#and yeah they are kids but goddamn it’s fucking grating to hear that every fucking day

[just-rogi]

God middle schoolers are MEAN I’ve been callled literal fucking slurs by adults that have hurt less than my middle school girls saying

‘miss behind your back the seventh graders say you are annoying and weird :/‘

like holy shit that’s fuckjng gutting bc I KNOW they mean that shit

[kiwiana-writes]

hellooooooo MJ! while I await your return to the future times, please allow me to tell you just how goddamn fucking talented you are ❤️

can you please tell us about the first time you dyed your hair and what colour you did, how you styled it etc??

I’ve been back in the future for a whole 28 hours, but my body hasn’t quite got the memo yet, hence the stupidly early (for me) reply to this ask.

Stop being nice to me, what the fuck. I will NOT allow this. You’ve seen the behind the scenes now; you know it’s all smoke and mirrors 😂

I have been dyeing my hair since I was 11! Literally two thirds of my life. My husband of a decade has only ever seen my natural hair colour at the root because these days I shave my head every four weeks and re-dye it 😅 BUT you’re not asking about now, you’re asking about when I started!

So, yeah. I was eleven, which I know seems wildly young, but my mum struck the deal with me early: I could dye my hair whatever nonsense I wanted, and get whatever piercings I wanted, as long as I didn’t get any tattoos until I was eighteen. Which I am WILDLY grateful for now, because I wanted some tacky-ass ink at fifteen/sixteen. (We did end up negotiating one tattoo at seventeen but that’s because my uncle died and I wanted his initials lol. No regrets about that one.)

Anyway! I started dyeing my hair because I was ginger as fuck and kids are assholes. (This was like… 2001. The Southpark ‘ginger kids have no soul’ ep came out while I was in high school. You’ll be shocked to hear it was also not a supportive environment for baby queer MJ either 😂) And because it was literally twenty-fucking-two years ago, I don't remember what colour it was; some sort of box something, probably just like a basic chestnut hahaha. I had long hair then -- I grew it out until it was down to my hips when I was like 16 and then I had a tantrum and hacked it off into a bob and dyed it a like purpley-black -- so I doubt I styled it or anything.

If you're curious about the bright colours I live in now, that didn't start permanently until I was 25-ish. I went through a pretty extensive goth/punk phase as a teenager so through the back half of school it was always blue-black or red-black or purple-black, those blacks that have a hint of something else in the light. I'd occasionally do bright colours in a very temporary way, those wash out in 2-3 wash spray type things, for like, school sports days and shit, or I'd do bright red streaks or dip dyes or similar (it was the early 2000s shut up). Then after I left school I was working for the government or adjacent for a long time, and they had lots of "natural colours only" rules so I stuck to the chestnuts and the chocolate browns. Then I changed government departments and mentioned this in passing to my boss, in a "ugh wish I could" kinda way, and she was like "that rule is stupid and you're a great employee and I'll back you up if necessary". So... I went and brought two different bright blues and mixed them together and bleached and dyed my hair that weekend. Rocked up to work on Monday and she just high-fived me.

Nothing that's been on my head since is a colour you'll see naturally growing out of someone's head 🤣

It used to be a whole production of stripping out the old dye when I wanted to change colours, but I started rocking the buzz cut a few years ago and now it doesn't matter what was on there before, it's all gone and I can start again from scratch lol. Weirdly, when I shave my head these days the roots come in REALLY dark brown, so idk if my hair colour has shifted over the hairs (when I was born my hair was BLACK, by the time I was 3 it was blonde ringlets, then settled into ginger by the time I started school) or if I would just have dark roots and if I let it grow out it would still be ginger when it was longer... but I fucking love the buzzcut for Gender Euphoria reasons and also Oh God My Hair Is So Thick And Heavy reasons, so... we'll probably never find out 😜

[dontfeeltoohot]

Part one of an idea that came to me. Have some Eddie whump! 😈

Tw: mention of blood from a nose bleed

X X X

It’s been nearly six months since Vecna disappeared, since Eddie’s entire life was flipped upside down, since his arrest for Chrissy Cunningham's murder, as well as his clearance of it, since Hopper came back ‘from the dead’. Six months of uneasy quiet while Hawkins rebuilds and tries to move on from the ‘freak anomaly of an earthquake’ that shook the town. Eddie’s grateful that most of the residents have been too involved and busy with disaster relief to keep their attention on him.

The new, small home he and Wayne have been given is cozy enough, at least, that’s what the twenty year old tells himself, while staring at the ceiling from his bed, eyes burning from lack of sleep. The constant, dull ache in his head from countless nights spent awake is threatening to become something more, something worse, so Eddie shifts and takes the (ever dwindling) Tylenol bottle on his bedside table, shakes two pills out, then swallows them dry.

An hour passes, then two. Every time his heavy eyes fully shut, the musician is transported back to the night Chrissy died, or the night his mom died. And every time, he jolts awake and has to take deep, shaky breaths to try and calm himself down, arms hugging around his torso tightly- but not tight enough to irritate his demobat bites. They’re scarring but healing, so he can’t really complain. Sure, he’s lost a nipple, but it’s not like he really needs it anyway.

A door opens, then closes. The long haired man tenses out of pure habit; thanks to the trauma of being a wanted man for a week, constantly on edge and waiting to be caught. The second after, his body deflates. It’s Wayne, he knows, if only by his Uncle’s footsteps, and the humming coming faintly down the hall. Shifting and rubbing his eyes, Eddie sits up, just barely restraining a whine from slipping out.

He’s so goddamn tired, tired in a way he’s not sure he’s even felt before. It’s like his brain isn’t connecting properly, like his limbs short circuit sometimes when he tries to stand or walk, and his eyes always feel heavy. Shifting, Eddie sits up, then forces himself out of bed, ignoring the slight dizziness that assaults him from lack of sleep.

Shuffling down the hallway, he hears Wayne in the kitchen, mugs clinking around in the cabinet as he no doubt tries to find the right one. They’re working on rebuilding their collection- Eddie’s already explained he doesn’t want the other ones back, that they’ve been contaminated by the upside down. Which, yeah, he’d told Wayne about that too. Fuck NDA’s, and fuck the government.

“Hey Wayne,” Eddie’s voice is low and sleepy, he keeps it down so as not to spook the older man.

“Mornin’ Eds. You get any sleep? You look a little…” Wayne trails off, giving his nephew what can only be described as a ‘sympathetic grimace’.

“Mm, yeah, course I did, don’t worry so much,” Eddie lies through his teeth.

Wayne gives him a look but doesn’t push, at least not for now. Thankful, the musician bites at his thumbnail and goes to the fridge to get eggs out. He’s not particularly hungry, but he’s sure his uncle is, so he finds a pan, turns the stove top on, then gets to work. As he picks up an egg to crack into the pan on the stovetop, pain explodes in his head, worse than previous times. It’s sharp and unrelenting, not like the aching he’s used to. The egg drops to the ground, cracking and shattering, yolk everywhere.

Eddie

The pain has stopped, but standing there, right in front of him, is his mother. Dark brown curls, chocolate colored eyes, fair complexion, it all stares back at him with a smile he can sometimes see when he’s waking up from a good dream.

Eddie

“Mom?”

“Eddie? Christ kid, help me out here! Eds! Wake up,” Wayne’s voice surrounds him, making him blink again.

The pain is back, but the sharpness has dulled to its usual uncomforting ache. His mother isn’t there, now replaced with her brother, looking with wild eyes at him, cheeks red and hands holding his shoulders tightly. Eddie blinks hard, feeling alarmingly woozy, head heavy, as if he’s going to tip over. Wayne’s hand comes closer to his face, then he’s touching underneath his nose, coming away with red on his fingers.

“Sit down Eddie, your nose is bleeding.”

That explains the woozy-ness at least.

When he doesn’t move, still staring at the empty spot where his mother had been moments prior, he lets Wayne manhandle him to the kitchen table, where he’s given a hand towel to press against his face. They’ve done this song and dance before, but the culprit has always been someone else punching his face, never his own body retaliating against something. Leaning forward, he pinches the fabric against his nose, taking a shaky breath.

“Sorry…”

“Hush, ain't got nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout kiddo. You look like you saw a ghost though, you alright?”

No, he thinks. He’s not alright. His mother, the one that’s been dead for twelve years, was just standing in front of him. Instead, he doesn’t want to worry Wayne, not when he’s been stressed lately, so he gives the older man a shaky smile.

“Yeah, thought I saw something is all, but it was just my imagination. Guess I’m more tired than I thought,” he tacks on the last sentence as a sort of scape goat.

“Just stay there and keep holding it, I’m gonna clean this mess up.”

As Wayne works on cleaning up egg, Eddie finally pulls the cloth away, red stained and unusable now. He wipes a clean edge against his nose and the fabric comes away clean. Sitting there, he thinks about his mom not for the first time in the past forty eight hours. She’s always in the back of his head, even if it’s been over double the time since she’s been gone from him. He thinks about how she would sing him to sleep, and how she would try to help him learn how to read music while she played her guitar.

“How’s the bleeding?” Wayne’s next to him again, his brow furrowed in concern, wrinkles in his forehead far more prominent like this- when he’s anxious.

“S’fine old man, don’t worry, you’re gonna get even more wrinkles,” Eddie teases, letting the cloth drop to his lap. “Sorry for uh…the fun morning.”

“You’ll tell me if this happens again,” Wayne fixes him with a stare that makes the hairs on his arm raise.

“Yep, definitely will, don’t you worry your pretty little bald head,” he deflects with vague humor, hoping it’ll relax his uncle. It does.

Eddie stands and it feels like his head is floating, filled with helium as his body stays put. The lightheadedness subsides if only barely, enough that he can make it back to his small bedroom, shut the door, and lay back on his bed, squeezing his eyes shut at the pounding that starts back up in his skull.

[laikuh]

realized i do have a little i could share for wip wednesdsay! was talking with @barbiedolldean and @deanjohn about a universe where john survives, and mentioned i had a fluffy snippet for that. i’ve already shared this with a couple of you, but here’s my little self-contained, john and dean a decade or so down the road being domestic and sweet excerpt:

The music at the bar up the street from their repair shop isn’t much to write about. Dean and John mostly go there because it’s close, which counts for a lot when all you want to do is have a decent walk and to get a little tipsy. Plus, the bands they get on Thursday nights aren’t always half bad, even if they don’t make music like back when John was a kid.

They don’t go every Thursday, but Dean likes to get out every now and again, and John knows the activity does him good, so they try every few weeks to head over. They share a pitcher, smoke a few cigarettes, and play footsie under the booth table while some unknown rock wannabe swaggers on stage. It’s too loud, and the bar charges too much for the shitty Bud they serve, but it’s nice all the same. Nobody knows them, or looks at them sideways. Just a couple of guys having a good time.

They don’t talk while they’re there—way too noisy for that. John just makes googly eyes at his son and pulls faces about the music when he knows Dean’s looking. He likes the easy way Dean rolls his eyes before going back to nodding along with the beat. Like putting up with John’s shit is no big deal. John supposes these days, it’s not.

“You ever think about picking the guitar up again?” John asks as they walk back to their place. His shoulders keep bumping against Dean’s. He’s huddled up close, both because he likes the way Dean feels next to him, but also because it’s the first real chilly night of the year, and John isn’t ready for it. Before the incident, the cold never much bothered him. But after, it’s become a real bitch.

Beside him, Dean shrugs. “Think I’m too old.”

John blows a raspberry. “Fuck off with that.”

Dean snorts. “Damn, Dad, okay. You’re right: forty-three is still very much my youth.”

“What are you trying to say about me then?”

Dean cocks a head. “I don’t think you want to know.”

John might be frail, but he can still be quick when he needs to. He snakes his foot out in front of Dean, tripping him. He doesn’t go all the way down, just a stumble forward, but it’s enough to make his point. “Still calling me old?” he asks with a sly smile.

Dean doesn’t miss a beat. “Old enough to be my father.”

John barks at that. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

Dean looks sideways at John, gentle smile on his lips. “Yeah, Dad. I do.”

Then John feels Dean’s hand slip into his own. He doesn’t let go until they’re back at the apartment, and Dean is forced to pull his hand away so he can wrap his arm around John’s waist to help him up the stairs.

“Goddamn these fucking things,” grits John as he hefts himself up the last two steps.

“I know, Daddy,” Dean murmurs.

John knows he does. Doesn’t make anything any easier.

John limps his way over to the couch where he collapses with a groan. “Those fucking stairs and the damn cold aside, tonight was good. Music wasn’t too bad this time.”

Dean moves between John’s legs and kneels on knees that crack with the gesture. John hates to hear the sound.

“Can I do anything for you?” Dean asks, hands rubbing softly over John’s thighs.

John creaks out a yawn. “Help me to bed, baby?”

Dean nods. “I can do that, Daddy.”

Their life is made up of routines, and John knows this is one of them. The way Dean moves to John’s boots and unfastens the laces. The way he pulls them off carefully, almost reverently. The way he kisses John’s aching knees before moving his hands to the button on John’s jeans. It’s not even about sex—John’s always too beat after a night like this to put out. It’s about something else. Something else John doesn’t want to say out loud, but something that he’s pathetically grateful for.

“You wanna shower?” Dean asks quietly as he stands.

John thinks about it. The warmth would feel good, but so would falling right into their bed. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“Siren song of the sheets is just too strong, huh?” He extends his hands for John to take so Dean can pull him up from the couch.

“Guess I am the old man you say I am.”

“Nah,” Dean says with a grin. “You’re a fucking fox.”

John heaves up with a groan. “Can’t I be both?”

Dean considers this. “Why not?”

They head for the bathroom where they share the sink to brush their teeth, then John leans against Dean as they may their way to the bedroom. It’s there that Dean helps John finish undressing, all the way down to his birthday suit. Then Dean undresses himself while John moves to the side of the bed and sits down with a grimace. Shit, he’s fucking sore. Probably should have taken that shower. He considers asking Dean to turn on the water, but then he turns to look back at his son and can’t bring himself to speak. Dean is beautiful under any circumstances, and at any age. But there’s something arresting about him like this—naked and sleepy, illuminated by the pale street lights filtering through their shitty, faded curtains. Dean looks vulnerable and young, scars and wrinkles blurred in the dim light. John just wants to touch him as soon as he can. He needs that more than a shower.

“You good, Daddy?” Dean murmurs as he crawls into bed.

“Yeah, baby,” John replies, slipping under the comforter himself. “I’m good.”

They settle in then, Dean tucked up behind John, warming his back. They’ll part ways sometime in the night, when Dean inevitably overheats and John starts snoring, but for now Dean is a welcome weight. A comforting warmth. And John is content enough to sleep.

[november-writes1819]

Falling In With You Chapter 2

“God, Aleksi, how is it that you always manage to find yourself in these situations? Do you have some kind of radar for guys that you can’t have?” Ella’s voice held fond annoyance as she glanced down at the man whose head currently occupied her lap. “Seriously, this is like the third one in a row. If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d say you’re a masochist.” She teased, brushing a stray curl off of Aleksi’s forehead, tapping his nose in silent scold. 

“Look, Ellie, if you saw him you wouldn’t even blame me!” Aleksi protested, pouting up at his best friend. He nipped at her fingertips with a huff, a sulk on his lips as she rolled her eyes. “He’s fucking gorgeous. Way more than Corey or Luke ever were. Like I saw him, and just- holy shit. I forgot how to talk.” He admitted, cheeks flushed as he glanced away. “And he’s nice to boot. It’s not like I meant to end up with a cru- being attracted to him. But he’s attractive. And I have eyes.”

With a huff, Aleksi pulled his phone from his jeans pocket, pulling up Cameron’s social media, handing it over. 

“Oh Goddamn, you weren’t kidding, were you.” Elle whistled low, swiping through before handing the device back over. “I mean- I’m not interested, but aesthetically, that man is the personification of a chefs kiss.” She conceded. “But so help me if you tell Laurie that I called a man of all things attractive, and I’m starching every pair of panties you own, understood?”

“I’m so worried.” A snort came from the doorway, a tall, raven haired woman appearing with a tray of iced coffees. Blue eyes glittered with amusement as Laurie dipped, brushed her lips to her wifes sweetly. “This is exactly why I put a ring on it, you know. Just in case, after twenty years of liking women and a wedding, you suddenly decided you like men after all.” She teased, pulling out a coffee and handing it down to Aleksi. 

A grateful noise escaped him as he reached out grabbing fingers to clasp the cup, forcing himself to sit up from his perch. He tucked his legs under himself on the couch, taking a grateful sip. “God, Laurie, if she didn’t marry you, I might have had to.”

“You only like me for my coffee runs, brat.” She shot back good naturedly, settling onto Ella’s lap, one arm draping around her neck. “So, Leksi went and caught feels again, huh? Who is it this time? Model? One night stand from the club?”

“Straight boy from down the hall.” Ella hummed as she took her drink from the tray, one arm draping with ease around the other woman’s waist, lips brushing along her jaw, snorting at Laurie’s wince. “Oh, I know. I’ve been lecturing our dearest little flower on the fact that he’s a moron.”

A whine left Aleksi as he scowled at them from around the straw of his drink. “Firstly, it’s so fucking weird hearing you say “caught feels”. Secondly, I did not! He’s just hot. That’s it. You know the rules- don’t get attached. No feelings. Everyone is a one night only event. And thirdly, you know you aren’t actually my moms, yeah?”

“Ah, to be young and still believe that you can live like that forever.” Laurie sighed dramatically, reaching out to pinch one golden cheek. “Just you wait, kiddo. One day, you’re gonna meet someone and it’s gonna hit you like a train how damn lonely you’ve been. You won’t even be able to remember how you lived before you had them in your life. And all those things you shudder and scoff at? You’re gonna ache for. Mark me, baby boy, and when it happens? I’m gonna be there to say I told you so.” 

“As for that “not your real moms” comment, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” Ella raised a brow at the younger man pointedly. “Because everyone knows we cried the day you were born.” “I imagine you very well might have.” Aleksi agreed, setting down his drink and lighting a cigarette. “You were both only ten and twelve respectively. Lots to cry about at that age, I imagine. So… are you two done razzing me, or do you have a bit more to go? Because if you’re finished, I’m taking Cam out tomorrow night drinking, and I could really use some eyes helping me pick out an outfit.”

Laurie paused, glancing from her wife to Aleksi, concern flashing on her face momentarily. A hand caught hers and squeezed, a silent reassurance. I know. We can’t push him too hard. He has to be allowed to figure it out by himself. “Drinks huh?” She did the best to keep the worry out of her voice. It would do no good to complicate things before they even really were a thing. But Aleksi didn’t exactly have a history of good decisions…. “Where are you thinking about going?” “Oh, I was thinking about 32 on fourth. It’s got a good vibe. I doubt Cam’s ever been to a gay bar, but at least there, we can have fun, good drinks, and I can keep an eye on him way easier than he can probably keep an eye on me at one of those sleezy bars downtown.” Probably best to avoid those places after last time. One broken nose was more than enough to drive the lesson home that there was safety in familiarity. 

“Besides, I can still have fun flustering him right? Because we’re friends now. I think.” He nodded sagely to himself, taking one last drag on his cigarette before putting it out with a dreamy sigh. “You should have seen how flustered he got during our shoot. He turns such a pretty pink. But fuck, when he gets into it, he gets such serious “I’m in charge vibes” and…” A grin tugged at Aleksi’s lips, emerald eyes glimmering with mischief. “I would be lying through my teeth if I said I’m not about a thousand percent here for it.”

A sigh left Ella’s lips as she stood, stabbing a hand through auburn locks before holding out a hand. “You’re a fucking menace, you know that, baby boy? Alright alright, little flower. Come on, lets go pick you out something stellar.” She conceded, curling her fingers around his gently and tugging him to his feet, drawing him into the crook of her arm. There was no harm in letting him have this, she supposed. It wasn’t as though it would go anywhere anyways, and as long as he was careful to not get attached, then it would just be another game to him, right?

….Right?

[f-oighear]

4, 7, 12, 17 and 25 for the Writer Ask Game 💘

Heyyyyy!

Thanks a lot for the ask 😊 Picking BC excerpts for you hehe. It's going to be a veryyyy long one so. Thankful for the cut feature. Here we go!

4. with dialogue i'm proud of

I can think of this moment in Your World where Nebra is joining the Bulls for dinner and there is a big, intimidating wall of text. I swear nothing has ever felt like an extended family dinner with several conversations happening at the same time than this:

“Take more vegetables!” “Say, captain! Can I go back on missions again?” “What about some time off?” “Keep your damn carrots!” “No. Not until you stop using ultimate magic every time you head out.” “Henry! Any progress on your magic, my man?” “Who put sugar in the salt shaker again? I’ll kill them.” “But it’s fun!” “I fucking hate carrots!” “It’s Luck.” “I-I’m not on call duty tonight…” “Carrots don’t like you either.” “LUCK.” “Where?” “Carrots like me.” “Which of my friends is on call duty tonight? Magna?”“Listen, we’re very grateful you learned ultimate magic during the war, but now it’s peace, so don’t use it to catch bandits.” “Carrots do not have feelings.” "You’re gonna accidently kill someone one day." “What about Raque? I miss the sand.” “I… think… it’s… going… great…” “I won’t! But let me go back on a mission… not a dungeon mission! A real mission!” “What’re you talking about? Nah, not me. Ask Vanessa.” “No one misses the sand.” “Nero said it, so it’s true.” “You don’t miss the sand– hang on sweetie, I heard my name. Yes?” “A watermelon, maybe, would have feelings.” “Water.” “Not me, uh… Nacht maybe?” “What’re ya using it for?” “Where’s Nacht?” “Who’s gonna deal with the body and hide it when you kill a civilian? Good ol’ me.” “How about going to the Underwater Temple too?” “Is anyone going to pass me the goddamn water?” “You’re kidding?” “I…stack…rocks…or…trees…” “Last time we went, we almost died.” “Captain, I think you’d need to tell the Wizard King about it.” “Th-There you go.” “We always almost die anyway. It’s a formality.” “Carrots must have feelings like the rest of us.” “D-Don’t say that when we’re eating them!” “Yeah yeah. I’ll see.” “Well I, for one, don’t want to die!” Besides a vague argument about carrots, Nebra was lost. So, she focused on the food.

7. that i nursed in a daydream before finally writing

ALRIGHT SO. One thing about me: I'm no visual writer. I don't see the scenes before I write them. I tend to hear them more (which is why my earlier works have very little description and more dialogue). And when I'm very lucky, I get a sentence that comes back again and again. BUT. There is a scene I saw clearly and kept going back to so I could describe it and it's very SPOILERY for the Soulmate AU. It's in I'll Follow:

“Let’s go somewhere else. I don’t want Noelle or anyone else to overhear.” They were so engulfed in their conversation that they didn’t notice how the room had gone silent around them. There was no music anymore, they had been dancing to the silence. Nozel kept his hand in Vanessa’s as he turned to look at what everyone was watching. The man was making his way through the crowd, shaking hands and accepting a glass of champagne that Nozel knew the man wasn’t going to drink, cheerily greeting all the noble guests they couldn’t not invite that seemed to be attracted to him like moths to light. Nozel’s hand went down to rest at his side, his hold on Vanessa’s hand loosening, and Nozel turned to the table right behind them, where Asta and Noelle had been sitting, happily chatting before the man’s entry. Now they were both staring at the man. Noelle’s face was white as a sheet, her eyes wide in terror. She looked petrified. Even with how far Nozel was, he could see her trembling. He wasn’t feeling better. But he had to protect Noelle. He had to protect his siblings. I can’t fail again. Not now. Nozel made his way back to the table, Vanessa’s hand still in his (he wouldn’t, couldn’t let go), her trailing behind him, and looked at Asta, who was trying to get Noelle’s attention but failing. Nozel wanted to ask him to look out for her. The magicless boy didn’t need him to ask, though. He draped an arm over his wife’s shoulders; he didn’t look calm, Noelle’s facial expression being enough for him to understand that what was happening was grave, but Asta certainly was calmer than Nozel. Their eyes met for a split second. Nozel couldn’t say a thing. He simply shook his head. I’m so sorry, Asta, Noelle, all of this is my fault. Then the man noticed them. All of them. And he smiled.

12. that has a particularly good bit of characterization

Ahhhh Nebra from the Soulmate AU, my beloved. I think. The Most Awkward Silva Dinner In A Century takes the cake. While Noelle's pov in Stargazers is triumphant, Nebra's side in Your World is so ugughhug. There is so much happening on Nebra's side and I hate that Noelle's the one paying for it again but this scene means so much to me and uhghgughh.

“So what if he’s a peasant?” Noelle retorted angrily, “That doesn’t change a thing!” “It changes everything!” Nebra shrieked back, her voice breaking. If he wasn’t a peasant I wouldn’t have to suffer like that. If he wasn’t a peasant, it would all be so much easier. If he wasn't a peasant, maybe I would've— “How dumb can you get!?” “Nebra.” Nozel tried to interject weakly. “So now suddenly you tell me I belong to that family and I don’t get to choose who I want to spend my life with? Didn’t you send me to another squad? Didn’t you shove me out? Didn’t you tell me repeatedly you didn’t want me as your sister? Which one is it? Pick one, it’s getting confusing now.” “You were never expelled from the family,” Nozel said. He was so calm about it. How could he be this calm? Did he not understand? Am I the only one here who gets it? Why am I the only one who understands? Why is everyone against me? “Might as well have been,” Noelle answered harshly. That would have been a good idea. Why hadn’t Nozel done that? After all… what had Noelle ever done for them? Nothing. What had Noelle ever sacrificed for them? I sacrificed everything. “You are a Silva and you need to start acting like one,” Nebra said harshly. “This is ridiculous. Is this your rebellious phase? At seventeen, aren’t you supposed to have grown out of that kind of behaviour?” Nebra glared down at Noelle. She would go through. She would break her. She would make her understand just how much she despises her. Now, suffer as much as I do. “So that’s how it is, uh?” Nebra continued. “You become a somewhat decent magic knight and suddenly you think you can do whatever you want? That’s not how it works. You are a royal. We don’t get to choose our partner. Why would you get to choose? Do you think you’ll get a free pass because you’re not in the Silver Eagles? Remember why you didn’t even join the family squad? Because you’re the shame of the family.” “Nebra, that’s enough.” Nozel said. I haven’t even started, Nozel. Noelle stood up and Nebra flinched. The angle was right. Noelle was smaller than Nebra– always had been, always would be– but something had changed, something that Nebra didn’t quite like. Her eyes are different. That look… “I’m done being called that,” Noelle said harshly. “I have always done everything to prove my worth to you, to our royal peers, to everyone…” Your worth? Oh yes, because you’re worth something… precious little Noelle that looks so much like mother. Can’t let anything happen to her, right? Sent to another squad… free of the burden of expectations by being the worst Silva to ever walk the earth. What about my worth? What about everything I gave up on? What about the burden that you are? What about how hard it was on the first daughter? I lost my mother and suddenly everyone expected me to become her? How can anyone compare to her? You were worth nothing so I had to be everything you couldn’t, wouldn’t be; while all you did was whine and cry and be useless. Don’t get me started on worth. You are nothing. “…I’ve proven my worth as a Magic Knight these past year and—” “Oh, you’re proving your worth now?” Hurt her. Be scathing. Make sure it stings. “By shagging a peasant?” Nebra stopped. A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered the peasant’s words. Be nice. “Nebra!” Nozel shouted. Shut up, Nozel. You don’t get to say a word. You traitor. You've done it twice now. You left me all alone. “How does it feel?” to give in Stop. Don’t insult her. “Is it exotic?” to finally be free Stop. Don't hurt her. …but what if I'm hurting? Then I strike back. “How does he—” “That’s ENOUGH!” Nozel shouted, slamming both his hands on the table, making plates, glasses and cutlery tremble.

17. from an unpublished WIP

Alright. I currently have a Nozessa WIP that is my main WIP besides the Angstpril WIPs. I don't know when I'll be done with it, but let me treat you to some Nozessa because it's been forever since I've written them!

From this-fic-doesn't-have-a-title-yet:

Making the batter had proved the easiest part. Vanessa had started to get a hang of cooking, and she had realized that, just as Nozel had always claimed, following the recipe did work wonders for baking. The cooking book was open next to the bowl and even if some pages were sticky with egg white, it was constantly glanced at. Well, mostly by Nozel. Baking was taking Vanessa’s mind off her recent realization, but as she worked alongside Nozel, she did find herself staring at his handsome face about as much as she was paying attention to the cooking book. That seemed a bit counterproductive. “How much is ‘a splash’?” Nozel said, squinting at the book. Vanessa raised an eyebrow and went to check the book, tracing her finger over the mention of a splash of rum. Well, she didn’t know how much a splash was, but if there was something she wanted to see again, it was tipsy Nozel Silva. “That should be about…” Vanessa grinned, tipping the bottle over. “This much.” Nozel grabbed her wrist rapidly, but not rapidly enough and the sudden grab only poured more than what Vanessa had intended. Vanessa could only burst out in laughter as Nozel, pale as a sheet, guided her hand and the bottle back to the table. Nozel stared at the bottle like it was some sort of bomb about to explode, but surely he knew it was too late. He stayed staring at the bottle an awfully long time until Vanessa decided to say something. “My, do you want to hold my hand so bad, handsome? We’re not done making that batter yet.” Nozel blinked, then quickly let go. Vanessa could hardly repress her giggle. She didn’t know if he had gotten used to the teasing or if he had let down his guard, but he seemed easier to fluster these days. The soft blush on his cheek was… cute. His cheeks beet red, Nozel pointed at the mix angrily. “That is definitely not a splash,” Nozel said. “You poured half the bottle.” “No, it’s…” Vanessa shook the bottle. She had poured more than half the bottle, but there was no need for Nozel to know that. “Barely one gla— don’t throw away the batter!” Nozel raised an eyebrow, the rest of his face completely still and expressionless as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, bowl in his hands, and stated with his usual seriousness, “It’ll be uneatable.” “We can’t know unless we finish making them… come on! Pull out a pan!”

25. that i consider a favorite

I love getting several 'your favorite' asks because hahaha I have many favorites. The Actor AU/Theatre AU is soooo self-indulgent I almost wrote it in French. I've decided that if I ever publish it, I'll include both Racine's original verses and a rough translation because, if I've never admitted it, I am absolutely in love with Racine's verses.

Anyway, I love this AU, and I love Late, in the rehearsal room:

“Yami said your family specializes in classical plays?” Asta said. “My family doesn’t exactly specialize in it,” Noelle said, turning a page from her book. “The Silver Eagles don’t play anything but Ancient tragedies or classical plays… and among the classical plays, they mostly play tragedies.” “Why?” Noelle looked down. Why? was a good question. Because it was a tradition. Because her mother, Acier Silva, a giant who played tragic heroine roles so vividly and so perfectly had made it impossible for the Silvas to be seen as anything else than perfect classical tragedy actors. Because Noelle’s father only wanted classical plays to be played. Because they were beautiful. Because they were magnificent. Because they had torn heroes who had to choose between love and power and always chose power. Because these were, for Niccolo Silva, the only plays he called ‘drama’ ; everything else was just street acting, mere vaudeville or cheap harlequin. Lower people’s entertainment. The Plebe’s Amusement. Noelle took a deep breath then said, “They just do.”

[parkers-gal]

yay! okay so I was thinking, what I'd the reader and Tom had a fight, could be over anything, but the reader was pregnant and a few years after, they bump into each other and they get back together. Sorry if it doesn't make sense.

this has been sitting in my inbox for a fat couple of months… sorry 😭

wc: 1.7k ! <3

—

“No, because you’re selfish and you can’t handle the fact that my life doesn’t revolve around you and your needs.” Tom spits out the words angrily, viciously, voice harsh and crisp.

You’re both frustrated beyond belief, and the bubble that had been overblown had finally popped, splattering your relationship and all the joyful aspects of it. Right now, you felt as if all that was left was the toxicity of two unbearable people who happened to love each other. You knew, deep down, that you loved each other enough to get through this, but with every passing moment, with every exchanged word, you realized at least one of you wouldn’t survive the damage.

“No, Tom. You’re selfish. You’re conceited and you only care about being a goddamn movie star. What happened to the family man, huh? What happened to staying tied down with me and your brothers?”

“Nothing happened to him! I’m still that person. I am a family guy.”

“Not to me, you aren't.”

“Well you’re not family!” He seethes through his teeth, anger radiating off of his short-tempered demeanor. You don’t even know how to react, so you spend the time soaking in the situation and how you should respond instead of actually doing it.

“You’re a fucking jackass. I asked when I could spend time with you and now you don’t even consider me as part of the family.”

“No,” He’s clear and concise even through the anger. “You asked when I’m going to stop living my life.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You didn’t have to! We both know that’s what you meant.”

“You’re not even on the same page as me anymore,” You scoff, arms crossing. “Seems like all this time in Hollywood made you forget that you’re not always the main character.”

“Fuck that, Y/N! Fuck! That!”

“No, Tom. Fuck. You.” You over-express your emotions, and after two more minutes of unbearable silence and screaming, he’s leaving your apartment just as fast as he arrived. You’re in shock, fingers shaking while you clear your throat, which is frayed and sore from all the yelling.

You sit back, elbows on your knees while your hands smoothen out your forehead. Tear after tear escapes your sobbing body, and eventually, you fall asleep on the couch.

In the weeks to come, you’ve realized the blow-out of a breakup could’ve been handled so much differently, but Tom hasn’t seemed to cool down at all — he’s petty enough to unfollow you on all social media, and you figure it’s time to let the hatred be mutual. You don’t touch your imessages, however, letting the love in those texts linger for a little longer.

Before you know it, you’re throwing up into the toilet boil, coughing violently at the action and spitting the bitter taste as best you can. You clean up, and when you check your phone, a small notification from your period tracker app alerts you that this is the second period in a row that has gone by without a hello.

Worried, you call Aisha, your closest friend and confidant. She’s over in no time, bringing along her girlfriend while you rant on the phone about your worries. They stop at the drugstore on the way.

The cause of your problems is discovered that day, and you collapse on the bathroom floor in agony, hands wiping at your face — through all the anger and fear and worry, you still love Tom. So much that Aisha even attempts to call Tom. But, alas, it’s sent straight to voicemail, and you realize he might’ve gone to extreme extents in blocking everyone.

You’re stuck going to the ultrasound with two lesbians and a frail old cat. Aisha is as supportive as ever, but as the doctor explains the process of each option, you feel sicker and sicker about the idea of getting rid of the fetus. In the end, you choose to keep the child you’re bearing, even if your ex-lover isn’t even in the picture.

Inevitably, the months pass, and as baby Charlie is brought into the wonderful world, you realize life as a single mother isn’t as scary as you thought it would be. In the first few months of your pregnancy, you’d kept tabs on what film Tom was doing and which was coming out next, but after the hormones and cravings, you’d decided to let the past sizzle and fade out in the way it was meant to all along.

It’s been almost three years since that fateful breakup, and Charlie is just reaching two and a half years old. You’re still single, and you’re okay with that. Charlie is all you need, all you’ve ever wanted, and the most important thing in your life. He’s young, and school is still a couple years away, but you enjoy having the toddler by your side, walking hand in hand with you because you’re his guardian, his provider, his only parent. You make him your only priority, because you don’t want him to grow up without anyone to love, or anyone to love him.

It’s hard, though. It’s hard because he’s a constant reminder of what didn’t happen, a constant reminder of what went wrong and of what you no longer have. You miss Tom more than words can express, and Charlie’s mop of brown curls reminds you of all the moments you’d run your fingers through Tom’s hair. You reminisce more than you’d like to, about Tom and your past, and though Charlie is technically half of the Brit, he’s one hundred percent yours. Because you’re the only one here, and that’s alright.

“Mummy,” Charlie tugs on your shirt’s hem while you move the shopping cart forward through the aisle. “Can we get the goldfish with superheroes?”

You jutt your lip out in a smile, nodding happily. “Of course we can, bub.”

As you step forward, you pit stop in the aisle, nearly tripping on the cart. You make direct eye contact with the man you used to love with your entire heart. The man who walked out with your heart and never gave it back. He’s staring right back at you, curls looking as fluffy as ever, face still a soft glow. Your breath hitches, and it’s then that you realize Charlie is still talking.

“Mummy?” He asks, and it’s just loud enough for Tom to hear. Harry, who’s beside Tom with an arm full of crackers and chips. Tom moves forward a few steps, hastily in an attempt to get more information.

“Uh, hi,” His smile is tight lipped as he stands at the other end of your shopping cart. Charlie shies away from strangers, standing behind your leg and holding your shirt with his grubby hands.

“Hi,” you return his awkward, reserved demeanor.

“Mummy who’s this?”

“‘Mummy?’” Tom has a follow up question for everything, and you internally panic, unsure on how to approach this.

You’d spent so long deciding how you should tell Tom that he was a dad. You spent hours debating on if you should pick up the phone or drive over just to tell him a truth you’ve kept inside for so long. You’ve abandoned social media, only sharing aspects of your life you can afford to post. Charlie is only occasionally on your page, but it’s not like Tom would see that, not after all that’s happened.

Your mouth opens and closes while you debate on how to reply. You’re physically incapable of saying your response, and it makes you even more nervous. You’re nervous on how he might react, what he’ll say, but most importantly, if he’ll stay.

“Is this…?

“My kid…” You fill in. “I- I mean our… our kid.” You pull your bottom lip between your rows of teeth, and you watch as Tom’s face undergoes thousands of expressions all at once. He’s surprised, shocked, happy, afraid, uncertain. You want the world to swallow you whole, suck you up so you don’t have to go through any of this again. But you don’t. Instead, you hold Charlie’s hand a little tighter.

“Our kid?” He drops a can of soup and you flinch at the loud noise.

“Mummy, who’s that?”

“That’s…” You don’t know how to answer his question. Instead, you lean down to his level, comfortingly and gently. “He’s a man.”

“Who’s that man?”

“He’s… your daddy.”

“I thought… no daddy?”

You purse your lips and furrow your brows. Tom’s watching the entire encounter from his place, but after a few beats, he steps forward, entering your bubble. Charlie doesn’t cower away this time, but looks up in curiosity.

“Hi, Charlie,” Tom extends his hand, adjusting his jeans so he can lean down just as you are, kneeling beside the young boy.

You look down, avoiding your worries and Tom’s gaze. He’s tearing up, and you want to cry too. You’re in a fucking supermarket, for god’s sake. This wasn’t how you envisioned any of this planning out, and though you’re mentally kicking yourself for letting it happen this way, you can’t help but feel like maybe this was meant to be. Written in the stars or whatever the folks say — you’re just grateful Charlie has at least a sliver of hope for two parents. Not that you can’t handle it, because you can, but you know someone like Tom wouldn’t want to miss something as important as this.

“I’m To- I’m…” He swallows thickly, making brief eye contact with you before looking back at Charlie. “I’m your dad.”

“Do you love my mummy?” He’s not shameless, but he’s still that shy little boy. “My friend says daddy’s love mommy’s so you must love mine, right?”

Tom lets a tear fall while he exhales a chuckle. He swipes the drop with the tips of his fingers, and the hand gripping Charlie’s squeezes it a little tighter. A glance in your direction is all it takes for him to answer Charlie’s question. “Yeah, buddy. I do.”

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[ashintheairlikesnow]

Prompt: Vampire Chris drunk on blood?

CW: Drunkenness, drug addiction, blood drinking, vampirism, creepy abusive comfort, WWI-period-appropriate xenophobia and brief vague possible homophobia reference, dehumanization, war whump

"Now, that'll get you blotto faster'n French liquor," Kirk says, sinking back against the muddy trench wall, careless for the dirt caking itself into the hair at the nape of his neck.

His helmet lay beside him upside down on the ground, and his brown hair was free to explode in its wealth of curls, a kind of halo around his head. He had one arm out, sleeve rolled back. His hands were caked in mud and smeared with drying dirt - above the line of his sleeve, though, the skin was paper-white, almost clammy.

It was this white skin that the vampire's fangs were buried in.

"Shit, Holden, y'gotta have 'im bite you, too." Kirk's grin widens. The shells had gone silent but every man flinches, now and then, hearing a phantom sound or feeling a rumble beneath their feet.

At least it's finally stopped goddamn raining.

The venom rolls through Kirk's veins, soothing his jangled nerves. He can barely feel the trembling in his hands and it feels like his mind, when it's in him. He's a farm kid from western Nebraska, the second son and not needed so much as the first to bring the crops in. So here he is, learning to love the feeling of teeth in his skin.

Maybe when he gets shipped back home he'll stick to the cities. They say the vampires have their dens there, where they can hide. You can buy venom enough to quiet your mind for a day or two, the city boys tell him.

They're in it as deep as he is, now.

Feels like half the American army is itching for venom these days.

"No thank you. I'm not gonna get sent home and start chasing fangs like the rest of you." Holden squints, looking up into the dark sky, the rolling clouds that seem far too close to the ground. "It'll rain again soon."

"When isn't it going to rain again soon? Oh, right, when it's already bloody raining." That's a Brit, they just call him Tommy. No one knows his real name.

He claims to hate them all, but since half his unit was blasted apart two days ago, he's hung with the 'Yanks' close enough. Kirk thinks he's fond of them, even if he won't admit it. Or just scared to be alone. He can understand that. He's terrified of the thought himself. "Shove the little vamp over to me, Kirk, I want some."

The vampire pulls his fangs free, licking over the wounds he's made until they close. He's a skinny little thing, pale as paper with bright red hair they stuff under his helmet when he's running medic checks in No Man's Land, trying to make him less obvious. Sure, he can't die from gas, but he can be blown to bits by a whizz-bang fast as any living soldier can.

"Please," The vampire says, turning big green eyes up to Kirk. "I, I, I'm tired, please, can I sleep?"

He's got heavy dark circles under his eyes. It's kind of cute.

"No," Kirk answers, curt, shoving the vampire away by his head, watching him fall into the mud. His uniform is marked with it, now, a dab of dirt over the 'V' sewn next to his medic's cross. There's a satisfaction, in Kirk, just in seeing the little thing laid low.

He won't die in this war, and Kirk probably will, but before that happens he can at least hurt something he can see. You can't see old Fritz when you fire on him from a distance - but you can see a vampire flinch in the dirt. It's not much.

It's something.

"Must be daytime," Holden speaks up, still staring up at the clouds. "You can't tell, weather like this, but if the fangs're tryin' to sleep, must be day."

"He sleeps when we're done with him, and not a moment before." Kirk's voice is a murmur, eyes half-closed. He's drifting in it, the way the venom dulls and deadens the eternal ache in his back and legs. The Germans could come roaring over the bags right this second and Kirk wouldn't give a damn at all. Let them kill him, at least he can go with venom in his veins, not as a basket case carried off the field. "Not a second before. Go on, bloodsucker. Get over to Tommy and help him get some shut-eye, huh?"

"I've been drinking all night, pulled some rations off someone," Tommy groans, rubbing his fingers at his temples. "It's done no good at all." It's a funny little gesture, so oddly normal and casual. Reminds Kirk of home.

His throat tries to close, homesickness bowling him over. The wish to return to his mother's worn smile, sit down to dinner and have her ask him about his day, when his problems revolved around the harvest and the hard backs of the pews in church-

He takes a breath, forcing it back, and gives the vampire a vicious kick in the ribs, listening to his high-pitched cry and how he curls around himself with a smile of his own.

Oh, he'll die, probably. The others from his town already have. But he can remind himself he's still alive, for now. One way or another. He can cause pain he can't feel himself, for once.

"I said get over to Tommy and smooth out his sharp bits, bloodfuck."

"Yes, um, y-yes, Kirk," The vampire says, pulling himself onto his hands and knees. His fingers are smashed into the mud deep enough to nearly disappear. If they could only get a few days of sunlight to dry out all this dirt, it wouldn't be such hell.

As it is, his socks've been damp for weeks, his boots feel like they're caging his feet in a swamp. He's worried about trenchfoot and trying not to think about it. He stole these boots off a dead German when his own started to fall apart, anyway.

He could've probably gotten new ones, but... it had felt good, taking something from Fritz after Fritz took so much from him.

Kirk tries not to remember that the German soldiers he fights have never caused him a single moment's harm on purpose. They're only fighting for the same reasons he is - because someone higher up who doesn't give a damn about them said to.

Kirk had been all gung-ho for the war until he'd been sent over here to fight it. All those articles in the newspapers, all the speeches given by men standing in town squares... it had all made it seem so patriotic.

They never tell you, Kirk thinks bitterly, that you'll be sent into a slaughterhouse. They don't tell you you'll spend your day breaking a vampire's fingers one by one just to watch them heal back into place and listen to his little cries.

Just to pass the time.

"Trade me your flask while the fangs takes care of you," Kirk says, and Tommy hands it over easy enough.

He watches Tommy grab the vampire by one arm and yank him over, vicious and violent, making the vampire boy cry out again. The sound is starting to grate on Kirk's nerves. It makes him sound too human. He hates being reminded that every vampire used to be a person.

He drinks whatever's in the Brit's flask, and it burns down his throat just the way he needs it to. Wipes out his worries, relaxes shoulders that seem always to be tensed up nearly to his chin.

His mama's a teetotaler, back in Nebraska. He'd been one, too, until the first bombardment. Now he drinks anything he could get his hands on, and the officers mostly looked the other way.

"Bite," Tommy orders. Kirk raises his eyebrows when Tommy doesn't roll up his sleeve but pushes the vampire's face instead towards his neck, turning his head to the side to bare it.

His eyes meet Kirk's, and he smiles, bitterly. "Works faster this way," He explains. Kirk just watches as the vampire's fangs glint in the eternal dim twilight, hesitating before they bury themselves in Tommy's skin.

The little monster's back arches, pressing them chest-to-chest. A low rumble comes from somewhere deep inside, the animal sound the vampire makes during a good feed. He doesn't do it much with the regular unit any longer, they mocked him for it and one day he stopped.

The vampire's throat works as he drinks, and Tommy's arm slides around the monster's thin shoulders, forcing him closer. He's nearly kissing his forehead, this way.

It's an embrace, and altogether more intimate of one than Kirk thought he'd ever see from the cold, standoffish Brit. He feels a blush creeping up his neck and his cheeks as Tommy lets his head fall back, groaning softly in a kind of contentment as the venom hits. The sound isn't quite like a groan at all, it's more like-

"Fucking hell, Tommy, are you an invert?"

"Invert suggests I give a damn what bites me," Tommy replies, without opening his eyes. His slurred speech deepens, goes slow. His hand curves around the vampire's shoulder, holding him tightly. "I'm after oblivion, lads. I don't care what parts the fangs have that give it to me."

"Fang-chaser," Holden says, good-naturedly. Clearly not bothered the way Kirk is. Maybe that's just his farmboy past talking, that he's even unsettled at all. Maybe Tommy's got a point - who cares what's between a vampire's legs if you're only interested in the damn thing's mouth in the first place? "Fucking fang-chaser, that's what you are. End up in a den getting your hips bit like Oscar Wilde."

"Who's Oscar Wilde?"

Holden laughs. "You should try reading a book or three sometime, Kirk."

"Sure, sure, whenever I get the damn time in-between running over this blasted nothing. In any case, Tommy's definitely a fang-chaser."

"Guilty as charged... just like you two." Tommy's hand slides up into the vampire's hair, gripping tight and gently pulling backwards. The vampire's fangs slide free, and it laps at the wounds, rapidly. Tommy groans again. Kirk finds himself unable to look away at the bob of Tommy's throat. How good does it feel, in the neck? He's never thought to try it. He thinks about it now. "Turn me in to face discipline for unnatural relations with the fangs and I'll do the same to you."

"Yeah, yeah, we got it. Fucking Limey bastard." There's no real animosity in Kirk's voice. He's too distracted, drunkenly considering the vampire boy's mouth. Wondering if he knows how to kiss. "You shared your liquor, I shared our bloodsucker, we're both of us in it to our necks."

"Not me," Holden says, innocent and pure as the driven snow. As if he weren't the one to give Kirk the idea to use the venom in the first place.

Kirk throws a clot of mud at him, which he dodges, laughing. They're all laughing, soon enough, except for the fangs.

The vampire lays there, his head pressed to Tommy's chest and forcibly held in place by his arm. His eyes are slightly wide, unfocused, and Kirk leans forward.

"What's this, then? What'd you do to the fangs, Tommy?"

"Hm? Nothing. Oh, I'm pissed as can be, do they feel the liquor in your blood?"

"I'm guessing they sure do. You drunk, fangs?"

The vampire's eyes drift over to Kirk, move too far to one side, come back again. He swallows, thickly. "I... I think I, I, I am," He says, and tries to push back against Tommy's chest, to free himself.

The Brit's arm crushes him back into place, his other hand moving up to run through the vampire boy's dirt red hair, petting him like one of the ambulance dogs. Kirk and Holden laugh at the vampire's weakness. "Stay right where you are," Tommy murmurs. "Or I'll run you through with my bayonet and let you squirm all day."

"Christ," Kirk says, blinking. "That's a bit rough, isn't it?"

"He's not alive, what does it matter?" Tommy lets out a bitter little laugh. "Might as well get a preview of our own ends, shouldn't we?"

"You two, maybe." Holden crawls into the dugout, the little bed-space, a kind of cave dug in underneath the upper layers of the trench. He lays down on his back, closing his eyes, hands behind his head. "I'm going to go back home and never think of you lot ever again."

"I pray every night to make it home," Kirk says, nodding along. "Not sure anyone's listening, but I got to try, don't I?"

"What happens to the fangs, anyway?" The Brit looks up, rocking a little back and forth. As if the bloodsucker were a baby needing soothing. The vampire boy has relaxed against him, the liquor-laced blood he drank lulling him into a complacent bonelessness. Kirk watches the vampire boy's fingers start to tap over the Brit's chest, a strange movement he's seen the boy do before in his few relaxed moments between the scream of the shells. He hums, low in his throat, tuneless.

"Huh?" Kirk blinks. "What d'you mean, what happens to him?"

"After the war's done. What are they gonna do with the bloodsuckers? Can't exactly pin a bloody ribbon for valor on them and send them on their way, now can they?"

"Nope. I don't know what happens. Maybe they'll just stake them all and have done with them."

The vampire shudders, giving a little whimper. Tommy leans down, lips moving against the vampire's hair. "Ssssshhhh. Not to worry, little fangs. War's not over just yet, now is it?"

"N-... no. Not, not, not, not yet." The vampire's eyes close, pink-tinged tears creating pale tracks in his dirty face. He's a sad drunk, then, Kirk figures.

Aren't they all, these days.

"Maybe you'll outlive us all, and make fools of us for keeping you." Tommy speaks with a patronizing affection, as mocking as it is tender, petting through the creature's hair still. It's... unsettling to watch. Kirk had figured the Brits and French probably killed all their vamps, since they were all disturbed by the sight of the vampire medics when the doughboys first arrived in Europe.

This, though... this makes it seem like Tommy's known a vampire or two himself, in his life. And he's sure as fuck not unfamiliar to what venom is good for outside of giving relief from agony to the injured.

Kirk frowns, thoughtful.

He's turned into a thoughtful drunk, too, thanks to this goddamn war. Sad and thoughtful. What a fucking waste.

"Sleep," Tommy says, almost gently, to the drunk little vampire. "I've got you. Sleep, little one."

The vampire's eyes slip closed. He doesn't breathe - there's no sense of his chest rising and falling. Kirk has to look away before the sense of wrongness, watching Tommy cuddle a corpse, makes him sick.

He takes a long, long draught from the flask, and relishes the burn that reminds him he's human, and alive.

His own eyes slip shut, and he prays for an hour or two of sleep before the next screaming shell bursts overhead.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

[fruitcoops]

A Coops Sid's date. Pure fluff

Coops Wedding Part 3 is here! Post-wedding food (finally) and heading home together. Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove, as always <3

Preparations II Part 1 II Part 2

TW for flirty Coops

Sid’s was quite empty for a Thursday night in the summertime, which Sirius was eternally grateful for as they headed to their usual booth, slinging jackets over their chairs and tangling their legs together under the table with identical sighs of relief. Remus reached across the tabletop and laced their fingers together, tracing the lines of Sirius’ palm without looking away from his face.

His once-perfect bowtie hung loose around his neck, crooked even when untied; Sirius tugged one end, skewing it a bit more. “Cutie.”

“You are,” Remus said with a slight smile.

Just as Sirius was about to fire back with something equally sappy and romantic, a shadow fell over the side of the table. “Hey, guys, what can I get for you?” Nate asked as he dug his notepad out of his apron. “The usual?”

“Sounds great. How’ve you been, Nate?”

Nate shrugged. “Not bad, not bad. The summer rush is helping me save up for grad school, which is nice.” He gestured to their suit jackets with his pen. “Special occasion?”

“Yeah, we just got back from a wedding,” Remus said casually.

“Really? Whose?”

“Ours.”

Nate’s pen clattered onto the table as his jaw fell open; he glanced between them, speechless, and Sirius bit his lip to hold down his laughter. “You—your wh—you got married?”

They shushed him in unison and he held both hands over his mouth. “It was a small ceremony, just friends and family. We’re waiting to see how long it takes the media to find out.”

“That’s incredible,” Nate whispered, sniffling. “Oh my god. Fuck, congratulations.”

Sirius grinned, feeling the happiness bubble up in his chest again. “Thanks, man. It’s still sinking in, to be honest.”

“No, yeah, absolutely.” Nate shook his head for a moment before picking his notepad back up with a quiet huff. “Jesus. This is amazing. Pizzas are on the house for the newlyweds, okay?”

“Aw, Nate, you don’t have to—”

“It’s restaurant policy,” he interrupted, already moving toward the kitchen. “I can’t break the rules!”

“That’s not a rule,” Remus muttered as Nate disappeared behind the swinging doors. “That kid’s about to get the nicest tip of his goddamn life.”

“Mhmm.” Sirius guided Remus’ face back to him with a finger under his chin and kissed him slowly, sighing at the softness of his lips. He tasted like champagne, with a little bit of sweetness left from the wedding cake. “Sugar.”

“Is that a new nickname?” Remus asked as he transferred some weight to his elbows for a better angle.

“Could be. D’you like it?”

“Hmm.” A warm palm covered the side of Sirius’ neck. “It’s not bad. ‘Sweetheart’ works fine for me, though.”

“How about ‘husband’? ‘Husband’ sounds pretty good. Mon mari.” Remus blushed and tilted his face to the side, rubbing their cheeks together for a moment. “Quoi? C’est bien?”

Remus rolled his eyes, but he was hiding a smile. “You know I’m weak for the French.”

“I do.” Sirius kissed the inside of his wrist lightly. “Hey, that’s the second time I’ve said that today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. First time was better, though.”

Remus laughed and pulled him in for another kiss, combing the pads of his fingers through the curls just above Sirius’ ear. They stopped when the kitchen doors creaked open, but kept their foreheads together until Nate arrived with their food.

“Enjoy,” he said, practically glowing with excitement as he handed them napkins and utensils. “Congrats, again. I’m really happy for you guys. Have an amazing night.”

“Will do.” Remus smiled as he hurried back to the register, then reached for a slice of pizza and practically shoved the entire thing into his mouth. “Fucking hell, this is good.”

Sirius groaned in agreement, letting his eyes fall closed as the soft crust warmed him from the inside out. “This is the best part of my day.”

“Is it?”

“Yep. We’re married, we’re done with the party, and now there’s actual food to eat.” He held his fingers up to count. “Checking all my boxes.”

“Good point.” Remus stole a piece of pepperoni off one of his slices and Sirius made a noise of protest, only to pull a face when Remus set a bit of pineapple on the edge. “What? It’s a fair trade.”

Sirius glared playfully at him over the next slice, then hurried to catch the long string of cheese that slid free from the rest of the slice with a muffled yelp of distress.

“Do you need a hand?” Remus asked, clearly amused as he passed him an extra napkin.

“Uh-uh. I got it.” It took a second, but Sirius managed to get it all into his mouth without snorting pizza sauce through his nose as they both broke down laughing. “Another successful mission.”

“You’ve got pizza grease on your lip,” Remus said, reaching over to dab at the corner of his mouth with a napkin.”

“Thanks, love.”

They ate in relative silence for a few minutes, too focused on the hot food that they could finally enjoy without interruption; Sirius glanced at the wall clock and was astounded to see they had made it over ten hours since their last proper meal. No wonder he was so hungry.

“It felt weird sleeping alone last night,” Remus remarked once their plates were clean and Sirius wasn’t in immediate danger of getting hangry.

“I know, right?” Under the table, Sirius ran the side of his foot up Remus’ calf. “Super strange. We haven’t slept separately in months.”

“Mhmm.” Remus’ pupils dilated, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just from the low light. “It was fun staying the night with the cubs, though.”

“Yeah?” Sirius pressed a little harder on the inside of his knee and Remus gripped his napkin.

Amber eyes flickered around the restaurant before settling on Sirius. “Baby. What are you doing?”

Sirius shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Really?” Remus raised an eyebrow and Sirius’ breath hitched as a hand squeezed the top of his thigh.

“I think we should head home.”

“Good plan.”

Thanks to Nate and his made-up rules, there was no bill to settle, but they left a tip anyway and made sure to say goodbyes to the familiar staff as they headed back to the car. If Sirius let Remus go through the door first for the express purpose of coping a feel without being seen by the other patrons, that wasn’t anyone’s business but their own.

“You are such a—” Remus’ teasing insult was cut short by hands curling into the front of his shirt and pulling him over the console as lips connected to his own in a far less chaste manner than before. “Well. Alright, then. Home?”

“Home,” Sirius confirmed, grinning as he started the car. It was impossible to not feel smug when he managed to bring that particular shade of pink to Remus’ neck and ears. Despite the anticipation in his stomach, he took the longer route, watching the shining lights of the city turn Remus’ face every color of the rainbow. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Remus glanced over and rested his temple on the window, tracing a small circle on the back of Sirius’ hand; a small smile tilted his mouth in that perfect, off-center way. “We’re married. That’s super fucking cool.”

“It is,” Sirius laughed. His cheeks were starting to hurt in the best way. “I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that.”

“And I’ll never get tired of saying it.”

They reached the house a few minutes later, and Sirius’ heart leapt when he saw the front steps. “Wait!” he called, scrambling out of the car and grabbing Remus around the waist before he could go to the front door.

“What?” Remus asked, looking mildly alarmed until Sirius swept him into his arms. “Wh—really?”

“Please?” He pressed a quick kiss to Remus’ nose, then another to his forehead, again and again until Remus was laughing too hard to speak. “Please, please, please—”

“Okay, okay!” He draped his arms around Sirius’ neck and held on tight as he walked up the steps. “Do you have the keys?”

“Back pocket.” Remus reached around to get them and Sirius jumped when he felt a light smack as well. “Oh?”

Remus just kissed his cheek and unlocked the door, pushing it open with one hand. Hattie was having a sleepover with the Dumais’ for the night, thankfully; Sirius shuddered to think of what would happen if she collided with his legs in this vulnerable state.

“Ready?” Remus asked quietly, snuggling closer against his chest.

Sirius took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold, careful not to knock Remus into either side of the frame. He had crossed that little line a thousand times, maybe a million, but as they entered the dark house in dance-wrinkled suits with matching rings on their fingers, he felt a new chapter in the story of their life open up. The first of that particular volume, in fact.

He had the feeling it would be a good one.

[thefanficmonster]

Begone

Streamer Gang & Asexual Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Acephobia, Swearing

Genre: Platonic Fluff, Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having recently come out as asexual, Y/N faces some less than pleasant or appropriate responses in their chat during their stream with the gang. Luckily, they’re not alone in battling the haters this time.

Requested by the lovely Anon who told acephobes to begone, yeah you know who you are hehe. Thank you so much for the request darling! Let’s show these acehobes who they’re messing with! Love, Vy ❤

Boy is this nerve-wrecking or what? Sure, I maybe woke up with a ton of confidence, I listened to motivational and uplifting talks and listened to mood boosting music. I had a healthy breakfast and a cup of coffee. Damn it, I went on a run, all in an attempt to convince myself that dealing with the online world again is but a piece of cake for a badass like me. Well, low and behold, that feeling didn’t last very long. Here I am, chewing my nails off at the though of hopping in the Discord call and Among Us lobby with my friends and starting my stream. It’s not like I’m not expecting my friends and fans to support me - of course I am! I know they’re gonna give me a ton of love and appreciation and support and uplift me no matter what. But then again, there’s still those people who believe me and other people like me to be invalid and broken and whatnot.

Those are the ones I wanna avoid. 

It’s not like their words mean much to me but I simply don’t wanna see em, you know? It’s not only about me - it’s least about me actually - it’s more about all those wonderful people they are insulting when they say shit like that about asexuals and all the people on the ace spectrum. I can’t help but flare up and get angry on the behalf of all my ace friends and even people I’ve never met.

It’s also my first time being directly thrown into the fire instead of getting caught in the crossfire seeing as how I came out to my fandom via a tweet and an Instagram post a week ago, telling my identity’s truth: finally bringing my asexuality to the surface to shine its brightest so I can be be my best and reach for my full potential.

But damn am I afraid to see how everyone took it. 

My friends were quick to jump in and take me offline before I start refreshing my own posts to see the comments under them. Lord knows that without them I would’ve driven myself insane, I’ll forever be grateful for what they did and the lengths they went to to keep me offline and whatnot. One word to give you an idea of how invested they were in this: origami. All of us might as well have been born with two left hands and yet we still tried doing origami. Freaking origami.

Damn do I love my friends.

But now I don’t have sheets of paper and my friends to distract me. I have a fanbase to entertain and another friend group I haven’t talked to in a while. I don’t wanna get any predictions in already so I don’t jinx myself, so I’m just gonna say it’s gonna be...interesting regardless of what happens.

Then again, when is it not interesting when the streamer gang’s involved.

Deep breaths, Y/N. You got this

Listening to that encouraging little voice inside my head, I finally equip my headphones and in one fluid motion turn my camera on, officially starting my stream and unmuting my mic as I hop in the call with everyone.

“Hi guys! Guess who’s returned!“ I exclaim cheerfully, desperate to hide the nervousness of my voice.

“You really missed your opportunity to say ‘guess who’s back...back again’ didn’t you?“ Charlie is the one who greets me first, sounding rather disappointed in me in his usual jokester manner. It’s nice to hear, it makes me feel like nothing’s changed in the week I’ve been gone. Like I’m still the same person to these people. I really am the same, I just now am a lot better version of myself. Almost as though I’ve reached my final form. It feels empowering really. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Charlie laughs again, “Congrats, by the way. You keep proving you can get cooler and cooler.“

“Careful there Charlie, I can only handle so large of an ego.“ I joke back, rolling my eyes playfully as a wide grin spreads across my face, “No, but seriously, thank you so much, man. It means the world to me that you support me.“

“Um, how could we NOT?“ That’s very clearly Rae, “Hun, you are so brave and amazing and wonderful, how could we ever NOT support you?“

“Yeah, we’ll always support you no matter what, Y/N. We’ll always be your friends, through thick, thin and beyond.“ Poki too interferes, her words only making my smile wider.

“Alright, alright, y’all are gonna make me cry and I haven’t even read my chat yet, hold on.“ I say, fanning my face to dry the tears I hope the webcam isn’t spotting, “Darn, you guys are the best. Sorry, give me a sec to gather my composure, I’ll be right back.“

I quickly mute my in-game mic as I turn to my chat where I see the same amount of love and support in the form of comments and emojis flooding in from my viewers. A warm feeling spreads throughout my chest, making me feel the most comfortable with myself I’ve ever felt. The most loved I’ve ever felt. The most seen and understood. To finally be you feels like you are finally really living in this world, not like you’ve been already living in it for God knows how long. It makes me so freaking happy and fulfilled to finally be living as me, as the real me.

Unfortunately, in life, nothing can be 100% pure and good. There’s always at least 1% there threatening to ruin all your happiness you worked so hard to build or obtain. It may be one in a hundred, but fuck it’s powerful and effective.

And in my case it comes in the form of two comments that stick out to my eyes. Acephobic comments saying my identity’s fake, claiming I’m faking it, saying us acephobes are immature creatures who refuse to grow up, or attention whores. Or just saying we’re delusional and in denial, confused about who we are.

I hadn’t even realized I was clenching my jaw and fists but when I do, I slowly relax my muscles and crack my knuckles before addressing the two people who spat out that nonsense.

“Ok, listen here, shooterpro69 and yourmom_lol. For starters, I want to apologize for your ignorance and lack of education on the matter of asexuality. In fact, for you especially, I plan on making an educational video, explaining asexuality to people who need or want to learn more. You, my friends, are in desperate need to be fed some knowledge cause damn, God knows how many people secretly think you’re hella stupid. Not that they’re wrong to think so but anyway. Unless you have anything nice or positive to say, begone from my chat. Actually, when I think about it, begone from every chat. No one needs you polluting their communities with acephobia and hate.“ I say, all spoken in a calm tone despite the boiling anger within me. People who know me well would probably be able to tell I’m fuming underneath the calm façade, but at least I got my message across loud and clear.

“WOO HOO, You tell em Y/N!“ Toast cheers, clapping his hands and whistling as more cheering arises from each my friends, leaving me in a state of mild shock and confusion.

Wait, what?!

“Um, wait, you guys heard that?“ I ask, my eyes darting to thein-game mic symbol that shows an not crossed-off mic, meaning it was enabled during the entirety of my speech.

“Hell yeah we did! You slayed them, Y/N! Damn goddamn!“ Rae whistles too, her enthusiasm wafting over me like a breath of fresh air.

“I second that!“ Corpse joins in, “And remember what we said - we’ll support you through anything. Need to bury an acephobe’s body, we’re the people you should call.” He says, confident as heck.

And I just can’t hold it in anymore - I burst out laughing, doubling over from the intensity.

If I thought I was happy and fulfilled before, this has to be the closest to paradise I’m gonna get on Earth.  All thanks to these wonderful people. Friends are really something else aren’t they: they come into your life - often unexpectedly - and change it completely. Suddenly you’re not alone, you’re not forced to deal with everything and face everything on your own. Someone’s got your back and you’ve got theirs.

Through thick, thin and beyond.

And it’s so fucking amazing.

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse  @sunnyrae-cessh  @ladykxxx08  @meowiemari

[buckyskorpion]

Do Something Bad, Too - Part 5

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Summary: It’s like every single Alpha on the planet won’t rest until they’ve confessed their eternal wish for you to mother their children, and it’s getting old. Luckily, that’s a problem Bucky might be able to fix.

Warnings: language, a/b/o dynamics, mentions of violence

A/N: sooooo..... lets not mention the last time i updated this fic was four years, and get excited that im finally updating!! woo!! i really hope this was worth the wait, im very anxious about letting you guys down. let me know what you honestly think! love u all, thank u for sticking with me

series masterlist | main masterlist | my ko-fi

You stay in Nat’s apartment in the Tower for the rest of your heat, which lasts an entire week. Nat comes and goes throughout that time to make sure you’re drinking enough water, to make you dinner or run you a bath, or sometimes just to keep you company when you’re capable of that. She doesn’t stay long, though, aware her presence just makes the unbearableness of going through heat even worse. She also doesn’t mention Bucky’s clothes or anything about that first day, which you’re immeasurably grateful for. You don’t think you could talk about it without crying.

To say you’re humiliated is an understatement. Mixed with that is all this guilt and shame and self-hatred for inflicting that situation on you and Bucky. Mostly for Bucky. He had made it so very clear he was only comfortable helping you with the scent thing, and even with that there were boundaries. You had blown through them all by showing up to his apartment, triggering both your instincts to do things you couldn’t control, and now he probably resented you enough to never want to see you again.

You don’t blame him. It doesn’t stop it from hurting so much, though.

You’ve well and truly fucked yourself now. Not only is it omega instincts driving you towards Bucky now, but also your own stupid, naive heart. You miss his giant hands and broad shoulders that block out the world for a second, narrowing your scope to just the two of you. You miss the way you can breathe around him, how the world doesn’t feel so scary and foreign to you when he’s by your side. It’s crazy because you weren’t even close, you weren’t even really friends, but now you never will be because you’re so goddamn stupid it’s actually astounding.

Nat’s plan had not worked. And this time, you couldn’t even blame her for this colossal backfire. This is all your handiwork.

You’re back in your office, returning to work once your fever died down and you could stand to be in the vicinity of other alphas without passing out. Maybe you’re tapping rather aggressively on your keyboard, and maybe all the techies on the floor can hear you sigh and groan in frustration every two seconds and are sending you strange looks through the glass. Whatever, you’re their boss, they can’t say anything. Besides, your boss has requested some rather strange security upgrades and you’re not sure if it’s within your job description to email Tony Stark and say what the fuck?

It turns out you don’t have to, because Tony Stark comes to you. It’s not often he takes part in the day to day workings of Stark Industries - that’s your job, after all. But he comes striding into your office eating an apple and wearing sunglasses during the middle of the day, and points a ringed finger at you.

“You’re back,” he says, and you find yourself glancing down at your baby-blue pantsuit just to make sure you are, in fact, back. Stark takes a very pointed breath through his nose and adds, “You smell terrible. This is great!”

“Great?” You can’t help but sound bitter. Your smell is hardly great to you. Even after sweating out your entire body-weight and taking more showers than is considered healthy, you still smell like Bucky. You can’t escape him - not your thoughts, not your heart, and certainly not the way your skin seems to emanate him like he’s crawled underneath and set up shop. It’s embarrassing and humiliating, because it’s not real, and just serves to remind you of the terrible mistake you’ve made. You hope beyond hope Stark doesn’t recognise the other alpha scent clinging to your pores.

“Yes, great. I need your help,” he says, sitting down in a chair opposite your desk. You glance at the specs you have open on your computer, the strange security upgrades he wants you to make to the Tower, and then back to Stark’s million-dollar smile. It’s unsettling. You feel a headache forming before he even opens his mouth.

“If this has anything to do with these emails-“

“Those can wait,” Stark says, waving a dismissive hand at your computer. He lobs his applecore into the bin beside your desk as if to punctuate his point, then says, “This is a request on behalf of the Avengers.”

“Um,” you say, rather eloquently. Avengers? What on earth could they want with you, unless- you groan, rolling your eyes to the ceiling. “Natasha.”

“She highly recommended your expertise,” Stark says, and that headache brewing in your temples blooms into a full-blown migraine. He stands, smooths out his slacks, and says without room for question, “Follow me.”

This is how you end up back in the residential floors of the Tower, much to your chagrin, which Stark seems to pick up on. The closer you get to Bucky’s floor the more fidgety you become, heart racing and skin turning clammy until you watch the numbers fly by and you leave him somewhere in the clouds above Manhattan. The elevator doors ding open to a floor that seems to go on forever, full of gym equipment and fancy simulation tech you figure the Avengers must use to train. You find Natasha’s red head on the sparring mats, tackling someone to the ground with her thighs, and glare daggers as you follow Stark into the room.

“She’s alive!” Natasha calls across the room, ignoring your death glare for a knowing smirk. Her voice echoes through the warehouse-style gym floor, drawing the attention of the others in the room. The Avengers, and all of a sudden you feel like an eighteen year old kid watching aliens attack New York on a grainy satellite TV in the desert again. This is like meeting celebrities on another level. Steve Rogers finishes wrapping his hands as he walks over to you and Stark, Sam Wilson beside him, and Natasha gives Clint Barton a hand to help him up from the mats.

“What have you roped me into now, Nat?” you ask, not bothering to hide your frustration. You’ve just about had it with her meddling, but you should’ve known it was a pipe dream to think she would stop.

“We know you’re very busy, we won’t take up much of your time,” Steve Rogers says, extending a hand and introducing himself like he needs to. Captain America needs no introduction.

“I know who you all are,” you say, giving them a nod. “And you’re right, I am busy. So why am I here?”

“You and Nat must get along like a house on fire,” Clint says, earning him an elbow in the gut from Nat herself. You grin, all sharp in the way Nat tells you looks scary in a hot way, and watch as he subtly shifts behind Nat as if to hide behind her smaller frame. It’s only then that you register the scents mingling between them, and realise that Clint Barton is Nat’s omega. She grins at you, beatific and serene, as if she can read your thoughts and knows exactly what you’ve just figured out.

“Let’s not hold (Y/n) up any longer,” Nat says, grinning in a way that always spells trouble for you. “She’s a woman in high demand.”

Stark leads them to what seems to be a large empty space in the training facility, but it’s soon filled with hologram projections from a tiny Starkpad he pulls from his pocket. You fall into step beside Nat, using your height advantage to glare down at her and convey the level to which you want to strangle her right now. She just loops her arm with yours and kisses you on the cheek, frustrating your attempts at intimidation before you can even begin. Bloody Russian spies, you grumble to yourself as you come a halt in front of the holograms.

You’re looking at building specs, that much is obvious. Why, though, is entirely lost on you. The structure is a tall hexagonal building reminding you of a panopticon, with security floors in the centre and what seem to be prison cells surrounding them. Details jump out from Stark’s hologram - security cameras, miniature guards patrolling the floors, thermally sealed doors and electromagnetic force-fields on the cells. It’s a prison, you surmise, and you’re starting to get a bad feeling as to why you’re here.

You turn to Nat and say, “I’m not going back in the field.”

She pats your arm with only a tiny bit of condescension and says, “I’m not asking you to.”

“You’re my Head of Security,” Stark says, then gestures to the hologram building, “If you can design impenetrable security systems, surely you can undo them.”

“You want me to help you break into this place?” you ask. The team all nod, and you look back at the intimidating, virtual-blue building in front of you. “It’s a fortress.”

“Yeah, they really upped the anti on security since I was in there,” Sam Wilson says, earning him a reproachful look from Steve. It does nothing to soothe the anxiety starting to thread through your chest. Failing the Avengers doesn’t seem like an option, but from where you’re standing, neither is breaking into this facility.

“I’ll need to know what it is first,” you say, “Then I can try and help you. Emphasis on try. I’m not a miracle worker.”

“It’s called the Raft,” Steve says, his face growing stony and set as he talks. “It’s a prison designed for enhanced persons by Secretary Ross. After Germany, I broke Sam, Scott, and Clint out. But Wanda-“

“We need to get her out of there,” Clint says. You pretend not to notice as beside you Nat discreetly takes his hand, rubbing her thumb across his bruised knuckles.

“Leave the search and rescue to us,” Stark says, and you watch him shift uncomfortably under some inscrutable looks Steve and Sam are giving him, “We just need your help on how to get into the joint.”

“Simple,” you breathe, but only Nat laughs. This seems like an impossible task, but from the look of  everyone around you, failure isn’t an option. You’re going to have to make the impossible possible. It’s a good thing you’ve had some experience with that - in the military, trapped into sand-filled corners with no foreseeable way out, it really did seem like you were working miracles to stay alive out there. You swallow past a dry mouth and blink through desert-gunked eyes, say, “I’ll need that Starkpad, and some time.”

“You have forty-eight hours,” Stark says. The hologram disappears in a blink as he throws the Starkpad, no bigger than your palm, which you only just manage to catch. Stark clicks his fingers, as if an idea as just occurred to him, and says, “Oh, I almost forget to tell you! The Raft is underwater. Completely submerged, middle of the ocean, super top-secret. Fun, right?”

Your heart drops to your stomach. Fun is not the word you you would use. Only forty-eight hours to break into the most secure facility in the country, if not the world? This day couldn’t possibly blindside you anymore.

As if the universe is conspiring against you, FRIDAY’s voice chimes in from overhead speakers to say, “Mr Stark, Sergeant Barnes is on his way to the gym floor.”

You feel your whole body lock up, heart seizing in your chest - Bucky? Here? You weren’t prepared to see him yet, or speak to him. What would you say? How could you apologise for one of the worst crimes you may have ever committed, and you’ve killed people? Natasha unloops her arm from yours, tries to soothe you with a hand on your back but it does nothing for the anxiety shooting sparks throughout your blood stream.

“How many times have I got to tell that illiterate Soviet popsicle, he’s not on the fucking team,” Stark grumbles, storming towards the elevators with a scowl. Steve clenches his fists, glaring after Stark but Sam holds him back. He mutters something only Steve can hear which makes him close his eyes and exhale sharp through his nose - frustrated, but calming by the nanosecond.

It’s a shame nobody thought to do the same for you.

“What did you just call him?” you say, ignoring Natasha’s warning murmur of your name as you follow after Stark. Maybe you still have some residually elevated hormones from your heat, or you really are just a lovesick idiot who can’t control her temper, but whatever it is has you absolutely incensed. Stark stops dead, clearly caught off guard by the venom in your voice, and spins on his heel to stare at you incredulously.

“Excuse me?” he says, blinking owlishly at you as you lean up into his space. You’re aware you’re overstepping the boss/employee line, but you can’t help yourself. The rage is brewing, and with each laboured breath Bucky’s scent grows stronger and stronger until it’s all you can smell. It settles over your skin like armour, and the urge to protect that hold on you, to protect him, is beyond your control - it’s primal.

“Don’t talk about him like that, ever,” you snarl, watching with satisfaction as Stark’s eyes turn round and wide.

He glances behind you towards his friends and says, “Are we sure she isn’t an alpha? Sheesh.”

“Tony,” Natasha warns, but it’s too late. You use the palm of your hand to slam into Stark’s solar plexus. You kick out his kneecap and he drops on one knee, wheezing and gasping for air. It all happens so fast you can’t even think about the repercussions of assaulting your boss, let alone what’s driven you to do it in the first place.

“I don’t need to be an alpha to kick your ass,” you hiss, glaring down at Stark who looks up at you like you have, in fact, lost your mind.

At that moment, the elevator dings and reveals Bucky practically seething behind the elevator doors. He storms in, larger than life - in the week or so it’s been since you’ve seen him, you’ve somehow forgotten how physically intimidating he actually is. You immediately step back from Stark’s kneeling figure, feeling the strange need to hide your hands behind your back like a kid caught with the cookie jar. Bucky glances wildly between you, Stark on the ground, and the ring of Avengers in different states of attempting to intervene. He heaves ragged breaths and is emitting a scent that threatens to take you to your knees, too. Authoritative, powerful, protective.

That submissive, animalistic side of you makes you really hate being an omega sometimes.

“Why is she here?” Bucky asks someone behind you, probably Natasha. He swings his, frankly, frightening gaze to Stark and demands with just as much venom as you had, “What did you do to her.”

“Jesus Christ, nothing!” Stark wheezes, clutching at the spot on his chest you’ve definitely bruised. He points an accusing finger at you and cries, “She hit me!”

“I’m so sorry,” you say, feeling your hands start to shake where you clutch them behind your back. You look to Bucky like maybe he can explain, which makes you sick to your stomach because he’s not yours to look towards. Now, more than ever, that is abundantly clear. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do!” Natasha pipes up behind you, helpful as ever. Bucky glares at her for you this time, releasing you of his burning-hot stare. His gaze has the power to paralyse you, and you need to get away from him, this, all of it - right now. You don’t get a chance to, however, before Natasha once again sticks her foot in it and says, “She was defending your honour, James.”

“Yeah, and I’ve no idea why. One quick google search should tell you he doesn’t need any-“

It takes you a second to realise the snarling, growling sound echoing through the gym is coming from you. Your face burns as you roll your lips together, cutting the sound off completely. For your entire life you’ve been headstrong and confident, but this whole experience with Bucky from the very first day you met him has shaken your entire self-perception. Everything you’ve known has been turned upside down - it was easy when all alphas were assholes, and you were one omega they couldn’t fuck with. Now, you stare down at your shoes and refuse to look in Bucky’s direction because he’s affected you so much you can’t even control yourself anymore. The worst part is that it’s entirely your own doing, because Bucky made it very clear you aren’t the one he wants, so everything you’re doing right now is just incredibly humiliating.

“(Y/n)?” Bucky’s voice makes you shudder. Looking at him would surely make you burst into flames, from embarrassment of the last time you saw him which you can’t even think about, or from the shame of pathetically defending a man who doesn’t want anything to do with you. He doesn’t even want you here, storming up to ask why you’re in his home in the first place.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, giving Bucky a wide berth as you head for the elevators. You can’t get there fast enough, practically sprinting to press the close-door button as fast as you can.

“Wait-“

And then, the absolute worst thing happens. You almost crush the Starkpad still in your hand from clenching your fist so hard - you have to, in order to keep your hands by your sides and not in Bucky’s personal space. Because just as the doors are about to slide closed, he slips in between them and FRIDAY seals you both in. The elevator fills with Bucky Bucky Bucky, just like your heat-addled brain has been chanting at you since you stumbled into his apartment a week ago.

Bucky stares at you wide-eyed, and you stare back just the same. This could possibly be your worst nightmare come to life, especially when the elevator screeches to a halt and FRIDAY’s dulcet tones hammer your fate home.

“I appear to be having some technical difficulties,” FRIDAY says, sounding confused if an AI can sound like anything. “I’m so sorry, I’m trying to fix this. It seems someone is manually overriding my control of the elevator.”

“Nat,” you groan, in unison with Bucky. So that’s it. You’re stuck in an elevator with Bucky and are being forced to face the music, by the powers that be. The powers being Natasha, a no good meddler who is going to be in a world of pain when you get out of here. Alpha be damned.

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 73

Title: Best Laid Plans

Warnings: some profanity, talk of domestic abuse, child death

Tagging:  @tragiclyhip, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @ocfairygodmother, @lokitrasho, @miss-smutty,  @raith-way​, @ocappreciation​

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860450/chapters/85024549

He’s up at quarter to six; throwing on a muscle shirt and a pair of work out pants and slipping into the well worn sneakers he keeps by the back door. A run on the beach as the sun peeks over the horizon is exactly what he needs; his bad knees cushioned by sand beneath him, a steady, cool breeze blowing in off the ocean, and the sky painted in vivid orange and gold and stunning pink streaks. The two dogs run on either side of him; their tags clinking against their collars, each carrying a tennis ball in their mouths in hopes of play after the hard work is done. The excursion to his body is calming to both brain and soul; pushing all thoughts of Mark and his devious intentions onto the back burner and concentrating on nothing but his breathing and his heart rate and the sights and sounds around him. And once at the finish line, he bends at the waist and places his hands on his thighs; eyes closed as the sweat trickles off his forehead and runs down his nose and his temples and gathers at the nape of his neck. Chest heaving and burning; a familiar discomfort that serves to remind him of just how far he’s come. Fighting against the odds to complete the long and painful recovery after the incident with Nathan and coming out almost as good as he was before; strong, agile, his health better than it's ever been. He’d somehow survived and he’d long ago swore he'd never take another minute for granted; always grateful to wake up and find himself on top of the ground instead of below it.

After a half an hour of entertaining the dogs, he returns home; splashing cold water on his face and neck and running wet hands through his sweaty hair and then heading for the kitchen. Busying himself with the morning routine; brewing his coffee and the three shots of espresso he always adds to it. The smoothies are next; a wide selection of fresh fruit and various supplements and vitamins recommended by both his doctor and Esme’s fetal and maternal medicine specialist. And the moment he hears her footsteps above -small and light, but just heavy enough to NOT be a child- he begins preparing her breakfast; kettle boiling for her tea while he throws a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and gathers up a container of plain yogurt and a handful of different fruits to chop. He glances over his shoulder and smiles in greeting when she joins him; messy hair held away from her face and out of her eyes with a sparkly purple headband stolen from one of their daughters and her tiny frame clad in a pair of baggy Hello Kitty night shorts and one of his t-shirts. And before he can open his mouth to offer up a ‘good morning’, she’s wrapping her around his waist from behind; yawning loudly and rubbing her cheek against the fabric of his shirt before laying her head against his back.

“Babe…” he warns. “ I probably stink. Gonna make you pass out. Give the baby in utero PTSD.”

“Bullshit. You smell good. You smell like a man. MY man. “

“All the kids still asleep?”

Esme nods. “You already went for a run?”

“Just a small one. Took the dogs with me. Tired them out.”

“I thought you said Sunday was your ‘set in stone rest day’?

“I did. But that’s just for lifting heavy.” Turning around to face her, he takes her face in his hands, turning her head up towards him as he leans down to kiss her. “I’m still going to run every day.”

“You know how I feel about this; when it comes to you pushing yourself too hard.”

“I know you worry. I know you don’t blow out my knee or fuck my femur up somehow. I’m taking it easy; I’m not going full tilt and I’m not ignoring my body when it starts screaming at me. I’m doing a lot better; when it comes to recognizing the signs and paying attention to them.”

“I just want you to be careful. I don’t want you hurting yourself. And you've been spending a lot of time in the gym. You went from one three hour a work out a day to TWO. That’s a lot, babe. Even for a bad ass like you. I know you feel this need to be bigger and stronger and…”

“I’m past that. Maybe just looking to put on another ten. That’s it. That’s probably as big as I’ll ever get again. Sorry. No return to the thicc, lumberjack stage that you enjoyed so much.”

“I DID enjoy it. You had the big muscles and the extra weight in your tummy and your hair was short and your beard was really thick. It was a good look on you. A VERY good look.”

“But…”

“But I love you EVERY way. And how your body is right now? That’s how you looked when we met. When I fell in love with you. So it tends to be my favourite. It’s very sentimental to me. And you know what would make it even MORE sentimental?”

“If you want me to get the haircut, I’ll get the haircut.”

“You would do that for little old me? You’d do that to keep your pregnant and extremely hormonal wife happy?”

“I would do anything for you. Pregnant or not.”

“Best husband ever,” she declares, and stands on her tip toes as he kisses her once more; hands tightly grasping the sides of his t-shirt.

She’d long ago gotten used to that ‘after work out’ stench; the potent tang of sweat , the lingering remains of laundry detergent, and the cool, brisk, freshness of antiperspirant. It’s HIS smell. One that reminds her of safety and protection and love. Of HOME. When he’s away, it’s those combined, familiar scents that offer comfort; bringing solace to her aching heart and effectively relieving at least some of the fear and worry nagging at her. Sleeping with his pillow every night and often wearing one of his t-shirts or bundling herself up in one of his hoodies; soothed by the smell of him clinging to the sheets and clothes and subduing her rattled nerves just enough for her to fall asleep.

It never gets easier; kissing him goodbye at the front door or the airport and then wondering -as he walks away- if she’ll ever see him again. The job isn’t a life you ever really get used to; lying to yourself when you tell others that you’re completely fine with your husband being thousands of miles away, putting his life on the line in the hopes of saving another. But she copes; knowing he can more than handle himself when it comes to the physical aspect and that he’ll do whatever it takes to get back to her and the kids. But the ache is real when he’s not under the same roof; both her and their brood feeling his absence and both saddened and angered about it. And the worry and fear never disappear; feeling as if she’s holding her breath the entire time, never releasing it until the moment he walks back through the front door. Safe and sound.

Pressing his lips to her forehead, he turns towards the counter once more; snagging a knife from the butcher’s block and preparing the only breakfast her stomach has been able to handle. Dry toast accompanied by chunks of fresh fruit, a smoothie containing all the vitamins and supplements recommended by her doctor, and a tea that helps with calming both her tummy and her nerves. While the nausea lingers throughout the entire day, the mornings have been especially horrendous; unable to keep even the smallest sips of water down and struggling with both weakness and dizziness. All of the pregnancies have been the same in that respect; losing weight before actually managing to put it on, suffering from headaches and queasiness and even a handful of scares that sent them running to the hospital in fear there was something terribly wrong. But the sixth pregnancy is turning out to be an even bigger struggle; half a dozen different medications fighting to keep her blood pressure down, help her sleep, and keep her eating and drinking properly.

“I’m surprised you’re up,” Tyler remarks, as she moves to the stove to tend to the boiling kettle. Offering a mug with the tea bag already in it; his hand briefly resting on the small of her back as he places a kiss on her temple. “You were sleeping pretty good when I went on my run.”

Sighing, she sets the mug down on the stovetop and fills it with water. “I probably still would be if your spawn didn’t wake me up out of nowhere and send me on a mad dash to the bathroom. I’ve come to expect SOME sickness, but this?”

“This one’s giving you an extra hard time, huh? What did the doctor say? Something about making too much human growth hormone? I don’t know. She completely lost me when she broke out the science speak.”

“A variant of it. And it’s too much of ALL the hormones. Kind of weird; that the last pregnancy would be the worst. You’d think it would be the easiest; your body totally used to everything, able to push that sucker out with only two tries. I swear to Christ, Tyler. If this is another Millie labour…”

“You’ll cut my dick off?”

“That’s a little extreme. You need your dick. It’s still very useful. I’ll just chop your balls off. So you can’t make any more swimmers.”

“How about we not do that and just let the surgeon handle things?”

“I want a goddamn guarantee from him that this isn’t going to happen again; your penis remarkably healing itself and letting those swimmers of yours have free reign.”

“I’m going to jump in here for a second. You realize your body fucked up too, yeah? That it took BOTH of us to make this baby? Your tubes were tied. Right after you had Kota and Brookie. You’re not supposed to be able to get pregnant in the first place.”

She stares at him over the rim of her mug. “Even if I hadn’t gotten them tied, you weren’t supposed to be able to produce any sperm. Ever again. For the rest of your natural born life. But low and behold…”

“You…” He points the knife at her. “...need to accept some responsibility in all of this.”

She huffs, taking a sip of tea and then setting it on the stove; hands on her hips in a show of defiance. “I will do no such thing.”

“Come on, this can’t all be pinned entirely on me. Both our bodies had to screw up for this to happen. So be a big girl…” snagging her by the front of her t-shirt, he gently pulls her into him. “...and take some of the blame.”

She stares up at him; a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth and those enormous, dark eyes sparkling mischievously. “No. You can’t make me.”

“Listen pocket wife, I’m a foot and three inches taller than you and almost a hundred pounds heavier. I can make you.”

“I’d like to see you try. You don’t intimidate me. Your muscles and your resting asshole face and all those tattoos and scars. They don’t scare me a bit.”

“You realize I have ways of convincing you, don’t you? Ways that don’t involve intimidation. “

“Yeah?” Both hands clutch the front of her shirt as her body leans into his. “What kind of ways are we talking about then?”

He swipes the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip. “Sexual ones.”

“You realize that sounds more like pleasure than punishment, right?”

“You remember that thing we did back in New York City. In the bathtub. The thing you claim to hate but always seem to love? The one thing that I always can count on to make you squirt? Do you know what thing I’m talking about?”

“I know EXACTLY what you’re talking about.”

“Well next time around, when you least expect it? I’m going to do that twice as much. Only this time there won’t be a happy ending. For you, anyway.”

Her eyes narrow. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yes. Yes I would.”

“You’re evil.”

“Most evil husband out there.”

“You may be the most evil, but you’re also the sexiest out there. So at least you have THAT going for you,” she chides, giving a tiny yelp when he brings a palm down on the cheek of her ass in a ringing slap. Giggling when his hand reverts to lightly pinching and squeezing before drawing her into him; body pressed against his and her hands tightening their grip on his shirt as he leans down to kiss her. Long and slow and deep; the brief contact between their tongues finding her curling her toes and sighing into his mouth.

When he pulls away he’s smiling down at her; blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of unbridled lust and pure adoration. Hand moving from her ass to the side of her cheek; knuckles grazing over the soft skin before gentle fingertips clear wayward strands of hair away from her face and tuck them behind her ear. “You’re beautiful.”

“You need glasses.”

“I already knew that. But needing them doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful.”

The smile she gives is shaky; tears welling in her eyes as a lump of emotion wedges firmly in her throat. It’s overwhelming at times; seeing his love, adoration, and affection laid so bare. This big, strong man with his myriad of tattoos and scars and a lifetime of trauma, guilt, and regret. So brave and fearless yet so vulnerable at the same time; possessing a heart that he’s even bigger than his body and a beauty to his soul that not even his father, Asif, Mahajan, or Nathan had been able to rob him of. Working as a team, she’d spent years helping chip away at the seemingly impenetrable walls that he’d built around his heart; patiently urging him outside of his comfort zone and encouraging that humanity lingering inside of him to make itself fully known. In the end, the reward was far beyond anything she could ever imagined; a man that loves her so wholly and completely. And profoundly. So much so it often takes her breath away; and all consuming and often leaving her feeling unworthy of such devotion.

He frowns when he notices the tears in her eyes and the tell tale wobble of her lower lip and chin. “What’s the matter? Why are you gonna cry? What…?”

Her voice comes out as a childlike whimper; reminding him of Addie when she’s been scolded or has had a particularly rough run in with Millie and the teasing was just too much to take. “I really need a hug right now.”

Setting the knife on the counter, he gathers her in his arms. One arm circling her waist as a hand settles on the back of her skull; palm lightly pressing her head into his chest. And when she stands on the top of his feet and perches on her tiptoes in order to return the embrace, he crouches down until she’s able to successfully wrap both arms around his neck. His beautiful, tiny wife; his best friend, truest confident, and his rock during his darkest and most dire of times. Always sticking by his side no matter how difficult he sometimes makes things; forever patient and attentive during the long and painful recovery after Nathan, always forgiving him for his sins and mistakes even when he can’t forgive himself. Suddenly seeming so weak and vulnerable herself; her entire body trembling and her tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re gonna be alright,” he promises, and presses a kiss to her ear. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s ALL gonna be okay.”

*****

He hates seeing her like this; face lined with worry and exhaustion, shoulders drooped as if carrying the weight of the world upon them, eyes dark and downcast instead of sparkling and playful. He’d long ago gotten used to her morning persona; overly cheerful and extremely talkative compared to his grumpiness and need for complete and utter silence until he’s at least finished his coffee. So it’s unsettling when she deviates from the norm; missing the familiarity and the routine of her chattiness and her teasing and witty banter. Instead completely silent as she sits across from him at the table on the back deck; her feet resting in his lap as she merely nibbles at the dry toast and moves the pieces of various fruits around on her plate.

He gestures at her plate with his fork. “You need to eat. Start putting weight on instead of it dropping off.”

“It’s not like I’m NOT trying.” She spears a chunk of watermelon and brings it to her lips, taking a tiny bite before setting it back down again. “I WANT to eat. My body is BEGGING me to eat. But it’s kind of hard when you just feel...I don’t know...off.”

“Something we need to worry about? Something to do with the baby?”

“No. I feel fine that way. Other than being crazy nauseous and already having insane heartburn. How much hair is this kid going to have? Because the only other time I suffered this bad…”

“We ended up with Addie. Hairiest damn kid I have EVER seen. Hands down.”

She manages a smile, then nibbles at a slice of dry toast. “Remember how it was practically head to toe? Because she was a preemie?”

“She looked like a little monkey. A cute one, mind you. But a monkey.”

“Don’t ever say that to her. It’ll be her new obsession; monkey this, monkey that. None of our other babies had much hair. If any at all. Well, Declan…”

“I will never forget seeing that head of hair. Bright red.”

“You looked so confused,” Esme muses, as she once more pulls her plate towards her and attempts to eat. “When he was crowning. It was like he had two heads or something.”

Tyler winks at her from across the table. “I was trying to figure out when you had time to get busy with me AND the cable guy.”

“Baby, he is all yours. Without a doubt. The cable man didn’t stand a chance getting close to me. So unless you can get pregnant just by breathing the same air as someone…”

“I hope you’d have better standards than that guy. If you’re going to do something like that, can you at least have the respect to go a notch higher than I am in quality?”

“That’s not even remotely possible. You’re already on the very top rung of quality. In fact, you’re in another league all your own. All by yourself. If you have the best, why settle for less?”

A grin plays on his mouth. “You are so good for my ego.”

“Besides, we both know I’m the last person that would EVER do something like that. I am way too hopelessly and madly and wildly in love with you. Always have been. Always will be. So unless you’re planning on going somewhere, you’re stuck with me. For the long haul.”

“I’m perfectly happy where I am. And with who I’m with. You know that, yeah? That I’d never do something like that. No matter who’s trying to get with me? I would never...EVER..cheat on you.”

“This is stemming from my insecurities, isn't it? Those women yesterday.”

“I just wanted to get it out there. I don’t care about any of them. There might as well not even be any other women on earth. The only one that matters? The only one I want? Is you. And that’s not going to change.”

“And you say I’m good for YOUR ego?”

“I mean, maybe it doesn’t need to be said. Maybe you already realize all that. Or maybe you’re going to tell me that you don’t need the words; you can see everything in my eyes anyway. I just think sometimes I should say it. Who knows, maybe I need to tell you more than you need to hear it.”

Well…” She reaches for his hand that rests on the tabletop, running her fingertips along his forearm and over his palm before lacing their fingers together. “...a girl DOES like to hear how much she’s adored and worshipped.”

“I thought you like it better when I SHOW you how much.”

“That too. But sometimes it’s a nice little bonus; hearing the words.”

Pushing his chair away, he stands and leans across the table; free hand reaching out to cradle her cheek in its palm. “I worship you. I adore you. I love you. And I can’t live without you.”

While tears sparkle in her eyes, her smile is genuine; filling out her cheeks and crinkling the bridge of her nose. “And you say you’re not romantic.”

He bends down to kiss her; the soft press and languid movements of closed mouth upon closed mouth. “I do have my moments,” he says with a grin, running the tip of a finger down the bridge of her nose, playfully tapping the end of it before returning to his seat.

They sit in companionable silence. Enjoying the crisp, refreshing breeze that rolls in off the ocean and the familiar yet calming sounds of the outdoors. The waves rolling up onto the shore, the rustling of the trees as they sway in the wind and the different melodies that come from Esme’s collection of wind chimes attached to the awnings of the pool house. It’s home. The familiar yet never boring sights and sounds of the where they’re the most comfortable; where they grow and nurture their family and take advantage of the many spoils given to them by such a beautiful and expansive piece of land.

Returning to Australia had been the best move they’d ever made. The start of strengthening not only their marriage, but every aspect of the life and relationship they share; making sure to nurture and grow each separate component that makes them, THEM. Often having to pull back from the chaos and stress of everyday existence to remind themselves that they’re not just spouses and people raising kids together; they’re each other’s confidants, best friends and devoted and faithful lovers. Two unique individuals that share a bond unlike many could ever fully understand; broken and in tatters when they’d first met yet somehow managing to comfort and heal one another. What had happened in Dhaka will forever remain the foundation their life together has been built open. A rather odd concoction of many things; shared grief and regret, adrenaline and fear, profound lust accompanied by the pangs of the heart that remind you that you’re still human. And a lot of blood, sweat and tears. All combined with the unforgettable stenches of raw sewage, blood and sweat, and spilled gasoline.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He breaks the silence first, pushing away his empty plate and reaching for his smoothie. Satisfied with her attempt to get food into her belly; her own meal almost completely finished save for a couple bites of toast and a small handful of grapes. Her feet once more resting in his lap; both hands curled around the plastic tumbler that contains the thickened ‘super shake’ he’d made for her earlier.

“By ‘it’ I’m assuming you mean Mark?”

Tyler nods.

“What more is there to say? He’s in town. Not like there’s anything we can really do about it. Not until he at least makes a move.”

“I’ve got guys trying to track him down. Looking into every hotel, every bed and breakfast, every short term rental within a fifty mile radius. Unless he’s gone totally off the grid and he’s holed up in a cave somewhere, my guys will find him.”

“Is that really what you were doing last night? Taking care of all of that stuff? Getting people going on all this?”

“It was some of what I was doing. Not all of it. When you came in, I was doing exactly what I told you I was. I’d already gotten it all set up; guys already starting to dig. Told ‘em not to leave any stone unturned; Mark’s crafty and he’s slippery and he’s going to do everything he can to avoid me catching up to him. He wants the element of surprise; get to you when my guard is down. I’m hoping to get to him before that happens.”

“When do you ever let your guard down?”

“Even I slip up, Esme. You know that better than anyone.”

“Tyler Rake doesn’t make mistakes when it’s family on his line. He rarely makes them when it’s complete strangers he’s looking out for. You’re not the type to fall asleep at the wheel, babe. Especially when it comes to the kids. And ESPECIALLY when it comes to me.”

“I can’t be around you twenty-four seven. There’s going to be times I can’t be with you. As much as I’d love to be glued to your hip…”

“Do you trust the guys you picked? You don’t exactly hand that out lightly, Tyler. And you’ve always been very careful about who you bring into the business. You’ve always had the strictest hiring practices I’ve ever seen. You don’t just bring anyone aboard. And if you’re willing to put them in charge of keeping an eye on him…”

“I trust them when it comes to the job. They’re some of the best I’ve ever seen, actually.”

“Other than yourself, you mean.

“They’re good, Me. They’re quick on their feet and they’re strong as fuck and they will not back down. From anyone or anything.”

“But…”

“But I don’t fully trust anyone when it comes to you. That’s not something I can give; just hand over your life like that. No matter how well I know someone or how good of a merc they are. But I don’t have a choice, do I? It’s not possible to be around every second of every day. I wish it was. I wish I was the only one taking care of you. But…”

“If your gut tells you that these guys can handle it, then that’s what you go with. I trust you, Tyler. Whether it’s protecting me on your own or making the decision to hand it off to someone else. Your instincts are so strong. Some of the strongest I have ever seen. And if they’re telling you that this is right...that these men are right…”

“They’re telling me that I don’t have any other choice. That I NEED to trust these guys. And I want to Esme; I want to be able to sit here and tell you that I trust them one hundred percent. But other than you? There’s no one I trust that way.”

“If you say this is the right decision and that these are the right people, then I’ll go with that. Because I trust YOU. I always have. I always will. So if this is the move you need to make and you’re confident in it…”

“As confident as I’m gonna be.”

“Then there’s nothing more to talk about. If you trust them, then so do I. Simple as that.”

He nods slowly as he considers her words, then offers a small smile and once more takes her hand; lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“I know you don’t have any answers. And to be honest, I don’t expect any. But I just don’t understand. Why is he doing this? Why now? If it’s a revenge thing, why wait this long? I haven’t been married to him for fifteen years. Why wait that long?”

“I don’t know, Me. I don’t even know if that’s his angle.”

“Everything says it is. What else could he possibly want? Do you think he’s a threat? To me?”

“Yeah,” Tyler reluctantly admits. “I do. He wouldn’t come out of the woodwork after all this time and play all those little mind games in New York and then make it a point to show up here IF he wasn’t planning something. I just don't know exactly what it is. Or when he’s gonna make his move. And hopefully the guys I have trying to find him will track him down. Sooner the better.”

“What will they do with him? If they do find him?”

“Found a little out of the way place in the northern territory. Somewhere they can keep him; until I can get there. Off the beaten track, no through roads, heavy bush. Not a single soul around. Figure that’s for the best, yeah? Keep him somewhere no one can hear screaming and pleading for his life.”

“You’re going to handle that yourself?”

“Hopefully. Told my guys that they can rough him up, but I want him very much alive. So he can feel every goddamn thing I do to him. And I know you’re probably thinking this is a throwback to McMann; taking him hostage and torturing his ass. But…”

“You do what you need to do, Tyler. You do whatever you feel he deserves. I’m not going to think any less of you. And Lord knows that I’ve had quite a few fantasies about how brutal I would love you to be if you ever got your hands on him. I’m not going to ask how and I don’t expect you to tell me. You just do what you need to do. To make him suffer and make him pay for what…” Her voice cracks; tears of both rage and insurmountable pain welling in her eyes. “...just make him pay. Promise me you’ll make him pay.”

Sliding his chair away from the table, he’s at her side in only three long strides; dropping to a knee in front of her and taking her trembling hands in his.

“Promise me, Tyler. Promise me you’ll make him pay.”

“I’ll make him pay, Esme. I promise.”

“Everything he did to him. Everything he said. It’s just all coming back. All those horrible, mean, degrading things he called me. All the times he forced me to do disgusting, horrible things to him. All the nasty, gross shit that HE did to ME.”

He feels the rage that immediately begins to take hold; his jaw setting and tightening and the blue of his eyes becoming much darker. Bile settling in the back of his throat; acrid and burning. He hates hearing about it; the horrific things that she’d been subjected to at the hands of someone who was supposed to love her, protect her, and give her a good life. The person he loves more than anything else in the world and would gladly lay his life down for. Not just his wife, but his best friend and the mother of his children and the centre of his universe.

“You don’t have to talk about this,” he says, and tightly squeezes her hands. “Nothing good will come from going there. Nothing…”

“He is an evil, sick, demented person,” she continues, words struggling to make it through the sobs. “He used to make me clean the baseboards and the grout with my toothbrush and then he’d force me to use it afterwards. If he was in a mood and didn’t like what I made for dinner, he’d throw it on the floor and he’d make me get on my hands and knees and force me to eat it. Like I was a dog! And when I tried to fight back, the beatings just got worse and worse and worse and…”

“That’s enough,” he gently orders, and releases his hold on her hands in favour of drawing her into his embrace. An arm wrapped around her waist and a palm resting on the back of her head; pressing a kiss to her temple and her cheek before drawing her face down to his shoulder. “No more. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t go back to that place.”

One of her hands clutch desperately at the back of his shirt, the other clamping down on the nape of his neck. “How do I ever get over it? How do I ever fully leave all that behind? I thought I was doing okay with it. I thought I was finally putting it all past me. I thought…”

“Sometimes there’s things we don’t really get over. Not completely, anyway. And that was fucking hell; the shit that he put you through. I’m sorry, Me. I am so fucking sorry.”

“Is it weird that sometimes I think about ‘what if’? That I’ll wonder what it would have been like if we’d met some other way? Some other time. Some other place. Before all the bad shit ever happened. Imagine? If we’d met before all of that; if we’d found each other and healed one another sooner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with thinking about that stuff. But babe….listen to me….” He pulls away and cradles her face in his hands; thumbs swiping at the tears that continue to fall “...you can’t live the rest of your life thinking about that. Because if none of the bad ever happened? We wouldn’t have met. Because all the loss and the bullshit put us on the path that led us to each other. And yeah; it was fucking painful and I wanted to put a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger so many times. But in the end, all that crap? All the hard stuff? It brought you into my life. You know that. I KNOW you know that.”

“What if it was all for nothing? You spent YEARS trying to make up for all his mistakes. You didn’t care how messy I was or how messy my life had been before you. You just picked up the pieces and you put me back together. And you never complained ONCE; You just did it.”

“I did it because I love you. Because I couldn’t exactly go and find the guy and kill him with my bare fucking hands. And believe me, I’ve thought about it many times. About how I’d do it. And how I’d make it as slow and painful as possible.”

“All the time and the work you put into fixing me. What if Mark puts me over the edge and I become a big mess again? What if all of a sudden I’m in a million fucking pieces again? What then? It will all be for nothing?”

“No. It won’t. And you know why? Because even if you fall apart a thousand times, each time I’m going to pick those pieces up and I’m going to find a way to make them up. I love you, Esme. More than I ever loved anyone. More than I even thought was possible. And if it DOES happen...you do fall apart...I’m just going to be here to pick you...and all those pieces….back up.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve YOU.”

“Baby, you deserve the fucking world. And I’d give it to you if I could. Come here…” Pressing a kiss to her brow, he tangles his fingers in her hair and draws her head down onto his shoulder; other hand moving in slow, comforting circles in the middle of her back. “...everything’s alright. There’s nothing to be scared of. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“It’s not that I’m scared. Not of him getting a hold of me. I know that you’d never let him get that close. You’d do anything to protect me. I’ve never...ever...doubted that. I just hate what it’s doing to me; him being back in my life. I feel like I’m drowning in all this stuff from the past and that there’s no way you’ll be able to pull me out of it. Like it’s going to suck me under and you won’t stand a chance of getting me back.”

“That’s not going to happen. I won’t LET that happen.”

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,,” she admits. “Worrying all the time about the baby and trying so hard to take care of the other kids and now this crap with Mark and him being so close to us.”

“I know it’s really overwhelming right now, Me. I know it’s a lot of things being heaped on your plate. And believe me, I am taking as much of it off as I can. And this stress with Mark is just making everything else seem even worse. But I got you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I just need you to trust me.”

“I do. I DO trust you.”

“You got lots of help with the kids. You got me, you got Stel, Riley’s always willing to drop everything and lend a hand. And you know how much grandpa Koen loves to spend time with them. He’s always ready, willing, and able to step up.”

Managing a laugh, she pulls back and swipes at her tears with the back of her hands. “He was in fine form last night, huh?”

“He was definitely on top of his ‘shit talk Tyler’ game.”

“Everything he says, he says with love. He’s a wreck, you know. When he showed up in Dhaka. He was all laughs and jokes at first and I’m sure that was just to calm his nerves, because when he got to your room? He just lost it. Totally broke down. I’ve never seen him get that emotional since.”

“I guess he’s got a little bit of a soft spot for me. Considering I was an enormous shit head when I first met him and he threatened to beat the attitude out of me. And believe me; he tried a couple times. Tough love, yeah? He’s the guy that turned me into the solider I became. And tried to stop me from destroying myself after everything fell apart. Spent years trying to talk some sense into me. Never stuck.”

“Guess you just weren’t ready for that yet. You just had a bit more of your journey to take. I’m sorry it was as crappy as it was. That you had to go through what you did.”

“Lost my kid and my sobriety. And probably most of my sanity.”

“It’s not fair. That you had to go through so much. Starting right from you were a little boy. Not a single step of your path has been easy.”

“No. I guess it hasn’t. But every one of those steps was worth it. ‘Cause look where I am now. I’m a long way from The Kimberley.”

“Leaps and bounds,” she smiles. “Even in the last five years.”

“It was worth it. It was ALL worth it. And this? Whatever the hell THIS is? With Mark? That’s just another bump in the road we gotta get past. I just need you to trust me. That’s it.”

“I’ve always trusted you, Tyler. Always.”

“Everything’s going to be alright,” he promises, and once more gathers her into a tight, protective embrace. “I didn’t lose you in New York and I’m sure as hell not gonna lose you now. Especially not to him.”

The scrape of the screen door opening upon its track captures his attention, and he glances up in time to see his oldest son step onto the porch. Hair mussed from sleep and sticking up in several different directions; barefoot and clad in only a pair of blue, red, and white plaid pyjama bottoms. And it’s the first time that he’s noticed just how grown up that his namesake is becoming; only ten, but tall and athletically built with well chiselled ab muscles and noticeable definition in his arms and shoulders. All long limbs and torso and tanned skin; brilliant, expressive blue eyes and his once shoulder length dirty blond hair now chopped short. Despite his issues with impulse control, his diagnosis with ADHD, and his volatile temper, he always seems much older and wiser than his actual age; independent and detail and routine oriented and always willing to step up and lend a hand with his younger siblings or with chores and repairs around the house. And it’s bitter sweet; his first son after losing Austin growing up in what seems like the blink of an eye. Proud of him for the person...the man...that he’s becoming but missing the little boy he was; the one who’d be attached to his hip and who explored the world with wide eyed, breathless abandon and wanted nothing more than to exactly like his old man.

“Dad?” Worry tarnishes the ten year old’s voice; eyes darkening and narrowing as he observes the sight in front of him. “What’s going on? What…?”

“Nothing, mate. Your mum and I were just having a chat. She just got a little...worked up.”

“About what?” He finally approaches, a hand on the back of his mother’s chair as he leans in to check on her. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Just some adult stuff. Your mum’s just a little emotional today.”

“Mummy?” TJ lays a palm on her shoulder, gently squeezing and then pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Are you okay? What happened? What..?”

“I’m alright,” Esme assures him, and turns her face into his, pecking his lips. “Daddy and I were just talking and…”

“You don’t look alright. You’re crying. Why are you crying?” A mixture of panic, worry, and the beginnings of anger creep into his voice. And he fixes his father with a steely glare. “What’s wrong with mum? Why is she crying? What were you talking about that would upset her?”

“Just a couple serious things,” Tyler informs him. “ADULT things. Things you don’t need to worry about.”

TJ’s jaw clenches. “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything. Why would you…?”

“Daddy didn’t do a thing,” Esme assures him. “Like he said we were having a chat and things turned a little serious and I got emotional. That’s it. He didn’t do anything or say anything wrong. I got upset and I started to cry and he was just trying to comfort me. That’s it.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause if something else happened…”

Turning sideways in her chair, she clasps her son’s face in her hand. “Tyler James. Listen to what I’m saying. Daddy did nothing wrong. I started crying and he got worried and he was trying to calm me down. He didn’t say or do anything. He was trying to help. He wanted to cheer me up. That’s all.”

“Mummy…”

“That’s all,” she insists. “I appreciate you worrying about me, but we’re telling the truth. I just got emotional about some things we were talking about. That’s all. Daddy would never...EVER...do anything to make me cry. Unless it’s happy tears.”

TJ sighs heavily. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. But thank you.,” she presses a kiss to his lips and smooths a hand over his unruly hair. “I’m okay, baby man. There is nothing for you to worry about, okay? And good morning, by the way. Thought for sure you’d sleep in a lot longer; all the running around you did after the littlest yesterday.”

“Dad said we could go surfing. Before everyone else got up. I set my alarm.”

“Well the water looks perfect today. Or as you would say, the waves looking ‘bitchin’.”

Excitement replaces worry and simmering anger. “Dad checked the surf report last night. They said it was going to be perfect conditions. And that it could just be us. I like when it’s just us. It’s a lot more fun. And we sit on our boards and talk. A lot.”

“Then I’ll let you guys get to it. I’m sure you have a lot of boy stuff to talk about.”

Tyler pushes himself to his feet as his wife slips out of her chair; hand on the small of her back as she stands. “You good?”

“I’m good,” she assures him, standing on her tiptoes to return his kiss. “I’ll take the dirty stuff in and I’ll grab some towels and throw them out here for you guys. And maybe I’ll even crash on the couch; until the rest of the hoodlums wake up.”

“If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

“I’ll be fine, Tae. Everything will be fine.”

Nodding in agreement, he offers a small smile and presses his lips to her temple. Watching as she gathers the dirty dishes, mugs, and cutlery and carries them into the house. TJ gallantly holding the door open for her; a broad, beaming smile spreading across his face as she plants a kiss on his cheek.

“IS mum okay?” The ten year old turns to him once Esme is out of ear shot.

“She’s fine, mate. She’s just going through some stuff.”

“Bad stuff or…?”

“Just some stuff. Nothing you need to worry about. You’re mum’s alright. And you know I’d never hurt her, yeah? That I would never...ever...say or do anything to break her heart. Tell me you know that.”

“I do. But you used to. Do stuff like that. I know I was just little then, but…”

“I’m not that guy anymore, TJ. I haven’t been him in a long time. I would never hurt your mother. I love her in ways you can’t even begin to understand. And I would do anything to make her happy and to keep her safe.”

“Is there a reason to? Keep her safe?”

“No,” Tyler lies. “There’s not.”

*****

From the moment he first held Austin in his arms, Tyler had pictured these moments; introducing his son to surfing and forming a tremendous bond over their shared love of the water. Teaching him how to not only handle the waves, but to give himself over to the release and the escape that comes not with conquering them, but being submissive to them; gliding smoothly and confidently yet remembering that nature always has the upper hand and should never be questioned or underestimated. When he had first found out he was going to be a father, he’d often daydream about sharing his passions with his offspring; surfing, fishing, hiking, and camping trips. But military life had been all consuming, as had been his commitment to it; putting fighting the battles of others higher on his list of priorities than his wife and soon to be born child. And having the baby home hadn’t changed a damn thing; signing up for extra tours whenever he got the chance, putting his be all and end all into the army and having nothing left to give his family.

For his fifth birthday, he’d gifted Austin with two things; a custom made surfboard and the promise that he’d change his ways and become the dad that his kiddo needed and deserved. Neither of things ever came to fruition; Austin diagnosed with cancer just three weeks later and the board going unused and Tyler’s promise dying the moment the news had been dropped into their laps. And when Austin had died, so had all of the dreams and the hopes that Tyler had had as father; the loss tremendous and robbing him of both his heart and soul. The grief composed of many things. Not just the loss of his boy, but of all of those expectations, and fantasized moments, and the memories that would have been made during them.

He never dreamed that he’d ever be a father again; his marriage and his military career both disintegrating and finding him throwing himself headlong into mercenary life and a battle with booze and drug addiction. Wracked with so much guilt, regret, and profound grief that he truly believed he deserved his self imposed exile from the rest of humanity. He was a monster and not deserving of any form of a normal life; taking the most dire and dangerous of jobs in hopes one would kill him, drinking and popping pills in hopes of not just numbing the physical pain, but the mental anguish as well.

In the blink of an eye and in the midst of his deepest and darkest moments of suicidal ideation, everything changed. In the form of a tiny, tattooed and pierced brunette with the most beautiful smile and dark eyes he’d ever seen. Since then, every blessing has come with great sacrifice. Ones that he’s willing to pay over, and over, and over again for even a slice of the life that he has now. It’s a normalcy that isn’t normally rewarded to guys like him; a wife and children and a beautiful home in an even more beautiful place. So many bridges burned and toes trampled upon; exuberant coin in your pocket in exchange for scars that litter your body and enemies within all four corners of the world. It’s generally a short existence; catching a bullet in the midst of all the action or a bodyguard or a mercenary -contracted to take you out- catching you by surprise. Most never even attempt any form of domesticity; preferring the company of random women -or men- instead of committing and settling down. The job follows you. Stays with you. Remains embedded in your soul. Accompanied by long lists of evil people you’ve crossed and will forever seek revenge, debts that you can never repay and will forever be held over your head, and addiction and mental health issues. You’re never fully away from it; it will follow you wherever you go, keep you up at night, have you constantly looking over your shoulder or being wary of the smallest of bumps in the night. It’s easier to not get someone else tangled up in the madness; half the time it’s hard just to keep yourself alive, let alone a spouse and children. They’d be the first to pay the price for your misdeeds, and bringing them into that kind of world would be considered not just risky, but selfish as fuck.

Sometimes he still sees himself that way; a weakened, pathetic version of himself that opted to put targets on the backs of others instead of just dealing with his issues and his loneliness in a healthier, SOLO way. But love had found him. Somehow. In the midst of all the darkness and ruin and decay of his life, something...someone... so beautiful and bright had stumbled into his path. She’d effortlessly and easily saw past the hardened and fearless facade he’d created through an endless cycle of self loathing, sorrow, and regret; slowly chipping away at the walls he’d built around the remains of his heart and making him feel alive again. Opening his eyes to a different future and sparking a longing and a desperation and a hunger that he had felt to his very soul. Wanting her...ALL of her...in a way he’d never wanted anyone else. Trusting her in a way he hadn’t since the death of his mother; finding himself both soothed and ignited by the compassion in her voice, the kindness in her eyes, and the gentleness of her hands whenever she touched him.

His heart had been hers long before he’d ever gotten the nerve to tell her so. And he’d been both terrified and filled with hope when he’d even dare to think about a life...a future...with her. He has always felt that his time with her has been far more than he deserves; that kind of existence reserved for those who are morally stronger AND superior. But for some reason, fate had smiled upon him; giving a woman that so plainly wears her heart upon her sleeve and remains stalwartly devoted and faithful. Bearing him seven...eventually eight...children and building a home and a life beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

He’d spent the better part of an hour feeling tremendously grateful and unabashedly proud as he’d watched part of that life so confidently handling the waves below and around him. Ten years old but sometimes so wise and mature beyond his years; misunderstood by so many and not given the credit or the attention that he so rightfully deserves. A fearless, tough kid with an enormous heart; so much love caught up inside him that he’s sometimes unable to express or even cope with it. Exploring the world and the elements with near reckless abandon; always looking for adventure and forever staring challenge straight in the eye. And it’s bittersweet; the act of making the memories with THIS son that his mind had created with for the boy he’d lost years before.

“What do you think it feels like?” TJ asks, as they sit side by side. A hundred yards from shore where the water is calmer; perched upon their boards with their legs dangling over the sides. “To get bit by a shark.”

Tyler glances over; noticing small inklings of his wife inside the ten year old. The way his namesake tilts his head to the side and his eyes narrow as he contemplates a question. The smooth bridge of the nose and the shape of his jaw. But he’s definitely a ‘chip off the old block’; the brilliant blue eyes and the broad shoulders and the long, lanky body, the cheeky smirk and the smile that brightens his entire face. And there’s more. So much more. A strikingly similar personality; dry witted and quick with the sarcasm and the smart ass comments. And the temper; volatile and unpredictable, always seeming as if it’s on a permanent, slow boil.

“I don’t know, mate. But I can guarantee that it does NOT feel good.”

“Mick Fanning...the surfer that mum likes...he got attacked by one. During a competition. A great white. Hit him right in the face with its tail! Can you imagine? I would have been shitting bricks for sure! It would be kind of cool to see one, though. We’ve only ever seen a couple of dorsals in the water. When we’ve been hanging out on the beach. Kinda weird we’ve NEVER come across one.”

“I’d rather not if it’s all the same to you. I’ve spotted a few in my time. Long before you were even a twinkle in your mumma’s eyes. Wasn’t close enough to go one on one with ‘em. Thank Christ.”

“Sometimes I get this really weird feeling in my stomach. When we’re out here. It’s like something is just moving around in there; kicking at your insides and tugging at them and stuff. Like my body is telling me that there’s something underneath me. Maybe even WATCHING me. You ever get something like that? Where you just KNOW something is there?”

“Had that happen a lot. Always been too chicken shit to look down, though.”

“I like that, you know. That you’re not afraid to admit you’re scared of things. Lots of guys are. They act all big and bad and like nothing bothers them, but you know it’s all bullshit. You’ve never been like that. Even since I was little. You’ve always talked about being scared of things and how it’s okay to be afraid of stuff. And that we shouldn’t be embarrassed to get emotional. Cry and stuff. Do you still feel that way?”

“I do. I feel even stronger about it now. Nothing wrong with a guy being vulnerable. Doesn’t make them weak or pathetic or less of a man.”

TJ grins over at him. “Just makes them human.”

“You know, you sound a hell of a lot like your mum sometimes.”

“That’s a good thing, if you ask me. ‘Cause mum’s pretty awesome.”

“Yeah…” Tyler smiles wistfully, then glances towards the shore; his wife up from her nap and getting the littles settled for breakfast on the deck as the older kid’s lend a hand. “...she certainly is.”

TJ’s expression turns serious. “You meant it, right? When you said you didn’t say or do anything to make mum cry.”

“Everything we both told you was the truth; we were talking about some adult stuff and she got emotional. All I was trying to do was comfort her. That’s it. You know how your mum can be; when she’s feeling overwhelmed and hasn’t been sleeping well and she tries to take too much on.”

“She needs to learn how to rely on other people . And ask for help when she needs it.”

“It’s hard for her. Even after all the years she’s been with me. She finds it difficult to ask for help. Guess she’s so used to people letting her down, that she just can’t shake that part of her. We’ll just keep an eye on her and just chip in where we need to and hope for the best, yeah?”

TJ nods, then gives a bashful smile. “I’m sorry, dad. For kinda flipping out on you earlier. But I saw you kneeling in front of mummy and then I could tell she was crying and my brain just immediately went to think you’d done something wrong.”

“We’re a lot like, you and I. In a lot of ways. I tend to react a little too quickly, a little too soon. Old habits die hard. But I would never…EVER...hurt your mum. That is the last thing I want to do. Intentional or not. I love her, mate. In ways you can’t even understand. In ways I can’t even understand sometimes. I just hope that one day you get to feel that way about someone. Or close to it.”

“I just worry about her,” TJ sighs. “I don’t like when she’s upset. Especially when she cries. I hate seeing it; mummy sad. I wish I could find a way so she’d never be sad EVER again. Wouldn’t that be nice? If we could find a way to make sure mummy NEVER got sad again?”

“Yeah, mate. It would. But life isn’t like that. We gotta go through the good AND the bad. Unfortunately.”

“Mum’s been through a lot. I mean, I know you have too. But mum...I don’t know...she’s different. She’s...well...she’s my mum. I know you’re tough and strong and brave and all that. That you can handle things better. But mum puts on a good show for people I think. She lets on that she’s okay and she’s totally fine with taking care of everything one else. But sometimes? Sometimes I don’t think she’s okay at all. Do you ever think that? That she’s just pretending to be alright?”

“I don’t just don’t think. I know she’s doing it. And believe me, I’ve tried to get her out of it. But your mum…”

“And she has the nerve to call US stubborn? She is way worse.”

“She’s got a hard head,” Tyler agrees. “And in some ways, it’s a good thing. She never gave up on me. Even when everyone around her was telling her she should. She just ignored them. Had my back no matter what other people said.”

“It’s ‘cause she loves you. And you’re the first person to ever really love her. Other than her dad and he died when she was young, so ....” TJ rakes a hand through his wet hair. “...sometimes it must feel like it’s just you and mum against the world, huh?”

“I’ve felt that way. A few times. But then all you guys started coming along and our team got even bigger. I like to think we ALL have each other’s backs.”

“Of course we do. We’re family. We’re all in this together. And we’re Rakes. Means we’re tough and we don’t back down. From anyone or anything. We might be scared, but we’re still standing up for what’s right. That’s what you taught us. That even though we might be afraid, we gotta do the right thing. Always. A man isn’t measured by the things he has, but by the people he’s helped.”

Tyler grins. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I read it in a book at school. One of the grade eight kids left on the playground and I was bored and I found it and I just started reading it. I guess I liked that line for some reason. It stuck in my head. Even if there isn't much else up there.”

“Don’t you do that,” Tyler gently scolds. “I don’t want to EVER hear you do that. Talk shit about yourself.”

TJ frowns. “It’s kinda hard when everyone around you is doing it.”

“At school?”

He nods. “I’m the dumb, crazy kid. That’s what everyone thinks. Especially the teachers.”

“They ever say that to you?”

“Not to my face. But I walked by the staff room once and they were talking about that ‘Rake kid’. About how he’ll probably end up in juvenile detention by the time he’s thirteen. And in and out of jail when he’s older. You can’t tell me that it was about Takota or Declan. I might be stupid, but I’m not THAT stupid.”

“You’re not stupid at all. And I don’t want you ever calling yourself that again. You just need some help. Find different ways to learn. Not everyone learns the same way. I was like you in school; couldn’t focus, got ignored when I asked for help, that turned into me goofing off or getting frustrated. Lots of times I put a fist into a locker or a wall. A LOT.”

“Is that why you didn’t go to college? Like mum? Is that why you went into the military?”

“I suppose that’s part of it. Guess I liked the danger and adventure of it too. Going off and fighting bad guys and getting to shoot guns and all of that shit. Never thought about actually having to kill people and what that would feel like.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Not good, mate. Not good at all.”

“Even if it’s bad people? Like that Nathan that hurt you?”

“People like him are exceptions. But for the most part? I don’t like doing it. Not even if it’s in the course of helping someone else. But sometimes…”

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” his son finishes for him. “Sometimes it’s you or them, right?”

“Exactly. And don’t worry about school, alright? I’ll give them a call. Ask for a meeting. Get things sorted and get you the help you need. And deserve.”

“Man…” TJ grins. “...they are going to shit their pants when they hear from you.”

Tyler reaches out to ruffle his namesake’s hair. “Maybe. Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Wanna head in? See what mum’s cooking up?”

“I don’t know." The ten year old's nose crinkles in disgust. "Do you think it’ll be edible?”

“Is it ever?”

TJ laughs. “Dad…”

“Whatever you do, do NOT tell her I said that.”

“Don’t worry…” Leaning across his board, the ten year old wraps both arms around one of Tyler’s; squeezing tightly and laying his head against his dad’s shoulder. “...your secret’s safe with me.”

[dramaqueeenamby]

WAP • Steve R. & Thor O.

A/N: Smut. No plot at all. Just smut. THIS IS A ONESHOT. 

Warnings: SMUT. 18+. Threesome. Double penetration. Oral (male and female both receiving and giving). Cum kink?. Light choking. Very light dom theme.

Words: 3.4K 

-------

You wanted to fuck Steve.

But you also wanted to fuck Thor.

It was a problem, a persistent desire that lapped at you even while doing the most mundane tasks such as sitting in on a teleconference meeting with either of them. They spoke politics. You thought dirty.

It was the textbook definition of unprofessional, but damnit, you wanted what you wanted, and you wanted them both.

Separately, of course.

Or maybe at the same time.

The thought sent chills up your spine and throughout your core.

The infatuation began the first day you accepted the job as Stark’s assistant. And that was another thing, your desire initially geared toward Tony. Maybe it was the wife and kid that obliterated the flame. You couldn’t do that to a family man no matter how badly you wanted to literally do the family man.

Some things, some people, were just off limits.

Stark was one of them.

And so, you’d accepted your position as his assistant and became okay with the fact that it was the only position the retired playboy could put you in.

Perhaps that was what did it. You’d never liked not having someone to play with.

And here walked in Stars and Stripes, himself. For a fossil, he played the role of everyday Jake quite well.

There were tiny telltale signs, however, that he was truly the right man living in the wrong time.

For one, his damn wardrobe. Slacks and a button up shirt. That was all you ever saw him in. Goddamnit, the man was in desperate need of some jeans or even better—gray sweats.

And his hair, it was always slicked back. You could always imagine him standing in the mirror of his one-bedroom apartment, making sure it looked presentable.

No one gave a damn about that anymore.

You just wanted to reach up and mess it for him half the time or grab onto it as he ate you out from off the copy machine, but you digressed.

And his speech, so proper, so focused on the semantics. Two things he never did: contractions, profanity, and you.

Okay, so that was three, but your prayer was to get it to two!

Or was it to nail two of them?

That brought you to Thor.

That smug, son of a bitch.

You wanted to slap that smirk off his face at least once a day and smother his face at least once every half hour. A good balance, if you could say so yourself.

You knew his dick was big. You just knew it. So was Steve. It’s just you weren’t sure if Born In the USA remembered how to use it. That wasn’t a concern with Thor. You saw how he eyed some of the interns and trainees. Hell, even Natasha before she promptly put him in his place.

That selfish bitch.

You’d give anything to have him put you in your place.

Right on top of his dick.

And it wasn’t like you were enduring a dick famine. You had several men on rotation, but they were all so boring. There was no spark there, anymore. Half the time, you had to do all of the work anyhow, and that just simply wasn’t fair.

You deserved better.

You deserved the Dream Dick Team.

“Scan these in for me.” Stark dropped a stack of paperwork onto your desk with his left hand while reading over another massive pile in his right. “Thanks, kid.”

You reached over, grabbing it already knowing that I had to be separated and sorted as well. Stark’s method of organization didn’t exactly correspond with the systems that the company used, but it did help to eat up time, so there was that.

“I do have a name, you know.”

“I know. It’s kid.” He called out, disappearing down the hall, oblivious to the middle finger you flashed his way.

“I saw that.”

Or maybe not.

“Sorry, boss.”

You didn’t actually mean it. One of the benefits of working for Stark, sans the much-needed medical coverage, was that the line between professionalism and unprofessionalism was pretty damn blurred. And no one smudged that line more than Stark. He was a fun boss, which made you inclined to believe he was equally as fun in the sheets, not that you would ever get to find out.

Your huff was laced with disappointment and frustration.

All of the good ones really were taken. Or too damn polite to choke you and spit in your mouth. Or from another fucking planet with an abundance of readily available alien pussy.

A tiny gasp emitted as you shuffled through the paperwork. What if they had multiple genitalia or some shit? The thought nearly brought tears to your eyes. Double penetration. Double the pleasure. Double the fun. And fuck forever—ever ever.

This was so damn cruel. The universe clearly didn’t want to see you and your four holes happy, and you were sick and tired of the ardent disrespect.

“Greetings, Y/N.”

Goddamn that fucking greeting bullshit. Unless it was a greeting between your mouth and his dick, you didn’t want to hear it.

“Captain. Thor.” You nodded to each of them, respectively, fully aware of the discomfort that stemmed from Steve.

“I’ve told you, Y/N. Steve is just fine.”

“How about daddy?”

Okay. So, a couple of things could happen in that moment. You could slide back in your chair with wheels and knock your head into the desk until you were unconscious. You could roll back in that chair with wheels, and sprint like you stole something. Or, you could play dumb and pretend what you just said wasn’t really what you just said.

All seemed viable options, really, and you were leaning more toward the sprinting.

But then something happened, something completely horrible and disgusting and despicable and just vile.

He laughed.

The motherfucker laughed.

You.....what?

And then, he made it even worse.

“Sure, why not.”

You pushed your braids behind your ears. Maybe your hearing was off. Yeah, that was it. You were way overdo for an appointment with the ENT doctor, anyway.

“Excuse me?”

This time, Thor spoke. “He’s been waiting some time, Lady Y/N. For you to say that. We both have.”

Your eyes darted from side to side. “What?”

Steve stuffed his hands in his slacks and shrugged. “It’s true, but we knew you’d finally say something when you were ready.”

“Say what?”

Steve spoke so plainly, so calmly, so unlike everything that you were currently feeling. “That you want us to fuck you.”

Sweet, Black Baby Jesus. It’d finally happened. The world had gone to hell in a handbasket.

That was literally the only explanation for not only what was just said, but for what followed what was just said.

“So, come on.”

You struggled but managed a response. “C-come where.”

“Hmm. Preferably, all over that pretty face of yours.”

“Or the pretty lips.”

But, for now, with us.”

You know those moments where all you can do is say what in the actual fuck is life? Well, that statement was made for moments like this. Kelly Clarkson was definitely onto something.

“Y/N.” You jumped in your seat when you realized that he was merely inches away from your face, fists into the desk. “We won’t ask again.”

The sensible thing to do was to continue to probe to figure out just what level of hell this was. Dante should have showed up at any minute. But what did your dumbass do? You slid back in your chair with wheels, stood, and allowed the two men you considered bosses to lead you down the hall, into the elevator, and into the same conference room where you often patiently sat and waited to the side for Stark to finish.

And unfortunately, it was never on you.

Except, this time, you weren’t in the corner, you were on the table, courtesy of Thor picking you up and placing you down as if you were a lightweight.

He stepped back and stood beside Steve while you just looked like any meme from the mid to late 2000’s, still 100% confused as to what in Beyonce’s name was going on.

“Where do we start with you?” Steve spoke to himself, or maybe Thor too, your brain was too foggy to pay too much attention to where or who his words were directed.

“Take your clothes off. Everything.”

Like the dumbass bitch you are, you looked from side to side and pointed to yourself. “Me?”

Wrong move, Dory.

With inhuman speed, Thor stood in front of you, hand around your throat. His grip was loose but firm, so much so that your thighs pushed together. God, you wanted him to squeeze tighter.

“Now.”

And just like that, he was back next to Steve. You wasted no time in following orders this time around. You couldn’t unbutton your blouse fast enough, tossing it to the floor. Every other piece of clothing that covered your body followed suit until you were completely nude, back sitting on the table, legs pressed together.

Well, initially.

The silence was making you uncomfortable. You craved some type of communication. Contact would be even better. And the way they were just looking at you, it didn’t help.

Gradually, your legs parted, revealing your bare pussy. God, you were grateful you kept that wax appointment. It didn’t miss you how Thor’s brow quipped, and Steve’s jaw twitched.

A small smile played on your face as you innocently asked. “What?”

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so innocent, but time was of the essence, and you needed your essence to be spilling from here to the 98th floor sooner rather than later.

“She mocks us.”

“It seems so.”

Holy fuck, this was getting to be fun. You’d hooked their attention, now you just had to reel it in. Your right hand seemed to sense the pending activities and wanted to get a jump. Slowly lifting from its firmly planted spot on the table, your hand moved to your full breast, down your stomach folds, over your fupa, and bow chika wow wow.

You chewed on your bottom lip when you felt your kitty. She was already leaking dew.

“Fuck yourself.”

Two words. One task. Mission: accepted.

You went to work, your three middle fingers working in perfect synchronization, tending to your sensitive and neglected bud. God, you’d masturbated in the shower just this morning, but this felt so different. Probably because of the two men who stood before you. Speaking of, you opened your eyes and grinned wryly at their reactions.

They were pissed, and that only caused a loud moan to leave your mouth as you slapped your own cunt, loving the sound it made because of the slickness.

“I’m so fucking wet.” You played around with your wetness, lifting your hand and sticking your fingers in your mouth, licking each digit one by one, dropping your hand to your breast and playing with your nipples. “Oh my fucking God.”

You were gradually making yourself a sticky mess, not to mention, the mess you’d made all over the table, but you gave not a single fuck. The only fuck, fucks, you gave were about the two men who stood before you.

Returning your hand to your throbbing pussy, you laid back on the table so that you could reach deeper, plunging your fingers inside, milking yourself. Every so often, you’d remove your fingers and spread your juice all over your vaginal area. Call it a kink, but you loved the feeling of cum all over your body. Yours. His. Anyone’s. It was just a serious thrill for you.

“Fuck!” You shouted just as you started to feel the familiar intensity brewing in the pit of your stomach because your ankles were grabbed, harshly yanking you down off the table. Your feet never touched the ground, however, because you were laid on your stomach over the arms of a wheely chair.

Seconds later, your hips were lifted, your ass perked up in the air.

“I think she’s ready for us, don’t you, Thor?” You whined. You could feel Steve’s cool breath on your pussy. He had to be centimeters away from fulfilling ½ of your dream fucking, and yet was insisting on this tantalizing yet frustrating wait.

“Would you just eat my fucking pussy alr--” You shouted as he silenced your protest with obedience. Holy fucking hell, if you could, you would have screamed so loud that all of Manhattan could hear you. He lapped and sucked with an insatiable hunger, booty jerking around but only momentarily as he brought his hands to your hips to hold you still while he feasted.

You dropped your head only to have it yanked up by Thor grabbing a fistful of your braids and forcing you to look at him.

“Such a pretty mouth.” Your eyes almost bugged out of your fucking head when you saw his massive dick, hard and dripping with cum, just hanging in front of you. You were already salivating in anticipation when he used his thumb to part your full lips. “We shall see if you can use it to please your king.”

Without even so much as a warning, he forced your mouth open with his thick fingers and forced your jaw to its absolute max as he stuffed his even thicker dick in your mouth, You immediately felt him stabbing the back of your throat, and the sensation brought tears to your eyes and butterflies to your stomach.

He didn’t have you too shook though because you immediately went to slurping and deepthroating, bracing your elbows on the arms of the chair while holding onto his hips to stabilize you.

Thor’s head went to the top of your head, taking a fistful of your braids. You peaked up over your eyelids to see his head tilted back, eyes closed, mouth tensed. You were so proud of yourself that you took another inch, practically gagging as tears continued to spill from your eyes. The tears a combination of how stuffed you felt, orally, and from the oral pleasure America’s finest was causing down below.

God, who would have thought the fossil could eat pussy so well?

Thor had started face fucking you, the intensity of the thrusts of his hips into your mouth causing the chair to slide back and forth. Still, Steve’s mouth stayed attached to your pussy, and by now, your entire lower half was a stick hot mess.

And you fucking loved it.

It was enough to make you cum. Again, that was.

Even as Steve made you cum, Thor refused to allow you the room to breathe. This caused an intensity in your tears. It was so blissfully overwhelming. You hadn’t a clue what you’d done to deserve this, but goddamnit were you relieved.

Hell wasn’t so bad after all, and if Dante wanted to join in, the more, the merrier.

You moaned, mouthful of Thor, when Steve pulled out only for your ears and ass to perk up when you felt something thick and hot against your ass. “Such a sweet pussy.”

“Is she?”

“Absolutely,” Steve grunted, reaffirming his grasp on your hips. “Now to feel you around my dick.”

Impaled. Stuffed. Exploding. Those were all words that only halfheartedly described how you felt. You didn’t have to see Steve to know that he was big in girth and long in length, I.e. the perfect combination. He was so deep inside of you, hips repeatedly and firmly clashing into yours, driving his dick deeper and deeper into you.

By now, Thor had also freed your mouth and allowed your jaw a respite, but not before emptying all over your face. Your pussy clenched against Steve as you excitedly allowed your tongue to travel as much of your mouth as you could, sucking in Thor’s cum. It was simply majestic, as was he, as was this entire fucking, well, fucking.

Your moans and screams echoed and bounced off every wall, surely reverberating down the hall and across the various floors. You gave absolutely zero fucks. All of New York could hear you for all you cared.

Thor continued to jerk off in front of you, still very much hard even after splattering you with his cum.

What a God.

As expected, Steve made you cum several times, squirting the last time, the first time you’d ever done so. It was more than you could have ever asked for. And yet, it truly was the gift that kept on giving.

After completely filling you with him cum, Steve pulled out of you, making sure to use his fingers to smear the cum that leaked all over your pussy lips.

Seconds later, they switched, Thor was behind you, Steve in front of you. However, Thor quickly flipped you over so that you were on you back and stood between your spread and tacky thighs.

“Do you think you can take me, little one?” He asked mockingly, fingers playing with the cum on your stomach. You nodded furiously, only to feel your jaw grabbed and head craned back.

Steve’s bulbous head tapped against your lips. You opened eagerly, downing him at the same moment Thor slammed into you. If not for them steadying you, you would have jumped right off that chair. Steve was big, but Thor was massive and curved. A curved dick was your dream come true.

Actually, being dually fucked by a God and Captain America yourself was your dream, and now, a reality.

What an afterlife.

The both took you, front and back, roughly. You were being whisked back and forth like a rag doll, your titties flopping all over the place. Whiplash was most definitely a concern as well as the inability to walk tomorrow, or ever, but really, what a better way to be rendered incapacitated?

I mean, Steve was literally beating on the little dangly thang that swing in the back of your throat, and had you been able to look down, you could almost bet you could see Thor in your fucking stomach. He was just that deep.

This was the hill you would die on, and you couldn’t be happier.

Your face was damp from persistent tears and tacky from slowly drying cum, a layer of light sweat soaking you from head to toe, and you knew that your edges were shot, but none of that mattered, especially when Thor pulled out and started to eat you out, your thighs clamped around his head, trapping him. He could stay there forever. They both could.

Unfortunately, all god things must come to a respite, or whatever the fairy tales said.

After cumming at least 87.5 times, they both freed your beaten and thoroughly used mouth and vagina. There was so much cum, it was splattered all over your pelvis, dripping onto the floor. You’d never been so stuffed. Literally.

“Are you okay?”

Thor asked, or maybe Steve. You were too physically exhausted to pay that much attention, your eyes fluttering shut. “Fucking divine.”

“Excuse me?”

Your eyes shot open and you were met with puzzled expressions from both Thor and Steve.

You looked around, you were seated in your desk, hair still intact, fully clothed, edges still laid. You paused.

What the fuck?

“Are you sure you’re alright, darling?” Steve’s concerned voice broke your stunned trance. This....this couldn't be happening. No fucking way. You did not just dream all that. It wasn’t possible. It was too damn real.

And yet....

You felt at your face. It was moisturized, but with CeraVe. Not CeraCum.

“It was a fantasy....” You whispered to yourself, holding back tears. “None of it was real.”

“Would you like us to talk to Stark about allowing you to get off earlier?”

Your eyes widened. “But, I already did,” you all but whined.

Thor whispered to Steve. “Is this what you Midgardians call a psychotic break?”

This was cruel, beyond cruel, sinfully wicked. You had no words. Thor and Steve watched as you whined while gathering your shit. You didn't even bother clocking out or shutting off the computer. You just had to get out of there and fast.

You said not a word to either men as you stumped off completely done with the day, and, well, life. 

It wasn’t until you entered the elevator that both men chuckled.

“This is going to be fun.”

“No, she is.” 

Steve and Thor chuckled, anticipation for the next time already brewing. 

[novelconcepts]

fic: (above) a boring little pub

“See where that takes us,” Dani mutters. “Sure. Yeah. Smooth.”

She’d said it like it wasn’t nerve-racking in the least, like she does this sort of thing every day. Get up at the asscrack of dawn, trying to remember how to make a pot of coffee she personally feels out of her mind even considering putting in her own mug. Coffee makes her crazy, spikes her already-wild anxiety straight through the roof; she hasn’t tried to brew the stuff since she was fifteen and making a last-ditch effort to get on Mom’s good side.

And, still, it was the best idea she had for Operation Fix Things With Jamie. Four days laying awake thinking, four days with her brain half on the kids, half on making Jamie smile the next time she turned up at Bly, and this was the best she could do. A cup of coffee that, to her untrained eye, looked like muddy water more than anything else. 

And she had handed it to Jamie. Just pasted on a smile and thought, Maybe the stars have aligned, and I woke up good at this today. Whether good at the coffee or the talking to Jamie, she wasn’t quite sure--but soon enough, it appeared the answer was “neither”. Terrific. Jamie, still stung from the other night. Jamie, clearly still not ready to leap off a cliff just because Dani reached out a hand. 

Who could blame her? Jamie’s maybe the most patient person Dani has ever met, so long as you’re not shredding her gardens behind her back, but she is still a person. A person who has shown Dani an extremely unexpected willingness to listen, but not so much the desire to be jerked around. Dani gets it. There’s nothing she wants less in the world, than to make Jamie feel like a chew toy to be picked up and discarded again on a whim. 

Hence, the world’s most insulting attempt at coffee.

And the invitation.

Dani does not have what a thinking man might call “a strong history” with dating. Part and parcel of being with the same person since you were ten, she supposes, and even if Edmund wasn't...right, he was still simple in his own way. The bravest she ever had to be with Eddie was in daring him to kiss her, a desperate, futile bid toward understanding all the girls at school who sighed and groaned over boys. Dani didn’t get it then, didn’t get it when Eddie closed his eyes and puckered his lips and gave her the most exaggerated dry kiss a human mouth can produce. Didn't get it, either, as he improved over the years, though she was tactically aware of him doing so. On a strictly data-driven level, she watched him get better at kissing, at smiling without nerves, at leading her by the hand wherever he felt they should go. And never, not once, did she feel it.

But one night in a greenhouse, wine in her blood and guilt on her lips, and she gets it now. She gets all of it. Jamie’s hands in her hair, Jamie’s mouth opening beneath her own--a symphony only they could hear. 

And then she’d gone and ruined it. 

So, now she’s here. Standing awkwardly in a small room in a huge manor, poking through the approximately ten outfits she’s been carting across Europe for half a year. She’d been brave with Jamie in ways she’d never considered with Eddie--brave to take her hand, brave to follow her into the dark, brave to kiss her, brave to ask her out on a...on a..

“Date,” she mutters, holding up a pink blouse and remembering Jamie saying wryly, There we are. She shuts her eyes. “Just a date. Normal person thing to do. Nothing to worry about.”

Jamie’s meant to be back here in--she flips her wrist, winces--less than an hour now. Jamie’s meant to be here to pick her up, like they’re teenagers heading off for a Friday night on the town, and Dani must genuinely be losing her mind. She didn't come here for this. She works with Jamie, works here watching the kids, and if she leaves...if she leaves, who knows what will...

A light rap at the door, so soft, she almost misses it. Hannah, gently smiling. 

“Everything all right up here? Haven’t seen you in quite some time...”

“The kids,” Dani interjects. “Of course. I’m so sorry, I’ll just--”

Hannah raises her palms in a placating gestures, slipping into the room with a nearly unearthly grace. Why, Dani wonders helplessly, can’t I be like Hannah? So elegant and serene and sure of every step? 

“I did not,” Hannah says, taking her by the shoulders and giving her a sisterly little shake, “come up here to scold you. The children are perfectly fine; Owen is running them through the finer elements of...” Her brow creases, some mix of affection and distaste. “Baking chemistry.”

“Oh.” Dani sinks onto the bed, head in her hands. “Of course. So you’re...”

“Here to make certain you aren’t, perhaps, talking yourself out of a nice evening out on the town?” Hannah supplies. She’s too kind to make fun, at least where this level of anxiety is concerned, and Dani is grateful. 

“Not talking myself out, exactly,” she says. “Just trying to decide what to wear. I mean, what does a person wear to a pub in Bly with...with...”

“A perfectly charming young woman whose primary uniform involves denim and potting soil?” Hannah’s voice is just a little too innocent. Dani grins. 

“I just don’t want to embarrass myself.”

“I don’t think,” Hannah says carefully, “there’s much chance of embarrassing yourself so badly, she leaves you alone in that pub. Or fails to return to Bly, perhaps, tomorrow?”

Color floods Dani’s cheeks. Her choice of sweater is suddenly the most interesting thing that has ever happened in this room. 

“The children will be just fine with us here,” Hannah continues, blessedly ignoring the way Dani’s shoulders go rigid with mortification. “Owen’s already planning to stay, and you know how Flora goes on about sleepovers...”

She’s smiling, but Dani thinks there’s a bit of distance behind her eyes that wasn’t there last week. A beautiful, kind woman, Hannah; it’s strange to see her even the least bit detached from the goings-on of the house. 

“You’re sure,” she presses. “I could still tell Jamie--”

“You could both use the night off, I think.” Hannah pats her shoulder lightly. Dani bites her lip. 

“Well, I can definitely make sure I’m back before--”

“Lunch tomorrow?” Hannah interjects. “Yes, I quite agree, that would be perfect timing. Rumor has it Owen’s planning a feast fit for kings and very small children.”

Dani is out of arguments, and she suspects Hannah knows it. Her shoulders slump. “Okay. Okay, good. Glad that’s all...handled. Now...”

“This one, I think.” Hannah pats the light purple, her hand possessed of such surety, Dani is briefly envious. “Brings out your eyes nicely.”

She makes her escape with another smile and a very small wave, and Dani gives herself a minute. Just one minute, sitting on the edge of the bed with her face in her hands, to really process the situation. A date. An actual real date with an actual real person she actually likes. Not just likes, but feels...slightly insane around. Insane in the best way. Stomach in knots, fingertips sweaty for no good reason, ears going hot at the sight of her insane. 

Jamie kissed her back. Jamie kissed her like there was nothing she’d like more in the world. Jamie kissed her, and then let her go the minute she didn’t seem ready for it, and even with the worst coffee in England as a peace offering, accepted the idea of a drink with her. 

Which means...

“The sweater doesn’t matter,” Dani mumbles, feeling very much as though nothing has ever mattered more.

***

Jamie has never quite done this before, either; she thinks of telling Dani so, thinks of taking a quiet moment before leaving Bly Manor to get ready for a date and come back, sweet Lord, she must be out of her mind, to say, “Hey, no worries, Poppins, this is brand-new territory for the both of us.”

But Dani is busy with the kids, and also sort of looks like she’s going to combust should Jamie stand too near her, so she skulks out to the truck alone instead. The date--it is an actual fucking date, I cannot believe she did this to us, what am I going to do on an actual fucking date with this woman?--is slated for seven in the evening. Jamie’s done working at four-thirty.

She spends about an hour of that in-between time showering, picking out a clean t-shirt--nothing too snappy, don’t want to scare Poppins off again--and jeans and a jacket that ensures she’ll look presentably-cool, and mussing her hair somewhat badly. The rest, she spends pacing. 

You know I live above that pub, right? Told you that already. And Jesus, how Dani had smiled, like she’d been thinking of nothing else for four fucking days. Four days Jamie had spent planning ways to distance herself, to stop feeling all of this flappy butterfly nonsense at the mere sight of the woman, and the first thing--first goddamn thing--Dani did upon her return was ask her on a date. 

To which she had...said yes. She’d said yes, and now off she goes to pick up her actual, real-live human woman date.

It’s one thing, she thinks as she strides up the drive to the door, to take a woman to bed. It’s a very natural, easy thing, in fact, to take a woman to bed. Strip off your clothes, strip off your inhibitions, get used to the notion of never seeing her again once the sun is up. But this? Dani? Jamie’s never been here before. Never wanted something so badly before. 

“Don’t,” she mumbles, pushing the door open, “fuck this up.”

She expects to have to go on a bit of a hunt to track Dani down--maybe to the kitchen, or even (heaven help her) up to her room, but no: Dani is right there. Dani is standing in the foyer in a black skirt and loose-knit sweater, looking for all the world like Jamie just caught her running a trench into the floorboards. 

“Hi,” she says, all deer eyes and suddenly grinning mouth. Her hair is up, so very blonde and perfect, Jamie’s mouth goes a little useless at the sight of it.

“Hey. Uh. Are we meant to be speaking with the chaperones, or...”

Dani shakes her head, looking just a little punch-drunk. “Hannah made it sound like we’d be in trouble if we went back there. Owen’s doing something with chemistry?”

“All the angels couldn’t help those kids and their empty bellies now,” Jamie says, “if Owen is fixated on another goddamn chemistry lesson.”

Dani laughs, and suddenly, it’s like a sheen of ice cracks open and all the warmth she’s come to associate with Dani Clayton comes rushing into the room. Jamie reaches out a hand, slides palm along palm until Dani is fitted neatly against her lifeline. 

“Shall we?”

She doesn’t say, I’ve never done this. Doesn’t tell Dani any of that. It doesn’t seem important, all of a sudden, not with the way Dani squeezes back and follows eagerly into the passenger seat of her truck.

Jamie, looking at her out of the corner of her eye as she prepares to back out, is struck with the wild idea that maybe they don’t have to leave at all to do this. She could just reach across the seat, lay a hand lightly over Dani’s knee, tell her she’s never met anyone like her. Never met anyone who makes her want to tell sad stories and bad jokes and goodnights that are only acceptable because there will be a good morning to follow. 

Date, she reminds herself firmly, though there’s a perfectly nice kitchen, a perfectly nice bedroom, a perfectly nice hidden spot out on the grounds that would do the job just as well. Maybe next time. There are flowers she’s certain Dani can’t go her whole life without seeing. 

But tonight: it’s a pub in the tiny village of Bly, where Jamie has lived for years without ever really caring to get to know its secrets. Now, watching Dani look around like she’s just stepped into Oz, she sort of regrets that. 

“Usually not too busy on a Thursday night,” she says, guiding Dani with a light hand at the small of her back past what she thinks of as the Attention Grabbing section--the tables up near the bar proper, where the denizens of Bly most like to congregate after work--and toward her own preferred spot. It’s in the back, near a near-secret exit that leads straight up to her flat, and Cal is charitable enough to keep most folks away from it unless the place is full-up. Not a bad guy, Cal; he’s about four hundred years old and insists on calling her Janey, but he’s still got the back for long nights serving bad drinks, and he keeps the rent cheaper than dirt. 

“You live here?” Dani sounds like she’s never been more delighted at a prospect. Jamie can’t help but laugh, slinging her jacket over the back of her chair and settling in. 

“Thought about asking for a job when I moved in, but luckily Lord and Lady Wingrave got to me first. Not sure it’d suit me, spending every night with the town layabouts.”

She winks at Cal as he shambles past to let him know this is a joke. He snorts. 

“Like I’d hire you anyway. Too damn short. Couldn't reach the good stuff.”

“Wasn’t aware you carried the good stuff,” she fires back. Dani, watching this exchange with delight, laughs. Cal raises an eyebrow. 

“Your friend’s pretty. Poor sense of character, to be spending her night with a felon, but there’s no accounting for taste.”

The smile on Dani’s lips dies instantly. Jamie swallows a curse. 

“Yes, thank you, Grandfather Drunkard, I hadn’t quite gotten to that part of the tale yet. Round to make up for it, if you please.”

He has the good grace to look slightly ashamed, patting her on the shoulder as he winds back to the bar in search of clean glasses. Jamie leans back with a sigh.

“Well, it was bound to come up eventually, I suppose. Frankly, probably for the best he spilled those beans before I could lose my nerve and put off telling you.”

Dani’s brow is creased, less like someone horrified by a glimpse into Jamie’s storied past, more like a white knight ready to draw a sword in her defense. Jamie finds herself reaching across the table, glancing over her shoulder, and touching the back of her hand with two cautious fingers. 

“Easy, Poppins, Cal’s a good sort. Our sort, even, if there is such a thing.” It’s a bold stroke, a shot in the dark, but given that Jamie’s already had this woman’s tongue in her mouth, she supposes it isn’t so dangerous to assume. Dani raises her eyebrows high enough to make her laugh.

“He’s--I mean he doesn’t--”

“He’s kind, and he knows the value of a closed mouth,” Jamie confirms. “Says things are better than they used to be around here, but there’s no point courting trouble. Anyway, he won’t say a damn thing when we--if we--”

Cal takes pity on her, delivering a pair of beers and a platter of cold chips, “on the house, as penance for fuckin’ up your evening.” Jamie raises her glass in a salute to his retreating back.

“Did he?” Dani asks. Jamie, glass halfway to her lips, pauses.

“Did he what?”

“Fuck up the evening.” Jamie’s not sure she’s ever heard Dani say the word fuck before, and suddenly feels as though it’s the best single syllable ever to cross her lips. 

“Nah. Not unless you’ve, ah, got a problem with felons sharing your table?”

Lifting her own glass, Dani shakes her head. “Not as a rule. I’d like to hear about it, though. If it’s something you’re all right sharing.”

And so Jamie shares. All of it. It isn’t the plan, exactly, but when she gets started, she finds it increasingly difficult to locate a logical place to stop. To explain the prison time, she first has to explain how a young woman finds herself in such a situation; to explain that, she first has to paint a picture of a particular kind of home life. Before she knows what’s happening, she’s leaning across the table and saying names she hasn’t spoken in years. Telling about the coal mine. The other men. The baby. The burn. 

Dani listens to it all, enraptured, never interrupting with so much as a question. She makes small noises, nods encouragement whenever Jamie falters, takes small sips of her drink when Jamie pauses for breath. 

She doesn’t ask what Jamie did. This, above all else, strikes Jamie between the eyes. She doesn’t ask if Jamie lied, or cheated, or stole, or bloodied anyone along the way (yes, yes to one and all, and if she did ask, Jamie would tell her; they're old scars, the life of someone she feels she barely knows now, and if she’s ashamed, it’s the shame of a distant dream). She only listens, nods, takes it in.

“I figure,” Jamie says when she’s run out of history to unfold between them, “you showed me yours, yeah? It’s only fair.”

Dani raises her glass. “To not being defined by the sins of the past.”

Jamie chuckles, obediently following suit. “To people being the most goddamn exhausting concept on the planet, and trying anyway.”

They drink. They drink, and Jamie thinks, Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’ve exhausted the conversation topics for one relationship already. Maybe she’ll finish this glass and we’ll head back to the house, and that’ll be that. 

“I’ve never done this before,” Dani tells her. There’s something relaxed about her, something Jamie finds new and deeply interesting. Relaxed is the last word she’d generally used to describe Dani Clayton. 

Jamie gestures for Cal, refills following suit in short order. “Been to a pub?”

“Been on a date with someone I...” Dani hesitates. For a split second, Jamie’s sure she’s about to look at someone Jamie can’t sense over her shoulder. Instead, she shakes her head, smiles ruefully. “Someone I felt things for.”

“Things, huh?” She leans across the table, props her chin on one hand, makes a show of tilting her head. “What sorts of things?”

“I think you know.” Dani is blushing. This is maybe the best night of Jamie’s whole life.

“Think you should tell me anyway.”

Dani swats at her, and they’re both laughing with an ease Jamie can’t wrap her head around. It’s one thing to flirt; Jamie’s good at flirting. Comes easy, comes naturally. She’s good at watching for the little buttons in people, the little signs of what makes them laugh, what makes them squirm. Promised herself a long time ago never to use this power for anything less than leaving a room warmer than she found it. 

But this isn’t flirting. Not the way Jamie’s done it before. This is something entirely new, entirely specific to Dani. It’s in the way Dani watches her, eyes too blue, jaw held taut like she’s trying to keep something dangerous from spilling out. It’s in the way Dani lets her fingers linger when she reaches for a chip, allows Jamie to brush against her in a fashion that looks utterly innocent from the outside and feels anything but. 

Jamie swallows hard, liking the weight of Dani’s gaze more than she’s prepared to admit. Liking the way Dani very slowly, very carefully, moves a hand under the table to press against her knee. 

“Bold, Poppins,” she breathes. Dani smiles, so clearly proud of herself and so clearly terrified that it’s all Jamie can do not to lean all the way across and kiss her. 

Best not. Cal’s a good man, their sort, but there are others in the pub now. People who wouldn't take kindly to a sight like that. And this night is going far too well for Jamie to waste where it’s going on a bar brawl.

***

Jamie’s flat is nothing like Dani expected. Admittedly, she isn’t sure what to expect when Jamie drains the last of her glass and gives a knowing glance to the exit. A very small part of her thinks this is all going entirely too well--her hand has been under the table, pressed with a confidence she hadn’t known she possessed to Jamie’s knee, for almost fifteen minutes. Even as her thumb traces small circles into the denim, even as Jamie’s eyes go a little darker, her lips parting in a way Dani finds entirely too interesting, she thinks, This isn’t me, is it? She can’t be feeling it, too. No one has ever understood this. 

Even so, here’s Jamie, standing a little too quickly. Her chair scrapes back, her jacket swung over her arm, and she’s reaching out. Dani accepts the hand, lets Jamie pull her to her feet. A good idea. A bad idea. The kind of idea that will get them out of the public eye in short order, either way, and Dani can’t think of anything wiser in this moment. 

There’s a set of stairs just outside the door, leading up to a second door. Thick brown wood, with double locks Jamie works without really looking. She’s staring at Dani even as her hands move, staring from inches away, and Dani suddenly thinks how good it is, that they came out tonight. How good it is to be away from the house, the kids, anyone else in the world. 

“After you,” Jamie says, pushing the door open with a flat hand and gesturing for Dani to enter. Her voice is a little raw, a little huskier than usual. Dani moves past her, arm brushing arm, and just about jumps out of her skin at the contact. 

The space is small, sparsely furnished, with a curtain hung to break up the room. In one far corner, a tiny bathroom. In the closest corner, a tiny kitchen, barely broken from the living space by a change in flooring. 

Jamie, wearing an expression Dani has not yet learned to decipher, says, “This would be it. The castle, as it were.”

Does she sound embarrassed? Dani can't quite tell. She wants to say there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, this place is small and quiet and somehow perfectly Jamie in its easy nature. There are books, though not many, on a small shelf. There are plants, considerably more, lined up like soldiers guarding Jamie from loneliness. 

“It’s a place to lay my head, anyway,” Jamie says, and that is definitely a touch of embarrassment in her voice. Dani shakes her head, moves to join her at the front door, takes her hand. 

“It’s yours,” she says, unable to clarify quite why that is so special. “Thank you. For bringing me here.”

It sounds better in her head than it does ringing between them in a space so silent, Dani imagines she can hear the echo of her own voice. Jamie is just looking at her, the way she’d looked the night Owen’s mother passed, like if Dani were to give the word, she’d make a move that would light them both aflame. 

She’d been too afraid that night. Was carrying far too much. Even the simple act of touching Jamie at all, of running her thumb across Jamie’s hand, had felt like heroism. 

Now, things are different. 

She’s got Jamie by the sleeves, hands gripping Jamie’s t-shirt just above the skin of her biceps, and this is what going over feels like. This is what it feels like, Dani thinks, to just let go. 

***

Kissing Dani is different here. Back in the greenhouse, Dani had been largely somebody else, Jamie thinks; still Dani, but a version carrying too much on her back. A desperate, hopeful, sorrow-laden Dani who had grabbed at her jacket like it was a life preserver. 

This Dani, sighing and squeezing her arms, feels like freedom. 

Jamie finds herself spinning them both, pressing Dani against the locked door, liking the convulsive way Dani’s hands fist around her shirt sleeves. Liking the way Dani slides one arm around her neck and leans back just a little, just enough to gaze into Jamie’s eyes, and this is almost too much all on its own. No one has ever looked at Jamie while she was trying to kiss them. No one, not even once, has looked at her with such profound affection.

And want. So much want, Dani’s eyes are stormy with it. Jamie’s grinning, but there’s a fist around her heart squeezing so hard, she worries it might burst. 

“All right?” she breathes. Dani could say no. Dani could say no at any time, and Jamie would understand it. Would lean back, comb her fingers through her own hair, offer the bed while she sets up on the couch until the alcohol’s out of both of their systems and the sunrise gives them another chance at it. 

Dani, rather than answering, makes a low sound at the back of her throat and finds Jamie’s mouth with an eager, open kiss that sends Jamie’s pulse through the roof. 

She hasn’t done this before, she’s told Jamie, but she’s coming to it naturally enough. Her lips are soft, parting for Jamie’s tongue, her hips pushing against Jamie’s body in slow, easy motions. When Jamie rakes her nails down her scalp, fingers pulling the scrunchie from her hair, she responds with such a low groan, Jamie has to bury her face in Dani’s neck for a moment to breathe. 

“Sorry,” Dani mumbles. Jamie, shaking her head, laughs against her skin. 

“In no universe, Poppins, are you to be sorry right now. About anything.”

She raises her head, looking for signs that Dani is sorry in a more important way, a way that will say stop, back up, let this go for now. Dani takes her face between trembling hands. Kisses her slowly, sweetly, tongue tracing Jamie’s lower lip like the only thing in the world is to memorize her in tiny, hopeful doses. 

Jamie sighs, one hand buried in blonde hair, the other finding purchase on the sleeve of a too soft, too tearable sweater. She feels too large for her body all of a sudden, too much adrenaline coursing through her system, and every time Dani turns her head just a little, every time she brushes her nose against Jamie’s and makes that tiny, soul-searing little sound under Jamie’s kiss, she thinks she gets a bit closer to plunging off the edge into something she won’t be able to forget about in the morning. 

“You sure?” she asks against Dani’s lips, the words lost when Dani moves an arm around her neck and digs her fingers in hard. She can feel Dani nodding, breathless, and it’s enough. More than enough. Jamie finds she’s walking them backwards, navigating carefully around her small table, her small couch, the shelf upon which she keeps a few precious plants. 

With every step, Dani is kissing her. 

With every step, Dani is tracing shapes into the back of her neck.

With every step, Dani is pushing in close, like if Jamie breaks for even a second, some beautiful, perfect spell will break with her. 

They’re past the curtain now, in the little space where Jamie sleeps and wakes and hasn’t taken anyone since moving in. Dani, forehead pressed against hers, lips swollen, opens her eyes. 

“This is--”

“Not much,” Jamie says. On the one hand, she’s glad they came out tonight, glad she’s getting to hear all the little sounds Dani makes as she’s kissed without worrying about eavesdroppers. On the other, there’s nothing inspiring about her flat, nothing to say Jamie can take care of someone. It’s just walls. Just walls and a couple of plants, and for some reason, Dani is looking around like they’ve walked through a mirror into a land of magic. 

“Anyway,” Jamie says. “We don’t have to--if you don’t want to--”

***

“Don’t you?” Dani’s heart is in her throat, pounding in her wrists almost painfully hard. Jamie, one arm around her waist, leaning back with flushed cheeks and her bottom lip between her teeth, raises her eyebrows. 

“Want to? God, yes.”

Relief, flooding Dani’s body almost hard enough to knock her over. She grips at Jamie with both hands, the slide of dark t-shirt soft under her fingers, and kisses her again. She feels so good kissing Jamie, so good she forgets how nervous she is about the whole thing. Jamie, her hand strong at the small of her back, her fingers brushing just under the hem of her sweater, leans back again. 

“Just don’t want to pressure you into anything. S’all right if you’re not up for--”

"I’ll tell you,” Dani promises. If Jamie keeps doing that with her hand, if Jamie keeps tracing the base of her spine with small, reckless movements, she thinks she’ll go crazy. “If it’s too much. I’ll tell you.”

She pushes gently against Jamie’s chest, feeling bold and brave and absolutely petrified of her own actions, and Jamie lets herself fold backwards until she’s seated on the edge of a thin, clean bedspread. Dani follows her down, knees on either side of Jamie’s thighs, sitting carefully in her lap. 

“Now what?” Jamie teases, even as she’s sliding both hands up Dani’s sides, firm enough not to tickle as she brackets Dani’s ribs and lets the next ragged breath push against her palms. Dani closes her eyes for a beat, swaying, untethered until Jamie tilts her head and kisses her again. All at once, it’s like being caught at the end of a string. All at once, it’s like being handed serenity. 

She realizes she’s moving her hips, rolling them forward against Jamie’s lap, liking the way Jamie’s hands tighten on her body and begin gently pushing her back and forth. There isn’t enough friction to really accomplish anything this way, but it hardly matters; it’s still so much, so much she feels like she’ll come apart anyway. Something this new, a feeling this big, reaching across the expanse of her, consuming her--she thinks she’ll lose something here tonight. Gain something. Tie the two together and be something different come morning. 

She used to worry about that, with him. Used to worry that if she ever gave in, ever tried that one last thing to feel how she was meant to with him, she’d be different the next day. She’d be someone else. 

This is something else entirely--so much so, she almost can’t breathe around the realization. That she will be different tomorrow, and that she will not be less Dani because of it, but more, somehow. Something more Dani than she’s allowed herself to be in her whole life, because it was chosen here, tonight, with Jamie’s hands on her body and Jamie’s mouth under her own. 

***

With Dani in her lap, skirt riding up around her thighs, hips moving restlessly, Jamie thinks for a second they’ve hit a wall. A very good wall to hit, she thinks hurriedly. If this is as far as they go tonight, it’s still worlds past anything she really expected from Dani. 

So long as she doesn’t regret it, doesn’t run from me, I could stay here forever. 

Dani, who has been kissing her for what feels like forever, breaks contact and just looks at her. Her hand, soft and cautious and more certain than Jamie expects, presses against Jamie’s breastbone. Pushes again. Jamie shifts backwards, inching up the mattress, pulling Dani with her until she’s flat on her back with Dani looking down. 

“Up to you,” she says. She likes the simple pressure of Dani’s body atop her own, of soft curve fitting all the spaces where Jamie doesn’t usually think of herself as lacking anything at all. Now, though, knowing what it feels like, how the whole of Dani is pressed flush to her, she wonders if she’ll ever feel complete in this bed again. 

“You still--”

“Want?” Jamie’s lips curve. “If you’re asking, there’s something I’m not doing right.”

“I’m sorry,” Dani says, then seems to catch herself. She sighs, smiles, laughs a little in that dizzy, self-conscious way that breaks Jamie’s heart. “This is...as far as I know. This is...”

Jamie nods, understanding. “You trust me?”

***

Dani is nodding, too, liking the way her body is moving almost of its own accord against Jamie’s. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, hadn’t even realized she was still rubbing lightly against Jamie even as nerves pound through her system. 

“Tell me,” Jamie says in a low, urgent tone. “If anything changes.”

She rolls, then, a quick flash of movement that makes Dani shriek-giggle. From this new vantage point, back pressed into Jamie’s mattress, head on Jamie’s pillow, she feels suddenly so much more intimate than while straddling Jamie’s lap. Doesn’t make sense, she thinks with a thrill of such powerful lust, all she can do is grab again at Jamie’s shirt and hold on. But this is hers, and I’m here, and she’s...she’s...

“Tell me,” Jamie says again, a quiet command that drags soft nails up Dani’s back. She shivers, nodding, and Jamie takes the lead at last. 

***

She hadn’t thought, somehow, about this part. Not in so many firmly phrased words. She’d thought about the shape of it, of Dani in her flat, of Dani in her bed, of Dani kissing her, touching her, but somehow, this part slid away every time it tried to rise in her mind. 

The part of the show where clothes go away. The part of the show Jamie has always liked the most, and the least, at the same time. 

Dani is kissing her when she slides both hands beneath the sweater, easing it up, giving Dani ample time to pull away. Dani, instead, sits up just enough to allow the sweater to rise over breasts, shoulders, head. Jamie drops it off the bed, leans back on her knees, smiles. 

“Is there...” Dani isn’t covering herself, exactly, but there’s a sort of nakedness to her expression that has nothing to do with clothes disappearing. “I mean, am I--”

She leaves it unspoken, a bit embarrassed: right? okay? enough? 

“Perfect,” Jamie tells her. “Absolutely gorgeous.” 

She takes the hem of her own shirt in her hand, waits, pleased when Dani sits up and covers that hand with her own searching fingers. She doesn’t want to go anywhere Dani isn’t willing to take her, and she certainly doesn’t want to deprive her of the small moments that make a first time with someone else so electric. When Dani guides the shirt up over her head, it’s like Jamie’s never done this, either--no woman has ever just looked at her, eyes steady and searching, in a moment like this. 

Women are usually the fast, nervous, lights-off-don’t-talk kind of souls in Jamie’s bed. Touch me, kiss me, don’t look, don’t ask questions, don’t act like you want to be here. But Dani is looking at her with lips parted, hands tracing the lines of Jamie’s neck, collarbones, the dip between her breasts. Her fingers are shaking so hard, Jamie covers them with her own, pulls them to her lips. 

“One thing at a time,” she says quietly. “Anything’s too much, we pull back.”

Dani pulls at her, guiding Jamie’s hands back to work the clasp of her bra, to cover her skin with soft, careful strokes. She arches into Jamie’s hand and whimpers, and Jamie thinks there was no way, no way she could have predicted any of this. Not as it is. Not as Dani is letting it be. 

***

She’d thought, back in the greenhouse, that Jamie’s kiss was enough to drown in. That Jamie’s lips traveling from her mouth to her throat to her ear was enough to drive her wild enough that she’d forget her own name. 

It’s nothing compared to Jamie kissing her now, holding her with gentle hands as she explores every inch of skin she can reach. She is all tongue, all soft bite, all lips on shoulder, on pulse, on everything Dani has never been able to imagine letting someone else even look upon. 

Here, Jamie’s jean-clad legs intertwined with her own bare ones, her skirt rucked high, Dani thinks maybe this is the best it could possibly be. To be in Jamie’s bed, with Jamie’s hand light on her breast and Jamie’s kiss burning hot as she travels lower, as she moves like they’ve got all the time in the world, is maybe the best the world could ever get. 

Every so often, Jamie raises her eyes, and Dani feels something hot and tight clutch in her stomach. Jamie, asking if this is all right. Jamie, sucking a mark into the skin of her belly. Jamie, one hand moving lower so slowly, Dani sort of thinks she’s going to scream. 

***

She’s trying to go slow, trying to take this as easily as she possibly can, but every inch of Jamie is on fire. Part of her is hyper-aware of the reality of the situation: that Dani is nervous, that Dani is special, that Dani is someone Jamie couldn't bear hurting even on accident. And, more: that Jamie’s scar is out on display, that Jamie’s home is out on display, that Jamie is more visible and vulnerable with shirt off and jeans on and mouth pressed to the smooth arc of Dani’s stomach than she’s been in years. 

When Dani takes her by the wrist, she’s sure they’ve gone far enough--that the heat between her own legs will have to wait, that Dani is going to roll off the bed and scramble back into her sweater and away from--

Her hand, wrapped around Jamie’s, slides beneath her skirt. 

Her fingers, wrapped around Jamie’s, guide her to press against damp underwear. 

Her back arches. Jamie groans. 

“Okay,” she breathes, looking up at Dani’s too-blue eyes. “Okay, getting the picture.”

***

She didn’t know. Didn’t have the first idea what this would feel like. Didn’t have even the remotest frame of reference, and if she were anywhere else, if she were with anyone else, maybe she’d still be too keyed-up to find out.

But Jamie is sliding back up the bed, hand rubbing soft, testing circles between Dani’s legs, and yes--she thinks she’s starting to understand at last. 

She kisses Jamie hard, without care of how she looks or being even the least bit smooth, her own hand fumbling toward the zipper of Jamie’s jeans. No time like the present, she thinks with a truly unexpected delight, pleased when Jamie spreads her legs and shifts her hips to help her ease between cloth and skin. 

“Right for it,” Jamie pants in surprise, and Dani is too invested to feel embarrassed. Jamie is soft under her hand, wet, hips jerking to match her clumsy movements. She closes her eyes, concentrates on trying to mirror what Jamie’s doing with her own considerably more nimble fingers. Tries to match her in slow, gentle pressure--then a little faster, as Jamie sucks breath through her teeth--and faster yet, when Jamie presses up in a way she doesn’t fully expect. 

She doesn’t even realize she’s losing control until she’s already halfway gone, her hand tripping and fumbling as Jamie uses two fingers and a series of quick, rhythmic motions to set a pace Dani can’t help but follow with her hips. She realizes she’s rolling onto her back, arching, making noises she’s never heard from her own lips, and Jamie rolls to follow, kissing those noises into muffled joy.

Jamie rides out the spasms with her, keeping her hand exactly where it is, slowing to a gentle rest of fingertips against ruined underwear. Dani’s vaguely aware her own hand is still down Jamie’s pants, no longer moving. She exhales. 

“I--”

“S’all good,” Jamie says, her smile edged with something Dani thinks looks rather smug. “First time. Takes practice.”

***

It doesn’t surprise her, Dani falling asleep soon after. There were some mumbling sounds about reciprocation, about fairness, about wanting to feel Jamie twitch and groan under her fingers--but Jamie, jeans unzipped, feeling rather good about herself, only pulled her in close. Kissed her slowly. Let her fade into a gentle doze against Jamie’s shoulder. 

Good, Jamie thinks, though her skin is buzzing and there is an ache she hasn’t felt in a long time low in her belly. Rest, Poppins. There’s always tomorrow. 

If pressed, she couldn’t say why she feels such pride, such easy pleasure, watching the way Dani sinks into sleep in her arms. Maybe because Dani hasn’t looked like someone with the benefit of a good night’s sleep since Jamie met her. Maybe simply because Dani feels perfectly safe, perfectly notched against Jamie in this small bed. 

Either way, it feels right, Dani’s warm breath spilling across her bare skin. It feels right, even in this dumpy little flat above the only pub in Bly, though Dani is surely too good for a place like this. 

Maybe not for someone like me, though, Jamie thinks blearily, too pleased and too tired to pile upon that idea the weight of a lifetime not being good enough. Past doesn’t matter, not with Dani. It’s different, with Dani. 

She drifts. Tomorrow, they’ll wake to sunlight streaming through thin curtains, and maybe Dani will be a little embarrassed about everything they’ve done--maybe she’ll want to talk about it, or want to pretend it never happened, and Jamie will figure out how to handle the pain of that then.

She falls asleep thinking this is possible--but somehow knowing it isn’t likely. Isn't Dani. It’s too early to know a thing like that, but all the same, Jamie is pretty certain there will be no mortified scramble for clothes, no pushing her aside as Dani runs for the door, no awkward small talk on the ride back to the house. 

She does not anticipate, upon waking, Dani kissing her cheek. Kissing the corner of her lips. Kissing her neck and murmuring, “Morning...” with a question on the end of the word Jamie can’t help but laugh at before she’s even fully awake. 

“First thing, huh?”

Dani smiles at her, the smile of a woman who selected this very date venue not out of any polite curiosity about a small village pub, but because this particular bed existed above it. “Takes practice, you said.”

Jamie inhales sharply as a hand cups very lightly against the front of jeans that feel entirely irrelevant. “I did. Yeah. I definitely did.”

[beeexx]

The missing Tarlos scenes from 2x06

Word count: 4.8    Read on ao3

.......

“You know you need to tell him this, right?”

“No, no, I really don’t.” TK protests loudly, by banging the frozen bag of chickens into the counter, hoping they will shake loose with the excess force he is using. Carlos lifts an eyebrow from where he is standing in boxers and an old tank top, too much skin on display for it to be good for TK’s health, cutting onions into small, stupidly neat pieces on the chopping board. 

“TK….” Carlos begins, in that voice of his and TK turns around, eyes flashing.

“Carlos.” 

Carlos huffs.

“Babe, this is clearly bothering you, and taking it out on our poor dinner isn’t ideal.” He points out.

“Oh, sure Carlos, I’ll just tell my dad that him having another kid is a terrible idea because I’m a prime example of how they messed up with the first one.”

“TK…” 

“Oh and while I’m at it I might as well bring up how I am feeling about it and make it all about myself like I always do, that ought to go down really well.” He snaps and Carlos sighs. 

“You don’t make everything about yourself.” TK lifts an eyebrow and Carlos snorts. “Okay, sometimes you do, but often not without a legit reason and this is definitely a situation I feel you’re entitled to feel whatever it is that you’re really feeling and express that.” 

“Okay, well if we’re on the subject of telling parents what we really think then why don’t you take a page out of your own book and tell your parents that you have a boyfriend, oh, or better yet, the way you’ve been feeling for years about them refusing to acknowledge that you’re gay.” As soon as the words leave his mouth TK regrets them and he winces at the wounded look Carlos sends his way at his harsh words.

Fuck. 

“That’s not the same thing.” Carlos mutters, he sounds bitter about it and were it not for the deeply thoughtful look also making its way across his features TK would take the words back immediately.

“I could have gone about that differently, sorry…. But, but isn’t that exactly the same thing as this is though.” 

“We were talking about you.” Carlos points out in an attempt to deflect and TK just chooses to let it go because he doesn’t have the energy to have an argument about two different things at the moment. His head is enough of a mess as it is. 

“My point still stands, talking to your parents about all the ways they have hurt you is fucking hard, okay?”

“Yes, okay I will agree with you on that.”

“And if you really want to make this all about me this time then fine. Try telling my dad, Owen Strand, Captain of the 126, adored by his crew, envied by even more, hero, cancer survivor, the list could go on for a long time Carlos, yes try telling that person that oh yeah by the way dad you neglected me as a child and now I have both abandonment issues, self esteem issues and a constant fear that no one is ever going to love me because I am not worthy of it, that will go down real well.” 

He hits the bag three more times against the counter and lets out a triumphant sound as the frozen chickens finally rattle loose inside and he turns to hold it up to Carlos, a sly little smile at the corner of his lip, because his tactic did work even though Carlos had doubted it would. Carlos isn’t smiling though, he’s frowning, concern written all over his face, eyebrows pinched together and TK drops the bag in confusion.

“What?”

Carlos puts the knife down and takes the bag from TK, throwing it lazily, without looking in the direction of the kitchen sink before he steps up close, wrapping his arms around TK and pulling him close. TK lets out a huff of air, taken aback by the fierceness of the action. 

“I hate it when you do this to yourself…” Carlos starts and TK sighs, wraps his arms around him back and nods against Carlos’ neck, can’t help but breathe him in, feeling the calming effect of it already working through his system. 

“Sorry.”

“No, no don’t apologise.” Carlos leans back and TK looks up to meet his stormy eyes. He opens his mouth but he isn’t sure what to say. 

“I love you, okay? So much and I wish I could hit that into your thick skull sometimes but I can’t, so I’m just going to have to spend every day in this relationship proving that you are indeed worthy of love and no past damage or mistakes will change that, okay?” TK can only nod, his throat suddenly thick with emotions he doesn’t know how to express.

“With that said, you’re not very good at keeping things bottled up, especially not for a long time and especially not something this big, so you should probably really think about what you actually feel about this whole situation before you choose to do that.”

“Judd said I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah, something about me wanting to push the baby down a well or something because I couldn’t handle not being the only child anymore.”

“He said what now?” TK chuckles at Carlos’ incredulous look and he shrugs.

“It was some biblical reference I don’t know. Prodigal son?” 

“Oh, like Cain and Abel, like a lesser known older brother and the jealousy that stems from it because it’s natural to resent the baby because you’re scared it’s going to take your place.” Realisation dawns on Carlos’ face and his eyes light up like they always do when he gets to talk about things he knows, which at times is a surprisingly big amount of random shit.

“Yeah, yeah, exactly that.” TK says sarcastically, gives Carlos a curious look.

“What? I read.” He shrugs and smirks proudly. TK hums. ”Well Judd is good at a lot of things, maybe giving advice isn’t his forte.”

“And yours is?” TK lifts a challenging eyebrow. 

“I am an excellent advice giver, I’ll have you know. The issue isn’t me, the issue is everyone else and no one listening to what I’m saying.”

“Oh, so you have a lot of experience then, giving advice?” TK bites down his smile as Carlos glares without heat.

“I chased Michelle around for years when she was getting in trouble searching for her sister. I definitely have a lot of experience.” TK chuckles and leans up to kiss his nose. It wrinkles adorably and TK’s heart tugs in his chest. He loves Carlos so much.

“I love you too, so much. And I’m sorry for bringing up your parents again, that wasn’t nice of me.” TK apologizes and Carlos nods and watches back with quiet brown intense eyes.

“It’s okay, you were right though.” He grudgingly admits. 

“Maybe, but there is no pressure, as I’ve said you can take all the time in the world that you need to figure it out and I’ll support you either way.” He promises and Carlos gives him a soft beautiful smile.

“Thanks.” Carlos whispers, grateful and TK nods, and gently starts scraping his knuckles against Carlos’ scalp, pulling at his curls in a way that makes his face soften immediately, eyes falling shut in contentment and his arms tighten around TK, breathing heavily. His reaction tells TK that Carlos feels really comforted by the way he is touching him and that he needed it more than he let on.

TK has always responded well to touch, Carlos picked up on that a lot quicker than most, but it’s also not uncommon for Carlos to like it as well. He just doesn’t always express it, so TK’s taken to doing it when he senses it’s something Carlos needs, while not always being aware of it himself. It’s these small gestures TK’s learnt, that you do for the other person and that they do for you that love really is. 

Carlos’ eyes are closed and he’s letting out soft sounds of pleasure, it’s distracting as hell, and it’s making it even more difficult being this close to him and not kissing him, so TK does because he feels he can’t not do it, and angles Carlos’ head down and captures his lips in a searing hot kiss. As always when they kiss like this, starting out soft, but then growing with intention and heat, the slowburn of arousal starts to make its way through his veins, electric energy flooding his system. Only Carlos has this effect on him. 

When Carlos reaches to grab at his hair and then bites at his lip it makes TK whine and chase after him when he moves back. 

“Dinner, remember?” Carlos reminds him, but with his curls standing up unruly and his pupils dark with want, it’s very hard for TK to remember the reason why he can’t skip dinner all together and eat Carlos out instead. Carlos huffs and his hands tighten around his sides like he can read TK’s mind.

“After dinner.”

“Is that a promise?” TK asks slyly. 

“Yes.” Carlos reassures and the slow self satisfied grin tugging at his lips is fucking obscene and TK cheekily grabs his ass in retaliation. Carlos knows the effect he has on him. 

“You know cooking in boxers can be a fire hazard.” He points out.

“Good thing I know an excellent firefighter then.” He says and kisses TK hard on the lips before he steps away, walking back to his mostly finished chopped up onions, giving TK a very nice view of his ass in the black tight boxers he’s wearing. God, his boyfriend is hot as fuck.

The rest of the evening is so nice in fact that for a moment he doesn’t think about his parents or the baby, or anything other than how much he loves Carlos and how lucky he is to really have him in his life.

…….

TK unlocks the door to Carlos’ place, throws the bag towards what he hopes is the direction of the shoes, and puts his keys down in the bowl by the door, where Carlo’s are already lying. He steps inside and almost jumps out of skin when he sees his boyfriend sitting on the stairs, frowning and very clearly waiting for him. Most of the lights are off and it casts his features into stunning relief, even when angry, Carlos is too good looking for his own good.

“So, you heard?” TK gulps and Carlos nods.

“Yes, yes I did hear, from the group chat, but not just that, every goddamn news station in the state is covering how two firefighters jumped through a minefield to save two boys that were hurt.”

“Well, only one of them was hurt.” TK shuts his mouth when Carlos levels him with a deeply unimpressed look and he takes a slow step forward and tries again.

“In my defense, I am certified and I was qualified to do it.” TK stops, draws in a sharp breath, backtracks. “Are you mad?” 

Carlos lets out a deep breath, and his features soften slightly before he shakes his head, scrubs a hand through his face and when he looks up his eyes are wide and sad.

“No, no, of course I’m not mad. Just extremely worried.”

“Oh?” TK asks, feels confused, scrambling to catch up with the change, having been expecting that Carlos would be upset with him. Carlos huffs and opens his arms and it’s all TK needs for him to take a few steps forward before he sits down between Carlos’ legs, wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him close. Carlos plants a kiss in his hair, and tightens his grip around TK, almost unconsciously starts stroking his hands down his back and TK lets him, can’t push away the guilt that’s come on so strong, mixing badly with the elevation he’s also feeling after the day he’s had. But when his boyfriend reacts like this it can’t help but leave an acid taste in his mouth too.

“I’m not sure whether I want to never let you leave my arms ever again or brag to everyone that I am for sure dating a hero.” Carlos says and were it not for the slight tremor of his voice that he tries to conceal, TK would laugh. 

“I wouldn’t mind never leaving your arms.” He admits because it sounds appealing, especially now, when adrenaline is starting to make way to exhaustion instead. 

Carlos huffs. 

“You’d get bored after a day or two.” He points out and TK shakes his head.

“You underestimate the excellent sex we do have, I’m sure I could be convinced for three days or so.” Carlos laughs, but then one of his hands wrap around TK’s wrist, feeling out his pulse, comforted by the steady thumping of it. TK lets him, allowing himself after the hectic day he’s had to tuck his face into the crook of Carlos’ shoulder and neck to breathe him in. They both have different ways of calming themselves down when the other one is near and on certain days they need it a little more than on others. 

“Your pulse is beating insanely quick.” Carlos points out after a while and TK hums against Carlos’ neck, gives himself a moment before he detaches himself slightly so he can look at him. 

“Adrenaline.” He shows Carlos his hand that’s still trembling slightly and Carlos’ eyebrow pinch in concern.

“I’m sorry -” TK begins because he really does hate it when Carlos is sad but Carlos shakes his head and interrupts. 

“No, no, this is on me. I know you have a dangerous job that sometimes requires that you take risks, I just wish they didn't have to be this big, a minefield, that’s just insane.” TK nods, he understands.

“But also really cool.” He can’t help but let slip out, eyes alive in excitement and smirking. Carlos snorts and pokes his nose, a little hard maybe, but only a little.

“Yes and designed to give me a goddamn heart attack, you know I’m not even 30, by this rate I’ll be going grey before I hit 35.” He points out, gives TK a look that speaks volumes about how offended Carlos seems to be over that. He laughs and reaches for Carlos’ hair, tugging gently on it.

“I think you’d suit grey really well to be fair.” Carlos wrinkles his nose in distaste and it’s so adorable that he can’t help but laugh again and Carlos distaste slowly melts into something much softer and he sticks his tongue out instead like a mature 26 year old that he is. “And if we’re pointing fingers, remember that hostage situation a while back where an office was shot and I thought it was you because you wouldn’t answer your phone?” Carlos winces and he looks momentarily guilty about that because TK had been so fucking worried he could barely even do his job that day and when Carlos hadn’t answered by the time they were both off shift TK had lost it a little bit. 

“Not my finest moment.” Carlos admits.

“No, so don’t go pointing fingers.” But he’s mostly joking even though that day had been scary as fuck, he so very much understands Carlos’ worry today, he really does. Carlos hums.

“How was it then?” He asks and TK bites at his lip, trying to figure out how to word everything. He turns towards Carlos and sits up on his knees, bringing him eyelevel with him and wraps his arms around his neck. Immediately Carlos’ hands come to rest on his waist, his fingers slipping underneath TK’s jumper to trace skin. 

“It was incredible, well the minefield aside which was scary for sure, but after that I’ve been feeling like I’ve been on this incredibly long lasting high ever since.” Carlos lifts an eyebrow at the metaphor and TK shrugs sheepishly. 

“Yeah, but it’s an apt metaphor for the feeling. I guess I haven’t felt good like that in a while.”

“No?” Carlos asks and there is no trace of judgement or anything in his voice, just kind and curious eyes looking at him. TK nods.

“The only other times I’ve felt this kind of high is you know actually getting high and when I’m with you, I guess the job’s been missing that spark for a while.” Carlos smiles and leans forward to plant a kiss on his nose.

“I’m not totally sure about comparing this relationship to a high.” He points out and TK snorts.

“I’m not, I’m comparing the feeling. Being with you is like pure happiness you know? I feel, just, like I’ve never felt before and even when it’s tough it’s worth it because I love you so much and I know deep down that you love me too and I never don’t want to spend my time with you, so yeah, the feeling is addictive for sure. I really just love you.” He goes quiet and Carlos' eyes have softened and he’s met by a look of pure love and a breathtakingly beautiful smile breaks across Carlos’ face before he pulls TK close and kisses him softly and slowly, making TK’s toes curl inside of his shoes. 

“Fuck.” Carlos whispers against his lips. “I love you too, so much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Carlos says with adoring eyes and voice full of love before he runs his hand through TK’s hair and gently pulls him close, kissing him hard on his lips again. It’s TK who pulls back though making Carlos lift an eyebrow in surprise because it’s unexpected for TK to be the one to do this, so before TK can chicken out he blurts out the words.

“But I might have done something stupid…”

“Oh?” Carlos asks, amusement dancing in his eyes like he’s totally expecting it. 

“Yeah, I might have handed in my resume to Vega for the position to become a paramedic.” He rushes the words out, hates the silence between them and can’t help but feel ridiculously nervous all of a sudden waiting for Carlos' reaction. Carlos opens and closes his mouth a few times then shakes his head.

“Okay, wait, I think you need to back up a few steps here so I can follow.” He says, confusion evident in his eyes. But he’s giving TK an encouraging look at TK takes in a deep breath.

“The minefield was not fun and the thought of what could have happened to me and my dad while out there was really scary. I’m not trying to take massive risks anymore, not when I have you to come home to.” Carlos smiles, lovingly, and gives him an encouraging look spurring TK on. “But I knew someone had to get to the kid and with the help of my dad and Vega that I could do something about it, so I volunteered. And the elevation afterwards, that all came from saving the kid. It just… it felt really good to save someone, to be the one to actually do it.” TK confesses loudly for the first time since his shift ended and he in the spur of the moment added his name to the pile in Vega’s office, and saying it makes him feel a little calmer than he has ever since walking off the field. 

“Oh, okay.” Carlos says, not fully understanding yet what TK is trying to say, and yet being so patient with him, waiting for TK to figure it out. 

“I don’t know, I sometimes feel like I’m not doing enough in the field, like I could do more... and while I also know that’s not the case because every day we all go out in the field doing our best together. But I think I’ve been carrying this with me for a while now, it’s just that this year has been a lot, and even when there is a pandemic going on people still forget to turn their stove off, and they get into car accidents or have their cats escape up in trees unable to come down. The world hasn’t stopped, it’s been moving and I’ve been moving with it without having the time to reflect a lot on myself and the job. But today, I don’t know, I felt like something just clicked while out there and when I could really help him...I guess, I really liked doing it.” TK blushes because he’s been ranting and he’s averted his eyes but they move back to Carlos by their own accord and Carlos’ eyes have cleared from all earlier confusion, instead understanding has taken over and he nods his head thoughtfully.

“And that’s why you handed in your resume? Because you want to continue doing it?” Carlos fills in and TK nods biting his lip.

“D-do you… Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“It’s not up to me to tell you what to do babe, but you know what?”

“What?” TK asks, hanging onto every word he’s saying. 

“I think you’d be good at it.”

“Yeah?” He asks, hopeful, and Carlos smiles.

“Of course, you’d be amazing at it, if it’s what you want.”

“It is yes, it’s what I want.” TK says with certainty. It’s just clicked, like all that has been shaking loose and upended recently inside of him finally settle a little more.

“Then yes, it’s an amazing idea. You’re going to be so good.” Carlos grins and TK melts because while he doesn’t depend on Carlos’ approval for this it’s so nice to see him be actually happy for him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Carlos promises and TK releases the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding and his own face breaks into a relieved smile. 

“I think I could be good at it too.” He confesses a little shyly and Carlos beams and pulls TK slightly forward, his forehead resting on his and everything just settles for TK because nothing beats this, nothing beats Carlos. 

“I’m proud of you.” Carlos says and TK can’t bite down the smile. But it falls off his face after a moment and he moves back, looks a little unsure again.

“I might have done something else that wasn’t very smart.” Carlos huffs, lifts an eyebrow, so ever patient with him.

“What did you do now?”

“I didn’t tell my dad…” He trails off and Carlos grimaces but then a look of determination takes over and he shrugs before he gently grasps TK’s face between his hands, stroking a thumb lovingly along his cheek.

“Well, you know what I think?” TK shakes his head. “I think it’s not any of his business really.”  

That surprises TK to be honest and he lifts an eyebrow.

“W-what? I mean really?”

“Yeah, I mean maybe you should have told him before you just went and did it, but it’s your life and not his. And as long as you’re not doing it for someone else then it’s not really his choice to make.”

“I’m doing it for me, it’s what I want.” Carlos’ lip lifts in a proud smile and he nods.

“Good.”

“But, what if he’s not happy?”

“I don’t think he will be unhappy, maybe a little surprised and maybe give him a moment. But if he knows you like I do, then he will realise it’s a good thing.”

“Okay, I hope so.” TK musters up a wane smile, still can’t push away the spikes of anxiety about the conversation he’s going to have to have with his dad. But it can wait, for a little while at least. 

“You know Vega is going to bust your ass right?” Carlos jokes, eyes full of mirth, smirking and TK snorts.

“Yeah, yeah I know.”

“I remember when Michelle started training under her, the stories she would tell me, Vega is badass and she taught Michelle who is also a badass, I’m expecting she’s going to do the same to you.”

“I’m already a badass.” TK reminds him and Carlos chuckles. 

“True, I think she will do you some good though. Challenge you and allow you to really thrive under her, she has that effect on people.” TK nods.

“It’s a tough job…”

“Yeah, but as you said, you’re already a badass, you’re going to do great.”

“It will be nice to be the paramedic, rather than calling one.” TK says and it grows a little more serious between them. 

“I mean -” TK clears his throat at Carlos’ silence. “I have experience of being on the other end and I know what it’s like being helped. I guess a part of me is looking forward to doing the helping.”

“I see, well you care so much about people and if you get a chance to show that, to show them this.” Carlos' hands move to cover TK’s heart and it flutters in his chest, warmth spreading to every cell of his body and he smiles shyly. “Then, well, you’re going to be very good at it.” TK bites his lip and nods.

“It feels… I don’t know, just right.”

“Good, that’s amazing.” TK doesn’t know what to say but he’s grateful, more than how he knows to express at the moment but in the way Carlo’s face softens, maybe he can read between the lines.

“Have you talked to Owen about the baby yet?” TK groans, can’t help but glare, the moment between them broken suddenly, like a bucket of ice cold water has been thrown at him, and he moves his head away, hiding in the crook of Carlos’ shoulder and neck and nibbles at his skin making Carlos chuckle, twitching in his arms.

“No, not yet…” He says though, voice muffled by Carlos’ skin. 

“Well, do you want to talk about it?” TK sighs but takes his head away and meets Carlos’ eyes. 

“I feel… I mean I am happy for them of course but...” He bites at his lip, hard and Carlos reaches forward with his thumb to gently stroke it over the swollen redness making TK stop the action. He takes in a deep breath instead.

“But they always do this, and I don’t even think they are realising it, but they get so single-minded and focused on themselves that they forget everything else. The fighting isn’t fun, I’ve been in the middle of it and I know how lonely and unwanted you can feel when it happens. What they’re doing, it feels like they are just falling into the same patterns as before without even realising that they are, and it’s not going to last if they do it that way.” 

Carlos looks thoughtful and TK feels annoyed and frustrated because he can’t help but think it makes his parents feel so irresponsible and it’s hard to come to terms with that because his parents in their own right are extremely competent people, it’s just when together, they aren’t always. 

“I support you, I always will and your feelings here are valid and to be worried is honestly a sign of growth.” Carlos begins.

“Oh, you're calling me mature, that’s unusual.” TK jokes, changing the subject.

“I mean you’re definitely a hot mess, a terrible terrible driver for sure.” Carlos easily fires back.

“God, did Judd text you?”

“And filmed some of it. This is why I’m never letting you drive my baby.”

“Hold on, I thought I was your baby, and here I find out you have someone else on the side?” Carlos’ arms tighten around him, biting his lip, the smile threatening to take over. 

“What can I say, I really like that car and I paid a lot of money for it.”

“It’s a terrible car for making out in.” TK reminds him and Carlos smirks, reminded of the few times they’ve gotten frisky in it. 

“True, still not letting you drive it.” He teases and TK glares. 

“Rude.”

“Maybe, but I care too much about the possibility of my greying hairs to get here sooner than I’d like to, to get into a car where you are driving us.”

“Well I might be a paramedic soon, so at least you'd be with someone where your odds are fractionally better if you were to get in an accident.”

“Still not letting you drive it Strand.”

“Worth a shot.” TK laughs and Carlos smiles.

“So, do you want dinner or?”

TK shakes his head.

“No, I’m good, but I’m getting too old to sit on my knees like this.” He grumbles and shifts to get the blood running again. Carlos chuckles and makes it all the easier by just scooping him up in his arms. TK yelps and Carlos grins, delighted by the sound. TK wraps his legs around Carlos’ waist, tightens his arms around his neck.

“Please don’t drop me.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it baby.” Carlos reassures grinningly. “So, bed?”

“Bed.” TK agrees.

He lets Carlos carry him up the stairs and into the bedroom, feeling so safe in his arms, that whatever conversation that’s waiting for him tomorrow with his dad, doesn’t matter as much anymore.

[cacowhistle]

do you take walk-ins?

Fandom: Dream SMP Characters: Wilbur Soot & Captain Puffy Word Count: 780

for the love of god, get wilbur some therapy. little study in characterization and a dynamic i really want to see. not long enough for me to warrant posting to ao3.

christ. he’s really fucking doing this.

wilbur takes a deep breath, wiping his palms on his jeans. it shouldn’t be so fucking nerve-wracking--it’s just a building. he’s just walking into a goddamn building. a building that will potentially make him face every godawful thing he hates about himself, but it’s still just a building. and that isn’t really--the building isn’t going to do that. he’s going to do that. he wants to do that.

… he does not want to do that.

wilbur decides he isn’t going to think about it anymore. he knocks on the door, sharply, three times in a row. he hears shuffling behind it, a quiet curse.

“come in!” the captain calls, and wilbur gently pushes open the door.

she’s smaller than he expected. facing a shelf on the opposite wall, reaching up to tuck away some files.

“so sorry, i’ve been a little all over the place this morning,” she says, not looking down. “are you here for an appointment? i don’t think i had anyone scheduled for now, but i can double-check--”

wilbur clears his throat. “do you take walk-ins?”

puffy looks over at him as if she’s about to say something, but freezes when she sees him for the first time in the doorway.

her expression softens a tad, the way it does when she looks at tommy (he’s seen it from afar, and something about it made his chest ache with longing). she nods, sharply, smiling warmly.

“i certainly can. it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, mr. soot.” she holds out a hand to shake. wilbur takes it, managing a small smile back.

“just wilbur is fine,” he says, and puffy grins.

“alrighty then. c’mon in, wilbur.” she shuts the door behind him, nudging him onwards, further into the office.

he’s not sure why he’s so goddamn nervous--he’s not exactly out of his element, this sort of thing is kinda where he thrives. it’s just social interaction--about fucked up things, but still social interaction. he’s good at that. he always has been, whether magically inclined or otherwise.

maybe it’s because he can’t charm his way out of a conversation about deep-rooted trauma. not really. ugh, why is he doing this?

(it’s this or tell tommy or techno or phil. he’s not going to dump all of this on them.)

“i haven’t seen you around much since… well, you know,” puffy says, settling into a chair. wilbur sits down on the couch opposite her, managing a smile that feels more like a grimace.

“yeah, i’ve been, uh. getting used to being alive again.” wilbur laughs, nervously. “you know how it is.”

puffy snorts. “mhm. i’m glad you’re back with us--tommy’s always spoke highly of you.”

his heart warms, at that--even after everything he did, after how he hurt them all, he’s… he’s just glad that he’s not a complete monster, in tommy’s eyes. he’s not sure he’s earned the right to be remembered fondly, but he can’t help but be grateful.

“not sure why,” wilbur admits, glancing down at his hands. “i was kinda awful to him, if i’m bein’ honest.”

puffy hums, softly. “he’s mentioned it a few times. but he believed the best of you up until the end, i can tell you that much.”

“does he come here?” wilbur asks, looking up at her again. puffy laughs, softly, amused.

“if i can wrangle him into one of the chairs for long enough, i try to get him to talk. he’s a stubborn one. maybe try and convince him, for me?”

wilbur can’t help the startled laugh that breaks out of him. “if i can make him listen to me, sure.”

“he listens to you more than anyone else!” puffy looks awfully amused, and wilbur finds that he’s actually smiling, for the first time in a while.

“he’s a good kid,” puffy says, softly.

“that doesn’t even begin to cover it.” wilbur leans back, tangling his fingers in the hem of his sweater.

there’s a moment of quiet where they sit there, puffy giving him a moment to think. wilbur missed tommy so badly it hurts to think about, and he hadn’t even fucking realized it until he’d had the kid in his arms again. why did he ever decide to go the way he did? why didn’t he just fucking stay?

(he knows damn well why. he’d done the most atrocious thing the server had seen by then--god forbid he live with the consequences.)

“i was--i was a shit fucking brother, to him,” wilbur admits, voice breaking. “i regret so much of it.”

puffy’s expression turns a touch sad.

“tell me about it,” she says, softly.

and he does.