was the latter today.

Before Bruce could even get a sip of coffee in, Alfred tossed the Sunday newspaper in front of him.

On the front page was a photo of Batman, far too high of a resolution for Bruce’s liking. ‘BATMAN: SAVIOR OR MENACE?’ the headline read.

“A little too close for comfort, don’t you think?” Alfred asked with a hint of sass.

However, Bruce controlled his reaction.

“Not the first time I’ve been photographed, Alfred.”

“You’re dancing with the devil, Master Wayne.”

“So, what? You want me to lay down the cape because everyone in America has the ability to take a photo on their cellphone?”

“Of course not,” Alfred retorted. Though Alfred secretly wished every day that Bruce would say goodbye to the Batman. “I just thought perhaps you should be putting a bit more effort into Bruce Wayne’s life if you really want to throw Gotham off your trail.”

Then he tossed another newspaper. This one of Bruce Wayne, the other mask he wore.

‘Bruce Wayne Lights Up the Room at Charity Ball.’

Alfred points to the date…it was 9 months ago. And it was unfortunately the last time Bruce Wayne was in the press.

“You better start creating alibis, Master Wayne, or the dark web will start to putting two and two together…”

Bruce sighed. He knew Alfred was right. But he hated all that went with what he had to do. He’d rather face off with Gotham’s deadliest criminals than go galavanting around the city as the self-absorbed and reckless playboy persona that he’d created.

“There is a birthday party for Eaton Elliot next weekend. Naturally, being old family friends, you received an invitation,” Alfred explained. “Plenty of press will be there to note your attendance. Seems rather convenient."

Bruce recognized the name. It was the older brother of Thomas Elliot, a childhood friend that he slightly lost touch with. He’d see him or his parents at various events, and things were always cordial.

But it didn’t really matter how absent or quiet Bruce was when it came to maintaining such relationships. Everyone forgave such behavior when it came to saving face with the only living member of the Wayne family. Bruce could spit in the faces of Gotham’s elite and they’d probably thank him for it.

“Black tie affair, as always,” Alfred added as he slipped the invitation to Bruce. “Perhaps you could bring a date…”

Bruce glared up at the butler. “Dates make it harder to make a quick and quiet exit, Alfred.”

“Well, maybe that’s the point, Master Wayne.”

————

Just like he was on patrol or working on an op, Bruce had prepared for every single scenario. He made a plan that would be the most effective in the shortest amount of time. He didn’t want to torture himself any longer than absolutely necessary.

When Alfred asked him again if he was planning on bringing a date, Bruce had only replied with a mischievous smirk.

Because he walked in with a girl on each arm.

It wasn’t the classy or gentlemanly thing to do. And that was exactly the point.

Conversations paused, attention was turned, and flashes went off.

Bruce Wayne made his entrance.

He carefully fell into the groove of being the spoiled brat everyone had painted him out to be. It had been awhile since he played the part, but Bruce always found it easy when he was surrounded by these kinds of people.

Bruce made sure to slightly slur his words. He would get too handsy with his dates. He would rudely interrupt people to share his own useless opinion on whatever topic was leading the conversation. He never looked waitstaff in the eye.

But now it was time for the finale.

Bruce whispered a certain suggestion into the ears of his dates.

They shared a look that proved they were both game.

The three of them stumbled into a bathroom – one out in the open that most of the guests would be steered toward.

The kissing began and clothes were quickly shifted.

There was a split moment when Bruce wondered what this would feel like for a man who actually wanted to be in this situation.

The two woman managed unbuckle his belt, the clanking metal echoing in the all-tile bathroom.

But just as they unbuttoned and then unzipped his pants, Bruce’s cellphone rang loudly.

Right on cue.

“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” Bruce whined. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” his words stumbled out. “But I just have to take this call.”

“Aww. Brucie. You’re no fun,” one of the women fussed.

But Bruce gave off enough dominate energy that they didn’t try to fight him on it.

Hair disheveled, mouth swollen and pink, lipstick stains on his skin and his pants and belt barely put back together, Bruce stumbled out of the bathroom first.

The two women didn’t bother to stay back and spread out their exits, making it very clear what had just happened – or what it looked like just happened.

It didn’t matter that Bruce didn’t actually have sex with them, every woman in Gotham wanted to say they’d shared a bed with Bruce Wayne. His two dates would lie to save face and get street cred. Bruce hated that he knew that, that it was guaranteed.

Dozens of people, who were socializing near the bathroom, stopped what they were doing and watched with judgmental looks. Some men looked jealous. Some women looked disgusted and eyed the two women up and down.

Then there was the flash of a camera.

Bingo.

Bruce wouldn’t have to linger much longer now.  

He played up being somewhat embarrassed.

But just as he put his phone to his ear to take the fake call that Alfred dialed, he saw the last person he expected.

It caused him to do a double take and freeze. 

His focus fell for a moment as they made eye contact.

Why did she have to be here?

Why did she have to be one of his witnesses?

Why did it hurt so much to see how she looked at him as if he were a stranger?

And why did she have to look so god damn beautiful?

Y/F/N Y/L/N.

The Y/L/N family were another one of Gotham’s elite – well, they used to be.

Y/N’s father was once worth billions. But being born into wealth didn’t guarantee intelligence or the skills to properly run the family business. When Bruce and Y/N were in high school, Y/N’s father filed for bankruptcy and confessed that the family was about to lose everything. With the announcement, the press also exposed Mr. Y/L/N’s many lustful affairs.

What came next was a messy and brutal divorce that the media ate up.  

Out of spite, Y/N’s mother remarried her ex-husband’s biggest competitor, maintaining her status and wealth, and making sure she still came out on top. It was the greatest revenge and even Y/N had to give her mother credit for the ingenuity of it all.

Bruce remembered how terrible it all was for Y/N, who was used as a pawn in her parents war against each other.

Having had enough of it, Y/N fled Gotham and chose to live with her eccentric great aunt in London and finished her last year of high school there.

But Y/N didn’t run away from Bruce. They emailed, texted, video chatted, called.

They had always been good friends.

The elites of Gotham always suspected the two would get married. But both Bruce and Y/N pretended to ignore such whisperings.

But when Bruce shifted his life, when he changed his life’s purpose, when he started becoming a vigilante…he stopped taking Y/N’s calls and he stopped returning them.

He told himself it was better that way. He couldn’t handle any distractions. Batman didn’t have time for personal relationships, so neither did Bruce Wayne. But more importantly, Y/N deserved someone who would prioritize her – even just as a friend.

Now Bruce needed to get actually drunk.

Putting the phone back to his ear, he broke eye contact and made a beeline for one of the bars. 

“Did you forget to tell me about the guest list, Alfred?” Bruce muttered evenly to the phone, knowing that Alfred would easily be able to hear his anger and irritation.

“How was I to know who RSVPed yes or no…” Alfred bit back. But he knew exactly who Bruce was looking at.

Bruce frowned as he ended the call abruptly and asked for a whiskey.

“I don’t know, man. She’s not my type,” a man said to his friend.

The two of them were just a foot or two away from Bruce.

“What do you mean ‘not your type’? She’s fucking hot.”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s beautiful. But she’s so stiff and uptight. Look, she’s had a resting bitch face all night.”

Bruce’s grip on his face tightened as he easily put together who they were talking about. It was moments like these that Bruce hated being lumped together with men like this.

“You’re an idiot,” the friend said with a laugh.

“Oh, yeah? Alright. If you’re so obsessed with her, why don’t you go over and talk to her?”

Bruce saw his window. 

With a sloppy haste, Bruce turned right into the two men and just happened to spill his drink over the man who was about to make a move on Y/N.

Bruce laughed and spilled another drink on the bar as he tried to grab some nearby cocktail napkins. “Gentleman, gentleman…I so dearly apologize.”

Both of them were clearly annoyed, but then realized who he was.  

Bruce gripped them by the shoulders and made sure his eyes were struggling to stay open. “I could be wrong…but it’s possible…that I have been over served.”

He broke out into a chuckle and both men forced their own laughter.

Bruce subtle glanced over to where Y/N had been standing. She’d disappeared.

He’d spared her…for now.

“I think it’s time I go home,” Bruce told them too loudly. “Do me a favor? Wish her congratulations for me?”

The two men looked at one another. “Congratulations? To who?”

Bruce frowned in confusion and looked around. “Isn’t this an engagement party?”

They tried to hide their laughter. “Wayne, this is a birthday party. For Eaton Elliot.”

Bruce’s brows shot up. “A birthday party? Look at that!”

Then he turned around, zigzagged his walk, and threw a wave over his shoulder.

But Bruce wasn’t that lucky.

Because when he made his way to the valet, he found Y/N waiting patiently with her back to him. 

Her fancy dress and gloves seemed to do nothing to help protect her from the cold night. 

Bruce could’ve left. He could’ve left her alone, gone back into the party, and made more of a fool of himself.

But next thing he knew, he was walking forward.  

“Waiting for your car?”

Y/N didn’t turn to him, but it was clear that she heard his question and recognized who it had come from. “I didn’t drive. They’re getting me a cab.”

Bruce nodded slowly even though she wasn’t looking at him.

All charm had left his body now that he had quit the act. It wasn’t going to do any favors for him. He needed to do this on his own, as his real self.

Y/N finally turned with a slight attitude and Bruce was taken aback at how she was even more beautiful up close.

“What are you doing here, Bruce?”

He smirked. “I’m here for the party, of course.” He didn’t want to play the part anymore – not with her. But it was second nature at this point.

Her lips pursed at his response.

“Leaving so soon?” He asked.

Y/N sighed. “Between you and me, I’m only here as a favor to my mother. She wouldn’t get off my back about coming. I tried to leave sooner, but…”

One of the valets hopped up the steps. “I’m sorry, Dr. Y/L/N. It can take awhile to get cabs in the area at this time of night.”

Y/N gave him a sympathetic smile and opened her mouth to say she’d walk home.

“I’ll drive her home,” Bruce spoke before she could. Then he handed the valet his ticket.

Y/N looked at him with confusion and a bit of annoyance. “You really don’t have to do that.”

Bruce just gave her a look that said he absolutely did.

Then Y/N gestured back to the party. “You’re just gonna abandon your dates?”

The way she asked made it clear that Y/N had seen Bruce stumble out of the bathroom with the two of them. He also didn’t miss how she emphasized the plural.

“They’ll be fine,” Bruce told her.

He took a step toward her. “Let me give you a ride, Y/N.”

She took in a deep breath.

She knew she needed the ride. Only an idiot would walk home at this time of night, even if the walk to her apartment was a relatively safe one for Gotham standards.

Y/N just nodded.

A minute later, an Aston Martin drove up.

Bruce offered his arm to Y/N and helped her down the stairs before opening the passenger door for her.

He handed the valet a few bills, not even noticing they were all hundreds.

“Where to?” Bruce asked her.

“Oh, umm…” Y/N quickly gave him her address.

“I know you’ve been gone awhile, but you definitely shouldn’t be walking around the streets of Gotham at night.”

Y/N scoffed. “I’m aware. I moved back awhile ago.”

“Oh. I didn’t know…”

“Yeah. Well, why would you? It’s not like you kept in touch.”

The car filled with silence.

Y/N stared out the passenger window, looking at the skyscraper lights of Gotham

It seemed Y/N had no issue with staying silent for the whole car ride.There was nothing awkward about it for her.

But Bruce knew there were things he needed to say. “I’m sorry.”

This was the last thing Y/N expected and her head whipped to him.

But Bruce kept his eyes on the road. “For disappearing like I did.”

Y/N slowly turned back to the passenger window and said nothing.

Bruce didn’t expect to win her forgiveness. He would have to deal with that. But at least he could apologize.

“Y/N.” Bruce said it ever so quietly, like he was forbidden from speaking it. “This isn’t…I’m not…” Dammit. What was he even trying to accomplish right now? “Back there–”

“Back there?” Y/N interrupted his fumbling. “Oh, you mean the threesome you had in a bathroom at a party?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

Everyone bought his performance. Unfortunately, even Y/N.

Bruce pulled over and Y/N realized they were at her building already.

“You can say whatever makes you feel good, Bruce. Have at it.” Then she threw open the car door.

She put her hand on the handle to help herself out.

But she hesitated.

No. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

Y/N spun around to face Bruce, his blue eyes already waiting for her.

“You used to be kind. Strong and brave. You were better than all of them.”

And for the first time, Bruce really saw the damage he had done.

“Is that boy really gone?” She searched his eyes for the answer. “What is the act and what is the truth?” She whispered. “Huh, Bruce?”

He wanted to tell her.

Bruce had never felt the urge to expose his secret ever before.

But right now? Right now, he wanted to take Y/N back to the manor, drag her down to the cave, and show her all of his secrets – every single one.

But he couldn’t. And he knew that.

Bruce kept his face reserved.

His brow furrowed for just a second as he took Y/N in. All of her. Her eyelashes. Her lips. The styling of her hair. The dip of her neck.

“You became quite the woman, Y/N.” He told her. “And a beautiful one at that.”

Y/N blinked at the statement. Her mind desperately tried to decipher the hidden message in his words, in his actions from the night. But she came up with nothing.

She wanted to say that she knew he was using flattery to divert her attention from what she wanted to know. But it was also clear that he genuinely meant what he said as well. His eyes seeming to be taking in every moment of being in her presence.

If Y/N weren’t so irritated, she probably would’ve been more taken aback by his compliment, feeling vulnerable and almost embarrassed.

There wasn’t any point in pushing.

So Y/N took in a breath. “Thank you for the ride, Bruce.”

He just nodded. Then he watched her walk to the door of her apartment building. He probably lingered a few moments too long, but he couldn’t bring himself to once again put distance between them.

————

Alfred brought down food and an espresso to the cave.

When he looked up, Y/F/N Y/L/N’s face was on the giant screen.

“Working on a case, Master Wayne?” He asked with his usual sarcasm.

Bruce ignored the question. “She attended undergrad in Metropolis and then went to grad school in New York City.”

“Yes, I can see that…considering you have her student records exploited all over the screen,” Alfred responded with a smirk. “She’s been living in Gotham again for a few years, working as a psychiatrist. Even volunteers her services at Arkham – pro bono.”

That caught Bruce’s attention. He turned away from the screen to look at Alfred.

“I found no record of that,” he argued.

“Yes. Well, her mother is rather embarrassed by it. Thinks it gives the family a bad image. She insisted Y/N’s philanthropy was kept secret, even approved the NDAs herself.”

Bruce gave him a look, utterly confused how Alfred had access to such information.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Never underestimate the power of gossip, Master Wayne. Most family secrets cannot be found on the dark corners of the internet.” Then he smirked. “You would gain quite the knowledge if you didn’t turn your nose up at it.”

Bruce smiled at that and turned back to the computer.

“So, I take it that it was good seeing her?” Alfred pressed.

Bruce tensed at the question. “Not entirely. I’m certain that she hates me.”

“Hates you or hates the character you’ve so carefully created?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just Bruce Wayne to her.”

Alfred opened his mouth to say more.

“Leave it, Alfred.” Bruce cut off before he could.

“Well, it appears I’m not the one struggling with leaving it alone, Master Wayne.”

Like many of Gotham’s elites, Alfred had humored the idea that Bruce and Y/N would make a marvelous couple. Like Bruce, Y/N didn’t let money and power sway her morals or damage her good and kind heart.

Alfred had always enjoyed having her over and listening to her and Bruce’s laughter as they caused trouble around the manor and entertained themselves.

But he also saw how her departure effected Bruce, no matter how much the teenager had tried to hide it at the time.

Maybe Alfred was an optimist or a romantic, but he still believed there was a chance for the two of them. But Bruce, quite frankly, would have to get over himself and his stubbornness.

————

Bruce was looking down at the city from yet another rooftop. It had been a quiet night. And he hated nights like that. It was always ended up being the calm before a storm.

“Batman?” Alfred spoke into his comms.

“Yes.”

“It appears there’s been a breakout at Arkham. The media hasn’t caught wind of it yet. But law enforcement has already been dispatched.”

“I’m on my way,” Bruce announced as he slid down a fire escape and made his way to the batmobile that he’d hidden in the shadows of an alley.

“Master Wayne…” Alfred knew to only use codenames on comms.

Bruce tense. “What is it?”

There was hesitation from the butler. “Y/N was scheduled to work a shift there tonight…”

Bruce said nothing. But his foot pressed the gas pedal down further than necessary.

—

Y/N was sitting with a patient when the alarm went off.

The people that worked there called them inmates, and corrected her every time she chose not to use that title.

Harleen Quinzel had been sitting across from Y/N for almost 30 minutes when they were interrupted.

“Oh, fun!” Harley clapped and giggled as the sirens filled their ears.

Harley and Y/N had formed an interesting relationship. The criminal seemed to like her and looked forward to her visits. She never threatened Y/N or tried to manipulate her.

Y/N believes she won her over by addressing her as Dr. Quinzel and often asking her professional opinions on trends and news in their industry. 

Most people there only referred to Harley as if she was property of the Joker, no matter how many times Harley clarified that she wasn’t his anything anymore.

“Does this happen a lot?” Y/N asked her, trying to remain calm.

“Not enough, if ya ask me!” She laughed.

Y/N made the mistake of opening the door and seeing that the majority of the cells had been opened and prisoners were slowly making their way into the hallway.

“Not good,” Y/N muttered.

“Don’t worry, doc. I’ll protect ya! Us gals gotta stick together.” Harley said from behind her shoulder.

Y/N whipped around and looked at her and then at the table she’d been sitting at. “Dr. Quinzel! How did you get out of your restraints?”

“Oh, I’ve always been able to. I just leave ‘em on to be polite.”

Y/N sighed. No one had explained any sort of protocol for such a situation.

“Where the fuck are all the guards?” Y/N asked.

Suddenly the lights shut off.

“Yippy!” Harley cheered.

Y/N turned to her and softly grabbed her shoulder, but gave her an insistent look. “Harley, we need to get somewhere safe.”

Her face did dip to serious for a moment. “You don’t need to worry about me. But you’re right. Not everyone in here appreciates a shrink…”

To her surprise, Harley starts pulling her through the darkness with a purpose.

Y/N had no idea where she was planning on taking her. It seemed all the doors were in lock-down mode, leaving her stranded. If she survived tonight, she’d definitely be bringing that up to the board.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Y/N yelped at the sound.

Someone had either gotten a hold of a gun or security guards were opening fire.

Either way, it caused chaos to erupt.

Suddenly the dark hallways were being filled with a stampede of prisoners. Either they wanted to take down the guard who was shooting or they were getting an adrenaline rush at the concept of their peers attacking their wardens.

The crowd ripped the two women apart. Y/N was shoved up against the wall and her head slammed against the cement.

Y/N swore under her breath from the pain.

“Is that…No, it can’t be…”

A voice called out over the madness.

A chill went up Y/N’s spine. She’d know that voice anywhere.

The Joker.

He wasn’t one of her patients. All researchers and doctors were forbidden to speak with him – especially after what happened with Harley.

But that didn’t stop the Joker from knowing who Y/N was. He whined and whined about feeling left out. “All my pals get to chat with her and all I get to do is look!”

Now, Joker was free from him isolation.

Y/N suspected he was behind the breakout.

And he was going to make a slight detour. A detour that was doing whatever the hell he wanted to with Dr. Y/L/N.

Y/N didn’t even bother hiding her fear. With a new found strength and endurance, she started shoving her way through the mob.

“I hear you and my pumpkin’ pie have gotten close.” Then his smile dropped. “Too close, if ya ask me.”

Y/N ignored him as another prisoner shoved into her shoulder.

“I don’t appreciate you putting ideas in her head!”

Y/N stopped, realizing she had miscalculated her escape and had come to a dead end.

So she slowly turned around to face him, putting her back to the wall. “And what ideas are those?”

“Independence. Self respect. A life beyond crime and incarceration,” he spat.

Y/N realized he had his goonies flanking him, only making her odds that much worse.

“Those aren’t ideas. They’re a reality, a possible future,” she defended.

Joker didn’t like that answer one bit. He threw himself against her, once again slamming Y/N into the wall.

He gripped her chin roughly and smiled with his yellow teeth. “You know…she’s not the only doctor I’d like to break in. And in more ways than one, if you catch my drift,” he giggled.

Then his eyes raked over her body, up and down. His hands slid down her hips and the side of her legs until they got to the hem of her pencil skirt.

Y/N shoved him away with all of her strength. 

But that earned her a slap across the face from him.

Joker gripped her waist tightly pressing her between the wall and his body. “I’m in charge now, doc. And I’ve got a few lessons to teach you.”

His hands grabbed at the buttons of her blouse and with one jerk, he ripped open her her blouse.

But before he could go any further, a few of his lackeys cried out in pain. 

Y/N swore she heard the sound of objects whipping through the darkness. 

She didn’t want to let herself feel any relief. But she hoped Harley had made her way back to her. She’d probably pack an even heavier punch once she realized Y/N needed protecting from her asshole ex.

But when Joker turned around and Y/N followed his gaze, Harley was nowhere to be found.

Yet three men were on the ground, unconscious.

“Well, well, well,” Joker muttered in amusement. “Has Batsy come out to play?”

Next thing Y/N saw was a shadow dropping down out of nowhere and taking out even more of Joker’s men.

Joker seemed to be prepared for such an interruption. Because he grabbed a knife from somewhere hidden on his body and ripped Y/N off the wall. He pressed Y/N’s back to his chest and put the tip of his knife to her throat.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” Joker sang.

To Y/N’s shock, Batman stepped into what little light was in the hallway.

“Long time, no see!” Joker screamed so loudly that Y/N flinched. “Did you miss me, Batsy? And you came all this way to see little old me?! How very sweet!”

“Your attempted escape was a failure,” Batman stated. “There’s nowhere for you to go. All the exits are blocked. Arkham has been contained.”

“What a shame! I really felt this one was gonna work!” Joker laughed.

Batman took a step toward him. “It’s over, Joker.”

“You’re probably right,” Joker shrugged. “But I really wanted to have some fun with doc here. So, if you could give us some privacy.”

Batman’s eyes flickered to Y/N’s for a brief moment. “Let her go,” he warned.

“How about…no?” Joker laughed.

Just as Batman was about to make his move, Y/N grabbed the wrist of Joker’s arm that held the knife. She twisted it and dived in such a succinct motion that it was obvious Y/N had been trained.

Whipping herself out of Joker’s grip, she twisted Joker’s arm so roughly and quickly behind his back that he had no choice but to drop his knife from the pain.

Then Y/N was now facing him, and with one swift swing of her leg, she kicked him right in the groan.

Batman saw his opening and rushed forward, cuffing Joker in place.

While Batman neutralized him, Y/N stumbled for the knife that Joker had dropped, still not feeling safe and out of danger.

She looked around, realizing that the police had filtered in and apprehended all the escaped prisoners. Some were already locked back into their cells. Other’s were in handcuffs with guns being pointed at them in warning.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” his voice made her whip back around.

How the hell did Batman know her name?

She squinted wearily at him.

“You can drop the knife,” Batman told her quietly.

Y/N blinked and looked down at her hand, having forgotten that she even grabbed the knife. And she now had a vice-like grip on it.

Her hands were shaking when she dropped the knife and the clatter echoed in the hallway.

She eyed the Joker, not trusting any sort of weapon to be in his vicinity, despite being handcuffed now.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Batman noted, as if he could read her mind and hear the concerns she was thinking.

Police officers surrounded them now.

“Until next time, doc!” Joker sang loudly.

Batman stepped between him and Y/N, shielding her from even being seen by the lunatic.

Y/N eyed him, wondering if he did that on purpose.

“This way,” he directed lowly as he led her out of the hallway.

Y/N was surprised when he escorted her all the way out of the building.

Wasn’t this supposed to be Gotham’s Dark Knight? A disappearing act? An urban legend that some people still didn’t believe in?

When they got outside, there were even more officers. The night was flickering blue and red from all the patrol car’s lights still being on.

Commissioner Gordon was having a field day with Arkham’s warden, yelling at him about lack of protocol and no protection for the volunteers and workers that had gotten caught in the crossfire.

But finally, the reality of what just happened was starting to set in for Y/N. And she realized that her entire body was shaking.

All of a sudden, a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders.

She looked up to see that Batman had draped it over her. When and where he’d grabbed it, she had no clue. But the warmth was helping, so she didn’t question it.

“Thank you…for saving me back there.”

Was that a smirk on his lips? Was Batman amused by her?

Why was it so comforting when he was a mere stranger?

And his eyes, even when they were surrounded by a cowl and dark paint, they still felt familiar. Y/N had a similar feeling to deja vu.

“Looked like you had it handled,” he replied.

“Oh, I definitely didn’t. But thank god for those self-defense classes.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a second.

“Make sure you get checked out by the paramedics,” he told her gently, but insistent.

It was far too gentle for his Batman alter ego. But she caught how it sounded like it personally mattered to him.

Y/N looked behind her, where the ambulance was.

But when she turned back around, Batman was gone.

Next thing Y/N knew, she was being surrounded by two paramedics and Commissioner Gordon who was careful not to push her by asking too many questions at once.

“Does he always do that?” She asked him in a daze.

“Do what?” Gordon asked.

“Disappear like that?”

Gordon smiled and nodded. “Annoying, isn’t it?”

———

“What’s the gossip of the privileged this week?” Bruce asked Alfred at breakfast a few days after the outbreak.

“Something specific you’re looking for, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked as he poured Bruce a big mug of coffee.

Bruce glared at him, knowing he was playing coy with him.

But he put his pride aside. “How is she doing?”

Alfred took pity on him. “She took some time off work. But seems to be handling it better than expected. Makes quite a bit of sense, doesn’t it? Her being psychiatrist and all.”

Bruce just nodded with a dazed look.

“You could always see for yourself…” Alfred added.

Bruce snapped out of his daze and looked up him questioningly.

“You could go see her,” Alfred confirmed.

“Alfred, don’t you start.”

“Start what, Master Wayne? Pushing you to form any sort of relationship?”

Bruce sighed and got up from the breakfast nook. He didn’t want to fight with him, so he’d made his exit before that happened.

“Batman has plenty of friends,” Alfred stopped him. “But what about Bruce Wayne, hmm? Who are his friends?”

“You saying we’re not friends, Alfred?”

“I’m all you’ve got, Master Wayne. And that’s my point.”

Before the discussion could go on any further, the doorbell rang.

The two men shared a look. 

No one stopped by the manor.

Alfred made his way over.

Bruce figured he’d wait where he was. But the front entrance was too far away from him to overhear any conversation.

A few minutes later, Alfred walked in with an unreadable expression.

“Dr. Y/L/N is here, Master Wayne. She is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

Bruce opened his mouth to tell him to make an excuse and get her to leave. But Alfred was already disappearing, making it clear that he would do no such thing for him.

When Bruce walked into the drawing room, he found Y/N’s back to him as she looked at the family heirlooms and trinkets that were displayed on the shelved.

She was dressed casually, which caught Bruce off guard since he’d only see her in formal wear and professional outfits since their reunion. Her hair was in a messy bun and she didn’t appear to be wearing much makeup, if any at all.

“Hi,” he greeted softly, making her quickly turn around.

“Hi,” she replied.

Bruce stepped further into the room. But neither of them moved to sit in any of the many seats that surrounded them.

“I heard what happened. How are you doing?” He asked.

She nodded and shrugged. “Alright.”

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Bruce admitted.

Y/N ignored his comment and her eyes went around the room. “I missed this place,” she thought aloud. Then her eyes fell back to his, softening. “I missed you.”

Bruce was taken aback from her confession. Seeing as the last time they were together, she was rather blunt about how disgusted and disappointed in him she was.

The energy between them felt so different than last time.

To his surprise, Y/N stepped toward him. And she didn’t stop until she was at a proximity that most would call rather intimate.

There was a voice in the back of Bruce’s mind, urging him to close the last bit of distance and place his lips on hers. But he managed to ignore it. That didn’t stop his heart from beating faster, though.

Y/N stared into his eyes for a few seconds, almost like she was searching for something.

“I have something that belongs to you…”

Bruce waited, not sure what she could possibly have to give him.

But then she pulled out one of his batarangs from her coat pocket, offering it to him.

She had found it embedded in the wall when she had gone back down to grab her personal belongings that night. 

Bruce kept his face composed. “I’m not sure I understand.” 

But he grabbed it from her anyways.

“He’s you,” she whispered. “Or I guess…you’re him.”

Bruce let out a breath, “Y/N…”

She took step away from him. “Don’t lie to me, Bruce.”

So he shut his mouth and said nothing instead.

“I’ve been doing some research. Things started lining up,” Y/N explained. “The first Batman sightings were right around when we stopped talking. The more Batman was in the press, the less Bruce Wayne was. And when he was, it was never positive – like it was meant to be a distraction.”

Her eyes went sad. “I never understood how the boy I used to love could grow into the man I’m so disappointed in. It never made sense.” She paused. “But when you wonder if the man himself is the mask, it all fits.”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce hung his head slightly. “I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even you.”

“I’d never share your secret.”

“I know,” he answered instantly.

Y/N couldn’t hold back her emotions any longer. Her eyes welled with tears. “Bruce…living like this has its consequences.”

Bruce said nothing.

She stepped forward and grabbed his hand. “You can’t change the world on your own. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Y/N wasn’t giving him advice. She was offering him something.  

Her trust.

Her secrecy.

Her love.

He shook his head, but gripped her hand tightly. “You would just end up in the shadows with me. And I…I can’t do that to you.”

“I’m stronger than you think,” Y/N defended.

“I’ve always known how strong you are, Y/N.” His jaw tightened at even the thought of being selfish. “You deserve more than what I can give. Gotham will always come first. That’s the sacrifice I made. That’s what is required. I can’t be what you need.”

Y/N studied his face, knowing that there would be no winning with him.

She nodded once, not even slightly hiding her heartbreak and disappointment.

Then she stepped closer and gave him a slow kiss on the cheek.

“It’s not a one time offer, Bruce.”

Bruce couldn’t move a muscle. He was rooted in place.

He heard Y/N have a short conversation with Alfred, then the door closed, and she was gone again.

———

Bruce Wayne was a fool.

Alfred could probably make a list, in seconds, with a hundred reasons why.

But, no, Bruce Wayne was a fool for believing Y/N would give up so easily.

Two weeks later, Y/N was at Wayne Manor again.

Bruce knew something was going on when Alfred didn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

In one of her arms was popcorn seeds, twizzlers, sour patch kids, and chocolate covered pretzels. In the other arm was a case of beer.

Y/N barely said hi to Bruce as Alfred helped her out of her coat and took the things out of her grasp so she was no longer struggling to hold it all.

“I’m here to use your theater,” she announced.

And with that, she walked right past Bruce like she owned the place.

Bruce looked at Alfred and silently asked, ‘What the hell is going on?’

“I believe you have a guest to entertain, Master Wayne.” Then he looked at the items in his hand. “And I believe I have some popcorn to make.”

Bruce still didn’t move.

“You successfully closed yet another case last night, it’s Friday night, and you have a beautiful woman who decided she wants to spend her time with you. Best you don’t keep her waiting, Master Wayne.”

Bruce narrowed his gaze as if telling Alfred they’d discuss this matter at another time.

“I presume you shouldn’t go empty handed,” Alfred added quickly and handed Bruce two beers from the case in his arms.

Bruce chuckled, but started walking away. “I’m surprised you even let this stuff in the house, Alfred.”

When Bruce reached the theater, Y/N had already started a movie.

He watched her a for a moment before she could realize he'd joined her. 

Y/N looked like she belonged there. Even after all this time apart, she just burrowed herself a cozy nook in Bruce’s life.

It was something she had been able to do even when they were kids. When Bruce had his mood swings or his depressive episodes, Y/N didn’t scare. She just found her way to stay at his side without upsetting him further.

Bruce grabbed the seat to the left of hers.

They weren’t really seats, more like small beds. A dozen were placed in the theater.

A couple could easily share one, but Bruce wasn’t planning on even approaching that fine line.

When Bruce sat down, he didn’t look at Y/N. But she gave a shy smile at his joining.

It was a long movie – almost a 3 hour run time.

And Y/N almost made it.

Without only 30 minutes left, Y/N had fallen asleep. Meaning Bruce’s attention was now taken from the movie.

He got up and grabbed one of the many blankets in the trunk hidden in the corner and placed it carefully over her, before silently leaving.

This was not a one time thing.

These type of visits continued.

Bruce knew Y/N and Alfred had to be in cahoots together. 

Y/N seemed to always come to the manor when Bruce needed her most. 

Alfred would force Bruce out of the cave and moments later, the doorbell would be ringing.

On the bad nights, she wouldn’t make him talk. She wouldn’t ask questions or try to make him magically feel better. Sometimes she would talk – mostly about mundane things. She’d tell Bruce about her day or how her neighbor always left baked goods at her door or about the new show she started watching. Sometimes she wouldn’t say anything at all, just sit there silently and make sure he wasn’t alone.

Sometimes she would bring coffee and pastries.

Sometimes Bruce would just walk into the library and find her reading.

Sometimes she would sit and chat with Alfred as if he was the reason she was visiting, and not Bruce.

Bruce couldn’t sleep one night. Nothing specific was causing his insomnia. Just the overall weight of being so many people.

It was 3AM when Y/N texted him to open the door for her because she didn’t want to wake Alfred.

When Bruce did so, Y/N was standing on the other door in sandals and a slightly transparent coverup that barely showed the outline of the bathing suit underneath.

He said nothing, but his face clearly showed that he wanted to know why the hell she was there in the middle of the night.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Y/N told him quietly. Then she shrugged a bit,“I decided I wanted to go for a swim."

Whether she was lying for his benefit, Bruce wasn’t sure. But he followed her to the indoor swimming pool like a sailor would follow a siren.

Without hesitation, Y/N kicked her sandals off and tossed her coverup on the nearest chair. And the next second, she was diving into the pool.

Bruce smirked at her nonchalance, but made sure to hide it when she breached the surface once again.

“Doesn’t your apartment building have its won pool?” He asked.

Y/N smiled and tilted her head back to get her hair wet again and out of her face. “They put too much chlorine in it.”

Bruce crossed his arms, “I see.”

“Coming in?” She asked teasingly.

He shook his head.

“At least keep me company,” she requested.

Bruce glared playfully at her, knowing the game she was playing.

But he finally sighed and nodded.

He was in cotton shorts and a t-shirt. But he decided to sit on the edge of the pool and dip his feet in.

He watched as she swam around, looking as natural in the water as a mermaid. She had always loved swimming as a kid and it appeared not much had changed.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He finally decided to break the silence.

Y/N swam to him and crossed her arms on the edge of the pool to rest and tilted her head to look at him.

She shrugged, “The usual: stress, nightmares, insomnia, too much caffeine.”

 Bruce’s concern spiked instantly. “Nightmares about what?”

She watched him for a moment, seeing how quickly her subtle comment triggered him.

“You’re not the only person who’s seen fucked up things, Bruce.”

An hour later, Y/N asked for a towel.

When she climbed out, she was taken aback by Bruce wrapping it around her shoulders and rubbing her down gently. It was innocent, but subtly intimate.

As their eyes locked for a prolonged time, and he seemed to realize what he’d done accidentally.

Y/N cleared her throat. “I should head home and let you try to get some sleep.”

“You could stay,” he offered. “I mean, we have plenty of bedrooms here,” he quickly added and saved himself a bit.

“Is that…what you want?” Y/N asked slowly.

Bruce knew what she was trying to ask. He didn’t trust himself to answer the way he should, so he didn’t answer.

“Let me drive you home,” he asked as they left the indoor pool and started toward the front entrance.

Y/N ignored the request until they were at the door. She turned to face him with a smug look, “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. Thank you.”

She hesitated before kissing him on the cheek. “Get some sleep, Bruce.”

————

Months after Y/N’s visits started, Bruce was doing some research for a case on his tablet as he ate dinner.

“Margaret Caulfield’s engagement party is tonight,” Alfred broke the silence of the manor as he took Bruce’s finished plate.

Bruce looked confused on why he was supposed to care.

“Y/N will be there,” Alfred added.

But Bruce still didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

“Master Wayne, when you attend all those sufferable parties, what is the first question people ask you?”

Bruce thought for a moment. “When I plan on settling down, I guess.”

“Now imagine that, but magnified by about 100…and that is what Y/N’s experience is at those same parties. That young woman is one of the brightest people in Gotham and all those people care about is who will put a silly ring on her finger.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, now understanding what Alfred was getting at. “I’m not her boyfriend, Alfred.”

“And you’ve made damn sure of that,” Alfred said a little too harshly.

Bruce watched him carefully.

“Y/N has fought off every one of your attempts to be a miserable recluse.”

Bruce opened his mouth.

“And don’t you dare try and tell me her efforts are wasted,” Alfred cut him off. “I’ve seen a change in you. And she has asked for absolutely nothing in return. She’d never ask you to pick her over Batman. Though she bloody well should!”

He wasn’t done.

“You’re not living, Master Wayne. And I won’t apologize for wanting more for you.”

Bruce just sat there and took it.

Alfred took in a breath, calming himself down. “There’s a suit waiting for you in your bedroom. I’ve decided I’m going for a evening walk.”

——————

Y/N didn’t know how many more champagnes she’d have to shrug to start feeling the buzz she so desperately needed.

Not even an hour of being at the party and she’s already been asked 15 times if she was seeing anyone. And when she answered no, half of those ended in them trying to set her up with someone.

As Y/N was trying to think of an excuse to escape, an old family friend approached her – a friend of her grandma’s unfortunately.

“Y/N, dear, let me see those hands!”

Y/N wanted to roll her eyes and snap, but she did as requested.

“No ring yet,” the woman teased, but she was also genuinely disappointed.

“That would be my fault, actually.” A voice said behind Y/N before she felt a hand on her lower back.

“Oh, Mr. Wayne, how nice of you to come!” The woman beamed. “Now, Y/N, why wouldn’t you tell anyone that you and Bruce are an item?”

“My fault again,” Bruce chuckled, “I’ve always enjoyed a good secret.”

Before she could ask more, Bruce smiled politely. “If you could excuse us for a moment.”

He steered Y/N to a private area of the party.

“What are you doing?” Y/N hissed at him. “The press are gonna have a field day. You and I will be every headline tomorrow.”

He smiled at her frantic concern.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m serious!”

Bruce captured her lips, silencing any further panic from her.

Y/N was completely caught off guard, but he wasn’t letting her go so easily. And soon, her hand went to the back of his head and she kissed him back. 

Damn all the people who were probably watching them.

When Bruce finally let her pull away, he smirked at her dazed look and cupped her cheek. 

She matched his smirk.

But then reality set in like a splash of cold water and she frowned.

“Am I – Is this your new cover?” She asked shakily, so scared that the answer was ‘yes.’

She could tolerate being Bruce’s friend for the rest of her life. But she wouldn’t survive being used in such a way. She couldn’t live in a fake relationship with a man she actually loved. She’d rather watch his sloppy persona with girls hanging off of him.

“No cover-up,” he muttered to her. “Just me and you – the real me.”

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

I worked so hard on this 😩  Please let me know your thoughts. 

[nowayspidey]

Warnings; angst, smut and SMUT, unprotected sex.

Summary; You didn't like Peter, and you liked to humiliate him every time you had a chance to do so.

Authors note; this is the first time i do smut so pls tell me if its good so i can keep doing it ✨

• PETER PARKER X MALE!STARK!READER.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀──────────────

Temperaments heated up every time your father insisted that you train alongside Peter. You didn't hate Peter, but you didn't like him either. You even thought that he was a bit annoying and spoiled. You just felt annoyed with the presence of him near you. Typical Starks temperament.

Peter was not far behind, he knew that he was not to your liking at all, but Parker just did not seem to understand why. He didn't know anything about you, the only thing he knew was what anyone knew about the starks, a reputation for big parties that Tony seemed to have left once you and Morgan were born. But you followed the legacy of parties until you ended up with someone different under your sheets every night.

"Okay guys take a break but not to long." Tony pointed a finger as the sweat fell from their foreheads. “Jarvis monitors everything so if you spend more than the exact time i will know.

"As if that matters." You mumbled, heading towards the locker room that the Avengers base had.

"I heard that (Y/n)" Tony answered raising his voice watching you walk away. You turned around still walking backwards.

"Good, because I wanted you to know."

You wet your hands removing the sweat to wash your face, both would return to combat but you prefer to feel fresh and relaxed for minutes. When you looked up in the mirror reflection you saw Peter standing looking at you directly, he probably was going to do the same as you to wash some parts, but he was standing there looking at you seriously.

You had no problem challenging Tony, much less Peter.

"What do you want Parker." You turned around, leaning your hands on the sink, giving him that stupid little smile that you knew bothered him about you.

"Why do you hate me so much (Y/n)? Or Tony, are you always rude to people who try to be nice to you? "

"What the hell is your problem man?" You said indignantly crossing your arms, highlighting a little your muscles that Peter secretly lowered his gaze towards them. “My father and I is none of your business, or should I call you stepbrother now? I don't even know you and BELIEVE ME, I have no intention of doing so. Mind your own business, will you?

"What else could I expect from someone who wakes up with a different person every morning, because a mature attitude I don't think so." Peter challenged leaving you speechless, you were the one doing that, not him. “I have heard the rumors and stories of the incredible (y/n) stark and his magnificent reputation. But what if he's just an alter ego? And that you pretend to be the tough guy and not show that soft part of… .—

Peter couldn't finish as soon his spider sense warned him too late that danger was approaching. You pushed the boy on his shoulders causing him to bump his back against the metal lockers.

"And what about you Peter Parker." You started out with bitterness. It was your turn, Peter didn't know where he had gotten that guts, you always seemed to have them. “The classic loser who gets teased at school trying to get noticed by the girl he's in love with? C´mon Peter, you are nothing, the only thing that makes you special and why people would see you is because you are Spiderman. What else would make you special? Be a good kisser? A good boyfriend? You don't have any of that because you are alone. You are a lonely virgin.

Right on the guts. You knew it because Peter didn't bother to answer your push, he just stared at you with a combination of feelings, anger, sadness.

"Screw you man." Peter muttered pushing you with his shoulder before walking out of there.

You couldn't feel bad for him, you enjoyed the pain you caused to people you didn't like. You followed in his footsteps and when he had already left the room you heard your father's voice in the microphone of the communicator that was on the wall.

"Where´s he going? You have training. "

"He's a Nerd dad, He probably go back to his room to read a comic or something." You responded by pressing the button. “Now I'm going to do what I do best.

(.....)

You caught the shot glass between your teeth and lifted your head letting the bitter drink enter your throat in a single movement. The others started clapping and praising you like you were a party god. You threw the glass on the floor, breaking it, wiping your lips with the sleeve of your expensive shirt.

"Well? Does anyone want to challenge the leader of the parties or are you all a couple of chickens?"

You said flaunting yourself as the thrusters slowly brought you down from the air.

"I'll do it."

The metal boots hit the ground, your gaze focused on Peter and his new look that hardly made you think he was the same Peter you had humiliated at the base of the avengers. His hair pulled back, black pants, and a stylish short-sleeved shirt. The stark scholarship left money.

"Penis Parker." You said mockingly, the alcohol was starting to rise between your veins. "This is going to be interesting. Come on come up here baby. JARVIS! Serve another round.

The round of drinks increased more and more, neither of you took their eyes off the other. Neither wanted to lose to the other. Peter didn't seem to show any signs of dizziness or being drunk, and you knew why, his blood and spider abilities gave him certain advantages that you didn't have. You could already feel a minor headache.

"St..op.." You said stamping your glass on the bar when Peter was about to finish the drink. "I'm going to ... find--... another bottle.

"Sure Stark, take your time." A random boy replied patting your shoulder.

You went through the people leaving everything behind and climbed the stairs escaping from the embarrassing scene that you were going to happen if you didn't get out of there fast. With one hand on your stomach feeling dizzy you entered the closest room closing the door looking for the closest piece of furniture and contain your urge to vomit, you had to go back, Parker would not ruin your reputation.

"Looks like the legend himself (Y/n) Stark can only hold 10 drinks."

Peter entered the room putting the lock to make fun of you seeing you with your eyes closed barely catching your breath.

"If you want to vomit there is a bathroom, I can hold your hair while you are on your knees."

"Fuck off." You responded to his sarcasm. "Was it necessary to be bitten by another spider for you to bring out this manly behavior?

"Only when someone challenge me." Peter crossed his arms, that's when you realized that his school sweater hid some marked arms. You only raised an eyebrow. "And I came to prove to you how wrong you were in what you said, I wanted to enjoy that you recognized that you were wrong but I think that will not happen, right?

"In what part?"

The two were close enough now, Peter was enjoying it. Peter rubbed his half-open mouth with his lips with yours kissing them in a matter of seconds when you turned your head to the side laughing with your eyes closed. You could swear Peter's fingers were already resting delicately on your waist to draw you closer to him.

"Now are you just trying to seduce me? Please try something better and not when I just had a drinking battle with you."

"Which I won and you can't admit."

"Because of your blood type."

"Yeah, whatever."

You could feel the heat burning inside you when Peter kissed you again. You didn't even know if it was because of the alcohol or because of the sensation that he made you feel. Sensation that you wasn't going to admit that it felt good for someone who was sexually active like you.

The kiss was more and more attempt when Peter's hands were in your hair pulling it towards him with a few force and your hands were on his cheeks squeezing them while their mouths combined into one and your tongues soon found the other and make the kiss wetter than it already was. The pleasure made the surrounding weather turn hotter, Peter pulled your hair back allowing the apple of your throat to be marked and he began to kiss it along with each part of your neck.

Both soon stumbled onto the bed where you desperately sought to get rid of each other's clothes, almost tearing them up to get under the sheets. The erections soon brushed making your lips part and you glanced down with a surprised sigh as both caught your breath with slightly swollen lips.

"I thought that being your room it would be a kind of room with games or something like that."

"How many adult movies have you seen?" You asked dumbfounded, Peter turned out to be the sassy guy.

"Well when we were in Germany and I met your father I ...---"

"Peter I really don't want to know, it was sarcasm." You interrupted before he continued. "And it's not my house so I don't have my things." Peter raised both eyebrows. "What?

"You don't plan on stopping do you?"

"Do you want me to continue?"

Peter got up a bit to place a soft kiss this time on the corner of your lips.

"Okay... uhhmm.... open up."

You said taking your fingers to the mouth of Peter who opened catching them. His gaze was on your hand. His tongue moved between them, internally you bit your lip so as not to moan at the sensation and image you were seeing.

"It's enough." You mumbled after a few seconds. Peter opened his mouth and you pulled your fingers from his red lips. "Do you want to continue?

"Will you take away the honor of being with a Stark?"

You giggled in denial, with your other hand you slid down his entire left leg until he raised them to your waist and had a position. Your free hand took his member massaging it giving him a little pleasure and excitement when Peter closed his eyes leaving his mouth open, if anyone knew how to make someone feel good, it was you.

While you distracted Peter, you continued to set him up. Your fingers sought the entrance where you slowly inserted a finger to which Peter responded with a groan, the first you had heard since he entered the room. You moved it slowly and when you thought it was right, you put the second finger.

"Uh..hh ... this is ... new ..."

You smiled when you heard him trying to speak properly and not moaning. You took your fingers out after being inside it for a while and took your member licking you lip. You got him into position and to push yourself in slowly and carefully, you came face to face with Peter.

"Wow ..."

"Peter shut up." You said in a whisper rubbing your nose with his. "Does it hurt? Tell me how it feels so I can ...

"It feels perfect (Y/n)." Peter opened his eyes to meet yours. For the first time, you felt good about him. "You can...uhhmm... move.

You nodded, hiding your face in his neck, biting it and leaving marks on the points that you knew the human body was weak, you proceeded to bite the lobe of his ear while Parker sank his fingers into your bare back with one hand and with the other he pulled strands of your hair. . It was not difficult to know that taking your hair was Peter's fetish.

At first your movements were slow, you didn't want to hurt him and go fast. Slow was the way the pleasure was distributed, demonstrating it in the kisses both had while you did it. Within minutes you decided to try and go faster trying not to make noise from your skin hitting Peter's.

When you were about to reach your point, the veins were marked in your calves. You got out of Peter and you reached out to your member and started to pull it.

"Wait ..." Peter sat on the bed stopping you after straightening his hair. You let go of your hands and Peter started doing what you were doing.

Your hands were now the ones moving Peter's hair. Peter's hand moved quickly, it didn't take him long to reach your climax and release everything on his abdomen to what Peter looked at for a few seconds when he stopped.

Your heavy breathing made your sweaty chest rise and fall. Peter ran a hand over his abdomen with a surprised smirk.

"Wow. Did I really provoke this to you?"

"Don't flatter yourself, it's natural body reactions." You corrected and Peter wiped his hand with his leg taking your waist turning you now staying on top of you.

"Come on (Y/n), it's not that hard to admit some things from time to time. I want to hear it."

You remained silent, but not because of that, but because you were experiencing the sensation of your being the one that was down for the first time.

"Then I guess I'll make you say it." Peter murmured into your lips, running his fingers between them and repeating the same thing you had done with him. "God this feels so good.

You put your legs behind him arching your toes as well as your back. As soon as you felt Peter inside you, he made slow movements in and out as he bent down to kiss and bite your nipples.

Your eyes went wide than normal as you stroked his hair gently. Peter paused with his mouth still on your left nipple. You stopped your caress feeling the heat in your lower waist, inside you.

"Peter? Did you ... uhmmm ... cum already?"

Peter let go of your nipple looking at you embarrassedly with his cheeks redder than a tomato as he realized that he hadn't lasted at all as soon as he entered you. Peter came out of you slowly draining a bit of what he had released into you.

"They are reactions of the body, aren't they?" Peter mumbled sadly lying next to you where they both covered their bodies.

Peter brought both hands to his face, you turned to see him even with the awkward silence between you.

"Hey it's fine, actually.... aggg I'm going to kill you if you say this to someone." You said shaking your head, Peter slid his hands from his face turning his body towards you. "You're the first time I've ever had someone ... you know ... on top of me doing that.

"Uuuhhh, I feel, flattered I guess." One hand was under your neck and the other rested on your abdomen. Which Peter looked at in detail. "You are my first person.

You were quiet for a few seconds.

"I shouldn't have made that stupid joke that you were a lonely virgin." You spoke with regret in your soft tone. "But I enjoyed it .... and you on top of me too.

"Do you want to go out tomorrow? Like we're starting over."

"That sounds good."

"So I'll see you tomorrow at 8:00 at dellmars. The best sandwiches in Queens." Peter said cheerfully as he searched the floor for his pants. "We should do this more frequently.

"Fight or have sex?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Both."

[pascalpanic]

Benny’s Girl (Prequel to Before The Next Teardrop Falls)

Inspo: Jessie’s Girl by Rick Springfield

Pairings: Benny Miller x f!Reader, later Frankie Morales x f!Reader (in Before The Next Teardrop Falls)

Summary: Benny’s new girlfriend is everything Catfish wants and more. Too bad it’s his best friend’s girl.

W/C: <4k

Warnings: language, sexual content, pining ohhh my word pining. 

A/N: HI FRIENDS <3 I absolutely loved Before The Next Teardrop Falls and I LOVE writing pining, especially with my Frankie baby, so I decided to make a prequel to it! This fic is based on Jessie’s Girl by Rick Springfield, which I absolutely ADORE. you can read this as a stand alone or you can read it as a prequel, I think either one works well!!

Sometimes, a spark seems to appear where one never existed. It’s common enough; it’s the reason most relationships fizzle out before they can become something explosive and fiery. One thinks that the dynamite is going to explode and take off in a bright shower of colors, when in reality the lighter never truly lit the wick.

That’s what happened between you and Benny Miller. You’d loved the guy, really, but not in the way you thought. You still do. It’s just that the both of you were lonely people seeking something more than your past had given you. The two of you were hopeless romantics. Maybe that’s what started the relationship.

You’d met in a way typical for the younger Miller brother. You’d been at a bar with some friends who were desperate to get you laid. The same could be said for Benny, who was there not with his brothers-in-arms but the man he’d defeated in the ring that night. Nick and Benny were good enough friends, close enough that losing to the other was rarely a sore spot. 

He’d spotted you across the bar, thought your laughing face was beautiful and your smile as you locked him was magnetic, drawing him to you before he could stop himself. Natural attraction. You introduced yourself. He told you his name was Benny. You asked why his hands were taped, he explained that he was a professional fighter, you’d made some snarky joke and you ended up talking for the rest of the night. One of your friends left with Nick. You and Benny stayed until the bartender shouted that it was the last call. You wrote your number on his taped palm and he saved it. 

You went on two bar dates before he decided he needed to introduce you to his best friends. They were like brothers to him, they knew everything about him and he knew them inside and out. You went to the same bar as you’d met at, and you met the men he’d served with in his Special Ops days.

Santiago, known as Pope for some godforsaken reason, was a charmer. He’d kissed your hand after shaking it, complimenting you and making small talk, finding connections and building on them. You’d laughed at the man’s joking advances, and flirted right back. Benny squirmed lightly, but you kissed his cheek and assured him you were just playing along.

William, Will, Ironhead, was Benny’s older brother. He’d given you a warm clap on the back and shook your hand, telling you that you were brave for putting up with the rascally guy. You had to admit, it was fitting. It was clear that they’re brothers: they had the same furrow to their brow, their blue eyes widened in reaction to anything, they had a similar habit of tipping their head back to laugh when something was especially funny. 

Frankie Morales, Catfish, was the last one you met and most definitely your favorite. He was quieter than the other guys, sat back while the other men made the noise. He was the punching bag, taking the brunt of the hyperbolized jokes- how Catfish hadn’t slept with a woman in 10 years, how he was the loud one of the group, how he was the one you had to look out for when he was drunk. You knew none of them could be true. He had a sweet smile and gave you a nod when you introduced yourself. He and Pope had some kind of banter between the two of them, albeit a banter you couldn’t understand as someone who didn’t speak Spanish. 

Throughout the night, you found yourself more drawn to Frankie. He had a beautiful laugh, would pull his ball cap down a little lower when someone made a joke about him. He was the one who’d expose a lie Benny or Santiago took. He nursed one beer while the other men got rowdy, and you’d done the same. It seemed that the two of you found kindred spirits in each other over the course of the night, while Benny and Will and Santi smacked each other around and took an obnoxious amount of trips to the bathroom.

When it was time to head out, you’d hugged each of the men goodbye. It was already clear that you fit in just like one of them, even if you didn’t have the past experience that bonded the men. You hugged Frankie last. He was the best hugger; he wasn’t ridiculously ripped like Benny, firm and awkward like Will, or flirtatious like Santiago. He was strong but soft. The man was definitely a hugger, you could tell, and it was comforting for the brief moment or two you were in his arms. 

Frankie put his cap on your head teasingly, covering your eyes, then stole it back and gave you a pat on the back. “Ben’s a wild one. Good luck with him,” he teased and walked off. You had to admit, his ass had a nice curve to it as he walked off to his beat-up truck. “Call me if he does anything stupid and I’ll beat his ass for you,” he called over his shoulder, prompting Benny to flip him off and put an arm around you. He simply laughed and got in his car.

-

Frankie became your favorite of the group. The two of you are the ones teasing each other exclusively and sitting quietly while the other men get crazy. Frankie tries sips of the cocktails you order, excitedly making grabby hands when the bartender sets it down. He always lets you steal some of the food he orders when you’re at the bar longer than normal. He shares your affinity for classic rock and when the bar blasts AC/DC, it’s Frankie who screams the lyrics to Thunderstruck with you while the others cover their ears. Santiago joins in sometimes too, but the country-loving Miller brothers never quite know all of the words like Catfish does. 

At some point in the few month relationship, you earn your nickname of Queenie. It’s from teasing Santiago, and the one who bestows the title upon you is Will, the most stoic of the group. It’s an honor, you tell them all, laughing. You call the shots, and everyone follows. Even though Benny is your lover, Frankie is your second-in-command.

When Frankie does allow himself to get drunk, he’s the most fun of the group. He’s extra lovey, telling the men how much he appreciates them. He tells stories the other men won’t about their Special Ops days, about the stupid things Will did when they were abroad. He’s shamelessly goofy and funny and falls all over the men. You even convince him to do karaoke with you once.

Benny is an overgrown class clown, but he won’t do karaoke, no matter how hard you begged him, called him baby and pressed soft kisses to his face. He wouldn’t budge. Tonight was a rare night that Frankie drank more than one round. “I’ll do it!” He shouts excitedly, eyes lighting up. “Ooh, c’mon, it’ll be fun. We’ll be so good at it.”

You, unfortunately, were not good at it, but you had the time of your life with Frankie. On that barely-raised platform, the two of you sang Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart, completely out of tune and out of sync. You were giggling the whole time, especially at Frankie’s falsetto on the little “woo-hoo”s. 

The two of you tumbled back to the table after, you giggling and falling into Benny’s arms. “Did you like it?” You cooed, sitting on his lap.

Benny laughed genuinely, pressing a kiss to your face. “Sure did. That was fantastic. Maybe you’ll have to sing just for me sometime, huh?” He teases.

Frankie sits alone on his barstool at the end and downs the rest of his beer. He flashes you a quick smile when your eyes meet his and he retires early for the night.

-

You and Benny had sex a couple of times. He was good at it, good enough. You enjoyed the way his lips moulded to yours, the way his thrusts were quick and fast and properly angled. From a technical standpoint, he should’ve been perfect. It was all you wanted, but there was no real connection behind it. The moans that trailed from your lips were small and soft, and the louder ones were never genuine. He always made you orgasm, at least, but it was slow and dull, the kind you’d wring from yourself with just two fingers.

The two of you had fun together. You went to the county fair, you got boisterous and drunk at bars, you did everything two twentysomethings are expected to do in a relationship. After every date, you had a small sad smile on your face as you got in your bed and distracted yourself with something on your phone. Something about it wasn’t right: you didn’t connect soulfully, in some mystical and spiritual way where one can read the other’s mind, in the way that movies and books and legendary romances felt some kind of supernatural force that pulled the strings and led them closer. It wasn’t what you needed, but it was what you wanted, and so you hung on a little longer.

Benny felt the same, but he was too afraid to disrupt the balance. He’d rather be mediocrely happy than alone again. He liked having a girl to squeeze water into his mouth and wipe his sweat after a fight, someone to slide his dick into while her lips met his skin. He didn’t want to lose that, even if he was slowly realizing that he just wanted a friendship with you.

You hung out with him and the other men more. You realized that he wasn’t your boyfriend around them, more of a sibling, teasing and nudging. There was no affection, no romance, just the playful aspect of him. That was fine, you told yourself, until you realized that it wasn’t, it couldn’t be.

-

By principle, Frankie is not and refuses to be a jealous man. That changed when you came into the picture. 

Something about you is absolutely magnetic to him, more than the way Benny was drawn to you across the bar. Sure, he’s been attracted to many girls, but he wants you. He yearns for you. He makes a joke at the table and it doesn’t make anyone but you laugh, but he doesn’t give a shit that Benny and Will and Santiago don’t find it funny, because he gets to watch the way your eyes glimmer and your mouth falls open and your chest heaves with the beautiful ring of your laughter.  

He loves that you hug goodbye, because he gets to pretend for a moment that you’re his and he is yours, that he can press his lips to your soft skin and call you his girl. But you’re Benny’s girl, and he’s okay to live like that. He’d rather have you as a friend than not have you at all. Even if he dreams about you at night, even if you live in his head on repeat, saying his name. Frankie, baby, I want you, I want you…

One night, in his sleep, the sound of those words echoed through his head. He’s never heard you say them, but his unconscious brain assembled them like a beautifully haunting jigsaw puzzle that made all of his blood run south. 

Dream-you is standing in the doorway to his bedroom, wearing just his t-shirt. Dream-you smirks, walks closer, climbs over Frankie and presses her lips to his and her tongue delves into his mouth. She lies down onto him and grinds her hips to his and laughs and laughs and he presses his face into the curve of her- your- neck, smelling your perfume and grinding his hips back against dream-you’s. “All I want is you, Frankie,” dream-you mumbles and bites his lower lip. He shivers and dream-you coos his name, lines herself over his aching member and just before she slides down, he wakes up to a dark and lonely bedroom with a half-hard dick. 

You and Benny joined the gang the next night out. He couldn’t meet your eyes. He listened as you fussed over Benny, heard you call him baby and steal his beer with a giggle. 

“What the fuck has gotten into you, Fish?” Santiago asked when you’re in the bathroom. 

Frankie shook his head. He pulled his cap lower and finished his beer, then poured another from the pitcher on the bar. “Slept like shit last night.”

-

You’ve decided that it needs to end, so you asked Benny to meet him at your favorite bar. He agreed, and wanted to invite the boys, until you asked that it be just the two of you. It hurts that he has a glimmer of hope that you’re about to end things. If you don’t, he will.

You walk in with an apologetic smile, sitting across from him. “Hey, how was your day?” You ask in a soft voice. You’re unconsciously trying to prepare yourself to let him down gently.

He shrugs a little. “Uneventful. Yours?”

“The same. Listen, Benny…” you start and trail off, looking away.

He takes one of your hands and looks at you, his eyes understanding. “Hey. I think I know what this is about.” He reads the sadness in your eyes like a book. “We need to be done. I get that. I agree.”

Your face finds a soft smile as you look back at him. “Really?” You ask.

“Yeah. I have something to ask.”

“Shoot.”

He takes your hand and presses it to his lips softly. “Will you no longer be my girlfriend and just go back to being my friend?” He asks. 

You nod excitedly, laughing. “Oh my god, yes, Benny. I’d love to no longer be your girlfriend.”

The both of you laugh at the irony in your words, and he sets your hand down. “Thank God.”

Later that night, Will, Frankie, and Santiago find their way to the bar. Of course they do. They come over to your booth, sliding in and pretending to love up on Benny. “Oh, are we interrupting a date?” Santiago asks with a fake pout.

You chuckle and look at Benny. He gives you a small smile and a nod. “Actually, no. No more dates between Benny and I. We’re over,” you say and breathe a sigh of relief.

Frankie’s blood runs cold. He must be dreaming for him to hear this. It’s only ever in those dreams that he hears the words he wants the most fall from your lips, words like these. Words that indicate you’re no longer Benny’s girl. “You two seemed so happy,” he murmurs in confusion.

Benny senses it all clicking. Frankie has liked you all along. He’s smarter than the gang gives him credit for. He can read his friends easily, and Frankie is the easiest of all of them to understand, with those big brown eyes that give everything away. It’s gotta be, he thinks. You probably don’t like him back, as anything more than a friend, but Frankie is in deep shit now for you. He nods, looking at Fish and shrugging. “We just didn’t work. We’re still gonna be friends though. She’s one of us, isn’t she?”

The men all cheer in agreement and it calms your frantically beating heart. The worst is over now. And goddamn, does Frankie look cuddly tonight in that flannel, you think to yourself. You slouch down against him two beers later and discover that yes, he’s as comfortable as he looks.

-

You’ve been single for a year now. Benny still texts with you daily, as do the other men. He sends you shitty Facebook memes that seem more like a dad would post. You realize that it’s for the best that you and Benny are over, with a chuckle. You can be much more honest.

It pains you to realize it, but you’re crushing hard on your ex’s best friend. Frankie Morales is everything you need and want and desire. His big arms wrap you in a hug every time the two of you say goodbye, and every time it feels like it lasts a millisecond longer. That neither of you want to let go.

Frankie feels the same, even though you don’t know it. He has that haunting dream once a week, the one where you kiss his neck and call him baby and it makes him yearn every night at 2:00 in the morning, staring at your Instagram page and thinking he should text you and see if you’re up. Not as a hookup, not anything like that. He just wants to talk to you.

You tease Frankie about his chronic insomnia. How he sends you random texts late at night. “Have you considered melatonin?” You ask.

“I have weird dreams. It’s not the falling asleep, it’s the waking up,” he admits, looking in the opposite direction of your face. 

Some days, Frankie thinks you feel the same. He notices the way your eyes linger on his face, the way you always sit next to him in a booth. The way your phone’s lockscreen is a photo of the two of you being stupid at some function. You’ve become best friends, Frankie has to admit, but sometimes he thinks there could be more. But then you say something offhanded and he has to throw the notion away. 

One night at the bar, when it’s just the men and you’re nowhere to be seen, Frankie takes Benny and guides him into the bathroom. His blonde brow furrows in confusion as he looks at Frankie. “Yeah, Fish?”

His hands rub together nervously and he looks down, before fidgeting with his cap and looking Benny in the eye. “You and Queenie… that’s all in the past, right? There’s nothing between the two of you?”

A smirk finds his face. “I knew it, Frank! I knew it from the night her and I broke up.”

He frowns. “Is that why?” He asks hurriedly. “Oh shit, I didn’t break the two of you up, did I? Jesus, Ben, I’m-”

“No, you dumb fuck,” he laughs and shakes his head. “I just saw the way you looked at her after it happened. Crazy in love. You totally are.

Frankie’s face turns red and he takes off his hat to adjust his hair. “Do you think she might like me too?” he asks, quietly. As if you could hear him somehow.

Benny nods, excitement in those bright blue eyes. “Hell yeah she does, Fish! You’re her fucking phone lockscreen. Girls don’t just do that.”

“I don’t know, man, we’re best friends. That might not mean shit.”

The blonde puts his hands on the brunette’s shoulders. “Listen to me, Frankie. I’ve known you’re into her for like a year now. I know she likes you too. It’s time, you gotta ask her out.”

“Really?” He asks, brown eyes widening. “I don’t think so. That could fuck everything up,” he says, the anxiety in his voice.

“Trust me,” Benny nods. “It won’t.” 

Frankie’s grinning ear to ear. “Alright. Tomorrow night, I’ll ask her to meet us here, but it’ll be just me. I’ll ask her out, how does that sound?”

“That sounds fuckin’ amazing, man!” Benny exclaims. “I’m happy for you. She’s a great girl and you’re a great guy.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, wringing his cap in his hands. 

He nods. “Go for it, Fish.”

- Frankie never gets the chance.

The next night you float into the bar, absolutely on cloud nine. You’re grinning ear to ear and it only widens when you see Frankie, rushing over and hopping on the stool. “Hey Fish,” you coo and kiss his cheek.

Frankie’s stunned. “Hey. How was your day?” He asks hesitantly, looking at how flustered and happy you look.

“So good,” you laugh. “I actually got asked out. Like, on a date. This really sweet guy, friend of a coworker. His name is Sam.”

Frankie’s sure you can hear the crack that echoes inside his ribcage. His heart splits in two and to hide a quivering lip, he raises his glass to his lips and takes a swig of his beer.

You continue to talk about him, noticing his silence. “How was yours?” You ask, frowning a little at how tense he is. You rest a hand on his upper arm.

Frankie does his best not to flinch from your touch. “Not great,” he chuckles and clears his throat. “I kinda fucked something up.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you pout and stroke his arm softly. “Can I help you with it? Do you need to talk about it?”

He shakes his head quickly, standing from his stool. “No, just a personal thing. Hey, I’m gonna run and piss, the other guys will be here soon. Order something, it’s on me.”

Frankie’s gone into the bathroom before you can even process it. You frown a little but the smile returns as you order the drink and think about Sam.

Frankie locks himself in a stall and texts the other men.

D-SQUAD 🚁

Frankie: mission aborted. You guys need to come to the bar now so I don’t look like a chump.

Benny: what happened?

Frankie: a guy asked her out today. she’s taken now I guess

He stares at his phone and sends one last text.

Frankie: and don’t you dare mention it to her. make her tell you first.

He slides his phone in his pocket and leans against the wall of the bathroom stall, letting out a deep sigh. This is all shit. He’s a coward, and he should’ve done something sooner. 

He finally returns and sits next to you on a barstool. There’s a smile on his face that you’d notice was plastered if your mind wasn’t so wrapped up in your day. “So. Tell me about him. I’m happy for you, you know that?”

-

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel​ @sanchosammy​

[the-iceni-bitch]

PLEASEEE write more for august walker! i'm in love with the banter in "welcome home, walker" and how he's grumpy but has a soft spot for the reader. LOVE UR OTHER WORKS TOO <33

Aww, I love Auggie! And it has been a bit since I wrote for him. Soooooo...

PDA

Pairing: August Walker x fem!Reader

Words: 2145

Summary: You and Auggie go out with the graduating cadets to celebrate your new assignment.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (innuendo, teasing, sex in a public place, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex), violence (fistfight, implication of gore and death), betrayal, protective!Auggie, TW- implication of impending date rape/mentions of drugs, SMUT, 18+ ONLY!!!!

A/N: This got away from me a bit if I’m being honest. I was just gonna do the teasing in the gym but I couldn’t stop myself, so please enjoy this little impromptu fic! And please feel free to send me an ask if there’s a character or kink or anything you’d like to see more of! 

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist here if you want!

You didn’t know how he got you in this position. You could practically feel him beaming over you as you struggled to get out of the hold he had you in. 

“You keep moving like that, you’re gonna make me hard, sweetheart. You want me to fuck you right here on the mat?”

August ground his crotch against your ass to illustrate his point and you let out a moan. Your arms were bent back at your shoulders unnaturally as you scrabbled for some purchase to get out of his grip.

“Fuck off, Auggie. You know the only reason you’re on top right now is because I didn’t get any sleep.” Maybe if you arched your back a little...

August groaned in your ear as your ass rubbed against his growing erection. 

“Shit, Y/N. The director is right there.”

You turned your head as much as you could to see Sloane standing at the gym entrance, surveying the cadets as they practiced their sparring. You wiggled your ass again, making Auggie growl at you.

“You’re not giving me a lot of options, baby. You know my brain doesn’t work when I’m sleep deprived.”

He grumbled and you felt him start to loosen the hold he had on your arms. You grinned to yourself as you wrapped one arm behind his neck, gripping the hair at the base of his scalp and rolling forward. You heard him give a small sound of surprise as you flipped him over, knocking all the air out of his lungs when you slammed him into the mat and wrapping your body around his shoulders, stretching him to the point of pain. 

“Damn it, I thought we were done.”

“I don’t remember tapping out, sweetie.” You gripped his wrist and stretched his arm even further as you squeezed your thighs around his neck. 

He wheezed for a second before a wicked grin spread over his face. “Y’know, when you get me in these holds, I can smell you, and it drives me fucking crazy.”

You almost loosened your hold at his admission but caught yourself at the last second. “August...” you growled in warning.

“I know you’re soaked under these sweats, sweetheart.” He turned his head as much as your hold would allow, running his nose along the inseam of your sweats until you released him with a hiss.

“Fine, it’s a draw.” You mumbled, drawing yourself to your feet as he chuckled darkly. “Equipment room in 5?”

“Walker, Y/L/N, with me.” Sloane gave a beckoning motion and the two of you moved to follow, sighing with frustration. 

You moved with the director as she marched back towards her office, shooting each other apprehensive looks as you considered what she may want to talk to you about.

“Good news you two.” Sloane announced as she closed the door to her office behind you. “We finally managed to get the heat off you from Interpol, and you’re set for a new assignment in Brazil.” She handed you your files detailing the op. “Looks like there’s a Syndicate group operating there, moving weapons through the black market there. You ship out in two days. Please do your best to remember, Syndicate members are assets, not targets.”

“Right, boss.” You murmured, flipping through your ID docs. August just grunted beside you.

“Alright, I heard the two of you are going out with the graduating cadets and trainers tonight to celebrate the end of the course. Don’t overdo it.” She gave you a knowing wink before you turned to leave the office.

“I think she knows about us.” August whispered as the two of you headed to your lockers.

You just laughed at him. “Auggie, honey, we’re the worst kept secret at Langley.” 

“Y/N, Walker, I hear congrats are in order! We’re gonna miss the two of you in training!” Melissa managed to find out everything as soon as it happened, you didn’t know how she got stuck in training instead of the field. “I’ll make sure everyone buys you a round at the club tonight.”

You groaned at that, those goddamn trainers would have you passed out if they got their way. You slammed your locker closed and turned back to August. 

“Meet you at the club, baby. Make sure to do your reading first!” You called over your shoulder as you headed out.

You arrived at the club 4 hours later to see August looking incredibly uncomfortable in the middle of a group of rowdy cadets. You tutted to yourself as you approached him, he always had a stick up his ass.

He saw you then, and his face relaxed as he walked to meet you.

“You’re late.” He grumbled as the two of you headed to the bar. “You know how much I hate talking to these kids.”

“Relax, grandpa.” You smiled before turning to order yourself a gin and tonic. “You gonna dance at all tonight, or just stand there glowering?”

He scoffed into his scotch as you grinned at him, moving closer and rubbing your foot over his calf suggestively. 

“Don’t you start something you’re not prepared to finish, beautiful.”

Just then, Melissa arrived with a tray full of tequila shots, and you let out a groan. This was the second time you got cock blocked today, and you were starting to get frustrated. 

“Look what I’ve got for you!” she said gleefully as the two of you winced at her.

“Melissa, I’ve told you a million times, I don’t do tequila.”

“C’mon, it’s your last night with us, just a couple.”

You took a deep breath and grabbed a shot for yourself, giving August a shrug before tossing it back. He hissed between his teeth as he downed his own.

“Fuck me, you sure this isn’t rubbing alcohol? Jesus, Melissa!”

She just handed the two of you two more with a giggle, and clapped her hands when you swallowed them. Before you knew it she was dragging you towards the dance floor, your head fuzzy from the tequila as you instructed August to watch your cocktail. He gave you a grin before turning back to the bar, but that quickly changed once he noticed movement in your glass.

August clenched his jaw as his arm shot out to grab the cadet that was wandering away from the bar, wrapping his fist around his upper arm with a vise-like grip.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” He growled, a menacing glare taking over his face.

“Get your hand off me, man.” The frat boy idiot actually looked offended as he glanced down at August’s hand.

Walker just tightened his grip as he patted the asshole down, cocking an eyebrow as he pulled a tiny baggie of tablets out of his breast pocket.

“Graham, right? What’s a senator’s nephew doing with… what is this? GHB? Molly?”

“Look, buddy.” The moron gave him a grin like he was his friend as August stared him down. “That piece of ass needs some loosening up. I bet she’s a tiger in the sack.”

August threw your drink in his face before hauling him outside. He considered letting you handle it yourself, but he wanted to let off some steam.

He didn’t say anything, just punched the smarmy bastard in the face. The idiot didn’t even try to defend himself, pathetic.

“What the fuck?! You broke my nose!” Graham held a hand to his face as he stared at Walker in disbelief.

“Yeah, that’s not all I’m gonna do to you.” He growled as he set to work.

Five minutes later he stood over his handiwork, wiping the blood off his knuckles as he let out a sigh. That had gotten a little out of hand.

“Fuck.” He muttered, pulling his burner out of his suit pocket and dialing. “Yeah, this is Lark. Send a cleanup crew to the alley outside Sketch. Yeah, some senator’s nephew.” He frowned over the phone. “Because it’s a fucking order.” He hung up, not bothering to wait for the Syndicate’s sanitation team before heading back into the club to find you.

He found you on the dance floor and a hungry sneer came over his face. He strode toward you and wrapped a possessive hand around your throat from behind, drawing you fast against his chest and growling into your ear. You whined as he pulled you away from the group, Melissa beaming at the two of you like an idiot.

“Have fun you two!” She called as August steered you around a corner.

He pressed you into the wall behind a column, his mouth devouring yours as he slotted his knee between your legs. You whimpered as he shoved a hand in the front of your blouse, squeezing your breast viciously before tweaking your nipple to the point of your pain as you arched into his hand.

“Fuck, Auggie. What happened?” You were panting with need as he moved his face down to bury in your neck, his teeth scraping over your throat.

“I’ll tell you later. Are you still drunk?” He moved his other hand to the apex of your thighs and groaned against your chest when he felt your slick coated folds. You weren’t wearing any panties.

“No, the dancing burned most of it off. Shit.” You hissed as he inserted two fingers inside you, stretching you open as he fumbled with his zipper. “Can’t even make it to the bathroom, huh?”

“Sorry sweetheart.” He mumbled as he freed his dick from his slacks. “Sure seems like you were expecting this, though.”

He moved his lips to yours and swallowed your cry as he dipped his hips and plunged into you. His hands wrapped around your thighs and lifted them to wrap around him as he started to move his hips. He tried to move slow so it wasn’t obvious what the two of you were doing, but those goddamn tiny whimpers you were making into his mouth were making it hard for him to control himself.

“God, this cunt feels better every time I’m in it. Fuck.” You were clenching around him with each thrust and your breath was coming in ragged gasps, letting him know you were close. “Jesus Christ, it’s barely been a minute. You’re so fucking sensitive.” He nipped at your bottom lip and stilled his hips for a beat as he teased you.

You slapped his bicep playfully and whined. “Shut the fuck up and move, asshole.”

He braced one hand on the wall and drew his hips back slowly before slamming into you. You buried your face in his neck to muffle your scream as you came apart. Your pussy fluttered around him as every muscle went rigid. He felt you sobbing against him as your muscles quivered in your release, his hips still setting a punishing pace as he fucked you through it.

“Shit, honey.” He murmured against your cheek as you came down. “You make it so easy.”

Your snort turned into a whimper as a particularly deep thrust had him kissing your cervix. “Fuck, Auggie.”

“Yeah, right there?”

You nodded vigorously as your face screwed up in bliss, leaning it back against the wall as he picked up the pace.

His cock was dragging against that sweet spot inside you with each thrust and it was all you could focus on. Your thighs squeezed around him as he brought you closer and closer to another orgasm. He loved watching you take it, getting completely lost in your pleasure. And knowing he was the one doing this to you was just icing on the cake.

“You close, gorgeous?” He asked, feeling his own imminent release looming.

“Shit, shit!”

He was extremely grateful for the loud music as you screamed in your release. He swallowed a shout of his own as his cock twitched and his cum spurted into you, painting your insides as his hips faltered and he collapsed against you.

“Jesus.” You whispered as you set your feet on the floor, August still sheathed in you as he softened. “Public sex, who knew?”

You felt his chest rumble against you as he gave a low chuckle, sliding out of you gently before he tucked himself back into his slacks. He ducked his head to give you a tender kiss as he drew down the hem of your skirt over your thighs.

“We should go back to your place.” He whispered after he released you, leaving you breathless.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, but I’m totally fine with it. Lemme just say goodbye to Melissa.”

He grinned as he watched you saunter away, your gait a little wobbly as you tried to keep his cum from leaking out of you. He was really looking forward to your new assignment. The thought of being cooped up with you for several months was making him hard already.

Tags:

@slothspaghettiwrites @stargazingfangirl18 @starlightcrystalline @jack-skellingtons-stuff @drabblewithfrannybarnes @captain-asguard @harrysthiccthighss @bonkywobble @dslap65 @stanallstarks @macgruberrr @blackestpinkworld @wanderinglunarnights @sebslut @allinhishands

[pterodactylterrace]

Title: Go To Bed

Chapter:  1/1 (can be considered a follow up to Goodest Boy or a standalone. You don’t need to read Goodest Boy to understand what’s going on.)

Summary: He’s just one giant toddler when he’s been drinking

Rating: T

Warnings: Alcohol consumption. Drunk Henry. My botched attempt at a drunken British accent.

In retrospect, staying with Henry at the same time that a 'very important rugby match' was on TV, may have been a bad idea. Don't get me wrong, everyone was super polite. They were also super loud. And as the night wore on, they became super drunk. Add to that the fact that I know nothing about rugby and I wasn't having the best of times. I definitely should have tried to reschedule my visit for the next time I would be back in London. It was only a few weeks away, rugby season would be over by then, right? Did rugby have a season, or was it an all the time thing?

I could probably ask him that when he was sober. As for right now, he was several rounds deep, and probably wouldn't understand the question if I did ask. If he could even hear me. How are they all so loud? Which team was I supposed to be rooting for again? They are all probably drunk enough to not notice me leave right now. I could just walk right out of this madness and curl up all cozy with a book.

My plan went off without a hitch, easily detangling myself from the pile of dudes drunkenly fixated on the TV and walking straight out and up to the guest room. I should probably lock the door in case Henry forgets I'm here and offers the room to one of his pals. The last thing I want to deal with is a drunken stranger in my room in the middle of the night.

The door muffled their boisterous laughter and cheering well enough. I could still hear them, but I was able to concentrate on my book. I fully drowned out the noise as I immersed myself into my favorite fantasy realm for what had to be the tenth time. Once my eyes grew too heavy to force open anymore, I marked my page and clicked off the bedside lamp, snuggling down into the bed for a good night's sleep. I had the suspicion I was going to be the one making breakfast tomorrow.

What was that sound? It sounds like scratching. Is Henry's house haunted? I really needed to check if people's homes were haunted before staying with them for any length of time. When I heard it again, it was accompanied by a whimpering sound, followed by a booming bark. Good news, it was just a bear scratching at my door, not a demon! Henry probably forgot to let him out again before he went to bed.

"Shh, buddy, Henry's probably getting some much needed sleep right now." I soothed as I opened the door. Kal hopped down the hallway, whimpering and tapping his feet when I didn't follow right away. Poor boy must really have to go. "Alright, come on. Let's get you settled for the night." I sighed, following after him.

I was more than a little confused when Kal led me to the kitchen instead of the backdoor. Did Henry not give him dinner? No, he fed him before everyone came over. Was that little piggy trying for another dinner?

"Kaaaaal!" I heard a familiar voice drag out, followed by what could only be described as giggling. "Kal, ca' you ope' the pea'butter?" I cautiously peered around the island, groaning when I saw Henry sprawled out on his back, attempting to open the bottom of a jar of peanut butter. He must really be out of it.

"Henry." I called, slowly stepping closer to him.

"Abi!" He cheered, lifting his head to look at me, a goofy smile plastered on his face.

"Is there a reason you're laying on the kitchen floor?"

"I... I drop it." Henry explained, holding the jar up, only for it to tumble out of his hands once more, bouncing off his stomach. "Ouch. Not nice."

"Can you stand up? You'd sleep a lot better if you went to bed." I explained, offering him my hand to help him up.

"M' fine." Henry scoffed, abruptly popping himself up into a sitting position. He blinked rapidly a few times, trying to regain his equilibrium before turning his head to look at me. "Abi!" He cheered again, throwing his arms around me locking me in a bear hug, his face buried in my stomach. "You' so nice." He mumbled, his voice muffled by my shirt.

"Ok, save the snuggles for when you're in bed." I sighed, wiggling my way out of his grasp.

"You stay wit' me?" He gasped excitedly, scrambling to his feet and accidentally tackling me when he tried to me hug again, somehow managing to twist us so he took the brunt of the fall. "I... 'm sorry." He mumbled after a second, popping his head up to look at me, still clutched to his chest like a child with a teddy bear.

"Come on, you need to get to bed. No more tackling." I attempted again, slipping free again and stepping back as my gigantic host rose to his feet. It was times like this, when he was unsteady and unaware of his sheer mass, that I am reminded of exactly large he is. He typically carries himself very well, he is gentle in spite of his strength. When he's drunk, he's a bull in a china shop.

"m snack." He whined, looking dejectedly at the still un opened jar of peanut butter on the floor.

"Sorry buddy, I talked with sober Henry and he told me he has a strict rule about peanut butter in the bed."

"He sound' like a... stupid." Henry mumbled, leaning against the island and rubbing at his eyes.

"Now come on, big guy. Bed time." I repeated, gently turning his shoulders toward the hall and giving him a small push in the correct direction.

"'s your bed time." He grumbled, taking unsteady steps to the hallway, pausing when he reached the archway, leaning on it and looking back at me again. "You' go ta bed."

"After I make sure you're safe for the night." I compromised, shooing him down the hall again.

"I can... I can take care 'o m'self." He scoffed, pinballing his way down the hall to the stairs. "See? You' bein' dramatic." He yawned, plopping down on the third stair and leaning back against the rest them.

"And you are trying to take a nap on a staircase."

"No 'm not."

"Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill, get your ass up those stairs and go to bed, right now!"

"Tha'... tha's kinda hot." Henry chuckled, his eyes popping open to look at me again. "You bein' bossy. So lil' and bein' bossy." He continued rambling as he crawled his way up the stairs, giggling to himself the entire time. "Call' m' by m' full name an' ever'thin'."

"Keep it moving." I sighed, grabbing onto his hips to steady him when he stood himself back up to weave his way down the hall, finally shoving the giant onto his bed, relief washing over me when he landed face down, bouncing safely on the mattress. "I'll get you some water and a painkiller. Don't move." Henry groaned and shot me a thumbs up from his face down position, finally turning his head so he could breathe.

I was halfway back up the steps, Kal dutifully following me when I heard a loud thud from upstairs. Of course that stubborn man wouldn't listen when I told him to stay put. I rushed the rest of the way back to his room, rolling my eyes when I found him sitting on the floor, trying to wrestle his shirt over his head.

"Help." He whined, pausing in his struggle when he took notice of me and his canine companion standing in the doorway. Kal only huffed at his human, trotting over to his bed and curling up for the night, content his job was done.

"I thought I told you to stay still." I chastised, setting the glass of water and pill bottle down before helping him out of his shirt.

"I gotta take a piss." He grouched, pushing himself up on unsteady legs and stumbling off to the bathroom.

"I am not cleaning your bathroom if you pee on everything!" I called after him, my shoulders slumping when I heard him start swearing from the bathroom. "You just peed on everything, didn't you?"

"No! Fuckin' zipper!" He yelled back. "AH HA! I got it! Hey... Hey, Abi, I got it." He called triumphantly.

"Thank God." I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I was getting a headache of my own from dealing with this over grown toddler. "And make sure you leave your underwear on!"

"'S on!" He grouched, shuffling back in just his underwear, sending me a dopey grin. "Abi!"

"Yes, Henry. I'm still here."

"Oh 'm glad 's you." He laughed, wrapping me in his arms and leaning his weight on me. "You... you're th' bes'."

"And you are drunk." I reminded him, shuffling us around to sit him on the edge of the bed.

"So pretty." He sighed, snatching me up again and burying his face in my chest. "Mrr mmeee."

"I'm sorry, Henry, I can't hear you."

"I said marry me!" Henry repeated, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he looked up at me. "It'll be great!"

"Now I know you're trashed." I laughed, pushing his forehead until he fell back on the mattress.

"Noooo." He whined reaching for me again, though I was sure to stay out of his reach this time.

"You don't know what you're saying, Henry." I soothed, grabbing his long, muscular legs and heaving them up onto the bed.

"Yeah I do." He pouted, his hazy eyes locking on me again. "You're th' bes'. You... You're always there 'f me. Gon' marry you."

"Ok, big guy." I sighed, throwing the blankets over him.

"Stay." His voice was so quiet I wasn't sure I heard him at first, but then I heard him wiggling around in the bed before speaking again. "Plea' stay?"

"Henry, you're drunk. I don't think that's a good idea."

"Pleeeeease?" He whined, pouting back at me. "I wan' make sure you don' run 'way 'morrow."

"I won't go anywhere, Hank. Get some sleep, I'll check on you in the morning."

To say I was surprised to find Henry not only walking around the next day, but bringing me a cup of coffee before I even woke up, would be an understatement. He looked freshly showered, he had dressed himself and judging from the smell wafting through the house, he even cooked something. He really was Superman.

"Morning, Abi." He greeted, shooting me that obnoxiously handsome grin.

"Morning, Henry." I yawned, sitting up and rubbing at my eyes. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, I'm doing much better now. Thank you for helping me last night."

"I'm shocked you're doing so good."

"Well, it is almost three in the afternoon." Henry chuckled, shaking his head at my panicked look.

"Why did you let me sleep so long?!" I gasped, scrambling out of the bed like it burned me.

"I'm pretty sure I kept you up a fair bit last night. It's all a bit fuzzy, honestly, but I thought you earned a bit of a lay in."

"How much do you remember about last night?"

"Not much. I remember wanting peanut butter and you yelling at me, but not much else."

"So you don't remember asking me to marry you?" I teased, laughing when all the color drained from his face. "You know, if you wanted to be more than friends, all you had to do was ask."

Taglist: @Xxxkatxo @Weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient

[the-wayward-arc]

(For TTS au) what is its revealed that nora is the daughter of leman russ

Leman: ....then she wondered into a warp portal one day and realized she ended up on some backwater planet that hadn't been found by the Imperium.

Rogal Dorn: Father, I believe Leman has taken after you when it comes to raising a children.

Emperor: SHUT THE FUCK ROGAL.

Magnus: Wait wait hold on. You had a kid-

Leman: A daughter.

Magnus: Yes, a daughter sorry. In the warp? How? Who in the gods is the mother!?

Leman: No one can handle my mighty wol-

Magnus: STOP RIGHT THERE YOU FURRY FUCK!

Emperor: *to Leman* THATS MY BOY.

Leman: Alright then you piss baby, there is no mother. This is what happened;

-flash back to a Drunk Leman Russ-

*Leman after seeing through a small window into Remnant and sees the Lion is alive and well. With a family no less!*

Leman: Would be mighty fine to have a wee one myself, the Lion fetishes has one. Probably a girl, a small she-pup to wrestle daemons with and pass down all my ferocity to! *the warp being the warp and Leman unknowingly channeling his psyker not OP powers by wanting a child. Orange haired baby suddenly appears in front of him* uhhh....

Draigo; WOAH! LOOK! SMALL CHILD! HAVE YOU COME TO TRAVERSE MY BEARD AND TAKE BATTLE TO THE TINY MEN WHO RESIDE WITHIN!? *floats up, causing the baby to laugh* ARE YOU THE CHILD OF PROPHECY!? AND WHY DO YOU HAVE ORANGE LOCKS?

Leman: Orange be my favorite color, plus, most Fenrisians do have orange hair. It's common for us after all. Welp, I have my own she-pup...now what to name you...

Draigo: NORA!

Leman: Why Nora?

Draigo: *whispering* A man with white hair and birds around him told me so.

Leman: Oookay then, well she likes it! *goes to grab Nora only for said child to grip his armored finger, crushing it slightly* SHE HAS MY STRENGTH! *gets zapped with lightening* YOU ARE MY CHILD!! *Nora in his large hands smiling at him*

-back in the throne room-

Corvus: That's what happened? You just thought of a child and poof she was right there?

Leman: Yes, I just told you my wolfen story! *grabs a small daemon imp skull attached to a toys body* look, her first kill. Named it Mr skull, she loved this thing. Never could sleep without it.

*all look at a portal that Emperor created to allow them to see on Remnant, Nora standing triumphantly over a dozen dead Ursa laughing maniacally*

Nora: LETS KEEP GOING! MOMMA ISN'T DONE YET YOU COWARDS!

*all look back at Leman Russ who looks proudly at his daughter*

Magnus: Oh my gods, they really are father and daughter...*trying to process the fact that there is a mini Leman running around*

Emperor: *Looking at the doll* LEMAN, COME TO ME LATER WITH THAT TOY.

-on Remnant, hours later-

*Teams JNPR and RWBY are setting up camp for the night, Nora setting up her sleeping bag when a quick flash of gold light attracts her attention, she goes to investigate and squeals in delight as she runs back with her discovery*

Ren: Nora! What's wrong?

Jaune: More Grimm?

Ruby: But we made sure this place was clear! I'm so tired!

Nora: *Happily wiggling place with something behind her back, before presenting Mr. Skull to everyone* LOOK GUYS! MR. SKULL FOUND ME! *everyone looking at Ren for answers but he merely shrugs as he lies down*

Weiss: NORA! Put that thing back! It looks disgusting!

Yang: For once I agree with Weiss cream, definitely creepy.

Nora: No!! Hes Mr. Skull! I made him long time ago and thought I lost him! *looks to Jaune* Don't make me get rid of him Jauney! *pleading*

Jaune: *always a sucker for the puppy dog look* Okay okay. Just, make sure to keep it from Weiss, she looks like she wants to burn it.

*Nora jumps for joy as she snuggles into her sleeping back, immediately drifting off to sleep while snuggling with Mr. Skull*

Pyrrha: Woah, shes asleep! Usually we have to fight her to bed.

Jaune: or bribe her. Think that thing is like a Teddy bear to her.

Nora: *sound asleep with the Mr. Skull but also clutching a note, a smile on her face as a tear escapes from her eye*

Note: "You make your papa wolf proud my little Valkyrie! Take as many heads as you can, one day we'll be slaying Grimm together my pup!! From your Papa wolf.

[readiajin]

To Love Herself - Chapter 2: Wherever

Synopsis: Following ACOSF until Nesta’s confrontation with Amren. Rather than going to hike and soul search with Cassian in the wild, Nesta uses her powers to disappear.

In celebration of being done with my finals I finally finished chapter 2! I found writing the inner circle hard because I wanted to be consistent with the books but also got frustrated at them... Enjoy!

Prologue: Disappear

Chapter 1: Appear

Chapter 2: Wherever

Cassian - After Appear

“Don’t finish all the wine before Feyre gets here.” Cassian met Mor’s gaze over the top of his wineglass, her own hovering just about her lips, curved in a teasing smile.

“You’re one to talk,” he shot back.

“It’s not my fault Feyre’s late.”

“You both have a problem.” Cassian looked at Amren, who was practically in Varian’s lap next to Mor on the couch. 

“Where is Feyre anyways?” Elain asked from her seat next to Cassian. That was addressed to Rhys, who was walking into the sitting room from checking on Nyx. 

Rhys took a seat in one of the two open arm chairs in front of the fire. “She said she lost track of time in the studio. Is on her way back now.” 

“What is she doing? Walking?” Mor asked. 

“Yes, said she wanted to enjoy the night.” Rhys said this casually, but Cassian knew his brother well. He could tell Rhys was bothered by Feyre’s absence. They hadn’t had a planned dinner tonight, their family convening spontaneously as Cassian and Mor reported in on court business to Rhys and Amren. Azriel had been here after training Nyx earlier. Varian was the only one besides Feyre told to come over. 

Dinner had been casual and quick as Nyx had been full of energy before Rhys got him down. Nyx had asked for his mother, and Cassian didn’t think she had ever unexpectedly missed his bedtime, especially just to paint. Rhys seemed to be thinking the same thing. Cassian knew his brother probably wanted to go get Feyre himself, but she had most likely told him no. Rhys understood how important it was to respect Feyre’s independence.

Still, Rhys accepted the glass of whiskey Azriel placed in his hand before returning to his chosen spot leaning against the sideboard. 

Rhys was about to take a sip when his head snapped to the doorway. 

Feyre stood there. 

Cassian could immediately tell something was wrong. She didn’t say anything, barely glanced at any of them as she made her way to take the last open seat in front of the fire. Rhys stood, but Feyre only reached out to take his glass of whiskey before sitting, and downing the glass. 

“Feyre, what’s wrong?” Rhys asked this with a deadly calm Cassian knew was to cover his panic and rage at whatever had happened. The fact that he asked it out loud meant she must not be responding through their bound, something not lost on anyone else in the room. 

Feyre finished the glass and closed her eyes, letting out a sign.

“What happened girl?” Amren asked somewhat tentatively. Tentatively for Amren, which was even more alarming. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” It was true, Feyre was deathly pale and her hands shook slightly. 

Feyre let out a shaky laugh. “I have.” 

No one spoke, the crackling fire the only sound. 

Feyre’s eyes fluttered open, going straight to Cassian. In that split second before she spoke, Cassian already knew what she was going to say. 

“I saw Nesta.” 

Time stood still as a million different things flashed through Cassian’s mind. He saw her, Neata, the last day he had seen her eight years ago. Her face flushed with anger, then frozen, her eyes empty. He saw her burn herself up in silver flames, then gone. 

He also saw the memories of her he clung too. Training with that determined look in her eyes. The I will slay my enemies look. A ghost of a smile on her lips as she talked with Emerie and Gwyn, or even with him, even when she fought it. He saw her naked, breathing heavily beneath him while looking at him with a feeling in her eyes he had thought he knew but was too scared to voice. A feeling he now understood had just been wishful thinking on his part. 

“What do you mean you saw Nesta?” Rhys’ deadly voice brought Cassian back, his eyes still locked with Feyre’s. At the threat of violence in Rhys’ tone however, Cassian found his gaze drifting to Rhys, who still stood next to Feyre, and a rising tide of his own anger with it. 

“She showed up at my studio as I was leaving.”

Cassian found his voice to ask, “And where is she now?” Save for Rhys, who was focused on Feyre, Cassian sensed everyone else watching him. 

“She left again. She was only there for a few minutes.” 

“What did she say?” asked Amren

“She said…” Fryre stumbled over her words as she stared towards the back of the room, as if she could see Nesta standing there now. “She looked great.”

Cassian frowned. He had pictured Nesta as she had been at her lowest. In the old apartment, drunk, and reeking of sex. These past eight years had also been ample time for him to imagine her lost, starving, bleeding out. He had pictured her in the same pain he had been since she had left. He didn’t understand what Feyre meant by ‘great’. “What do you mean?” 

“She looked healthy. She had the Great Sword with her.” 

“Of course she did,” Mor scoffed. “Did she have the other weapons with her? Did you ask?”

“No, but she told me… some things.” 

“What things?” Amren demanded. 

“She said we needed to look for dissent among the Illyarians, that some were conspiring with… someone on the continent.” 

Cassian exchanged a glance with Azriel. “Feyre, can you start at the beginning, what happened.” Az said this as he switched Feyre’s empty glass for one with wine.

They waited as she took a sip before explaining how Nesta had appeared behind her, and what she had told Feyre about a group on the continent looking for Prynthia’s power. 

It was Mor who broke the silence that followed. “Well that sounds like a load of shit if I have ever heard it. Seriously, she expects us to believe that? If there is a threat to Prynthia, it’s her. Did you ask her about the kidnapped priestesses?”

“No, I didn’t think of it. But she wants to meet in two days.”

“Absolutely not,” Rhys finally cut in. “I’m not having my mate go anywhere near her.” 

Feyre set down her wine glass to glare at her mate. “She’s my sister, of course I’m going.”

“A sister who lied, left, and stole from you,” Amren scoffed. “Nesta didn’t deserve you before, girl, nor does she now.” 

Cassian’s head and heart were pounding. Part of him wanted to rip into Rhys, Amren, and Mor for what they said, but he was feeling too much. He should say something, but they all knew how he felt already anyways. They had seen him in the weeks and months after she disappeared after all. 

Azriel, thankfully, spoke up. “We should meet her. If not to hear what she has to say but then at least to check out her magic. My shadows have never been able to track her. She seems to have mastered her powers if she was able to get into the city and sneak up on Feyre.” 

 “She also could have help,” Varian added. “Getting into the city itself is a feat, but she was able to get those weapons and priestesses out seven years ago, right?” 

“I agree Nesta is a problem to be dealt with, but that should be done without meeting in a situation she controls.” Rhys said. 

“What do you mean ‘dealt with’?” Cassian asked with a deadly calm.

Rhys turned to Cassian, his face cold. 

“I told you before her power is death. I will not tolerate any threat to the Night Court.”

“Nesta’s a threat to the Night Court? Or do you just think she is a threat to you?” Cassian growled. Cassian would never forget Rhy’s threat to kill Nesta after she had told Feyre about the risk of the baby. Despite his later apology, Cassian knew Rhys had meant it at the time. 

Rhys’ violet eyes flared and the air became charged with his powers. Cassian’s siphons flared in response. 

“Enough!” Feyre jumped up and stepped in between them before they both did something they would regret. In over the 500 years Cassian had known Rhys, the only things that had ever caused them to threaten real violence towards each other were Feyre and Nesta. 

Feyre whirled on Rhys. “I am in no mood for your overprotective male bullshit. Nesta is my sister and I am High Lady. I will meet her if I wish.”

Rhys settled back a bit, but his voice was still hard as he replied to his mate, “You are also a mother. What about Nyx.”

“Don’t use our son as a reason I can’t do something. Besides, Nesta is not a threat.”

Once again, a tense silence filled the room. Cassian couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Rhys and Feyre fight like this, if ever. Usually they kept their disagreements silent and between them. 

“What do you think Elain?” Azriel asked, breaking the tension even if it required him addressing Elain. They had enough tension between them without getting involved in other’s. Still, Rhys and Feyre both took a step back from each other and turned their attention to Elain next to Cassian. 

Elain, who had been sitting so silent throughout the debate that Cassian had forgotten she was there, stood. “I think Nesta has always made the wrong choices. But she wouldn’t have come back or asked to meet without a reason. You should at least go meet her.” 

“You?” Feyre asked, frowning. “You don’t want to see her?”

“No, I don’t.” Elain said this with a confidence Cassian rarely heard from her. “Hear her out, but I agree with Mor. She can’t be trusted. I’m going to bed, let me know what you decide in the morning.” With that, Elain left the room. 

Cassian attempted to keep his voice neutral as he said, “So we will meet her in two days where she said.”

“It seems so.” was all Rhys said.

Cassian knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it together for much longer so he downed the last of his wine and walked to the doors leading outside. No one tried to stop him. 

Out on the patio he breathed in the cool air in an attempt to calm his pounding blood. He flared his wings with the intention of flying to cliffs on the coast to scream out everything he was feeling, when the door opened behind him. 

Feyre stood there, her eyes, Nesta’s eyes, sad.

“I’m sorry Cassian.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for everything,” Feyre ran a hand over her face. “I’m sorry for her leaving, I’m sorry for how she behaved before that, and for how I behaved towards her. I’m sorry she came to me and not you.”

Cassian’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to feel this way, but envy wasn’t rational, and he couldn’t stop the pain at the thought that Nesta went to Feyre but not him.

“She’s your sister, of course she went to you.”

Feyre gave him a sad smile and leaned against the railing, looking up at the stars. “She did ask about you.”

Cassian’s voice was breathy as he said, “Really?”

“Yes.”

They both continued to examine the stars before Cassian asked what had been nagging him the most. “What did you mean by she looked great and healthy?”

“She was tanned and looked to have a good amount of weight from what I could see. I think she was in fighting leather’s, but not Illyarian ones.”

“But she didn’t give any clue as to where she has been the past eight years?”

Feyre shook her head. “Said it was a long story.”

“I’m sure,” Cassian scoffed, the back of his mouth bitter.

“We will find out in two days.”

Cassian nodded, but didn’t say anything more as he spread his wings and launched into the night. 

•••••

Nesta - After Disappear 

The first thing Nesta became aware of was the sound of wind rustling thousands of tree needles somewhere above her. 

Nesta took a deep breath of the earthy, spiced tinged air as her eyes fluttered open. The world was a mix of red and green, but far above where she lay, Nesta could make out bits of blue sky and white clouds through the forest canopy. 

Gods, her head pounded. But not like it did after she drank. No, the last time Nesta had felt like this was after the battle with Hyburn. Memories flashed in Nesta’s mind as she recalled what happened. Cassian asking her for sword names, to the rage she had felt at them all, herself, and then the tears she caused Feyre to spill.

And the magic. Nesta had not just let her powers slip, she had used them, allowed them to take her. To here. Wherever this was. 

Nesta’s fists closed around handfuls of soft wood and dirt. Slowly, she pushed herself up to take in her surroundings, and her breath caught. She was surrounded by the most enormous trees she had ever seen. Their orange-red trunks were thicker than her family’s old cottage, with the lowest branches several stories above her head. 

Nesta had never felt so small. So insignificant. 

She had done it. She had left Velaris and her sisters. And Cassian. She had left Gwyn and Emerie with no explanation. Guilt settled in her as Nesta remembered their concern after she had argued with Cassian earlier that day. Oh gods, what day was it?

Nesta pushed to her feet only to almost collapse immediately, her head spinning. She had no way of knowing how long it had been since she had left. Her mouth felt like sandpaper and her stomach ached painfully.

The forest around her was unsettlingly peaceful. Wind high about shifted the needles and branches, but the world at the ground where Nesta stood almost seemed frozen in time. By the sun’s soft light, she figured it was mid morning. She saw no animals, or much vegetation besides small bushes and ferns scattered about the bases of the trees. 

It would be a fine place to lay down and die. Of all the places Nesta had ever been, this forest was one the nicer places. Better than her run down apartment, or Feyre’s ornate palace on the river. Definitely better than the townhouse and it’s claustrophobic walls.

Nesta felt a pang in her chest as she thought of the House. It may be ridiculous but the House was her friend, and the first home she had felt comfortable in. Even if it hadn’t been her choice. 

Now it was all gone. Everything she knew was gone. He was- no. This had been her choice. 

The thought spurred Nesta to move. She picked a random direction and started walking. She needed water. And food. And shelter.  

Despite everything her family had been through, Nesta realized, she had never truly been without. Even in the grips of poverty they had a house, no matter how small and rundown. And Feyre had always been responsible for food. A familiar heavy wave came over Nesta. None of that mattered anymore. She wouldn’t be a problem for them anymore. 

There was too much to take in as Nesta made her way through the huge forest. She felt like an ant crawling on twigs as she made her way around and over fallen branches. The red trees were soft, with many branches and old trunks shattered across the ground. 

It was hard navigating, as the trees made it hard to see more than a few meters. 

A small stream came into sight and Nesta had to restrain herself from jumping into it. Swallowing her dry mouth took a lot of effort now. Walking to a mini waterfall where the water ran clear, Nesta collapsed to her knees beside it. She cupped her hands and drank, not caring about the water she dribbled down the front of her training leathers. 

The water was rejuvenating. After thoroughly quenching her thirst, Nesta splashed water on her face.

Refreshed, Nesta sat back and closed her eyes, taking a breath. The water helped, but Nesta knew she needed food. And shelter, and a plan. Because she had no idea what she was doing. 

Nesta tried to clamp down on her rising panic. She would get her wish and she would die here in this strange forest because she was so unskilled she lacked the basic abilities required to survive and feed herself. For all her training with Cassian, he had never taught her to be self reliant. She hadn’t even trained with a real sword.

Nesta felt a sob build in her throat and tears threaten to spill despite holding her eyes shut. It was only shock that stopped Nesta’s breakdown. Shock when a voice said from behind her:

“Who the hell are you?” 

•••••

Thanks for being here :)

Tags:

@bluassassin @my-fan-side @nehemikkele @vidalinav​ @dread3r @vasudharaghavan @laylaameer01​ @little-shipper55 @aelinchocolatelover @mis-lil-red @missing-merlin @frosted-crackers​

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part IV

Word Count: 1,925 Warnings: PTSD. Drug use. Ben Affleck. Panic attacks. Bullet wounds. Smut (not explicit but it's there). A/N: Your kind words mean literally everything to me and I have been sobbing between the warmth shown to me over this series and also how much I love Francisco Morales and want the absolute best for him.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

Gif by: @uuuhshiny

Luna hasn’t stopped wailing since Sunday, the one and only day Frankie said he wouldn’t be able to call.

It’s Thursday and both their lungs are close to giving out.

One Morales woman hyperventilating herself into fitful sleeps, the other only sobbing through held breaths in stolen lonely moments of peace and quiet.

Kristyn had taken up residence in the spare room, making sure Leah slept and ate. She was the one who cashed in Leah’s sick days with the school, forging a bullshit sick note when she went into work.

Leah is currently distraught because her husband might be dead in South America, we don’t know.

That’s what the first one said, dashed out on the keyboard in a petty moment of frustration. She might be the only one of Leah’s sisters who didn't want to lob his fucking head off every time she shed a tear but it didn’t mean she never wanted to do it.

Patient is suffering from a prolonged migraine and intensive nausea. Follow up appointment scheduled for next Thursday at 9am.

That should fucking do it but she’ll have to start checking off the vacation days soon. Dip into family leave for Luna.

Alexa held her on that first Monday, talking her through the panic in a puddle of spilled coffee. The paper cup splashing across their knees in the hallway as concern emanated from the AP Lit room at their backs.

Somewhere at the base of the Andes, her husband was being pried out of a crashed helicopter by the only other men she’d ever truly loved. William was shot, Benny was reckless. She felt it all in her body as she was driven home, helped into the shower, held in her bed but not by the arms she craved.

“He's coming home,” Deana brought dinner that night, her big sister cutting into her steak like she was a child at risk of choking again, “he will do anything he can to make sure of that.”

“What if he doesn’t, D?” Leah’s taken on the stare, everything and nothing all at once, “what if he doesn’t come home this time?”

“I promise you, Lee, okay?” She reaches out to push aside hair damp with tears, “I've never seen a man so in love.”

“Yeah…” she’s quiet, “he promised me too.”

And she told him to stop making promises because he doesn’t keep them.

I think you put a baby in me, Francisco Morales.

The tears well over her eyes, spilling onto already salt stained cheeks.

He made love to her like it was the last time he would ever see her, the last chance he would ever get. He poured his entire being into her, drunk off the feel of their bodies together. She could feel him in the hollow of her ribs, an aching that called out for the comfort of his beating heart against hers again.

Would that be so bad?

She sobbed out, startling Luna’s own ragged cries again, afraid that she would never know warmth against her cold hands again.

—————

“Hey,” they're huddled against the onslaught beneath a barely-there cliff, labored breathing in tandem, “you still with me?”

Frankie’s panic attack came on slowly, a rolling storm in the distance the moment the helo crashed in the valley.

Bad landing.

His fight or flight response has his lungs in a vice grip but he still manages a laugh, “I think I should be the one asking you that.”

“You know it’s gonna take a lot more than a stray bullet to fuck me off,” he’s smiling but Frankie knows how much blood he’s lost, how long it takes for a wound like that to clot without medical intervention.

It’s true, it’ll take a lot more than a stray bullet to take William Miller but that was before, when they had back up. Out here, though? Surrounded by his brothers in arms? Having done what he just did?

Francisco Morales has never felt more alone.

“Fish,” William hits his knee against his, “where are you?”

His eyes refocus on the tepid water pounding all around him, the world coming back as he takes a deep breath, “are you afraid, Will?”

“You gotta be more specific, Frank, I’m terrified of everything.”

He’s quiet when he speaks, “me too,” barely above the downpour.

He sees Will nod in his peripheral, “I know.”

“Will, I’m afraid I’ll never see them again,” and when he chokes, he realizes he’s been crying.

“No, you can’t think like that.”

“I know, but I can’t stop it either, like…” trailing off, he lifts his face to the pressure of the water; it’s the sweetest thing he’s felt in days, “what if this is the last shower I ever take?”

“Fish…” Will reaches for him but he’s cut short.

“No, listen to me. If anything happens to me out he—“

“Nothing is going to fucking hap—"

“Shut up and let me finish,” his rage and sadness is burning hot through him, it takes everything within his being not to choke on air as he speaks again. “If anything happens to me out here, Will, take care of my girls. Please.”

The blond nods his head, heavy with exhaustion and pain, “until the very end of my life, Frankie.”

The relief that spreads through his body is better than any drug he ever tried, he feels himself slipping into an upright sleep, his heart at peace for the first time since he left his bed.

“But,” Will’s voice catches him on the edge of consciousness, “I would also face down the end of my life to make sure you see them again, do you understand me? If the only thing standing between you and a bullet is me, don’t fight. Leave me there and run like hell. You’re going back to your family.”

“But if I don’t make it…”

“Fish,” Will's laugh is drenched in the space between them, “are you saying it’s your last will and testament for me to marry your wife?”

“Fuck off,” his words are clipped, strained, “and don’t call me Fish.”

—————

They still, eyes up to the screen of the baby monitor as they hold their breath for another sound from Luna’s room. The baby settles back into silence, her small chest rising and falling on the grainy feed.

He remembers Leah opening the military grade surveillance equipment at the baby shower, the shake of her laughter as she held onto Benny’s shoulder to anchor herself to the chair.

“Should we check on her?” It’s small, a rushed question of a concerned mother.

“I said a baby monitor, Benjamin, not a prison security camera.”

“Absolutely not,” Ben grabs her hand, “This is better than any of that shit you’ll find at Target. Video means there’s no wondering either, you can just look up and assess the situation, more rest. That’s important, you’ll need to savor the little that you get.”

He pushes a lock of hair from her face, damp with the tears of the day and the sweat of the night, “no, baby, we don’t want to disturb her.”

“Yeah,” Will chimes in, his beer bottle held loosely in his hands, “Frankie should’ve been training you on sleep deprivation this whole time, you’re spec ops yourself now.”

“But what if she wakes up?”

“Well…” the corner of his mouth lifts to close the fan at the corner of his eyes, “it’s a good thing she can’t see us through that thing, right?”

“Francisc—“ the irritation of his name is finished in a heady moan lured from her body by another slow drag of his hips.

The crook of his nose slots against hers as he finds her lips again, the warmth of the room around them is nothing compared to their mouths on each other. Bathing in shared heat, her fingers entwine into the curls at the crown of his head, the other hand palm up to his chest. And as the beating of his heart races towards her burning touch, he submerges himself once again.

His firm grip holds the hinge in her leg, fingers digging into the sensitive skin that fills her lungs with fits of laughter and light. He braces himself against the bed, the aching in his forearm dulled by the soft, breathless whimpers intoxicating his entire being.

His voice is washed out when he finds it, “mi sol,” lips dragging across her own, “mis estrellas.”

Her eyes find his, heavy with admiration and trust. “Francisco,” she is drunk and drowning in the love of this man, “finish me.”

He shifts to cradle her jaw and as he trails his other hand up her thigh, he sinks within her once more. Finding his release against her own, he is convinced they’ll never be able to fully untangle again.

He presses a kiss to her nose.

My sun.

Her forehead.

My stars.

Her lips.

My whole sky.

—————

I think you put a baby in me, Francisco Morales.

He snaps back to reality, Santi and Tom’s voices echoing all around them.

His head is hot, he’s pushing past Will with concern set so deeply in his eyes he fears he’ll break right there.

Would that be so bad?

“Fucking bullshit!” Tom’s face is red, Santi having finally said what all of them are thinking.

He feels the weight of Leah in every fiber of his being, slotted perfectly against his body.

“We're all on the hook for this, are we not?”

I should’ve said no.

“God damn this fucking horse! Stop it!”

All those years blinded by loyalty to authority, Frankie never talked back to his leader but the man in front of him isn’t a leader. He’s a whiny child who’s lost his toys and Frankie hates him.

Biting back what he wants to say, he holds his hand up in a show of camaraderie, “Relax.” His finger quirks up as if he’s scolding a tantrum, “Relax. We’re not picking at the fucking scab right now, okay?”

Tom stares him down, like he’s weighing an argument against him too but Frankie’s done. He meets the taller man’s gaze, this man he would’ve died for.

“One foot in front of the other. Come on.”

This man he almost has died for.

“Let's go. Jesus fucking Christ.”

His true allegiances don’t lie to this man anymore or the gun at his hip. Not the money or the mules. He left that splintered fantasy about twenty feet back.

He’d throw this man over if it meant going home right now.

The money too.

None of it is worth a goddamn thing to him if it means he’ll never see the way that the light bounces off the gold in Leah Morales’ eyes ever again.

The same honeyed flakes in the brown of his daughter’s bright gaze.

I think you put a baby in me, Francisco Morales.

He made love to her like it was the last time he would ever see her, the last chance he would ever get. He wanted to pour his entire being into that woman, ensure that he would live on if lost to the Colombian jungle off a narco's bullet.

Would that be so bad?

He was scared but, truly, would it be so bad?

But it would be because he could truly leave her with nothing. No money, no husband, no father to her babies.

He lost count of the days he hadn’t called.

He makes his way up the mountain, following Tom’s bitching, wishing it was Leah leading him home instead.

TAG LIST: @justanotherblonde23 | @greeneyedblondie44 | @icanbeyourjedi | @princess76179 | @bbuckysbeardd | @notcookiebelle | @knivesareout | @empress-palpat1ne​

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 10 second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Meta)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Unclean Realm

Lan Wangji has a Louis Henry Sullivan moment on seeing the Nie family home, becoming enraptured by its overwrought monumental architecture after a lifetime of restrained good taste and single-story buildings.

He approaches the fortress with the expression of delighted wonder that he usually reserves for when he’s looking at the moon or at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is like, yep that’s a building, all right, but he supports Lan Wangji’s kinks.  

Meng Yao tells them about the Wen Clan directive, and has what appears to be a moment of genuine, affectionate amusement at Nie Huaisang’s reaction.

Jiang Cheng kinda blames the Lans for inventing the whole “indoctrination” thing and for encouraging his brother’s disaster bi tendencies. Wei Wuxian responds by complimenting the Lan Clan, almost like someone who met his true love got some real value out of the instruction he received there.  

(more after the cut)

One of the great ironies of this story is that Wei Wuxian sort of becomes a rogue Lan disciple because of his relationship with Lan Wangji. He relies on Lan temperament techniques, uses music as a primary cultivation method, has committed all of the Lan rules to his supposedly terrible memory and cites them on multiple occasions, and is an important mentor for the younger generation Lan disciples. Because Hanguang-Jun is just that good in bed.

Xue Yang in the background of this conversation is channeling OP’s church-enduring, school-enduring inner 10-year-old.

Nie Mingjue, Chifeng-Zun, appears, and couldn’t be more different than his brother. On first watching this episode, I saw him as a grumpy, sexy, very emotional leather daddy man who is quick to anger. Rewatching, I see someone who’s struggling with a growing illness...the resentful energy kind.

Nie Mingjue’s handling of resentful energy is very different from Wei Wuxian’s straightforward interest and acceptance. NMJ has a traditional cultivator’s view of it, regarding it as evil and as something to resist, while he is literally carrying it on his back. He’s like a secret alcoholic who is preaching temperence, and can’t find a way to be reconciled with himself.  

At this point of the story, Nie Mingjue is keeping it together, but is under a hell of a lot of stress, and Baxia’s blood thirst is already maybe a problem.

The Yunmeng bros think that Nie Huaisang’s fear of his brother is hilarious, because they don’t understand the situation. They think he’s just living in a hideously toxic family dynamic like theirs, when actually he’s in a loving, sorta healthy, if parentless, family that is being crushed under a generational curse.

Compliments for the Yunmeng Bros

I’m not the first meta poster to notice how happy Jiang Cheng is to be praised by Nie Mingjue.

He never gets this at home. Jiang Yanli praises him, but in that watery “you tried your best” way that doesn’t really stick.  Nie Mingjue’s praise really means something, because he is a fearsome warrior and stern authority figure. And this is a double compliment, because Nie Mingjue says he heard it from Lan Xichen, and agrees with it.

Let’s Make Terrible Decisions

Keep Xue Yang alive, says Wei Wuxian, and Meng Yao immediately agrees, although I’m pretty sure he would have proposed that even if WWX hadn’t.

So they do, not realizing that “kill him later” is never a good plan for someone who 1. super needs killing 2. has a whole lot of death-dealing skills.

Future clan leader Jiang Cheng notices how smart and talented Meng Yao is.  Xue Yang finds it hilarious when the trio praises Meng Yao, possibly because their evil team up is already underway.

Boss’ Bed Warmer Son of a Ho

The constant insults toward Meng Yao are about his mom, but there’s another level of leering implication, that Meng Yao seems to encourage in his conversation with the soon-to-be-murdered guard captain.

Nie Mingjue elevated him way above his expectations, and he is ridiculously pretty, which has to create rumors. In the Nightless City scenes when he’s fondling Baxia and telling Nie Mingjue’s family secrets there’s definitely a sense of intimacy that’s not just “loyal retainer.”

I feel like maybe this whole exchange is a bit of theater designed to show Xue Yang something without showing it to anyone else. Meng Yao didn’t need to have this conversation in front of his prisoner.

Let’s Do Exactly What We Said We Wouldn’t

Once the younger quartet are alone with Nie Mingjue, Wei Wuxian crosses the room away from his friends and practically into Lan Wangji’s pocket, if Lan Wangji had pockets.

He has no pockets and also has no personal bubble any more, when it comes to Wei Wuxian.

We could make a weapon out of Yin Iron, Wei Wuxian says, completely forgetting his entire conversation with Lan Yi, apparently. Lan Wangji doesn’t argue with this idea.

Nie Mingjue warns Wei Wuxian not to try it.

I stabbed a man in Qinghe just to watch him die

Nie Mingjue is like the Johnny Cash of the cultivation world, carrying the weight of his poor choices and trying to steer the young folk to the path of righteousness. But--like Johnny Cash--his bad choices have made him really fucking cool, so he isn’t very good at deterring anybody.

Meng Yao Didn’t Come Here to Make Friends

Immediately after Meng Yao’s fellow Nie clan people call him “son of a whore” again, Wei Wuxian meets him, is nice to him, addresses him by his military title, bows to him, asks why he’s away from the party, and thanks him for his service.

But Meng Yao has already decided to make friends with Xue Yang, so Wei Wuxian goes onto his list of people that he doesn’t give a crap about except if they can be useful to him.  Then Meng Yao goes to make out hatch a plot with Xue Yang.

I’ll Sleep On Your Roof

Meeting SongXiao seems to have done away with the last of Lan Wangji’s resistance to his connection with Wei Wuxian.

He hears a noise on the roof and, when realizing it’s Wei Wuxian, he smiles one of his tiny reserved smiles before heading outside.

When he sees Wei Wuxian drunkenly sprawled on the roof, limbs akimbo, wine on his chin and neck, mouth full of poetry about the open road, Lan Wangji gives him the most fond look imaginable.

Then he reluctantly leaves, with his signature “say goodbye, but only when he can’t hear you” thing.

They’ve both come a really long way since their first meeting. Wei Wuxian is openly and vocally attaching himself to Lan Wangji...but is not actually entering his space or asking for anything from him; he just wants to be near him, and wants to let him know that. “I’ll sleep on your roof tonight.”

And Lan Wangji just...loves him. Wei Wuxian is drunk, embarrassing, demonstrative, eager to make a hell weapon out of yin iron, touchy feely, and absurdly sexy. And Lan Wangji is pretty okay with all of that.

I Might Have Been Drunk

Wei Wuxian carefully avoids telling Jiang Cheng where he was last night.

Even if he did get blackout drunk, he would have woken up on Lan Wangji’s roof. And I don’t think he was as drunk as that. He just knows Jiang Cheng wouldn’t like the truth.

Wen Fucking Chao, Again

Wen Chao shows up to be annoying and boring.  This leads to a pretty good fight between Nie Mingjue and Wen Zhuliu. Note that when the chips are down, Nie Huaisang stands with his Gege without any cowering. Almost as if he had hidden reserves of bravery, and is not as helpless as he lets on.

Wen Zhuliu isn’t styled to be super hot, although he’s certainly compelling, and in Dance of the Phoenix he looks good with sensitive-guy hair wispies. I wonder what actor Feng Mingjing looks like out of character?

BRB, adding a tag to my follow list

Battle Bros

When the fighting breaks out, the Yunmeng brothers are decisive and united, with Wei Wuxian giving orders to Jiang Cheng and JC following without hesitation.

I feel like if these two could have gone through a few big battles together, instead of being separated during most of the Sunshot campaign, their whole relationship would have improved. On the battlefield, they respect, trust, and understand each other.  

The Pointy End

Nie Mingjue is holding his own against Wen Zhuliu, but he gets distracted by Meng Yao hollering “Xue Yang has escaped” and then shanking the guard captain right in front of him.

Wen Zhuliu takes advantage of the distraction to aim a very slow stab at Nie Huasang, and Meng Yao jumps in front to get stabbed on his behalf.

When the Yunmeng bros show up to help NMJ, Wen Zhuliu immeiately yanks Wen Chao back behind him and points his sword at Wei Wuxian. He absolutely sees these two as a serious threat.  Considering that eventually WWX is going to kill Wen Chao while JC kills Wen Zhuliu, this concern is not misplaced.

Wei Wuxian tells Wen Chao to stop being such a jerk, and Wen Chao menaces Wei Wuxian and gloats about the burning of cloud recesses. The burning, that is, of some part of cloud recesses that doesn’t include the library, the Jingshi, the main cultivation chamber, the rabbit warren, or Lan Qiren’s house, unless the Lan Clan is really really good at rebuilding things to very exact specifications.

In a rare moment of seeing Meng Yao’s internal thoughts, he is worried about Lan Xichen when he hears about cloud recesses.

The Yelling Part

Now we have the particularly nasty breakup between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao. It’s...got some layers. Meng Yao is cowering on the floor, but is not apologizing.

He never apologizes throughout this encounter.

孟瑤無悔  - Meng Yao (has) no regrets

This scene is amazing and excruciating to watch, even more when you know what’s ahead.

What the Fuck is Meng Yao’s Plan

On one level this is Meng Yao, manipulative sociopath, setting up a cover story for his aiding and alliance with Xue Yang.  On another, this is Meng Yao, loving subordinate, being tossed aside by his lord because he dared to stand up for himself.

He uses the same “scout’s honor” gesture we’ve seen Wei Wuxian use to swear he’s telling the truth. Wei Wuxian is always lying when he uses this gesture.

I’m...not sure exactly what Meng Yao’s plan is, with all these chess moves? By stabbing the captain in front of NHS, he created an opportunity to plant a cover story about Xue Yang’s escape. He might be hoping that Nie Mingjue will forgive him and keep him on, while Xue Yang can stay in his back pocket to be used later.

Dry eyes? Try Visene

Or he might be intending to get kicked out, given his non-apology. In any case, Nie Mingjue is weeping during this encounter, and Meng Yao...isn’t. He is signaling distress in his voice, expression, and body language, but his eyes are dry up until the last moment, and even then they just glisten a bit. In a show where every actor is an expert at crying on cue, that’s got to be a deliberate choice.

Which isn’t to say that Meng Yao is faking being full of emotion in this scene. It’s just that the emotion isn’t necessarily sorrow.

What Does Nie Mingjue’s Head Think

Flip the view and this is about Nie Mingjue being betrayed by a subordinate, who has turned out to be a self-serving murderer. And on another level it’s Nie Mingjue being betrayed by his lover, who was just using him for advancement.

I rewatched the later episode where we get the scene as Nie Mingjue’s head perceived it, and he’s particularly brokenhearted and disillusioned from his head’s POV.  In that version there is a telling addition to the conversation.

Nie Mingjue asks about the guys who were roasting Meng Yao behind his back. He asks, if I hadn’t come, would you have murdered all of them?

Um. No, dude. Of course fucking not. That’s what a patriarchal authority does. That’s the way an angry Nie Mingjue/Baxia team might solve a problem.

Meng Yao has to use subterfuge to kill his enemies. And while he super hates being called “son of a whore” it’s absolutely not enough to make him kill someone, with the risk murder brings. Likewise, being treated well isn’t enough to make him spare someone. Nie Mingjue totally doesn’t get this, because he’s been the patriarch of this clan his entire adult life.

And Here’s the Actual Problem

There is a betrayal here, but Nie Mingjue is not simply a victim.  Whether it’s a sexual relationship or a non-sexual bond of affection, there can be nothing solid in Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao’s relationship within a feudal society, because it is fundamentally unequal. Even if they love each other deeply - which I’m not convinced either of them does - every encounter they have is tainted with power dynamics.

Meng Yao has been elevated by Nie Mingjue and quite probably taken into his bed, as well as being told many family secrets, but has not been given a new surname (like, for example, Wen Zhuliu was) or independent power. More importantly, Nie Mingjue has not used his authority to remove or punish the many people who disrespect his subordinate.  Lan Qiren would have had all of those gossipy fuckers kneeling in the snow, and Wen Ruohan would feed them to his mosh pit zombies.

Meng Yao is a murderous little snake, but he is right to be angry with Nie Mingjue about some things, and his pursuit of his own agenda is understandable.

Well, That Was a Slice

Meng Yao leaves, hurt, with a dignified bow; just as he did that one time when his dad kicked him down the Carp Tower steps.

Take note, both patriarchal authorities: that is his way of saying “I’m going to murder you one day.”

Nie Mingjue sits with his broken heart, as we realize that we’ve only spent 20 minutes with this guy and we’ve gone on an entire emotional journey with him. This episode packed in a LOT.

Soundtrack: Johnny Cash, Folsom Prison Blues

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Four - Peril

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Mentions of death, drug use, Tig being Tig. The usual SOA shit. Sorry Donna..

She always saw the beauty in darkness. The lugubrious belle that came alongside the moon and stars and whatever else lurked amidst the murk of nighttime.

Isla was cliche in that sense.

She was cliche in the sense that she adored watching the sun set, swallowed by the mountains and high-rise buildings as the evening fell and Charming was painted black.

And maybe it was mostly melancholic because of the horrors that swathed that small town, but it was still beautiful nonetheless.

She still liked to bask in the scenery, to discern the marvel of her home, from the highest point she could access. And, sometimes, she liked to take somebody along with her so she wasn't completely alone.

"Why'd you still come up here?" Ope asked, pulling himself onto the roof as she sat with her back to the wall--puffing on a cigarette.

"Because it's quiet." She was content, comfortable with her response. "And whenever I'm looking for Jax, or Gem, or my dad--or they're looking for me--this is where we're almost always found. Just people watching, or reminiscing, or having a few minutes to ourselves away from the chaos downstairs."

It wasn't an unknown safe space--Gemma had told her that JT and Clay would climb up there during the earliest days of the club--but it was special.

Jax, Opie, and Isla spent time up there as kids, too. Because they were bastards and were always running from their fathers--and den mother--and the roof of the clubhouse was their go-to.

She never really got out of that habit. She'd spend hours up there if she could, just watching as Charming bustled beneath her. And she liked that it was separate to the garage, but everyone knew where to find her if they needed her.

"It clears your head, being up here." She added. "I have got so much shit going on right now--between work, and my personal life--but coming up here is like a refreshment, I guess."

Opie understood what she meant because he was also seeking comfort in the night. Riding through dusk, spending time alone on his bike as he cruised the streets of his quaint town, relishing in the darkness because it was strangely comforting to him.

He liked to be alone. His thoughts were brutal and they seared his brain left and fucking right, but he liked his own company.

"Wish I thought about comin' up here when I was released from holding." The man chuckled, balancing a cigarette between his lips. "Stahl grilled the fuck outta me."

"She did?"

"Yeah. She really fuckin' did." He added, grunting as smoke blew from his nostrils. "Did she get you? I know she got Gemma."

"Nope, she didn't. I don't know why, though. She interrogated everyone else. Starting to feel a little left out."

Opie chuckled, smiling a bit. "Be glad. It's obvious that she's used to getting what she wants."

"And did you give it to her?"

"Fuck no." Isla smiled. Proud. "She can cross-examine me all she fuckin' wants—I'll never sell the club out."

"They know that, Ope."

"I know." Half confidently, he nodded. "Just—Stahl made me second guess it all, y'know?"

Nobody in Charming--aside from the PD--knew where that despicable bitch came from, and nobody cared to ask.

What they did know, though, was that she had her heart set on making that town a living fucking hell as she strived to eradicate the Sons of Anarchy by getting to its members.

She'd grilled everyone she could've. She cornered Gemma when she was out running errands, leaving the grocery store with a sour taste in her mouth when Teller told her where to fucking shove it.

Same went for Jax, and Clay, and Chibs, and Tig, and...Well, all of them told her to get fucked, actually.

None of them caved. None of them wanted to sell the club out because there was no reason to.

Well, there was a reason to, but no desire to.

There'd been murders. Three, to be specific. And one of them just happened to be a police officer--which was quite unlucky, but it wasn't awful.

They hated cops.

What they hated more, however, was the idea of getting caught by them. And Clay was. Somehow, anyway.

Piney's old "friend"--Nate Meineke--needed quality, albeit illegal, guns with no traceability to attack the convoy that was transporting one of his friends from point A to point B. And it went as swimmingly as possible...

Until June Stahl was put on the case and found that idiot's phone at the scene after dropping it mid-ambush.

Clay just happened to be the last person he had called. Which then caused the investigation to point toward Charming.

They all knew the Sons were guilty of supplying those weapons. Who else would it have been? They were known for running illegal firearms without batch numbers from a quaint Californian town whose name didn't quite fit its image.

It was blatant, though nobody gave it up.

But Stahl tried her damndest to get answers. And when she didn't, she targeted the member that she saw to be the most vulnerable--after a hit went wrong and he failed to cover his tracks--and Opie just happened to be that guy.

She questioned him for hours. She practically held the man captive in that little cell until he caved. But he didn't--and he wasn't going to, either.

He was loyal. That's one of the reasons why Jax wanted to patch him back in.

"Yeah, I know." Isla got to her feet when she heard Tig yelling for her downstairs. "But you're the strongest guy I know, Ope. I don't think Stahl, of all people, is gonna get to you."

He shrugged her off, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the gravelly ground of the roof.

Opie had changed. Not much, and it wasn't very apparent, but he'd changed. Chino had changed him, she thought.

He was still dedicated to his club, still in love with the reaper and the responsibility that came with the patch--but Opie Winston lacked that flicker of enthusiasm now.

"How does your dad feel about you being back at the table?"

"Said he's proud of me."

He was a man of very, very few words. But the tone that he took--the sheer relief twined into contentment--spoke a greater volume.

Piney would always support his son, feel a sense of gratification from his involvement in the club. And, of course, Ope felt grateful to be back--but it was different now.

He'd served time for his club. Donna consistently argued that they sold him out and that he was fucking stupid for running back into the arms of SAMCRO.

But it was his brotherhood. The Sons of Anarchy were his family--his lifeline. He was nothing if not blessed to be patched back in.

"And I guess that wife of yours isn't too happy about it?"

"How'd you reach that conclusion?"

"Well," she ignored that Tig was waiting for her, standing directly in front of him. "If she was genuinely thrilled about you being back here, she'd have been coming to Gemma's dinners, and spending more time at the clubhouse with us. But she isn't, and I'm starting to realize that she probably hates me now."

His head shook. "She doesn't hate you. It's just...It's just raw. Weird being back, I think."

"She didn't even have to leave. She knows that."

Donna did know that. But there was always something about Gemma. About the way she let things slide so often, how she felt that she had Clay so pussy whipped that he'd be at her every beck and call--but, really, that was redundant. Because Gemma let him get away with fucking murder.

Literally.

"Is she gonna be there tonight?

"Of course. She wouldn't miss Jax's son coming home." He got up, reaching for her hands. "Sorry that she's been so distant with you, Isla. But she's just been stressed out--money worries and the kids and stuff, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Donna wasn't traditionally a worrier. But five years worth of finances, being a single mom, and fretting over her husband potentially not making it out of prison alive, just did that to a woman.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so." Grateful for her offering, though recognizing how damn stubborn his wife was, he conceded. "Thanks, though."

"Anytime. And if you change your mind, or need me, you know where I am--"

"Isla!"

"He is getting on my last fucking nerve today." She groaned, flipping Tig off as she looked over the ledge. "I'm coming! Give me a minute!"

"I've given you plenty of minutes! Just get your ass down here!"

"Just go," Ope chuckled, leaning down to peck her cheek. "We can have this talk another time."

Isla turned back to him, frowning. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Go 'n talk to him--I'll see you tonight."

He was such a nice guy. So considerate, kind.

She loved him a lot.

The flouncy sundress rose to the middle of her thighs as she sauntered through the clubhouse, hearing Trager talking--rather conspicuously, though slightly muffled--to somebody on his cell.

"C'mon, Tiggy. Why'd you yell at me?"

He waved his hand to shut her up, gesturing for the blonde to follow him out of the clubhouse and toward his bike.

"Yeah, cool. K, brother--see 'ya later. Bye." He hung up and slid the phone into the pocket of his cut, swiveling to face Isla with a smile. "You ready?"

"For what?"

"The party?" Tig told her, watching confusion sweep over her face. "I'm taking you over 'cuz you want a drink and don't wanna drive home after? And that you're probably gonna end up heading home with Juice, or something--"

"Juice?"

"It always happens," he shrugged, pointing at the helmet he set out for her at the back of his bike. "We all head out, you get too drunk, you take a liking to Juicy, and you try to ride his dick."

"What?" Isla got herself situated behind him as he got on first, her arms wound around his waist. "That was one time. I've only slept with him once, and I told you it'd never happen again."

"And why is that?"

Her cheeks flushed red, the engine revving sending vibrations through her entire frame.

"Because he was too gentle." Tig's foot collided with the kickstand.

"And the little Catholic girl likes it rough."

She felt the solid gold crucifix burning a hole into her chest.

"Yes. I like it rough." He groaned, leaning into her. She swatted at his chest over his shoulder, laughing heartily. "Just take me to see the baby, dickhead."

The bike sped out of the lot and Isla was loving the thrill of being on two wheels. She'd always liked being stuck to the back of somebody's Harley--but she'd never own one herself.

Isla was like Gemma. She felt stable enough riding with somebody, but riding alone--being in control of the motorcycle--was fucking terrifying.

Jax and Opie had encouraged her to take a ride at one point, but it didn't end very well, and Chibs spent the best part of two hours trying to stitch his daughter back up whilst Gemma castigated the two imbeciles who thought it was even reminiscent of a good idea.

Weaving through traffic gracefully, freely, was appealing to her, however. But she wouldn't be caught dead--alone--on a fucking bike.

Plus, she quite enjoyed being taken places. Escorted by a member of the club. It was safe.

The wind whirred and whipped around them, and she wished she didn't make the effort with her hair tonight. It was ruined, tousled to within an inch of its life, and she dreaded the thought of having to brush the knots out in Jax's bathroom.

Still, commuting via Harley was a hell of a lot quicker and had a few more benefits than commuting via car.

But the looks that they got were piercing. Horrible. Mainly from Hale stationed beside his squad car, watching as Isla and Tig raced down the freeway.

"He likes you." He spoke over the roaring engine when he hit the first stop light all night. "He hates that you've never given him a chance--"

"He's a cop, and I'm the outlaw's daughter. I've been raised to hate his kind."

Tig nodded his approval, setting off once again when the light switched to green and all opposing traffic stood still.

At one strange point in time, David Hale had his sights set on Isla Telford. He was in love with her. Completely besotted.

And she never gave him a second glance because, for one, she wasn't interested. He hated that she was so close to Jax and Opie, but not him, and he wished that she'd push herself away from the bad guys to grow closer to the heroic law-enforcer.

But he was a control freak above everything else, and Isla was just a free-spirit. She was loyal to her friends and family but she didn't want to get tied down, and she didn't want to become friendly with a fucking cop.

The only cop she liked was crooked. And Unser was in a similar spot to her--a little too affiliated with SAMCRO, but not completely doted on. Though, they were both strangely essential fixtures, and Clay would've been lost without them.

"Juice is here." Tig taunted as he helped her off the bike, holding her hand when she stumbled over herself a little. "Try to keep those panties on."

"Can't make any promises, Tiger." Her growl was seductive, though he knew that she was fucking with him.

She'd given up rebuking his claims, instead feeding into them because, with Trager, she couldn't seem to win. He was sleazy, and she loved that back and forth.

What she loved more, though, was that he was comfortable. He was a strange man, and nobody really understood just where he came from, but Isla liked that she could make jokes of any kind around him. He was easy to get along with. Easy to love.

And, man, did she love Alex Trager.

"If you do fuck him, though, would you make a video?"

Isla stepped into Jax's front room, turning on her heels. "Who said that we haven't already got one?"

She chuckled and wandered into the party, leaving Tig with a few convoluted thoughts and even more raunchy questions.

"Fuck. Gemma taught her well." He grumbled under his breath, reaching for the beer in Half-Sack's hand.

He slumped on the couch, motioning for his usual lay to sit in his lap as he watched Juice fawn over his little blonde friend making conversation with some other random woman already.

"Yeah, totally..." she agreed with whatever the girl was saying, but her eyes were glued on Tara. Just floating around the party.

She felt bad that the doctor was alone. Despite all that she thought of her, being out of ones depth in such an intimidating setting wasn't very nice. And Isla was an empath.

"D'ya think anyone 'round here has any nail glue?"

"Gemma might." She smiled, pointing toward the kitchen.

Grateful that she managed to shake that one off, Isla weaved through the small conclave and sat beside Tara, offering a friendly face during a time of such discomfiture.

Her heart was aching, the sheer nervousness was palpable, and she knew that Tara felt the same way too.

But Isla just sucked it up. Because she wanted to talk to her, and had to be the one to initiate it.

"Thanks for coming." Her smile was wide, genuine.

She offered a beer to the brunette, hoping that she'd take it.

"Thanks for asking me here." Tara accepted it, glad that Isla remembered she wasn't particularly a wine girl like herself.

Christ. This is awkward.

"Trust me, you were the first person I asked to come tonight."

"How so?"

"Well," a little bit more comfortably, she faced her completely, "you've literally nursed Abel back to health. You've been there every step of the way. You've been the best surgeon. And, as much as I hate to say it, you helped Wendy so much, Tara. I'm really thankful for all that you've done for this family."

"It's my job." She tried to brush the comments off, but her heart definitely fluttered at the praise.

Isla never changed. She was still the sweetest soul, she thought.

"I know, but you've had it rough with this lot--with Gemma, I mean."

"She isn't anything I can't handle." Confidently, she asserted.

"I know, and I'm glad that you're able to stand your ground." Reluctant, a hand landed against Tara's palm.

She jolted a little bit, but softened into the embrace.

It was comfy, warm. Prosperous, perhaps, because it meant something. Tara not jerking away and leaving once Isla offered a friendly embrace, was promising.

They spoke about the baby for a little while, and shared a few laughs at Tig's expense. It was strange, really. To be talking to her ex-best friend was strange, but she'd missed it.

Donna joined the mix, too, and it was starting to feel like old times. Isla recognized that they'd never slip back into that routine, the dedication to one another that they'd known when they were kids--but it was nice.

The conversation stuttered and it wasn't able to flow as freely as what she might've liked, but it was a start.

To know that she had something resembling an acquaintanceship with two women she admired, was nice.

And Jax introducing his baby to his brand new home, to his extended family that were already so fucking dedicated to him, was just the most wonderful thing ever.

"What about a beer?" Clay joked, holding the bottle close to Abel. Jax laughed, though he shook his hand away. "What? Grandpa can't give him his first beer?"

"No, he can't."

"I'll take it, though. If you're offerin'." Chibs grabbed the Budweiser and twisted the cap with the leather grip of his glove.

He gestured to Isla, tipping it toward her. "Want some?"

"No, you're alright." She went back to her wine, smiling at that little bundle of happiness in Jax's arms, wondering how the hell he'd gotten to be in this position now.

But it was because of Tara. Her commitment, her talent, and sheer want to help that angel through the roughest patch that a baby could have possibly been thrust into.

How Gemma could still loathe that girl--after everything she did--was beyond her completely.

Tara was the unlikeliest hero in Abel's story.

"Why is it that every time I see you, your highlights get more chunky?" Gemma smiled at the comment, turning to see her favorite girl, flaunting the most beautiful smile.

She handed Isla the bottle of whatever wine Chibs could get this evening, unable to quit beaming at the thought of her grandson finally being at home. Where he belonged.

"I told you I'd do them for you, Gem."

"I know," she nodded, playing with a few strands of hair, "I was gonna ask you, but you've been a little distant this week--didn't wanna add to your workload, baby."

"That's super considerate of you. Are you alright?" Isla teased, holding a hand to Gemma's forehead.

She slapped it away with a laugh. "Fuck you. I'm always considerate."

"Sure you are. That's why Wendy is here, right?"

"No," her head shook, "she's here 'cuz this is her house. If I had it my way, she'd be out on her ass faster than what you could even say 'crank whore.'"

Isla wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, tipping her head toward the blonde in the living room.

"I thought you made sure she was gonna be here tonight?" Confused, she quizzed.

She was under the impression that Wendy was starting to grow on her. After she'd tried to kill her, of course.

"I did," Gem confirmed. "But only because I knew it'd be awkward between her and Tara."

Amazed, or maybe fucking horrified, Isla simply glared at her.

It should've been obvious to her--plain as day--that Gemma Teller doing a good thing was simply a bullshit facade, built in order to take away from the fact she wanted to do an inherently bad thing.

But Isla liked to see the good in people, so it wasn't. And that really was one of her mot fatal flaws.

"She thanked me for letting her stay, too."

"And what'd you say to her?" Almost as if she didn't want to know the answer, she asked.

Black nails danced along the rim of her wine glass as she leaned against the counter, watching everybody enjoy themselves as they bitched and moaned.

"That she's lucky to be alive."

"Jesus, Gem," her head shook disparagingly, disappointed perhaps.

But being surprised that the woman made a threatening comment toward Wendy, was just as stupid as being surprised at Tig for fucking another hooker during his free time.

"You've gotta keep her close, ma. She's the mother of your grandson, the woman your son did love at one point."

Ma. The word rolled off her tongue unintentionally most of the time, but she didn't hate it.

Gemma was the mother figure in her life--hell, she was the mother figure in a few of the Sons' lives--and it didn't feel weird using that around her. It was affectionate. She adored it.

"Jax never loved her," matter of fact, she retorted. "They got drunk together. They smoked dope together. They didn't love one another--"

"They got married." Isla reminded her. "They have a kid together. They have a lot of history."

"Just because they have history, doesn't mean they love one another. You've got history with him."

Her chuckle was throaty, almost a full-on splutter. "We have not got that same history--we're friends, Gem, you know that's different."

She supposed the blonde was right.

There was hell of a contrast between friends for life and friends with benefits--and Gemma knew that. She just didn't like that Jax gravitated toward Wendy when he'd always had Isla right there in front of him.

Though, she was more than aware that the pair didn't look at each other that way--she still lauded the thought of the two together.

"I still hate her."

"I know," Isla laughed at Gemma's irritability, sipping on her wine, enjoying the sight of everybody having a damn good time.

"She's checking into rehab, too."

"Really? Where?"

"Some place in Oakland, I think." Gemma added, smiling at Clay when he wandered over to the pair. "But you didn't hear that from me."

"You think she's gonna stick to it?"

"Couldn't tell 'ya." He answered for his wife, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Isla's cheek. "She's determined though, I'll give her that."

"Yeah?" His nod was optimistic--strange for Clay Morrow. "Well, I'm glad she's working on herself, anyway. She's got potential."

"You hate her."

"I know." She didn't refute the assertion. "But I'm still happy for her."

At least somebody is.

She wasn't lying. Wendy was a good girl, a woman tortured for no good reason. And she felt for her, she really did.

It'd been a shock, finding out that she was pregnant. But it wasn't like they weren't expecting it--what with the rate she and Jax were going at it.

From the start, Isla and Gemma were worried. She was notorious for her crank habit and the girls thought she was going to kill herself before she had the chance to see her son into the world.

And that almost happened, didn't it?

The doctors at St. Thomas were fucking miracle workers--Isla was on pins and needles waiting for a call to say that Wendy and Abel were okay.

But she tried not to dwell on that, now. They were both as healthy and Abel was as happy as he could've been, so Isla was content. She wasn't pleased, but she was comfortable with the way that things were going.

Tara, however.

"No!" She yelled, backing out of the nursery. "No, fuck you, Jax."

Juice stumbled backward when she nudged him out of the way, pulling her purse from the kitchen counter.

Isla and Gemma couldn't not stare.

"Tara, c'mon!" Jax called after her, but it was too late.

The front door had been slammed shut and the party came to a complete standstill. A thickening tension was shrouding the group, and things were only just starting to simmer.

"What was that all about?" The blonde asked Juice, leaning against the island.

She didn't want to prove Tig to be right but, after a few glasses of wine, Juan Carlos Ortiz was starting to pique her interests.

He swallowed thickly, watching Clay leave the room. "He said something about Wendy--wanting to keep whatever it is that he and Tara have going on the down low so it doesn't set her off, or something."

Makes sense.

"He has a point. She's doing really well lately." He continued. "Jax would hate to stunt her progress by shoving his relationship with Tara in her face."

Isla was rattled.

Jax hadn't talked to her in days, and she wasn't aware that so much had changed. She wasn't aware that he had established a relationship with Tara Knowles.

Again.

You know what they're like--like two fucking magnets or something. They always find a way back to one another.

She was too irritated to reside in that same room as Gemma, now. Knowing the conversation she'd initiate the second that Juice left was too fucking much. So she left first, instead.

The living room was almost empty. Just Clay, Bobby, Tig, and Chibs sat around the couches as Donna, the kids, and Ope were preparing to set off.

Everything was annoying her, now. She hadn't made the effort with Donna all night, but she was pissed that she hadn't started to say goodbye to her yet.

Isla was so fucking irritated that she didn't even want to talk to Tig, or her father. So she didn't.

"Where're you going, petal?" Chibs asked, hindering her plan to keep her mouth shut for the rest of the night. He knew that she'd crack a smile at the nickname.

"I was just wandering. Not really sure what to do with myself."

"Come sit down," he gestured to the space between himself and Tig, and wound an arm around her when she met the leather. "I've missed 'ya."

"Tonight? Or just in general."

"In general. It's been a few days, love."

"I know, I'm sorry." Her head rested against his Sgt. At Arms patch, and she sighed. "Work has been so fucking busy and I feel like I haven't gotten a moment to myself this week."

Isla only worked a part-time gig at some shitty salon just on the outskirts of Charming--edging into Stockton--but she hated her job.

She hated driving into the city every morning and evening, wasting a fuck ton of her paycheck on gas when, really, there was no point.

She hated her cunt boss.

Hated her cunt clients.

She hated that nobody really spoke to her because of who her father was. And when they did speak to her, it was almost like they were scared. Of Isla.

Gemma had always promised her that there was a space at the auto shop for her had she needed it, but she couldn't think of anything worse than having to answer to Gemma and Clay every single day.

Well, more than what she already was, anyway.

"Who'd 'a thought that being a hairdresser was so demanding?"

"Me, apparently." She joked, watching Tig get up and leave the room.

It'd turned somber. A little too bleak for her liking, but she guessed that everyone felt a bit awkward after Tara stamped out and Jax sat on his porch. Alone. With a bottle of whiskey.

She hated the hold that woman had over him sometimes. The way he was so fucking devoted to Tara Knowles that she could literally slap him, scream in his face, and ruin his son's homecoming party--and he would still pine for her.

She'd never understand that.

And she didn't understand how such a lively bunch of individuals had mellowed out over the course of two hours, either.

The party had disappeared. Dissipated into nothing and the atmosphere she once lauded was completely dead in the water.

It was fucking grim, and she couldn't wait to head home.

"Can I come with you tonight?"

"Why'd you even ask? Y'know you're welcome to come home with your old man whenever you want." Chibs told her a little bit stern, though it was essentially full of love.

She just smiled up at him, a bit buzzed. But she was having a good-ish time and who was he to chastise her for drinking a little too much tonight?

"Wanna head off now?"

"Yeah--lemme just say 'bye' to Gemma."

"Alright, I'll be out front. Don't forget your purse." He reminded, knowing she was too ditsy for her own good.

Chibs helped her to her feet, letting go of her hand only to part ways for a few moments.

Her mood was perking up, now. The prospect of being able to spend a few hours with her dad after a long fucking day, was just the best.

And she'd really missed him. Missed the time they once had an abundance of. Missed the evenings that they'd spend talking, drinking, watching movies, doing the generic father daughter activities.

They hadn't had that for a while, and it was truly a blessing that it was within reach tonight.

Well. It was within reach for all of five minutes.

"Oh my God--" Gemma's cell slipped from between black nails and bounced across the table. Saturated hues were locked on Isla, and her head shook.

"What?"

"There's--there's been an accident." She managed to muster out. "Or, maybe a drive-by, I don't know, but Donna--"

"Donna?" Piney's attention was snatched at the mention of his daughter-in-law. He stood up. "What about her?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Gemma was going to say because it was just the usual now, wasn't it?

Being affiliated with SAMCRO just did that to somebody. Man, woman, child. They didn't fucking care.

"She's--Piney, she's dead."