#my brother in christ it was 1 day before a holiday | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bqstqnbruin · 3 years

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Always be my plus one

Here we go, y'all. We're ignoring that it's 3:30 in the morning but I'm just yeeting the first part of this into the wild and hoping it goes well. Ignore typos, we all know that everything I post is a first draft.

I need to thank @hockeywocs, @chara-hugs, and @zinka8 (WHY CAN't I TAG YOU) and all the anons who have come into my ask box to help me with this! ily all!

WARNING: some description of child birth

Hope you like it!

Series masterlist

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Part 1: Christmas Day and the day after Christmas

The name for Christmas comes from the shortening of “Christ’s Mass,” a traditionally Christian holiday that celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ to the Virgin Mary and Joseph in a manger in Bethlehem. Although the exact date of his birthday is unknown, around the fourth century the Catholic church fixed the date of this celebration to be December 25th. Other religions and belief systems have similar celebrations around the same time, such as the Winter Solstice, or Midwinter. Celebrations include a mixture of pre-Christian, Christian, and non-secular traditions, such as gift giving, completing an Advent Calendar or Advent Wreath, Christmas music, church services, a special meal with family and loved ones, Christmas trees, lights, nativity scenes, and Santa Claus to name a few.

The day after Christmas, known as Boxing Day in some European countries, is traditionally known as a shopping holiday. In America, this is typically the day when people start to return any unwanted Christmas gifts, stock up for next Christmas on items that are marked down on sale, or see friends that they hadn’t been able to see before Christmas.

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December 21, 2021

“One fifteen means fifteen minutes before I have to clock in. Fifteen minutes before a twelve-hour shift that I’m not ready for and don’t have enough caffeine for,” Anne muttered to herself, staring at her reflection through her car's rearview mirror. “But, fifteen minutes before getting to do something that I thankfully love, something that I enjoy doing.” No matter how long the shift in front of her, Anne had developed a habit of giving herself a pep talk before she got out of her car. “Whatever happens, you’ve helped someone.”

The last part wasn’t always true, knowing that there was the possibility that something could go wrong that she and the other nurses and doctors wouldn’t be able to fix. Lying to herself that everything was going to be ok was the only want to convince herself to go into the hospital every day. Finally mustering up enough courage to get out of her car, she grabs her bag from the backseat, heading in for yet another long day right before the Christmas holiday.

The maternity ward where Anne worked never ceased to be hectic, the miracle of life happening at least once an hour. No matter how much Anne had studied in nursing school, nothing could have prepared her for the stress that could come from the job, the long hours, the potential for something so right to turn so wrong in a minute, the way nothing can go planned since the baby dictated all, the mess that comes with every birth, or the joy that results from a former patient sending her the occasional picture of a baby she helped deliver as they’re growing up.

“Hey, Tyson, come on!” comes from inside the open doors of the building, Anne not paying attention to who it was coming from, causing her to collide with a stranger, spilling her much-needed coffee all over the both of them.

“Shit,” she says, not looking up from the brown splatter on what should be mint green scrubs. “I am so sorry.”

Standing in front of her was a curly-haired boy, about her age, wearing what she was sure was a Colorado hockey jersey. Beyond that, she had no idea. “No, no, it’s my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Let me buy you another,” he offers, ignoring the persistent calls from his friends to hurry up.

Anne checks her watch: 1:19. “It’s ok. I don’t really have the time, I have to clock in in eleven minutes, and knowing the cafeteria or the vending machines, it would take a lot longer,” she says, trying to get by him. Before he can protest, she gets to the elevator that would bring her to her floor, thankful that it was ready to get her there without her having to wait. The doors start to close, only to be stopped by a hand stuck through them, the curly-haired boy with the coffee stain down the front of him getting on the elevator with her. Anne gives him a confused look, begging him to explain why he was trying to make her late for her shift.

“If you aren’t going to let me buy you one now to make up for it, at least let me see where you work so I can drop one off for you.”

Anne rolls her eyes, unamused by the man in front of her as he attempts to flirt with her. “That would be nice, but the chances of me getting it before it goes cold are slim to none, so you need to suggest something else if you really want to buy me a coffee.”

“Let me get your number so I can buy you one when you aren’t working?” he asks, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. 1:25. “I’m Tyson, by the way.”

The elevator dings, signaling that they were on Anne’s floor, opening the door to nurses and doctors running around, expectant fathers who were probably kicked out of the delivery room for making the mom too nervous pacing the halls, grandparents trying to control younger children who had little to no idea what was going on as they waited in the strange building. Anne walks to the backroom to drop her stuff off and clock in, typing her information into the stranger’s phone as he followed her like a puppy, his friend’s texts coming across the top of his screen asking where he went so they could leave.

“I’m Anne, and I’ve got to go,” she tells him, handing back his phone. There was no way he was going to text her, and it’s not like the coffee was that big of a deal to him. She could go to the vending machine down the hall and grab one during her break, or have someone else on their break do it for her if she needed it sooner.

“Can’t wait for our coffee date, Anne,” he says, winking at her before shoving his hands in his pockets and sauntering back down the hallway.

“Who is he?” her coworker, Jess asked, popping up out of nowhere. “He’s hot.”

“In more ways than one, apparently,” Anne jokes, “he’s also wearing my hot coffee on his shirt.”

“You didn’t,” Jess scolds her, turning her around to see the coffee that was spilled down Anne’s own outfit, knowing Anne’s tendency to be a little absent-minded as she gets wrapped up in her own thoughts. “Anne, you did.”

“Not on purpose!”

“DeFormicola?” Anne’s supervisor, Jackson, pops his head into the room just as she was clocking in, “We need you in room 414.”

“Saved by the bell,” Anne teases, walking down the hall to where all the noise was coming from, trying to throw on the appropriate clothing before she went into the room, struggling to get the gloves on as she entered.

“Ok, Erin, we’re going to need you to push,” one of the doctors says, Anne standing behind him as she watched the baby’s head crowning.

This was her favorite part of the job, helping the mother stay calm and trying to make sure that despite the child coming out of her, she was as comfortable as possible. Normally, she would be with the mom as soon as she came in, Erin clearly nervous as to what was going on. They had to be first-time parents, the dad going back and forth to Erin’s side and behind the doctor, looking mortified each time and clearly regretting what he was seeing.

“It’s a boy!” the doctor says, handing the new baby to a breathless Erin.

“A boy! A boy!” the dad yells, going out to the hallway, Erin clearly unamused by whatever antics he was going about.

“Don’t worry, he’s not the first one to do that,” Anne reassures her, knowing that something like that would happen at least five more times during her shift, hearing the father’s voice repeating the phrase. “I’m going to get him cleaned up and then get him right back to you, ok?” Anne asks, reaching for the baby as everyone else around her tries to clean everything else up.

“Be careful with him,” Erin warns, not meaning anything bad by it. She was definitely a first time mother.

“I will be,” Anne tells her, feeling her phone vibrate in her pocket as she does. “So you have a name picked out yet?”

“We were thinking Matthew.”

Anne turns her head, smiling at Erin. “That’s a good name. My older brother is named Matthew.”

Erin smiles at her, the father finally coming back in, clearly overjoyed by the birth of their new baby. Anne hands him back to his parents, Matthew screaming his head off as they get wheeled into another room.

Anne goes over to the desk, sitting down where she was supposed to be for the start of her shift to do paperwork, but the uncertainty in the hour by hour of the schedule was not surprising. She pulls out her phone, ‘Maybe: Tyson’ coming up across her screen.

“He’s already texting me,” she alerts Jess whose head whips away from her computer to look over Anne’s shoulder at what message the mystery man could have sent her.

“He’s horny.”

“Jessica!” she squeals, wishing she was more shocked by what her friend had said. “Why is that always your first reaction to a boy sending a message?”

She shrugs, swiveling back to her own computer, “I’m normally right. What’s he saying?”

“He wants to know when he can buy me coffee.”

“Horny.”

“Enough.”

“You should date him.”

Anne turns to her, clearly unamused by Jess’s need to continue the conversation. “I don’t have to date anyone.”

Jess lets out a long sigh, Anne knowing that she was rolling her eyes. “I’m not saying you have to, I’m saying you should.”

“Ok, I don’t want to date anyone.”

“Oh, come on Anne,” Jess says, getting up and plopping herself on the desk in front of Anne, fiddling with the wire connecting the mouse to the rest of the computer. “You work in a maternity ward where people become parents every day, and you haven’t even thought of finding a man?”

“You don’t have a point,” Anne tells her, not making eye contact with her.

“My point,” Jess says, leaning over to block Anne’s view of her computer screen, “is that you can’t be single forever.”

“Says who?”

“Didn’t you tell me that you were named after the patron saint of the town your grandmothers were from?”

Anne rolls her eyes, knowing where this was going. It was going in the same direction that this conversation always went in when she had it with her mom every single holiday. “All four of us are named after the patron saints of the towns our grandparents are from.”

“St. Anne is the patron saint of child care, grandparents and mothers.”

“She’s also that patron saint of unmarried women, so your argument is invalid, as usual.”

Jess takes in a breath to say something, cut off by Jackson calling for Jess to go into one of the delivery rooms. “Just don’t say no because you think you have to be single,” she advises as she walks away.

Anne leans back in the chair, rubbing her hands over her face. “This is how Christmas is going to go, isn’t it?” she asks herself.

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December 25, 2021

The number of cars lining her parent's driveway meant that she was one of the last ones there, but knowing her aunts and uncles, she wasn’t the last one there. Her parents were the ones who did Christmas Day for her dad’s family, Christmas Eve being the anniversary of her mom’s mom’s death, and, on top of that, Teresa doesn’t talk to her family over some argument and grudge being held over their parent's house.

Scanning the cars, she didn’t see the one belonging to her brother Matthew, or his wife, Stephanie. “I’ll just leave Harper’s gifts in the car,” Anne mutters to herself, trying to juggle as many gifts as she could while also balancing the box of pastries her mom asked her to pick up for dessert.

Without a free hand to open the door, Anne did everything she could to ring the doorbell with her elbow, praying that someone would come to open the door before she dropped anything.

Her younger brother, Sebastian, opens the door, a disappointed look on his face. “What the fuck is all this for?” he asks, taking some of the bags from her arms to lighten her load.

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” she remarks, “Yours is still in my car if you’re wondering.”

“Did you have to get gifts for everyone?” he asks, Anne greeting her aunts and uncles on the way to the tree to put everything down for later.

“Well, it’s Hazel’s first Christmas," she explains, referencing their sister's youngest daughter, "So getting her something and not getting the other children something seemed wrong, and then Jessica took me shopping and kept saying things like ‘oh this would be perfect for Lucy,’ or ‘oh don’t have you an aunt who likes mystery novels?’ And everything went downhill from there.”

Sebby groans, walking with Anne back out to her car to retrieve the rest of the gifts, Anne still holding the box of pastries since they hadn’t made it to the kitchen yet. “Please tell me you didn’t get Aunt Lisa that Agatha Christie illustrated novel that the bookstore was selling.”

“Please tell me you didn’t get Aunt Lisa that Agatha Christie illustrated novel the bookstore was selling,” Anne laughs, Sebby nodding his head. “I got a gift receipt.”

“What did you end up getting Matthew?” he asks her. Anne had texted Sebby in panic on Black Friday, coming home from a day of shopping with Lucy that left her without a gift for Lucy’s twin brother.

Grabbing the rest of the gifts and handing them to Sebby, she closes the door to her car and starts to go back inside. “I found this ‘make your own wine’ kit that I think he would like. That way Steph doesn’t have to listen to him complaining about how the stuff she drinks is ‘too sweet.’”

“What about for me?” Sebby asks, nudging Anne with his elbow as they arrange the rest of the gifts in the already mountainous pile under the tree.

“Oh, I knew there was someone I forgot,” she says sarcastically, Sebby ripping the bow off one of her carefully wrapped presents and throwing it at her. “Ok, now I’m never getting you a gift again.”

Sebby laughs, helping his older sister off the ground. The two of them wander into the kitchen, slipping in unnoticed due to the sheer number of family members and noise that was filling the room. “Aunt Anne! Aunt Anne!” Harper and Skylar squeal in unison when her nieces spot her, hoping that either she or Sebby had grabbed Harper, Matthew, and Stephanie’s gifts. She didn’t think there was anything left in her trunk.

“Hey there, fireflies,” Anne greets them, bending down as they both kiss her on the cheek. “Guess what? Santa stopped by my place and left some gifts for you, but he made me promise that you two were really good today if you want to open them after dessert, ok?”

The two girls nod excitedly, bouncing up and down at Anne’s words. To still be young and believe in Santa, that must be nice.

“Hey, ma,” Anne finally finds her mother, putting down the box of pastries in front of her and kissing her on the cheek. “Upstairs or downstairs fridge?”

“It goes downstairs. Come on, I have someone I want you to meet,” her mother says, dragging you away from your aunts that had aggregated around her. They all had excited looks on their faces, something that instantly worried Anne as she followed her mother down the stairs with the box. She could hear Matthew and Lucy’s voices, knowing that her brother and sister’s wife and husband had to be down there with them, too. “Matthew told me about this friend of his who couldn’t make it home for Christmas,” her mother whispers before she got to the last step.

“Mom, no,” Anne says, already knowing where this was heading. “I told you: I don’t need a boyfriend.”

“But I don’t have a grandson,” her mom whines, shaking Anne’s hand in her own against her chest.

“How is that my fault?”

“If you just find a nice boy, and get married, I just know you’re going to be my child that has a boy.”

“Oh my god,” Anne groans, pushing past her to get to the fridge.

Teresa pulls Anne over to the couches where her siblings were, Lucy sitting on one with her feet in Jason’s lap, Jason’s hand lazily rubbing his wife’s shins. Matthew was on the other, Stephanie nuzzled against his shoulder, all four of them with a glass of wine and three bottles open. Next to Matthew was a guy sitting there awkwardly, straightening his back when he saw you while Sebby tried to contain his laughter as he sat on the floor. “Jeremy, this is my youngest daughter, Anne. Anne, this is Jeremy,” she introduces the two of them before running up the stairs.

“I do have a girlfriend, actually,” Jeremy says, “So I’m sorry.”

Anne and her siblings burst out laughing, Lucy pouring her sister a glass of wine. “If only this were the first time Ma tried to set Anne up with a guy who was seeing someone.”

“I even tried to tell her that but she didn’t listen,” Matthew adds. “It’s better than when she tried to set you up with Adam,” he says, referencing Lucy’s partner at their optometry practice.

“Yeah, his husband wasn’t too thrilled by that potential match,” Sebby says.

They all keep talking, Anne just sitting and listening to them reminisce about all the people their parents had tried to set her up within their desperate attempt for her to no longer be single. It didn’t help that the last time she listened to them about dating was Andy, the boy who cheated on her when they got to college. Apparently going to school half an hour from each other wasn’t enough for him to keep up their two-year relationship instead of shoving his tongue down multiple girls throats before doing god only knows what else.

“When do you think they’ll stop trying to set me up with someone?” Anne finally pips in, accidentally cutting off something Jeremy was saying as she stared at the wine she was swirling in the glass.

“When you get a boyfriend,” her siblings say in unison.

“I hate all of you for doing that,” she laughs. “But, seriously, why is it so important that I have a boyfriend?”

“Oh, you know your mother,” Jason says, putting his glass down on the floor. “She saw what Lucy and I had and then wanted that for all her children.”

Lucy playfully shoves him, kissing him as Anne and Sebby groan. “She just wants you to be happy, and to her and dad, happiness is marriage and a family.”

“Where am I going to meet someone if I go to work or here where they try to bring in non-single non-potential suitors?” she asks, looking over at Jeremy. “Sorry.”

He shrugs, not able to get a word in before Matthew starts, “What if you met someone at work like how Steph and I met?”

“Yeah because there are so many single men walking around the maternity ward,” she says, her phone buzzing in front of her. “What about you, though, Seb, how’s Collins?” Anne asks, changing the subject.

“Eh,” he shrugs, his eyes wandering to Anne’s phone screen, “I’m not sure we’re going to last to graduation.”

“What?” Lucy squeals, causing Jason to jump as she threw her legs out of his lap. “I thought you said she was ‘the one’?”

Sebby looks down at his glass, a stupid smirk on his face. “Nah, that changed. She doesn’t want me to go to law school in Boston, she wants me to stay here or move to California with her.”

“But the adventure of moving with your girlfriend to another state!” Matthew offers, Stephanie rolling her eyes.

“Matthew, not everyone needs adventure like you do, hon.”

Anne’s phone buzzes again, a reminder that she had a text waiting for her. Picking it up before Sebby can see who it is, ever the nosy little brother, she sees a message from Tyson popping up as they continue their conversation about Sebby’s love life and Anne’s lack thereof. . They had only been texting for a few days since their encounter at the hospital, but every time his name came up she couldn’t help but smile, lifting the wine glass to her lips to cover it in hopes of her siblings not noticing.

How’s your Christmas been so far?

A simple ‘eh’ as a response was all that she needed to send. It could be worse, but her mom trying to set her up with a guy with a girlfriend was definitely not something that made for a good Christmas. The only thing that could be worse is if their dad came home early from the flight he was on with a guy he picked up in whatever country he had to go to that prompted him to miss the holiday. Normal dads who had to travel would bring their kids back little trinkets or a postcard, but Anne wouldn’t put it past Tony to borderline kidnap someone from the plane he was flying and bring them home for Anne.

Tyson’s contact comes up again, an incoming call that prompted Anne to step away so she could answer it. “What’s up?”

“You said your Christmas was ‘eh.’ What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story,” she groans, pressing her back up against the fridge.

“Well, what if I have something that might make it better?” he flirts.

“Oh? Like what”

“What if I said I’m 100% free to buy you that coffee any time tomorrow, since I know you said you didn’t have work, and you can tell me about Christmas then?”

Anne hears her siblings laugh not ten feet away, praying that they couldn’t hear her conversation. Taking in a deep breath, she knew that her cheeks were turning pink at his words. “Sure, that sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks, walking back over to join her siblings.

“I’ll text you details,” he tells her, hanging up.

“Oh, my god,” Lucy yells, interrupting their conversation. “Anne was talking to a boy.”

“What the hell? What makes you think that?” she asks.

“Your cheeks are red," Lucy says, prompting Anne to raise her hand to feel the heat radiating from her face, "Who else would you be seeing tomorrow?” her sister eggs on, her eyebrow raised since she knew she was right.

Anne tries to find her words, unable to think of a name that wasn’t a guy's name to blurt out.

“Is it Tyson?” Sebby asks, Anne’s unlocked phone in his hand.

“You jackass!” she yells, lunging at her brother to try to get her phone back.

Teresa’s footsteps sound down the stairs, her poking her head between the gap in the stair rail and the steps themselves, Anne and Sebby looking like a deer in headlights when they see their mom. “I was coming to say that dinner was ready, but what’s going on here?”

“Anne has a boy she wasn’t telling us about,” Sebby blabs, earning an ‘I’ll kill you’ look from Anne.

“Oh! Annie!” their mom squeals, running down the stairs to pick her up off the ground and hug her. “Why didn’t you tell us about him?”

“I, uh,” Anne starts, still not sure what to say.

“You have to bring him to New Year’s Day at Uncle Vince’s house,” she tells her, the rest of the siblings following Anne being dragged back up the stairs for dinner, her mom announcing that Anne had a boyfriend when she, in fact, didn’t.

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December 26, 2021

“So, are you going to tell me why your Christmas was only ‘eh,’ or am I going to have to guess?” Tyson asks, setting down two cups of coffee in front of them. Tyson had asked Anne to meet him at a small coffee shop that was within walking distance of her apartment, thankful that she didn’t have to drive through Denver on the day where everyone was returning anything unwanted, like her Aunt Lisa returning one of the copies of the Agatha Christie novel that her and Sebby each got her.

Anne groans, the images of last night’s dinner flashing through her mind. “Can we talk about something else, first?”

“Fine,” Tyson says, taking a long sip of the coffee, “What did you get for gifts?”

She raises her eyebrow at him, Tyson mirroring her expression except with a goofy grin on his face. Rolling her eyes, she starts listing off the stuff she got: “My parents got me a new attachment for my KitchenAid stand mixer since my younger brother, Sebby, broke it last time he was over and a voucher for a flight anywhere in the country like they do every year, um, some gift cards from my aunts and uncles, my nieces all did their best attempts at drawing a portrait of me, Sebby told me he was going to come over and make dinner for me, which scares me because he can’t cook, Matthew and his wife got me some books they thought I would like, and Lucy and her husband got me this bracelet,” Anne tells him, extending her arm out to show him.

“I have so many questions,” Tyson starts.

“I might have answers,” Anne tells him, raising her cup to him.

“How big is your family?”

“I’m the third of four, Lucy and Matthew are twins and are about five years older than me, then Sebby is a year younger than me. Lucy has two daughters and Matthew has one. My dad has two brothers; one older, one younger. The older one has three kids, the younger has two and then three grandchildren.”

“Mom’s family?”

Anne looks down at her coffee. “I’m the only one who talks to anyone on that side of the family. My mom and her brother got into a fight when their parents died over what was left to them. My uncle has two daughters and two granddaughters.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking between the coffee and Anne.

She shrugs, not really bothered by it at this point. “It’s whatever. I talk to them because I want to, so it’s fine. What other questions do you have, though?”

“The ticket voucher?”

“Yeah,” Anne laughs, “Our dad is a pilot with Southwest Airlines, so every Christmas they give us a voucher to fly anywhere we want. They say they want to make sure that we take time for ourselves, but I think Dad gets some sort of bonus for every voucher he buys.”

Tyson throws his head back laughing. It wasn’t that funny, but seeing him so happy, Anne couldn’t help but smile back at him. “What about you, what did you get for Christmas?”

“My mom and sister flew down and basically restocked my kitchen for me.”

“Ok, that’s a great present, though,” she says. “Where was your dad?”

The smile from Tyson’s face fades, not looking up at Anne. “I never knew him. My mom and grandmother raised me.”

“Oh, Tyson,” she says, reaching out for his hand. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

He shrugs, a forced smile on his face. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything, I don’t think. My mom and my grandmother are the reason I am who I am. I wouldn’t give that up or change it.”

The two of them sit there, Anne trying to think about how many times she helped deliver a baby when the father was nowhere to be found. She normally figured they were busy or just not in the delivery room, not being there all together was something she couldn’t even begin to imagine. “But enough about me. Why was your Christmas ‘eh’?”

“My family has it in their heads that I need a boyfriend,” she admits, Tyson smirking at her words. “And my brother saw your texts coming up on my phone and being the asshole that he is, announced that I was texting a boy, so now, I need to find someone to bring with me to my uncle’s house on New Year’s Day that I can pass off as you.”

Tyson gives her a confused look. “Why wouldn’t you just bring me?”

Anne sits there, a shocked look on her face. “Because they think ‘Tyson’ is my boyfriend, and you aren’t?”

“So we pretend. They don’t need to know,” he shrugs, acting like it was no big deal.

“That would never work,” Anne dismisses him.

“Why not? You don’t think I’m a good actor?” Tyson whines, acting insulted at Anne’s words.

She scoffs, “Ok, one, hockey players are never good actors, and two, Sebby or Lucy are bound to figure out that you are not my boyfriend. Sebby wants to be a lawyer so he analyzes everything and Lucy is just this perfect anomaly of a human who would be bound to figure it out.”

“I think I can play your boyfriend for New Year’s Day,” he says, confidence dripping in his voice.

“No, I can’t have you do that.”

The maternity ward where Anne worked never ceased to be hectic, the miracle of life happening at least once an hour. No matter how much Anne had studied in nursing school, nothing could have prepared her for the stress that could come from thhe job, the long hours, the potential for something so right to turn so wrong in a minute, the way nothing can go planned since the baby dictated all, the mess that comes with every birth, or the joy that results from a former patient sending her the occasional picture of a baby she helped deliver as they’re growing up.

#tyson jost #tyson jost imagines #tyson jost fic #tyson jost oc fic #colorado avalanche #avalanche #nhl #colorado avalanche imagine #avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagines #tyson and anne

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years

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OHHHH BANNELBYYY

Banshire my beloved, I have more dead birds for you uwu

Murder "Mystery" AU but there aren't actually any murders.

Rachel goes to Jekyll's office to get permission to go on a holiday to spend time with her brother. Jekyll signs off on it, then is very exasperated as Lucy breaks in through his office window to 'kidnap' Rachel. He tells the two to stay out of trouble as Rachel, laughing, is pulled through the window and heads off to go hang out with her sister in law.

Thing is, the Lodgers never saw Rachel leave Jekyll's office. They grow suspicious when she isn't around, and when Jekyll tells them she's spending time with family, they think it's a cover up. They start trying to catch him in the act, catch him slipping up. Finally, Jasper just goes to Henry's office and blurts out that everyone thinks he killed Rachel and did he kill Rachel?? Henry is appalled for approximately three seconds before realizing, hey, the Lodgers have been massive pricks lately, he deserves to mess with them.

Two routes then occur:

1. Jasper is the first 'victim', of course, as Henry immediately explains the situation to him, then asks if he wants to help him mess with the Lodgers. Jasper says yes because honestly the amount of werewolf questions he's been getting has gotten on his nerves. No one sees Jasper leave his office, and so they think he killed him.

This continues to happen. Everytime someone gets brave enough to just ask, he explains the situation, asks if they want to join, and of course they do because they love pranks, someone annoyed them recently, etc. He even gets Robert in on it, having 'secret conversations' to make it seem like Robert is being blackmailed to keep quiet about it.

Helsby is the last, and when he breaks into Jekyll's office, they all dog-pile him and laugh as he gets pissed and starts wrestling with the nearest Lodger. They have a little celebration for Jekyll 'getting away with murder'. It becomes a Halloween game at the Society, like a game of Clue, with a new 'killer' every time.

2. Henry explains the situation to Jasper, then asks him not to tell the others. He wants them to get the guts to confront him themselves. Jasper agrees, but holding a secret makes him skittish, and so everyone thinks clearly he saw something messed up. Paranoia grows and grows, but no one ever comes forward. Then someone gets injured and Jekyll is the only one around, who treats them and then says they should probably go to a hospital for better care or stay in their room, etc. Again, the Lodgers all think Jekyll has struck again.

In the end, right as the Lodgers are ready to mob Jekyll, he opens the front doors to welcome Rachel home from her trip. The Lodgers are stunned, then Henry whips around and shouts, "I cannot BELIEVE you all thought I had KILLED RACHEL!!" Rachel is confused. Henry is scolding. The Lodgers are bashful. He will never let them live this down, and every year after on the day of Rachel's trip he spends the day gleefully reminding everyone 'hey remember when you all thought I killed Rachel and no one went to the police or investigated or anything?'

Ok first of all; Bannelby and Banshire????? I love those nicknames. I love that you are throwing nicknames at me. I love it.

SECOND OF ALL JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I LOVE THIS

Im super tired rn BUT I HAVE TO ANSWER THIS ASAP;

I love the thought of Henry realizing that the Lodgers think he is killing them off and I love the thought of him making it into an actual game and getting people in on it. I love both routes. I love the routes where all the Lodgers get in on it until only Helsby is left and they get to bond and have fun and it becomes a tradition in the Society, maybe even long after the original lodgers/henry is gone and the society continues it becomes a tradition for the new lodgers and new leaders, after the fact that the original lodgers thought Henry murdered the day manager. I just love that thought so much.

The second route??? Where Henry is just. Absolutely ignoring them, silently telling the Lodgers to face him instead of hiding like cowards? Jasper being in on it but his skittishness making him nervous and giving him away? The thought of no Lodger daring to face Henry, only for Rachel to come back, the Lodgers being confused and stunned, Henry closing the doors behind Rachel and then IMMEDIATELY roaring at the lodgers that he cant believe they would be so dumb to think he killed RACHEL of all people???????????????? I just.... Man. And he WOULDN'T Let it down. He would remind them every year, every single year without fail, "hey, remember when you, i dunno, were so scared of me and the thought of me murdering Rachel that you didn't even go to the police about your suspicion??"like duh, he doesnt want the police after him, but cmON-

I like how, for all my other aus, everyone is "ok, how can we make sure everyone dies or lives a painful life?" but with this au everyone is "how can we make this as fluffy as possible?" ASKHASD

#ASASDJHASDAHSJDASD #Jeks i love u /p <3 #ask #murder ''mystery'' au #banshees au #thejeksburyguy

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jemej3m · 4 years

Note

Yo. Yo. Yoo. A Highschool musical au. Yeah you heard me.

bruh cross clique relationships are my jam

pt. 1? maybe

When they’d first met, Neil had been hiding from everyone else on the roof of the ski lodge. Wymack had brought him on holiday and encouraged him to join in with the teen party going on in the karaoke lounge with Dan and Kevin, but he’d taken one look and noped the hell out.

Curled into a ball, he had never expected his angsty teenage silence to be broken by another short, bad-mannered boy, equally as distasteful of loud gatherings and soda-stupid teenage shenanigans.

There had been something very familiar about him, like Neil had seen him before.

He also had a pack of cigarettes.

Neil had yearned for one, like he yearned for his mom, and Andrew had asked for his name in exchange for the lighter. They’d sat in silence, letting the dulled sounds of music and cheers wash over them like a particularly persistent draft.

When Neil flinched away at the first pop of the fireworks, Andrew had frowned. And when Neil had explained they sounded too much like gunshots, Andrew gave him his number, scoffing at Neil’s old flip phone.

Then he’d proceeded to bitch about his cousin, the one who had dragged him and his twin brother on a ‘bonding’ trip, and was then forcing him to move across the country so they could all live together. it distracted Neil from the gunfire overhead: whether or not that had been Andrew’s intention, Neil thought he’d never know.

He assumed he’d never see Andrew again.

But then school started up again.

Guess who was the new kid?

Andrew didn’t think that high school movies were actually grounded in reality till he moved to Palmetto State high. But the minute that he walked in through Palmetto State High’s front doors, he was instantly proven wrong.

Aaron, who had already done his freshman year and half his sophomore year here, seemed unfazed. He was a generally unfazed person, expect when Andrew purposefully ignored him and then smashed his ass at Mariokart. Then he’d lose his temper but ultimately be angrier at himself, because he didn’t want to be anything like his mom had been.

Andrew never had the chance to meet Tilda. She’d died just before they met: her will was the only reason that Aaron had found out about Andrew in the first place.

Aaron shoved his glasses up his nose and neatly ducked past a set of boisterous jocks who were bouncing a basketball to one another.

“I already hate it here,” Andrew muttered, following after his brother.

“It gets worse,” Aaron sighed. “Wait till you see the Exy jocks. The cheerleaders are - ” his face screwed up for a second. “Not all bad.”

“What are you?”

“We,” Aaron insisted. “Are nerds. Did you think you’d be able to escape the fact that we’re identical?”

“I’m not a nerd,” Andrew muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the bracelet he wore. Bee had given it to him as a parting gift: it was the solar system, to scale, with the space between the planets made out of carbon fibre.

“Are you kidding? The only thing you moved in with was a box of books.”

“Whatever.”

They brushed by the office, Aaron ignoring the freshman’s offer to take Andrew on a tour of the school. Her name-tag read Robin and she was clearly unfazed by their complete disregard of her presence.

“History first,” Aaron huffed, squinting at Andrew’s timetable. “Good, we’re together. History sucks: we have Mr Moriyama, and his shitty nephew Riko is in that class too.”

“What’s so shitty about him?”

“You’ll see.”

Fantastic, Andrew thought. The day was shaping up to be an absolute nightmare.

“Mr Minyard,” drawled a nasally man who lingered by the door. When he saw Andrew, his eye twitched. “And Mr Minyard. So the attendance sheet wasn’t an error.”

Aaron just muttered something under his breath and dragged Andrew by the sleeve. The tables were set up in spaced-apart rows, but the back was already claimed by a group of delinquent-looking attention vacuums. The others were all crowded around one boy, who had his feet kicked up on the table in front of him and an uncanny resemblance to the history teacher.

He looked between Andrew and Aaron and sneered. Before he could open his mouth to say something, his uncle clapped his hands and called the class to attention.

Just as Mr Moriyama was about to start the lesson, what could only be described as the human embodiment of disaster.

When Andrew recognised him, his cheeks went red.

“Mr Josten,” Mr Moriyama said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How is it that you are always late to my class, when your brother’s already here?”

The brother in question looked nothing like Neil. He was taller, paler, with black hair and green eyes. He was also glaring at Neil, like that was going to make a difference.

“My bad,” the red-head shrugged.

“Detention,” Mr Moriyama said.

“I have practise,” Neil retorted. And - oh, god, he was a jock. A smart-mouthed sporty boy. Fuck. Andrew thought he’d never see the boy from the rooftop again, but here they were, sitting in the same history class.

“Should have thought about that before you were late,” the greasy man sneered, sending Neil on his way. Neil slumped his way past the desks till he saw Andrew sitting behind his brother, eyes widened with shock.

Andrew, involuntarily, found himself giving Neil a small salute. Neil’s lips quirked up as he slid into his chair, letting the first lesson of the day finally begin.

Neil jogged into practise late. This wasn’t surprising to anyone, least of all Wymack, who was leaning against the plexiglass with a knowing frown.

“Could you stop antagonising Mr Moriyama’s own nephew in his class?”

“In my defence,” Neil admitted. “Today’s detention was because I was late, not because I accidentally spoke my thought about Riko out loud instead of reciting them in my head.”

“Get on the court, you little shit,” he said, though not without fondness. Neil had been adopted by the Exy coach at the end of his freshman year, when he’d figured out why Neil was breaking into the changerooms to sleep.

He jogged up to Kevin, who was less than impressed as he stood by the goal.

“What the hell, Neil?”

“The only reason I was so late was because Gordon still hasn’t forgiven you for getting him kicked off the team and he likes to hang around my locker to take it out on me!”

Dan, Wymack’s other adopted child and team captain, was standing nearby and laughing. “Don’t try and flip this on Kevin: you just like picking fights with Seth.”

Neil grinned at her. “It’s so easy.”

“Oi!” Wymack called out. “We running drills or not?”

When he saw the blonde head of hair bobbing up and down, Neil’s grin faltered slightly. He was still in shock that Aaron had a twin, that the twin had moved here, and that twin had been the exact person Neil had met on the roof of the ski resort a few weeks ago.

No wonder he’d found Andrew’s face so familiar. He was truly an idiot for not picking up on it.

Andrew sat down, high in the bleachers. Neil felt a strange prickle at the back of his neck, like he had when they’d talked for hours up on the roof.

Practise went too fast after that. Neil stayed behind to help his coach pack up, Kevin and Dan bickering about plays as they went off to the showers.

Coach went off with the equipment, giving Andrew a cursory glance. Perhaps he recognised Aaron’s face: the boy had nearly done tryouts for the team at the start of freshman year but chickened out.

Neil skipped the steps, leaping up three at a time. Andrew was lounging on the bleachers, head cocked to the side.

“So,” Neil said. “You never mentioned that you were moving to Palmetto.”

“We were in a random Colorado ski lodge,” Andrew rolled his eyes. “What were the chances?”

“Clearly high enough.” Neil perched on the seat beside him. “So, Aaron’s brother, huh?”

“Obviously.”

Neil grinned. “Give me some slack: it was dark. I suppose you’ll be following him around, at first?”

Andrew just shrugged. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Do you like Exy?”

His eye twitched. “I’ve played before. Why?”

Neil felt his grin widen. “You should try out.”

Andrew crossed his arms over his chest. “Aaron says I’m doomed to be stuck with the nerds, so long as I look like him. Apparently that’s a big deal here.”

Neil faltered slightly. “Well, yeah. Everyone kinda sticks to their own. I’ve always wanted to join the Olympiads, but they’d never let me on the team. I’m good at math and physics, but I’m on the Exy team. They don’t associate with jocks.”

“Olympiads,” Andrew mumbled. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hey!”

“This entire school is a disaster,” Andrew said, notching a cigarette between his lips and spun the lighter between his fingers. “I don’t give a shit about their stupid cliques.”

Neil felt something warm in his chest. He’d always felt the same. “Careful. If Riko thinks you’re kicking up dust, he’ll retaliate. He likes to think he owns the place and prefers that everyone just sticks to their own.”

Andrew trotted down a few steps before looking back over his shoulder at Neil. “Well, he can just get in line.”

Huh, Neil thought, when he couldn’t get Andrew’s smirk out of his mind for the rest of the day. This is new.

gosh, teenagers r so melodramatic

@filteredred don’t call me out on hypocrisy

#andreil #aftg #andrew minyard #neil josten #high school musical au #the foxhole court #jock/nerd trope #very cute very nice #i was going to make it longer but i also wanted to get smth out because i havent posted writing in a whlie #so here ya go #the foxes #david wymack #fluff

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arse-crack-thistle · 3 years

Text

gifts

rwrb and the five love languages | part two

in which june struggles to have a nice valentine’s date with nora

June never expected to care this much about a stupid holiday like Valentine’s Day, but here she is, practically renovating the apartment to give her girlfriend a perfect night. She strings LED lights around the entire living room ceiling and uses Command hooks to drape the sheer, white Ikea curtains she bought on sale months ago in preparation for this. The lights glow pink through the curtains, making the usually neutral-toned living room appear like Aphrodite’s palace. June’s moved the coffee table into her room and replaced it with a fluffy blanket and a picnic set-up to rival TikTok lesbians. All she needs now is Nora, if only she weren’t stuck at school.

The texts say, Will be late! Data mining for the gods! [Monet X Change gif] I want to be home with you though. Will bring noodles! And chocolate! Scratch that, I ate the chocolate. Sorry.

June knows she shouldn’t be annoyed because Nora has no idea what she’s coming home to. She also knows who she got into a relationship with—a brilliant mind that’s constantly moving parsecs a minute and has a hard time communicating her feelings. June has to remind herself that Nora loves her even if she doesn’t always show it.

That’s what tonight is for. It’ll give them time to slow down and just be together. Break the routine. Talk or not talk. She doesn’t expect it to be mushy or obnoxious—June isn’t a super, flowery romantic herself—but she does want another sentimental moment to hold onto forever.

Like the night of the 2020 election over a year ago. After Alex and Henry slipped away and everyone else was celebrating in their own groups, Nora pulled June into a storage closet at the venue and kissed her point blank, leaving no questions in her mind that their dabbles the months before meant something more than spectacular.

Or like six months ago when Nora asked her if she wanted to move in with her. She didn’t do anything particularly special, but she slammed her laptop shut while June was throwing on one of her sweatshirts and asked her to stay—to take the second bedroom because Nora needs space sometimes—but to stay with her because she was her favorite person. June answered with a happy “yes,” and Nora got up and kissed her. They didn’t talk much more about it; June just packed up her room at the White House and let the world think they were very best friends.

June pours a glass of wine and waits on the couch, flipping through social media. A few hours ago, her brother posted a picture from the Valentine’s gala he and Henry threw for the London queer youth center. Alex, Henry, Bea, Catherine, and even Philip and Martha hold champagne flutes with cheeky smiles on their faces. The POTUS account has a sweet yet posed picture of her mother and Leo. She likes everything she sees, from the various celebrities she follows to the photos she’s tagged in by fans. The time on her phone reminds her Nora’s now over an hour late.

She texts her, Home soon?

Ten minutes later her phone dings. Need more time. Almost done!

You are aware it’s Valentine’s, yes? And that we had plans?

Yes!!!! But flexible plans, right? Not like we can’t eat noodles and make out later. Will leave soon though. Promise.

I got food covered. Just get home please.

June sighs. She thought she made it clear this morning that they deserved a night with no distractions. God, they need to talk; she’s afraid to, but nothing will get better if she doesn’t say anything and if they don’t try.

The charcuterie board spread she copied off of Pinterest has been sitting out for a while so she moves it from the floor to the fridge. “Soon” for Nora could mean an hour. Empty coffee mugs line the sink. An open pack of weed gummies sits on the counter, hardening. Binders of paperwork and schoolwork collect on the kitchen table. There’s so much Nora in here. June redecorated the living room and kitchen when she moved in, but Nora’s managed to touch everything.

She smiles. If this were Alex, she’d be pissed at the mess, but it’s Nora. The beautiful, erratic mess that is Nora. The girl who can have four different shows on at once and can still get shit done. The girl who always burns pancakes when she tries to cook breakfast for June. The girl who never fails to kiss her first.

June won’t lose her. So she sits down on the floor, runs her fingers over the fleece, and waits. And drinks more wine.

Sometime later, when a key turns in the lock, she downs the last sip in her glass and sets it down. Some old love songs play from her phone, the ones she and Nora love to make fun of. She hears her girlfriend curse when her key gets stuck, and then she bursts through the door and catches herself before she could slip on the hardwood.

“I know you said you got food covered, but I got noodles any—Whoa! You did all of this?” Nora walks into the living room with takeout bags in her hands and stares, mesmerized, at the ceiling. Her contacts must’ve been bothering her because she has on her back-up glasses.

“Hi. Happy Valentine’s Day,” June says and reaches for Nora’s hand to pull her down.

“I’m sorry, June. I had no idea. I thought we both hated this holiday, so tonight wasn’t that big of a deal. But this—this is beautiful,” Nora says, having a hard time meeting June’s eyes.

“Thanks.” June rubs Nora’s hand with her thumb. “And this isn’t really about the holiday. I just wanted to give something nice to you—to us—just us. With no distractions.”

The strings from “At Last” by Etta James play from the phone. The curtains billow from the air blowing out the vent. As much as she hates to ruin the moment, June has to start the conversation.

But Nora takes a deep breath and talks first. “I know I’m a bit all over the place but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I just have a lot going on.”

“I know, but sometimes it feels like you don’t care about us as much as I do. It feels like an afterthought to you,” June says.

“That’s not true, June! Come on! You know me.” She grabs June’s other hand and squeezes.

She squeezes back. “You don’t act with feelings in mind, but I know you have them. And I know it’s hard for you, but I need you to share them with me more. I need a reminder that you care every once in a while.”

Nora’s quiet. She uses her arm to wipe her eyes, knocking her glasses off. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

June’s chest collapses. She wraps Nora up in her arms. “I’m sorry, Nor. I don’t mean you’re not enough for me. I love you so much. I—”

“No, I understand. I just—I need help with that. I need you to tell me when you need more—maybe not after the fact like now but—”

June laughs and pulls away. “You’re right. I have a stewing problem. I just assume you’ll eventually get it.”

“Yeah, don’t assume that.” Nora laughs too—the big kind that shows all of her teeth. “Reign me in when I’ve been off for too long. And know it’s not on purpose. I’m seriously spiraling in my own head the majority of the time.”

“Ha! And a hot head it is too.”

They both pause and look into each other’s eyes. And bust out into laughing fits. June makes a fart sound with her mouth, and Nora tackles her. They rumble around on the blanket for about forty seconds before June’s wine glass tips over and surprisingly bounces instead of shattering.

The girls take that as an opportunity to stop and pour some more glasses of wine. Nora preps the takeout while June brings the charcuterie board back to the indoor picnic. Nora changes the music to some weird techno shit, but June snatches the phone. They compromise with One Direction, which makes no sense since 1. June only knows their last album and 2. Nora definitely remembers the story of June turning down the advances of one Niall Horan when she did the daytime talk show circuit after her book deal was announced.

Either way, they stuff their faces and end up cuddled on the floor.

Nora interrupts the moment. “Before we get to sexy time—"

“Jesus Christ.”

“I just wanted to give you something. I would’ve saved it for your birthday, but I can get you something else.” She pops up from the floor and jogs to her bedroom. When she reemerges, she’s carrying a bunched-up blanket. “I didn’t have time to properly wrap it because—you know, you weren’t going to get it yet—although, it probably wouldn’t’ve been wrapped later either—but anyways, happy Valentine’s Day.”

She crouches down and hands over the present. She smiles and bops up and down in anticipation. June unwraps the blanket and sees a book.

It’s one of those photobooks you can get at Walgreens, and on the cover, it reads, “Catalina June Claremont-Diaz and Nora Elizabeth Holleran are NOT good friends…” June flips it over. “They’re fucking GIRLFRIENDS!” Inside is page after page of pictures as early as the day they first met and as recent as New Year’s Eve a month ago. A lot of candid pics they take of each other—Nora’s favorites. A lot of sleepy, cuddle pics—June’s favorites. It’s so perfect.

“Nora—this is—wow.” She feels the tears coming. No one has given her anything like this before.

“I’ll be better—”

“So will I.”

“No matter where my head’s at, I’m always thinking of you—just 50 million other things as well,” Nora says and cups her chin.

June leans in. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Nora kisses her, and everything wound up in June relaxes. Her body is so warm. “Best Song Ever” starts playing.

Cue sexy time.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part three, part four, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

so this could be for quality time or gifts, but i decided to go with gifts since i had no other ideas for it! it’s definitely not my love language (quality time for the win!) but i had to write something lol. so i made it sapphic bc everything gay is better! <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

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blue-angel-wings · 4 years

Text

Halloween with Angel.

Word count: 1,468

Characters: Angel Reyes x reader (Y/N), Gilly Lopez, Coco Cruz, Leticia Cruz.

Warnings: Cursing, Halloween (? Idk some people don’t like it 🤷‍♀️)

It was nearing Halloween, and whilst all your neighbours had started to decorate their homes and front lawns, yours was bare and depressing, due to no fault of your own. Your boyfriend Angel had made it clear that the decorations in the house you to shared were perfectly fine and served their purpose but Christ they were depressing.

The decorations were disgusting collecting dust and growing mould from being thrown randomly in the attic and you were struggling to tell the difference between the real and fake spiders. But Angel had yet to grant you the permission to buy new decorations. Not that you need explicit permission but you viewed you and Angel as a team so you made decisions like these together. Sadly.

You and Angel had lived together for years at this point so you got used to each other’s ways and quirks, so really Angel should’ve been prepared for your enthusiasm for the holiday.

“Knock, knock and I’m already in.” Said your brother whilst you were sat a the table eating breakfast. Angel had gone for shower a few minutes ago so the house was quiet apart from the quiet sound of the water running.

“Hey Y/B/N, you okay?” You rounded the corner of the island to see your brother with your niece wearing a cute little pumpkin onesie.

“And hello to you too precious girl!” You cooed to the young baby currently yanking on your hoop earrings. You tickled her tummy just to hear her giggles whilst your brother babbled on about work. Obviously hearing the adorable shriek of laughter from your niece, Angel entered the kitchen and snatched her from your arms to have his fill of the baby cuteness. Begrudgingly you turn to brother to now pay attention to his words.

“So I was wondering if you remember where it is that Mama always took us for Halloween so we could go to the ‘kid friendly’ haunted house.” He said making air quotations when saying kid friendly. He stole a piece of bacon whilst you took your mind back to time when you were younger.

“Yeah she just took us to the garden centre, god knows if they still do it, people always complained it was a bit scary.” you reminded him, whilst continuing your breakfast.

“So you wanna go, think it would be a bit of fun, take us back to our childhood and pass on the tradition to Mia.” Your bother spoke whilst removing Mia from Angel’s arms, she fussed a little but settled quickly.

“Yes! I can get new decorations for the house, they have the best decorations!” You bolted out of the chair heading to door before Angel spoke up. “ No! We don’t need decorations we have them here.”

“But Angel-“

“No babe I’m putting my foot down, please it’s a waste of money, just don’t. You’ll spend more time putting them up and taking them back down than them actually be img on display!”

“Ooh he’s putting his foot down.” Your brother mocked, provoking Angel to throw the tea towel at him.

“Fine I won’t bring home any new decorations.”

“Thank you, I love you baby.” Angel spoke kissing your forehead and leaving to speak with the guys about an incoming run.

You stuck to your word, and didn’t return with any decorations, that’s because you ordered them to arrive to your home a few days later. This was for multiple reasons, 1) you couldn’t fit them all in your car and Angel would flip his shit if he saw you carry what is seemingly the whole store and 2) You knew Angel was going on a run so you order it to come whilst he was out. It was perfect because by the time it all up and looking pretty it would be too late. What can you say, you always get your way.

The day arrived and you were buzzing, it was time to get your spooky season started. You woke up alone in bed which wasn’t strange, as Angel was due to be on a run. It wasn’t until you heard yelling and swearing in the living room did you discover that was not the case. Walking out you were greeted with site of your boyfriend and his 2 extra shadows Gilly, sat at the table eating your food, and Coco sat next to Angel playing PlayStation.

“What are you doing here?” You exclaimed from shock.

“Uhh I live here-“

“I’ve been paying the bills with you for the past 2 years.”

When you don’t respond to the comment and continue to stare at him confused.

He points to his chest stating, “I am Angel” condescendingly thinking it’s funny.

“You’re supposed to be on a run.”

“It was only a small run,we weren’t needed.” He said shrugging like it was nothing when I’m reality it was huge.

“Damn Y/N you ain’t happy to see us?” Coco asks standing to hug you, you accept the embrace with a smile but on the inside you are screaming, why did he have to be here when you don’t need him to be but gone when you did need him?

A few hours into the day and they were still here and your delivery when due to arrive imminently.

“Don’t you want to go to the clubhouse I mean it’s more fun there, I mean you spend every waking second of your days there anyway why not go there now.” You exclaimed getting antsy.

“Nah we’re good.” Coco replied, you roll your eyes and spin on your heel to go to the kitchen and watch for your delivery of doom to pull up. “Why you trynna to get rid of us sweetheart?” Gilly asked jokingly, startling you in the process. “The other day I went to the store with my brother and bought way to many Halloween decorations when he specifically told me to not to and I thought by having them delivered whilst he was on his run, it’d be too late for him to do anything about it but now I know he isn’t on a run that planned it fucked.” You confessed. “Well damn baby you in shit now.” “Gilly” you whined palming his chest softly.

“Okay stop I’ll get him out and tell Coco to call Leti to come and help you put them up. Don’t stressed your pretty head!” He said tapping your temple.

“Thank you Gilly you are a lifesaver!”

“I know baby, it’s a gift.” He joked shrugging his shoulders like it was nothing.

Gilly stuck to his word and got them out the house, just before the delivery turned up. Coco had indeed called Leti to help you but you guys spent more time gossiping than actually hanging anything.

“ I think you may have gone a little too far with this.” She said holding a 7ft robotic witch on your porch swing as you cable tied it’s ankles to the structure of your porch, so the kids didn’t steal it.

“Oh shush you’re as bad as Angel, it looks great so don’t complain, it was worth all the time it spent to put it up and the ...$300 it actually cost.” You muttered the last bit hoping she didn’t pick it up.

“ Y/N, holy sh-“ she was cut off by the roar of bikes coming down the street, announcing the arrival of your man and his brothers.

You braced yourself for the backlash but when you turned around to man your man he had nothing but a smile on his face, Coco and Gilly hung back on the bikes whilst Angel took in the scene.

“Baby-“ you started.

“I like it.”

“What?”

“I knew you couldn’t resist the decorations at the store and when you came back home empty handed I was shocked, then earlier when you wanted us out I knew you had this arriving.” He exclaimed gesturing the house covered in fake cobwebs and pumpkins, and obviously the freaky witch on the porch. You breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at him with total adoration.

“ I love you Angel, thank you for understanding but your lazy ass coulda helped if you knew.” You complained cuddling into his side. He chuckled lowly. The moment was ruined by a scream and then followed by a gunshot. You ducked into Angel from the fear.

“You scary motherfucker, jump at me and imma shoot yo’ ass! Do it again hoe and see what happens.” Coco shouted with gun pointed at the witch.

“What the fuck Coco it’s not real.” You pointed to the now ruined witch.

Coco stepped forward gingerly, gun still cocked, inspecting the witch, confirming with a slight nod of the head that it was in fact a robot.

“My bad” He shrugged.

Taglist: @mayans-sauce.

#mayans mc #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes #coco cruz #gilly lopez #leticia cruz #my fics

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considermewhelmed · 3 years

Text

See You Again by Wiz Khalifa (ft. Charlie Puth)- Dick Grayson and Jason Todd

a/n: strap in folks. This is going to hurt.

taglist: @river9noble

Master

part 2

“It's been a long day without you, my friend/And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again/We've come a long way from where we began/Oh, I'll tell you all about it when I see you again/When I see you again.”

“Damn, who knew?/All the planes we flew/Good things we've been through/That I'll be standing right here talking to you/'Bout another path/I know we loved to hit the road and laugh/But something told me that it wouldn't last/Had to switch up/Look at things different, see the bigger picture/Those were the days/Hard work forever pays/Now I see you in a better place.”

“The love will never get lost/And when brotherhood come first/Then the line will never be crossed/Established it on our own/When that line had to be drawn/And that line is what we reach/So remember me when I'm gone.”

October 18, 9:30pm.

“Jason? Jason, where are you? You need to pick up- Bruce called me, freaking out because you’ve been spotted in Europe? I know you wanted to find your mom but Jesus Christ Jay, where are you? Pick up your goddamn phone, at least let me know you’re safe, that you’re okay. I won’t even tell Bruce. Just tell me you’re alright, okay? Call me back as soon as possible.”

October 18, 11:48pm.

“Hey. Sorry. I don’t know what to say. When I heard… Bruce told me. I didn’t really want to believe it. I still don’t really want to believe it. I’m just… I’m so sorry.”

October 21, 5:36pm.

“You’re everywhere. God. You’d probably hate it. Everyone talks about the tragedy. They don’t really know what happened. They just know that you… that you’re gone. I wish you were gone. Completely. It would be easier to handle if you were. I’m sorry.”

October 31, 1:01am.

“I was supposed to pick you up, remember? We were going to go trick or treating in Bludhaven, because we never had that before. Because I was in the circus. And you… anyways, you said I should go as Green Lantern because you think if it could, a green ring would pick me anyways. No fear, huh? Well. I was always scared of something, Little Wing. God you hated it when I called you that I’m sor-”

November 13, 4:13pm.

“It’s been almost a month and your face still shows up sometimes on the news. I miss you.”

December 1, 2:52am.

“Bruce isn’t the same without you Little Wing. He’s reckless. Careless. I think he’s going to get himself killed. It’s kind of… terrifying. Clark’s worried. The League’s keeping an eye on him. I wish I could. But… god it just hurts to be in the Cave right now. I’m sorry.”

December 20, 9:38pm.

“I was helping Alfred put the decorations up. No ones really feeling festive but… we had to do something I guess. We got the stockings up, and… I’ve never seen Alfred cry over anything, but he just couldn’t stop when he saw your stocking. I… I put it up in my room. I wanted to feel like you were here for the holidays. Sometimes I feel like you’re going to burst through the door anymore like it was some sort of joke-”

December 25, 12:02am.

“Merry Christmas Little Wing.”

January 3, 3:26pm.

“I don’t know why I keep calling this number. You don’t pick up. I know you won’t pick up. But I miss you. This is the only way I hear you anymore. I wish you were calling me for tips and tricks again. I wish I had known you were in trouble. I wish I was fast enough to get you. I wish you’d never gotten into this in the first place, you were so young, you didn’t deserve to go out like this, god it’s just not right-”

January 26, 7:09pm.

“Today was a good day. We took in a stray dog, kept him safe and found his owner. He’d run away because he was spooked by a loud car. He was a German Shepard, I remember you saying you had one when you were really little, his name was Buddy, right? Anyways, I think that saving stray dogs and getting cats out of trees and helping lost kids find their parents are the best parts of this job.”

February 15, 1:29am.

“I’m so sorry Little Wing, I think I forgot that joke you told me. I was trying to tell Kori and I forgot the punchline and I wish you were here to tell me it again because it was really funny and I think she would really like it. I think you would like her Jay, she’s a spitfire, you’d get a kick out of how she keeps us all in line. You’d like this crew. You’d like it here. I’m sorry.”

March 29, 3:06am.

“I’m sitting here, in the Batcave. Looking at Bruce, passed out from a fight that took a sharp turn. It was stupid, he’s beaten Mr. Freeze so many times, he was making rookie mistakes and I just don’t know what to do anymore. He… he hit me Jay. He’s not the same. I asked Alfred, if this is what happened when his folks… when they… anyways, he said no. He said he fought to be better. So why is he trying to get himself kil-”

April 04, 6:45pm.

“I don’t even… fuck.”

April 04, 6:49pm.

“Okay so, this kid, he’s like, 12? 13? He comes up to me and he’s like ‘I know who you are’ and I’m sitting here thinking this kid has some affinity for the Flying Graysons or something ‘cause that has happened before. But no. No this kid, his name is Tim by the way, Tim is like ‘I know you’re Nightwing and Jason Todd was Robin and Bruce Wayne is Batman and’- fuck, Jay you should’ve heard this kid-”

April 04, 6:52pm.

“And he’s like ‘I know Jason died and now Batman’s being stupid because he doesn’t have a Robin to care about so you should come back and be Robin again because Batman needs Robin’. Jesus Christ Jason, this kid, I swear, he genuinely believes if I don’t go back to being Robin, Bruce is going to go completely off the deep end. And I think he’s sort of right, but I don’t think me going back to Robin will fix it-”

April 04, 6:54pm.

“I’m also a grown ass man with my own life, and my own identity, and I worked so hard to get out from Bruce Wayne and Batman’s shadow and I don’t even want to go back to Robin. I like Nightwing. Besides, with how things are going with me and Bruce, I don’t think he’d take me back to begin with. And now he knows things and fuck things got pretty fucked up after you… after you… fuck.”

April 26, 1:22am.

“I’ve never wanted to harm a child more in my life, Jay. This jerk started tracking me down on patrol, still trying to convince me to go back. I’m not going back. It’s not happening.”

May 11, 8:47pm.

“This isn’t a Tim update. I just. I was starting to forget what your voice sounded like. I still can’t remember that joke. I’m sorry Little Wing. Thanks for listening. I’m sorry. I miss you. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better big brother, I should’ve been better. I’m sorry.”

June 18, 5:14am.

“Tim had officially been taken under Batman’s wing. He saved Bruce today. No training. No strength. No guidance. Just a shit ton of will and heart. Kind of reminds me of you, when you were first starting out. The you behind all those walls you built to protect yourself. I wish you would’ve torn more of those down for us. He starts training today. I’m going to help. I don’t think Bruce should do this but, what do I know?”

July 04, 9:00pm.

“You always liked the fireworks in Gotham on the Fourth of July. You’d wanna sit by the water and watch the colours burst through the sky. It was like, the one night a year Bruce would let you take the night off when you were healthy so that Alfred and I could take you. He’d join us if it was a quiet night. You remember that? He’d come with us. For a minute it felt like we were just a normal family.”

August 16, 12:00am.

“I always liked to be the first one to say it. Happy Birthday Little Wing. I love you kiddo.”

September 1, 5:19pm.

“I keep forgetting your voice. For a scary minute today, I couldn’t picture your face. When was the last time I hugged you? I’m sorry. I should’ve done it more.”

October 18, 11:45pm.

“I…”

October 18, 11:49pm.

“I can’t…”

October 18, 11:55pm.

“It’s been a really long year, Jay. I hope wherever you are, you’re with my folks. They’d love you, I think. Say hi for me. Give them a hug for me. I love you. I miss you. I wish I could see you again, I’d give just about anything to give you one more hug. I remembered that joke. Kori didn’t quite understand it, but she says you sound like a good kid. … I love you Little Wing.”

#thebatfamplaylist #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #batman #tim drake #robin #robin!tim #alfred pennyworth #songfic #fanfic #batfam #batfamily

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67impalaandwhisky · 4 years

Text

Destiny Is Heaven Sent

Summary: Knowing Dean Winchester since you were fifteen, you’ve always been pulled in his direction. Always wanting to open up the rattled and broken cage your heart lives in. But when the child you’ve been raising together dies, you find yourself closing up the cage of your heart again. And if destiny has one thing for you, it’s to break you down before bringing you back up.

Characters: Dean x You, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, OFC’s, OMC’s, (Ongoing)

This Series Is Set Through Seasons 1-6 With Knowledge That The Bunker Exists

Rating: 18+

Warnings (Ongoing and Will Be Updated): Grieving, Mentions of Rape and Defilement (As Per A Case), Show Level Violence, Swearing, Smut, Impreg Kink, Blood, Fighting, Drinking, Dean Being Dean, Fluff, Angst, Dom!Dean, Sub!Reader

Warnings For This Chapter: Grieving Over Dead OMC, Drinking, Swearing, Flirting

A/N: This is my first Supernatural fic ever! I’ve been writing for a while and have adored Supernatural since the beginning so I’m really excited for this series and I hope everyone enjoys it!

Chapter 1.

Autumn used to be a season that you adored when you were little. It was the fresh chill of the air and the taste of possibility that clung to the wind. Now you can't help but find it mindlessly awful.

You used to love Halloween and all of the holidays that accompanied soon after. It brought you and your family together. Until your mother died. Then it was just a teeth gritting ride of vengeance by your father, who had loved his wife since he was a teenager.

He did his research, something that you would find harrowing if you didn't grow up in this life. He spent your entire life dragging you around, preparing you to fight against monsters and magic.

Your father had discovered what had killed your mother when you were fifteen on Christmas Eve. He had left you at the Right Swing Motel to kill the monster on one of your favorite holidays.

You weren't mad then and you still weren't mad now. You couldn't imagine loving someone so much that you were overcome with anguish and the need for revenge.

When he finally came back to the motel two days later, you had expected him to be relieved. He killed the werewolf that ripped your mother's heart out. You expected him to be your father again. But alas, he seemed angrier and more prone to violence then you could ever imagine.

When he finally died on a job that could never be done alone, you realized just how fucked in the head he had become. Just how overwhelming grief could make you and you swore to yourself that you would never become like him.

Even if that meant setting your emotions aside every time.

Pulling up to the old diner on Route 30, your eyes lazily drift over the parking lot. Spotting the 67' Impala you've grown to know since you were a teenager, you park your car beside it before blowing a bubble in your gum.

You watch the bubble expand and expand before sucking all the air out of it as you step out of your car. Slamming the door shut, your combat boots slap the concrete as you enter the diner.

Taking off your sunglasses, you walk past the waitress as she welcomes you. You give her a brief smile before spotting the men you've grown up with.

Without a word you walk towards them, watching as Dean devours the cheeseburger in hand like he has never eaten a damn thing in his life. Grimacing, you plop yourself down in the booth earning both of their eyes as they slowly drift up from their plates.

"Oh Jesus!" Sam yells, putting his hand over his heart.

"Am I that hideous? My God." You mumble as you grab a french fry off Dean's plate.

He smacks your hand multiple times earning pink splotches as you slap his hand back.

"Order your own food, Y/N. I'm a growing boy. Gotta eat." He complains as you rest your elbow on the greasy table surface.

"Can I get you anything?" The waitress asks as she approaches.

"She wants a philly cheese steak, extra onions. No mushrooms or peppers. And, a strawberry milkshake." Dean says as he wipes some crumbs out of the stubble on his chin.

You hum impressed to him before throwing your legs over Sam's lap.

He's been used to it by now, earning the title as your best friend quite quickly since you were fifteen. His hand wraps around your thigh high combat boots before ignoring Dean's gaze and continuing to eat his salad.

You steal a cucumber off his plate before looking at his older brother. His eyes were on yours, forest green irises looking over your body intently before looking back down at his food.

"Job?" You ask as Sam holds up the local newspaper he was reading before you arrived.

"Nothing we can't handle. Why don't you go back to the bunker and just relax, hmm?" Dean offers sweetly and you scowl at his suggestion.

"What's with this whole macho man show you've been putting on lately? It's so infuriating, Jesus. I've saved your life so many times and now suddenly I'm a frail crone that has to be a housewife to her two best friends as they go out and fight demons and monsters?" You ask, raising your eyebrows.

He cringes at your words before setting his burger as if it made him feel sickly.

"This job is dangerous." The oldest mumbles and you find yourself suddenly aggravated. When has Dean Winchester ever made you back down from a hunt? When has he ever begged you not to come instead of joining them?

The answer is never.

"This ghost seems to abduct beautiful, single women and do things to them. I don't want you at risk." You look over to Sam as his brother speaks and you notice how he avoids eye contact with you.

Your plate of food is set down in front of you and you thank the girl quietly as the tension in the air thickens. Dean Winchester in his whole life has never called you beautiful. He's never even given you the time of day. Which you don't mind really, that's how he's always been. But he's never kept you away from a hunt and you're wholeheartedly offended.

"Then I'll be perfect bait." You reply.

"I said no." Dean says through gritted teeth.

Sam squeezes your leg gently as if to beg you to not start a fight in a random diner off the highway.

"I don't give a fuck about what you say Dean Abel." He coughs awkwardly at the middle name you bestowed on him since you were younger.

You never use it unless you mean business.

"Y/N. I'm just looking out for you. Jesus Christ." He whispers.

Folding your arms, you look over at Sam expectantly. You know he hates to be involved in your spats with Dean.

You're both hard headed beasts that don't quit until you get what you want.

"I mean...When has Y/N ever backed down from a fight? When has she ever been anything but safe with us?" Sam says, still avoiding eye contact with his brother.

If looks could kill, Sam would be dead against the window of the diner.

"Thank you Sammy." You say happily before sipping your milkshake.

Dean makes an angry grunt before leaning back in the booth and throwing a balled up napkin onto his plate.

"What's so wrong with me wanting you safe? Is it a fucking sin?" He asks bitterly as you take a bite of your sandwich.

You look up at him again, watching as he swallowed thickly.

What's his fucking damage today?

"In your life you've never kept me away from a hunt. In your entire life. I've been attacked by ghosts. Bitten by vampires. Abducted by djinns and you've never batted an eye. Now when there's an abducting ghost you suddenly assume the role of protector?" You ask pointedly, your index finger pressing into his chest across the table.

Dean sniffs before pulling out his wallet and throwing cash onto the table. His large hand runs over his face before he's shoving his hands in his pockets.

"You're not going. End of story. I am not losing another person." He mumbles before walking out of the diner and leaning on the hood of Baby.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" You ask his brother loudly.

Sam shoves a fork full of salad into his mouth as he plays with the laces of your combat boots. He seems to be distracting himself so he doesn't have to look at you.

"He's been this way for weeks. He's...I mean he's worried about you. We only just burned Marsh a few weeks ago and he doesn't seem to think you're ready to go back out." Sam says before looking over at you.

You begin to smile, a feral nasty smirk spreading onto your face. Gripping your legs harder, he widens his eyes at you begging you to stop.

"Let go, Samuel Cain." You seethe through your teeth and he sighs loudly before finally going slack against the leather of your boots.

Jumping out of the booth, you fix your leather jacket.

It takes a few large steps before you're barreling out the diner door straight towards the boy you've watched become a man.

"You son of a bitch." You curse as you advance on him.

His head turns to you slowly and his jaw clenches.

At one time when you were sixteen, you'd find it absolutely hot but now it just sets fire into your veins at a quicker pace.

"Y/N…" His voice is weak as he holds his hands up.

Opening up your hand, you stiffen your arm before jabbing your palm underneath his chin.

With a groan he slides off the hood of his car.

"Come on!" He yells angrily before standing up and opening his mouth before spitting out a drop of blood or two.

"How dare you decide what I need to do! How dare you for one second think that I need to be told to sit one out!" You yell as you grip his jacket.

Hauling him up, he puts his hands on your shoulders.

"I'm just looking out for you, goddammit! You're not okay, and you won't talk to me! You look through me! I'm trying to protect you! You mean something to me! Fuck!" He yells as he shakes you about.

"Yeah?! Well I don't need your fucki-" You begin to scream before being cut off.

"Guys. They called the cops. We gotta go." Sam says before ripping the door open to the Impala.

Dean lets go of you before huffing out and smacking the hood of his car loudly.

"This isn't over you asshole." You mutter, jutting your finger to your best friend as you put on your sunglasses.

"Why am I not surprised?" He seethes as you open the door to your car.

It's incredibly insulting. Unbelievably unfathomable. In all your life, Dean Winchester has never thought you were weak.

These weeks without Marsh haven't been easy but that doesn't mean you're lost. Doesn't mean you haven't given up sight of who you are and how things need to be. He wouldn't want that.

"Hello Y/N." The deep monotone voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you jump slightly at the man now sitting beside you in the passenger's seat.

"God! Cas, what did I tell you?!" You yell, slamming your hand onto the steering wheel.

"To never appear in your car like this." He states matter-of-factly.

Rolling your eyes, you begin to focus back on the road watching as Dean speeds down the highway.

"What? What do you want?" You ask the angel as you lower the music.

"Well. I don't want you to fight with Dean." He says as he stares ahead at the road.

You give a short laugh before clicking your tongue and tilting your head.

"Sorry Cassy, all me and Dean do is fight." You mutter as you open the window.

"It's okay to not be okay, Y/N. I have been watching you, seeing your inner struggle. I know it's hard without Mar-"

"First of all, don't watch over me. I don't need you to. Secondly, you don't know anything about how I feel. He was just a kid, Cas. He was fourteen years old for God sake."

He stays silent as you drive down the road.

"He's happy where he is. He isn't in Hell." Cas says and you laugh to yourself before biting your bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

You've been there through it all, through the angels and the demons. Through the ghouls and the werewolves. Heaven and Hell were so far off your list of things to think about, just the notion bleeds your very soul.

"Doesn't mean Dean can try to keep me away from what I need most." You tell the angel as the Impala in front of you turns into the parking lot of a motel.

"And what is that?" He asks as you park beside them.

You open your mouth to answer before shutting off the engine of your car and turning your body to him. He looks upon you blankly as you run your fingers through your hair.

"Can't you see what I need without asking?" You ask quietly.

He sighs before nodding, "Yes. I see."

Exiting your car, you don't even look at the oldest as you grab your bag from the back seat.

"Room?" You call out before opening your trunk and grabbing your duffel bag filled with the usual gun paraphernalia.

"Seven." Sam says and you don't miss the irony of it.

Luck could go shove it.

You push past Dean as he holds his hand out for your bags and you hear him curse under his breath.

"Come on." Dean says as he jogs beside you.

You hold your hand out for the key and it's immediately placed in your hand by the younger brother.

"I'm gonna go for a walk." Sam mutters out.

"Be careful." You and Dean say at the same time. You crack your neck loudly before pushing open the door and dropping your bag onto the small table the cheap motel room offers.

Closing the door behind him, you can hear Dean sigh loudly.

Fighting was always fun with him in years passed. It was always an adrenaline rush. But, these days you're so far past it. You just want to do your job, have a drink and that's it.

"You can't just shut me out." Dean says, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

"Yeah? Watch me." You retort as you begin to make lines of salt on the window.

"Y/N. I mean it. This has fucked you up entirely. I know what it's like to bottle things away until you're overflowing. I know that pain you're hiding. Just talk to me."

"No!" You bark out before you feel arms wrap around you.

You can smell him. The smell is something akin to home. He smells of whisky and musk. Old leather that is worn and creasing. He smells of gunpowder and mint.

"Get the fuck off me." You seethe, writhing in his grasp as it tightens.

"I know you. I know you so well- Hell, I practically am you. Don't you dare think it's okay to keep it to yourself. You're strong? Yeah well, sometimes dams break too." You set the bottle of salt down on the table before turning towards him.

His evergreen irises, staring deep into yours. His small freckles that you've counted a number of times since you were fifteen. His gentle stubble, a sign that he's been taking care of himself.

His thumbs run over the leather of your jacket but you can practically feel the calloused skin on yours.

"If I talk about it, it makes it real. I just want to work. I want to shoot things and save people." You say before ripping your eyes away from him to the gold necklace he adorns.

"This is real, Y/N. A kid that we called our own is gone. His mother. His father. His uncle. Are all without him now." Just those words send you hurtling yourself towards him.

Breaking free from his grasp, he lets you punch him in the chest. He lets you take your anger out on him. Because he's Dean and he's always here to drink in your sorrow whenever it comes around. Because, in order to be truly emotionless you have to give them away to someone else.

"He was just a kid! He was just a little boy!" You yell as you punch the older man in the jaw. His body makes contact with the floor as your screams become intelligible.

With a groan he pulls himself up before standing still. Your hard punches slowly turn soft and then you're beating on his chest.

Letting out a shaky breath, he pulls you close to him. You let out a sob, a small garbled noise, into his grey t-shirt. Feeling the cotton absorb your tears as your eyes burn.

"He was a baby. We should have just left him at the orphanage like Bobby told us. We sh-shouldn't have taken him with us." You cry out.

You let the sorrow eat at you for a second. Let your mind wrap around your emotions before closing yourself off once more. Something you're getting almost too good at.

You shove the handsome man away from you before wiping at your face and turning away from him.

"Y/N. He wanted to come with us. We couldn't leave him to the system after everything he had seen. He wanted to grow up and be a hunter. He wanted us. And we wanted him." Dean whispers, you can hear the crack in his voice. The strain of his vocal cords from weary emotion.

"Yeah well, we fucking failed him. We should have never taken him with us."

"He loved you, Y/N. You raised him. You were his mother for years when he didn't have one himself. You made him into a strong boy." He tells you.

You look down at the woven bracelet Marsh had bought you for mother's day with Dean's money and your jaw clenches with grief.

But, Dean was his father too. And, you know it's taken a toll on him as well. You can't be so selfish.

"He loved you too. You were the father he needed and always wanted. I'm sorry." You say finally before looking out the window at both of your cars as they sit side by side like always.

"Me too. I'm-I'm sorry." He mumbles.

You know that's big for him. Even if he is ever sorrowful getting those two words out is like hot searing pain to him but he at least tries with you.

"We good?" You ask him as you turn back around.

You find him still staring, still drinking you in even with your back turned and your stomach coils like when you were a teenager.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're good." He says finally before opening his arms.

You almost take that welcoming before snorting and grabbing the discarded salt on the table.

"Nice try." You mumble before putting salt in front of the door.

"It's not a sin to hug someone." He whispers before grabbing your gun bag and throwing it on his bed.

No but it's a sin to hug him.

"So what's the job?" You ask aloud as you all sit in the dive bar.

Sam holds up the newspaper before sliding it across the table.

"Annalise Greenlee. An aspiring model, murdered and raped in her apartment. Police say there was no forced entry, all doors and windows were locked. Now, get this-- her body from her kidneys and above were mush. Exploded inside her body while she was dying." Sam says earning widened eyes from you.

"Must be one pretty pissed off bitch." You reply before taking a long sip of your whisky and coke.

Dean seems to have meant it when he said you were both okay because his attention has now left you and worrying about you. He's more worried about who he'll be sheathing his cock in tonight.

Typical.

"Y/N. Go tell that girl that we're producers for a reality t.v. show." Dean says elbowing you and nodding to a pretty petite brunette that leans against the bar.

You sigh almost a little too loudly.

"Hey! Pretty girl!" You call over to her.

Her head turns and you want to roll your eyes at her confidence. As if she was the only pretty girl in the bar.

Sauntering over, you watch her overly eager hips sway. Her index finger twirling her hair seductively as she approaches.

"My friend here wants to buy you a drink. You okay with that?" I ask her as she looks over at Dean.

Her pupils widen and her tongue slowly licks at her lips before smiling.

"Sure. That sounds great. I'm Olive." She says leaning against the booth. Her breasts thrust upwards in the air as her low cut tank top is pulled lower and you can hear the audible growl your best friend gives.

"Just call me Popeye." Dean says before shoving you out of the way and climbing over you to get out of the booth.

You stare at Sam unimpressed and he covers his face as he begins to smile.

"See you two later hmm?" He asks.

Kissing the top of your head quickly, you roll your eyes before turning the small black straw in your mixed drink.

Seems like he's forgotten every reason to be upset when he can be knee deep in pussytown.

Fingering at the small woven bracelet, you let out a small, unamused laugh before finishing the contents of your drink.

"You okay?" Sam asks quietly as you pick up the newspaper.

"Why wouldn't I be?" You bite back, angrier than you mean to.

"It's not fair of him to do that." He replies kindly and you put your fist under your chin before skimming over the bar.

"The word fair and the word Dean do not go hand in hand. Come on, let's go play pool. I could do with beating your ass in something today." You say before standing up.

It's almost too easy for Dean to unlock the recesses of your heart but it's almost too painfully easy to lock yourself back up.

#dean winchester #dean x you #dean x reader #spn #supernatural #spn family #smut #dean winchester smut #destiny is heaven sent #series #book #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic

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ohpsshaw · 4 years

Text

~DFS Christmas Special~

No desire to draw lately, so I’ve been doing little prose sketches instead.

Just in time for December, here’s what turned out to be Uncle Jack taking Al Christmas shopping. This would be circa 199X B.G. (Before Glenn), making Al in his early 20s.

(Watch out if you have high blood sugar, cos this gets KINDA SACCHARINE.)

It had finally stopped snowing, thank goodness. The fresh white blanket reflected crisp light in through the windows, making him feel chilled inside. Luckily Pop was a comfort creature who kept a stock of hot chocolate mix in the pantry. Al never seemed to reach for it back at his apartment, but something about visiting home in the winter months made a warm mug feel as essential as a limb.

Uncle Jack had asked Al to accompany him for some holiday shopping later, and a chocolate briquette would be good to have heating his gut. He took it to the couch in the living room. Someone had dug up the old photo books and left them on the coffee table a few days ago. Flipping through, he noticed that half the pages were completely empty— photography had never been a popular concept in the Czar household. The preserved moments were of family trips and landmarks, rambunctious sepia-washed office parties, Al’s school portraits. Rarer was anything taken inside the house. One shot of himself at four or five years old, standing on the yellow-sunlit staircase and showing the camera a toy car, surfaced a memory of being coached to keep his mouth closed so as not to alarm a 1-hour photo developer. Thinking on it, it may have been more than coincidence that most of these were instant Polaroids.

Through the window, he heard the muffled sound of a car door, then: “What the fuck are you doing!?” Hey, Pop’s home. Al pulled back the curtain to watch the drama unfolding at the end of the driveway, where Uncle Jack had been chipping at the wall of powder the afternoon snowplow had left. Xav had just returned from morning errands and parked in the street, storming over the slush to stop his brother from working.

Cold air blasted from the foyer. Snow crunched as Xav shook out the snow shovel behind him. “Why was he doing this by himself? Did you become a quadriplegic when I wasn’t looking?”

Al flipped through the Rolodex in his head for the answer that would earn him the least amount of grief. He shrugged, as if confused by the absurdity of the question. “He didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t ask, Max.” Jack took the shovel back. “But you’re right, I should have. Reckon it was my vanity what did me in— I can’t stand to be upstaged by some young buck doing the same job in half the time.” He winked at his nephew. “Well, three-quarters.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Xav spat, the corners of his mouth curling up against his will. “You both know I’m not being unreasonable. You’re not a guest, Alan Henry. As far as I’m concerned, you still live here. You earn your keep during the day, and MAYBE I’ll consider putting on my robe and letting you suckle dinner from my left tit.”

Al choked on his hot chocolate.

“Shit. Careful on the carpet. I’ll get you a paper towel.” Xav left for the kitchen, grumble-exorcising demons as he walked. “If Papa caught one of us sitting on our ass while the other did chores...”

Why did Pop have to save his best lines for when people were eating? Bent over and lapping chocolate out of the crevices of his palm, Al thought he saw a piece of marshmallow among the bubbles. Heh... hope that didn’t come out of his nose.

“You still need me to shovel?” he asked Jack.

“Son, I would be honored,” Jack nodded, holding the shovel on the doormat like a knight leaning on an orange sword. “Gitcher boots on and you can finish the job before we head out. I’ll make sure your Pop watches the show from inside.”

Xav returned with the towels and a smirk. “Talking shit about me, Jack?”

“I was just sayin’ how you’ll hate to see us go, but you’ll love to watch us walk away.”

“Got that fucking right.” Al cleaned his face while Xav dabbed each of his fingers individually. An oddly tender gesture. “What are you two going out for, exactly?”

“Juuust... shoppin’. I need Alan’s opinion on somethin’.”

“Uh-huh.” Secrets being a rare and dangerous thing in this family, there wasn’t much question as to what this was really about. Especially between brothers who were as close as twins. But the holidays were about giving, after all, so Xav seemed to decide to give them the benefit of the doubt. A game is more fun when everybody plays along.

Truthfully, even Al wasn’t sure what they were going to get for his father. A successful family man hitting his sixties doesn’t want for much. By this point, Xav had enough neckties and “#1 Dad” mugs to be buried surrounded by them like a pharaoh. Jack could always steal the show by reaching into his deep D.D.S. pockets or by making a new piece of furniture, but the son was held to no such standards. Xav had simple hobbies, and he seemed to have the house exactly how he wanted it. Was Al too old to make a coupon book, redeemable for hugs and remembering to use a coaster?

Or maybe his gift to Pop could be giving college another shot. Dropping out had caused some... friction, a flint-strikes-wood situation that had led to Al moving out of the house, and eventually out-of-state. He had to admit, the independence felt good. Putting his shoes on the coffee table, not having to tell anyone where he was going... he’d definitely become more promiscuous. No independent murders, though, which was starting to grate on him. He’d realized lately that he had always expected to be allowed to do more, without his father and uncle. Maybe if he did what Pop wanted, things would calm down so he could move back to Michigan and use the cabin. But the idea of sitting in another classroom, taking notes on a subject he didn’t care about, all for the promise of 50 years chained to a desk... It made him want to sleep forever.

When the car pulled up to the mall, Al was not surprised at all by the entrance his uncle had chosen. “Mind if I peek in Sears?” Jack asked, as if wild horses could stop him.

Home improvement and appliance stores were another phenomenon Al only seemed to experience at home. The dusty, unvarnished smell and high ceilings had been a frequent backdrop during his childhood— for Jack, they seemed to be akin to a candy store. He was talented as a carpenter and repairman, and sincerely relished something going wrong with the house if it meant he could pull out his toolkit. He also liked to make things go wrong with human bodies on occasion, but there was a separate box for those tools waiting up at the cabin.

Two steps in the door, and a weary-looking holiday hire hit them up with a canned pitch: “...and I’m happy to help you find whatever’s on your list!“ Aggressive customer service, the bane of the paranoid shopper. Jack was the front line for shaking off overly helpful greeters, which Xav had called “the second-worst thing to come out of the 80s after Iran-Contra.”

“Just lookin’, God willing— I brought my conscience with me to make me behave,” Jack looked to his nephew. “Don’t let me buy a single screw, y’hear?”

“Got it. Bulk purchases only.” That earned Al a shove.

Salesperson successfully deflected, Jack ducked toward his usual corner: the big ticket carpentry goods. When Al caught up, he was running his hand over a table saw. As much as he loved his uncle, Al wasn’t particularly interested in watching him fantasize about cutting wood, or even bone. “You have a project in mind?”

“A bit of a science experiment, next time we play cards,” Jack’s pupils darted along the equipment, still in reverie. “I’ve been readin’ a book about crucifixions, and how they affect the body.”

“Oh, that’s seasonal.”

“‘Course, I won’t be able to try it ‘til next year. You think your Pop would let me pick out a rabbit by April?” Jack chuckled. He was not talking about the Easter bunny. “We can see if she comes back to life after three days.”

Al snorted. “Jesus.”

“Precisely. Y’know, Christ is usually depicted with holes in his hands, but in actuality, the Romans would have put the nails through his wrists.” Jack picked up Al’s arm to demonstrate, dancing fingers across his palm. “Ain’t much to take hold of in here. It’s too fragile and open-ended. But if you move up the arm,”— he pressed his thumb into the straightened portion of Al’s median nerve— “You can hook the radius and the ulna. Much better support.” Jack’s eyes flickered with glee. “And it hurts like a bitch!”

“Wait, are you going to go first, or last?” Playing cards was usually a once-a-year affair, and the night Al looked forward to the most. If Jack snuffed her out before he had his turn...

“Oh, don’t worry, son. Done right, she could last for days.” Not that she would, since Pop would probably have something to say about that. “I just want to try, er... doin’ as the Romans do. And who knows, maybe you’ll like it. Every bachelor eventually needs to have a girl nailed down!”

They cackled and then shushed each other, wincing like sneaky little boys at the idea that someone would hear them over the store’s ambient shopping muzak. They really shouldn’t talk like this in public, even with code words and euphemisms. Though over the years they’d learned that people can be experts at ignoring what’s right under their noses. Certainly none of the men had ever overheard anyone else planning a murder.

“It’s just a pipe dream, I’m still in the plannin’ stages,” Jack added. “Ain’t even got the lumber yet. So if you wanna put some packages under the tree that are, say, 4-by-6 and 72 inches long... I promise to be shocked when I unwrap ‘em.”

Al’s attention shifted over his uncle’s shoulder, to a shelf of handheld orbital sanders. Al was more of a hands-on kind of guy— he still got a little queasy thinking about Jack’s experiment to see which sandpaper grit was the best at removing skin.

“So what was it you wanted me to look at? I don’t think Pop needs a crucifix for Christmas.”

“Oh, I’m just killin’ time before our appointment.”

“Appointment?”

“At the photo studio. I want you to give your Pop a picture.”

“...of us?”

“Naw, just you.”

Al loved that. “Yeah, that’d be hilarious. Merry Christmas, Pop, I got you me!”

A pause. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“As a heart attack, son. It’s just what he needs.”

“Do you have, I don’t know, a backup plan?” Al faltered. “Something less self-centered? I’m not exactly his favorite person right now. He kind of thinks I’m a failure.”

“Alan, you are not a failure. You are...” Jack patted his nephew’s cheek. “An unbroken mustang who has not yet found his ranch. And your father is just tryna keep you from bein’ sold as horse meat.” He slid them into a far aisle for more privacy. “He worries about you a lot, and he misses you somethin’ fierce.”

Al chewed his cheek. “Well, talk to him about showing it sometime.”

“No, son,” Jack took him by the shoulder, looking around to make sure they were alone. “Your father cries. At night when he talks about you, he starts wellin’ up like a waif. He doesn’t need to hear that you know about it, but it’s the God’s honest truth. All he talks about is wantin’ you back home.”

“I think movin’ out has been good for you, and I’m happy you did it. But it wounded him to his core. You’re his heart, kid.”

Al wasn’t sure how he was taking this information, but he knew how he was supposed to. He scrunched his eyes closed and took a deep breath.

“Okay... If you’re completely sure he won’t think it’s stupid.”

“Are you kiddin’? He’ll put it on the nightstand.” Jack grinned. “And if you smile for it real nice, I’ll take you to that steakhouse in the plaza after.”

Al cocked an eyebrow. “You were gonna go there anyway.”

“Yes. Yes, I was. But won’t you enjoy your ribeye that much more knowin’ you’ve earned it?” Mmn, maybe. “Besides... did you have any better ideas?”

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Come Christmas Day, Xav had unwrapped the waist-up portrait and just said “thank you”— which was worrying because he was usually much more verbose than that— and gone silent in his chair. At least he wasn’t mad. Al looked to Jack, who smiled knowingly and handed him a package to keep the gift exchange going.

Al figured it was because Jack had given him something funny, but then he heard his father breathe in sharply.

“Maudit tabarnak... you fucking assholes,” Xav’s voice sounded high and squeaky, like it was being squeezed through slabs of rock. He ducked his chin into his bedshirt collar to hide his face.

“You, fucking... why’d you have to...” He shook his hand at the framed photo. Oh boy, he really did hate it. The whole idea was idiotic. Al had sat in front of that artfully-mottled green backdrop and squinted for a man with a bow tie and no indoor voice for nothing, except for the sheer discomfort of it. And a ribeye steak with a baked potato.

Xav blinked up at the ceiling and gulped, his Adam’s apple fluctuating grotesquely. Eventually he seemed to find his voice again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having pictures taken, so I could make sure he had his fucking hair combed?” He showed them the photo. “Look at his bangs— they’re all over the fucking place.”

Al had to admit, they did look a little wild. “Aw, shoot. Sorry, Pop,” he laughed.

Jack tutted. “I think it looks nice. Rugged.”

“That’s because you don’t know how to comb your hair either, Jack.” Xav brought the photo back into his lap, looking it over. “Looks like he fought a bear before sitting down. But don’t worry, I still like it. You look handsome, kid. Maybe I can find some space on my nightstand.” Al and Jack exchanged victory grins, and didn’t catch Xav wiping tears from both eyes.

#writing #DFS #Alan Czar #Jack Czar #Xavier Czar #old men being evil and shmoopy #hopefully this helps solidify their voices/family dynamic for people #and why Al tends to be so passive in social situations haha #don't ask me why Jack talks like that because I will not tell you

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justasparkwritings · 4 years

Text

Merry & Bright {1}: Silver & Gold

youtube

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Swearing!

Summary: Is your boyfriend ready for your holiday cheer?

In a sunlit apartment, you and Yoongi slept diligently. Bodies connected only by feet that laid overlapping at the bottom of the bed, yours buried under his, his mindlessly resting on yours. The anticipation of today nearly kept you awake, the joy of your first Christmas season with your boyfriend was nothing short of thrilling, and overwhelming, and potentially disappointing. Or, as you put it, hazards of the season.

Yoongi wasn’t into Christmas like you were, and neither was Yoongi’s family. He didn’t celebrate Advent, or read devotionals preparing for the Christmas season. He didn’t listen to carols and actually believe what they said, and he didn’t buy into the rampant consumerism attached with the holiday. Yoongi was simple, modest in his celebrations and steadfast in his hatred for Santa and Elf on a Shelf.

You’d tried to warn him, tried to tell him that you and your family went big for Christmas. Not inflatables in your front yard big, not light-up-nativity-midnight-Mass big either. Traditions, family centered, everyone coming together big. Your stubbornness as a child resulted in strictly adhered to traditions, which you held very close to your heart. Presents opened on Christmas Eve, cut outs decorated a few days before Christmas, French silk pie for Christmas Eve dessert, to be eaten after church, songs and albums that had to be listen to first. You told Yoongi you’d go easy on him; it’d take time for him to adjust to such rigorous traditions, lord knew your brother-in-law took years to acclimate to your family’s joys. But Yoongi, ever the goal setter, was determined to find joy in what you found bliss in, resolute to familiarize and adapt faster than anyone you’d ever dated. He was unwavering in his desire to be present and jubilant in your celebrations until he had to bid you adieu and solemnly head back to Korea, where he’d wait for you to join him for New Years.

The escalating trill of your alarm alerted you that it was time to wake up. You rolled over, glancing at your phone to check the time, 8:25AM, December 1st and in an attempt to muffle what was sure to wake your boyfriend up, you screamed into the pillow. Your attempt at muffling the curt sound failed spectacularly, and Yoongi awoke with a start, yelling “what?” in his native tongue, fear and concern washing over his once placid features. He reached for his glasses, slipping them on and stared at you. Glancing over at him, you smiled, phone in hand.

“Do you know what today is?” You asked, excitement rippling through your vocal chords.

“Who cares what today is, are you okay?” Yoongi demanded.

“Yoongi, do you know what today is?” You asked again, eyes set on his, your framed spectacles mirroring his (a coincidence you both took as a weird sign that you were fated to be together).

“No,” He said, eyes still confused if your outburst had been about bodily harm.

“Oh my god! It’s time for Christmas!” You yelled, phone in hand, sprinting out of the bedroom and into the living room. Yoongi watched as your bare legs jiggled, carrying you swiftly to the surround system headquarters. He groggily followed, slipping a sweatshirt over his head, eyes still ripe with sleep, concern ebbing.

He stopped at the entrance to the living room, mere paces from the home you’d made in bed, to watch you. Carefully, you turned the necessary devices on, delicately adjusting the bass and amping the volume, all to ring out the opening notes. The dull synthesizer pulled the sharp quality of the opening triplet in tight, allowing for the softness of the drums, bongos maybe, to be heard hitting a two count on, two count off, in opposition of what Yoongi swore were bells. As he listened, he realized the composition was something he hadn’t heard of and was curious to know what was being played. The smooth vocals began to bring the melody out, as Vanessa Williams crooned:

Said the night wind, to the little lamb

Do you see what I see

Way up in the sky little lamb

Do you see what I see

A star

A star dancing in the night

With a tail as big as a kite

Yoongi watched as the smile danced across your lips, your eyes trained on your phone, no doubt texting your family, before you quickly set it down. Your eyes couldn’t help but beam with all the excitement you were feeling, utter blessedness as the song continued. You gave yourself to the music, swaying to the rhythm, slowly singing the African chants as they appeared mixed within the composition. He watched as your hips gyrated, mimicking a traditional African dance as the music swelled. He smiled to himself, watching you being moved by the music made him love you more. He couldn’t stop giggling at your unbridled joy over this carol.

Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king Do you know what I know In your palace oh mighty king Do you know what I know

A child, a child, shivers in the cold Let us bring him silver and gold Let us bring him silver and gold

As the horns picked up, cheers of “oh, oh, oh” came swelling through the speakers, you turned to Yoongi, your love, your partner.

“Dance with me,” You posed, hand outstretched to his. He smiled, gums and all, shaking his head repeatedly, giggling softly.

“It’s too early for dancing,” He hummed, voice low with its premature use this morning.

“Min Yoongi, Suga, dance with me,” You asked again, eyes wide. “It’s almost my favorite part!”

“Ahh, fine,” He said, shaking his bangs and coming to take your hand. You pulled him close, hand in his, arm draped over his shoulder.

“This is my favorite part, you have to close your eyes though, you have to feel it,” You whispered, hand coming to rest on his heart. He nodded. He’d become accustomed to this request, and often had the same of you. Turning off your sight, allowing your hearing to become dominant, always drew out your emotional connection to the music. When he sent you samples, tagged with a ‘remember, close your eyes’, you always obliged. While you played him a song that meant something to you, you asked the same in return. With the horns swelling, the chorus’s voices growing, Yoongi closed his eyes and tried to feel what you did.

Listen, do you see what I see?

Do you hear what I hear?

Do you know what I know?

Pray for peace, people everywhere!

Oh oh

Do you hear what I hear?

Yoongi hadn’t understood why you felt anything to this song, or why you were so excited for this holiday season. He couldn’t comprehend your joy over the Christ child being born. But slow dancing with you, his arm wrapped securely around your waist, your voice singing softly, Yoongi heard what you heard. He knew what you knew. When he opened his eyes, he saw what you saw.

Next: Baby, Sugar, Honey, Darling

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livesincerely · 4 years

Note

I’m very sorry for all of the asks Madam Sincerely, but I’ve just recently gone on a binge of all of your fics, and I don’t think there’s any more questions on the ask game, so can I ask here: Do you have any ideas on future works that you haven’t started writing yet? If so, can we hear some? I was scrolling back through your tumblr to cheer myself up yesterday (my country’s gone back into lockdown) and saw you mentioned a few ideas, like the one in the SubDavey ask? Sorry, just curious <3

No need to be sorry, the asks are lovely! I’m sorry to hear that things have shut down where you are, I’m sure that’s incredibly difficult. Sending all the positivity your way 💕💜✨⭐️💕💜

The Domestic au is the QUEEN of inspiring random story ideas and dangling plot threads. There’s several floating around in the domestic au/ideas for later tags but if I was going to narrow it down to a handful of ideas that have a good chance of existing in the near-ish future, then I’d say 1) the Jack and Davey preparing for college fic 2) the Davey picking Race & Charlie up from the elementary school because Jack’s sick fic 3) the Race and Charlie needing a cuddle pile fic and 4) the bedsharing fic where Jack is struggling under the pressure of fighting for custody and needs some comfort.

I’m just in the mood for some stuff set in the high school/college era of that au, probably because ‘it’s beginning to look a lot like...’ has got me in the mindset. All of these would be one shots, just showing more landmarks in the boys’ history since ‘it’s so easy (too easy) to love you’ sort of just drops you right into the ocean as far as circumstances lol. And also, there’s a lot of family building that goes on before Jack and Davey get together that I’m very interested in exploring! I think Race describes it as ‘eight years of waiting for Jack and Davey to get their shit together?’ Yeah. So definitely lots of domestic au in the upcoming year.

I’ve talked the tiniest bit about ‘there’s you and me (and everyone else)’ and ‘a few letters off’ but after doing the first bits & bobs for each of them, I got distracted by other projects as I so often do, 😅 so I’ll talk about them here. Actually, I’m not even sure if these had working title ideas last time I mentioned them here, it’s been that long lol.

Anyway, these two fics are very similar, but just different enough to need separate fics. The first is a modern, high school au that features different examples of Jack and Davey being the accidental co-parents of their friend group while obliviously pining for each other. I’m thinking it will be individual scenes tied together by the theme; I’ll put the original idea post here and the bits & bobs here. Besides what I already talked about, I also think I want to include a scene where Albert and Crutchie are going on a first date (a pairing that is absolutely inspired by @agentsnickers, you’ve converted me) and they both separately approach Jack and Davey for advice on what to do/wear/etc. Like, a total ‘our-kids-on-their-first-date-get-the-camera’ type thing, plus Jack being an overprotective older brother and giving Charlie a curfew because he’s ridiculous.

“Be home by nine,” Jack says, a little surly. “Nine?” Davey asks, incredulous “They’re seventeen not seven. Eleven o’clock.” “I’m supposed to trust Albert with my baby brother at eleven o’clock?” Jack asks, scowling. “That’s just asking for trouble.” He says trouble in the sort of ominous tone other people reserve for imminent nuclear meltdown or battlefield heart surgery. “What do you think Albert’s gonna do, stick his hand down Crutchie’s pants the moment they walk out the door?” Davey says with a scoff. “It’s Albert.” “Ten-thirty,” Jack eventually offers. Davey nods, then looks back at Albert and Crutchie, who have been following this exchange like a tennis match and are both now a little pink in the face, and shrugs, trying to convey something like ‘pick your battles’. “Great!” Crutchie squeaks out, sounding absolutely mortified. “Great, ten-thirty it is, oh my god, Albert let’s go before theykeeptalking—“

Oh! And I want Davey to full name someone in the ultimate you-fucked-up-and-mom-is-pissed move. I even went and made full names for everyone just to be prepared 😊

Then, ‘a few letters off’ is the Jack-and-Davey’s-friends’-perspectives-on-the-nonsense-that-is-Javid fic. I’ve basically finished the Buttons scene, but I’m also hoping to include one each from the povs of Katherine, Crutchie, Racetrack, Spot, and Albert at minimum.

I’m thinking:

Katherine - catching Jack painting/drawing Davey while Jack tries to cover and deny

Spot - The aftermath of him and Jack getting into a fight with the DeLancey’s and him watching Davey fluttered worriedly around Jack, scolding him for being a reckless but still dabbing carefully at his injuries.

Racetrack - comes home to find Jack and Davey watching a movie, except that Jack’s fallen asleep halfway through, head in Davey’s lap, and Davey is adamant that Race doesn’t wake him.

Crutchie - watching Javid eating lunch together and noting how totally domestic it is: stealing food from each other’s plates, Jack gives Davey his extra fruit cup then swipes his milk carton and Davey doesn’t even say anything because it’s so routine, and how they’re able to move in and around each other effortlessly while eating and holding two separate conversations.

Albert - watching Jack and Davey flirt/bicker from the backseat on the drive to school.

And then some sort of culminating/getting together scene at the end.

There’s the infamous quarantine fic, which I waxed poetically about for all of two seconds and then never expanded on. (Here and here) The reason I haven’t done anything with it yet is because it will be a multi-chapter and between tie fic, take a shot fic, and now the domestic au holiday fic, I’m really at my limit for multi chapters at the mo’. But I do still want to do something with this once I finish tie fic and DAUHF, as take a shot knows no bounds and cannot be quantified by earthly means.

Then, as for the idea I mentioned in the sub!Davey post.... I think I’m going to be able to repurpose the general scenario/concept I was imagining for the final, E rated chapter of Tie Fic, so I don’t think the original idea will ever make it to a final cut. (I won’t say never because anything’s possible lol) But, I’m happy to put the bit I have here! Things don’t quite get E rated in this excerpt, but they’re definitely a solid M. This would’ve been an addition to the Tease series and I think this has been sitting in my drafts for almost as long as the letterman fic, and it hasn’t been edited in at least two years, so yeah 😅

00000

“I really wanted to work on my thesis proposal, that’s why I was in the library most of the day,” Davey says suddenly, pushing Jack down against the couch and straddling him, his voice light and conversational. “It was nice of you to check on me so often, though I’m sorry I wasn’t very good company. I was trying to stay focused, you know how it is.”

Davey looks at Jack expectantly, making it clear that he’s waiting for a response. Jack stares up at him, his expression equal parts confused, transfixed, and aroused. He swallows heavily, then nods.

“But I did warn you, didn’t I?” Davey continues, bracing himself with a hand on each of Jack’s shoulders, rolling their hips together as he presses closer. “That I had a lot of work to do? That this paper is really important to me and that I wanted to get a head start? That I really needed to focus and didn’t want to be distracted? I distinctly remember warning you about all of that.”

He nuzzles down the curve of Jack’s jaw, then nips at his neck. “But you didn’t listen,” he says against Jack’s pulse point. Davey smooths his hands down Jack’s chest, then back up to his throat, tugging at his collar. He unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt.

“In fact, one could argue that you did the exact opposite of what I asked you to do,” Davey says, working his way slowly through the buttons on Jack’s shirt. “Trailing your fingers across my arm, rubbing a thumb across the nape of my neck, sneaking a hand up my shirt… I would call all of that distracting, wouldn’t you?” He finishes unbuttoning Jack’s shirt and pushes it off his shoulders, admiring his muscular chest.

Davey glances up sharply. “Answer me, Jack.”

Jack blinks himself out of his daze. “I-uh, what did you ask me?”

Davey leans forward. They’re so close that he can feel the warmth of Jack’s breath against his face. “I asked you,” he starts, wrapping his arms loosely around Jack’s neck, “whether you thought constantly caressing someone while they were trying to work would distract them.”

It takes Jack a long moment to respond. “Yeah.”

One of Davey’s hands trails up the back of Jack’s neck. “You agree that doing something like that would be impossibly flustering?” Davey asks in that same, unaffected voice—as if clarifying a statement for a news article—threading his fingers through Jack’s hair. “That it would thoroughly divert that person’s focus? That it would leave them feeling unbalanced, frustrated, and downright agitated?

He leans impossibly closer, so close that the barest tilt of his head would press their lips together. “That it would drive them so crazy that all they could think about was how desperately they needed to be fucked,” Davey growls out, and his voice low and rough.

“Christ, Davey,” Jack groans, his pupils blown wide. He leans up to kiss him, but Davey anticipates this and tugs sharply on his hair, holding him in place. “So, we’re in agreement?” Davey continues in his casual voice, letting go of the dark strands and pulling away slightly, ignoring Jack’s groan of disappointment, “that all of those actions would, in fact, be extremely distracting.”

He trails his hands lovingly across Jack’s shoulders and down his chest, his movements unhurried. He licks a hot stripe up Jack’s neck, then sucks hard at a spot just under his jaw.

“Considering both of these facts, I can only conclude that you were distracting me on purpose.” Davey presses a line of kisses along Jack’s collar bone, delighting in the moan that tears its way out of Jack’s throat. He scratches lightly at the tanned skin of Jack’s chest, then sucks a bruise just above his collarbone.

“Were you doing it on purpose, Jack?” he asks, then before Jack can answer, rolls his hips hard and slow against Jack’s, grinding their erections together. Jack’s hands spasm, then tighten, clenching hard against Davey’s sides. Davey continues his ministrations, circling his hips against Jack’s, teasing him with the friction. Then, just as Jack seems to catch on to Davey’s rhythm and starts to move with him, Davey stills. “Were you teasing me on purpose?”

Jack’s mouth opens and closes, his throat working furiously. “I-yeah.”

David hums in acknowledgment, then continues his slow perusal of his boyfriend’s chest. He nibbles lightly across his sternum, then draws the flat of his tongue across one of one Jack’s nipples. Jack arches into him but Davey pushes him back, using his leverage to hold Jack down against the couch cushions. He sits up, admiring the mess he’s made of Jack’s neck and torso.

Jack stares up at him, chest heaving, waiting for Davey’s next move.

....

Davey runs his hands down Jack’s stomach and between his hips, fingers brushing gently against the front of Jack’s jeans.

Jack lets out a guttural noise. “God, Davey, let me—“ he starts, one hand slipping back to kneed at Davey’s ass, the other inching towards Davey’s fly.

“No,” Davey says firmly, moving Jack’s hands back to his waist. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

00000

That’s all that comes to mind at the moment! Oh, and the Brooklyn Davey AU idea, but I got a different ask about that, so I’ll just link it. (Here)

@saysflora

#*editor's note #*ask #ideas for later #*the writing desk #this was a lot but hopefully it was interesting!#thank you for the ask #blessings and good vibes on your house

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anactualcaseofthetruth · 4 years

Photo

Friends Can Break Your Heart Too, Chapter 2 > Archive Of Our Own Link

Catch Up - Chapter 1 > Archive Of Our Own Link

Summary: Mia Flores flees to Santo Padre for one reason and one reason only: her godfather and the man who raised her, Bishop Losa. The last thing she expects is for Angel Reyes to come into her chaotic life and just maybe be the one thing that starts to make sense.

NOTE: trigger warning to abuse - the whole scene is in italics if you don’t want to/can’t read it

“Since when you got a kid, Bish?” Coco asks with cigarette smoke leaking from his nose.

Bishop turns to Mia and makes a show of looking her up and down. “Twenty-some odd years or so now.”

“Very funny,” Coco mutters to himself as he steps on the butt of his cigarette.

“You have something to say now that we know this young lady’s relationship to Bishop?” Taza questions while looking down at Coco expectantly.

“Sorry for the shit I said, how I acted. Didn’t know who you were, you know,” he offers half-heartedly.

“I wasn’t being very forthcoming either, but I wanted to surprise him,” Mia replies along with a hip check to her godfather.

Angel chortles in front of her, and she fixes her gaze on him as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. He meets her eyes but says nothing as the white smoke oozes from his mouth and nose.

“Now that we’re all acquainted and in good standing, I think some of us need to get to work,” Taza says with a pointed look at the two younger Mayans.

“God forbid the scrap piles up,” Angel murmurs before brushing past her and towards the scrap yard.

Coco follows, but Taza lingers with the two of them. “You two take some time, we can handle a couple hours without our fearless leader,” the VP offers.

Bishop nods. “Mia, you mind giving us a minute?” he asks in a voice that is almost too polite.

Mia looks around expectantly. “Uh…”

“Clubhouse is open,” Bishop says with a cock of his head. “No one’s in there, help yourself behind the bar.”

Mia lets out a breath of laughter. “Sure,” she agrees and walks up the few stairs to the clubhouse, but doesn’t help herself behind the bar, although it would help with the headache.

It’s exactly what she expects it to be, the clubhouse. There’s a bar, a pool table, various other tables and chairs, Mayan memorabilia adorns the walls, along with posters of scantily clad women. There’s a tattoo chair in one corner, a stripper pole in another, and a stained-glass door Mia knows leads to where they hold Templo.

She’s only alone for a minute or two before Bishop comes in behind her. “Sorry, club shit,” he apologizes as he goes behind the bar himself. He reaches for a beer, then seems to rethink it and puts it back. “Do you… breakfast, maybe?”

Mia shakes her head. “Maybe we should talk first, it has been a while.”

Bishop leans on the bar, his hands folded together. “More than a year since we spoke at least. Almost two since I’ve actually seen you, despite the fact that I’ve been up to Oakland three times to do just that, but since I didn’t know where you lived—”

“I know, I’m an asshole, I’m sorry,” Mia interrupts.

“I call every year on every major holiday, on your birthday, on the anniversary of—”

“I know!” she exclaims. “I know, okay?”

“Come to find that fourteen months ago your number changes, your cell phone account gone completely. You’re not listed anywhere, Esai hadn’t heard from you, you refused to tell me the name of that boyfriend you practically fucking worshipped. The boyfriend, who, if I recall correctly, lead to all this shit happening,” Bishop continues anyways.

“Do not blame this all on me!” Mia surprises herself by screaming. “Yes, I’m the asshole that didn’t call, didn’t reach out, but you made a choice and I—”

“Oh, no, we’re not going there,” Bishop states as he pounds a fist on the bar.

Mia jumps and silently berates herself for it. “You choose her, Bop, you choose her over and over again, every time,” she insists. “And I got fucking sick of it.”

“She’s your mother,” Bishop says quietly.

“Since fucking when?” she asks. “The moment that my,” she stops to clear her throat, “when he died she stopped being my mother and you know it.”

“She tried.”

Mia shakes her head. “I don’t know why I even came here. I should have known it would turn into this. Yes, I made mistakes. Yes, I am wrong for cutting you out, and believe me when I say I hate myself for it, but here we are, once again, and instead of trying to work things out with me you’re still choosing her.”

“She’s your mother, Mia, I’m not choosing—”

“You were my mother!” Mia cuts him off, and he looks up at her in surprise. “You,” she confirms as she steps towards the bar. “You said my prayers with me, you read me books until I fell asleep, you signed me up for dance classes, came to every recital. Jesus Christ, Bop, you had one of the old lady’s teach your how to help with my hair when I started kickboxing and needed it French braided every day.”

Her godfather nods but says nothing in return this time.

“Bop, you were my mother and my father, still are, and I came here because I,” she stops and blinks away tears. “I really do hate myself for cutting you out, please believe that.”

He’s out from behind the bar and she’s in his arms not even a moment later. “Sh, don’t say shit like that, pequeña,” he whispers in her ear.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she repeats into his kutte.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmurs against the crown of her head before kissing it. “I shouldn’t have let this shit go on for so long.”

Mia pulls away shaking her head. “How could you have patched it up? You couldn’t find me.”

“I guess I taught you a little too well, huh?” he tries to joke, and Mia laughs to make him feel better.

She wishes she could tell him it was all her idea. Wishes she simply got a new phone plan in an effort to hide from him, moved so he couldn’t find her, stopped working so she wouldn’t have a paper trail for him to follow.

But none of it is true.

“I am sorry, Bop,” she insists while wiping the tear tracks from her cheeks.

“C’mon,” he leads her over to a table and pulls out a chair for her. “You didn’t come all this way to apologize, did you? My number hasn’t changed, you could have called, we could have arranged something.”

“No, I did need to come all this way to say sorry. You deserve a face-to-face apology. Respect goes a long way, you taught me that too,” she corrects him.

“We both said shit that day, from what I remember. I’m sorry too. I do…” he trails off and sighs. “I do make your mom a priority, sometimes it might feel like more than I do you, but it’s not true. I know you can take care of yourself, I raised you to be able to. Your mom…” he sighs again, “is a heroin addict and I enable her too much, I know that.”

Mia wants to cry all over again. Because she hasn’t been taking care of herself. Because she hasn’t been acting like the woman he raised. Because if he knew what Jay did to her, what she let him do, he wouldn’t think she could take care of herself so well. He’d be ashamed.

“It’s okay,” she manages.

“No, it’s not. You’re my top priority, always have been and will be. You know that, right?” he asks and for the second time in as many days Mia feels like her heart is lodged in her throat.

Not trusting her voice, Mia simply nods.

Bishop reaches forwards and takes her hands in his. “What’s going on, mija?” he asks in a soft voice. “I am so happy to see you, but you’re here for more than this. I’ve lived here for over five years and you’ve never showed interest in coming down.”

“I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, but me and the boyfriend are no longer a thing,” she confesses. “Just wasn’t working out.”

“He kicked you out?”

Mia almost laughs. “No, I left him, actually. He went on a trip with some friends and I decided to take a permanent one of my own.”

Bishop sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “You think he’ll come looking? Should I talk to one—”

“No,” she stops him, lying through her teeth. “At least, I don’t think so. I tried to keep him in the dark about the club and Mom, all of it. He wasn’t very interested in my past, more of a look to the future type of guy. He always had plans and ideas and cared a lot about what people thought,” she goes on. “I felt stifled, I guess. I thought I wanted normal, I thought being with someone exactly the opposite of what I grew up with was what I needed. I had just started dating him when Mom OD’ed, again, and you jumped in to save her, again, and I was so angry. I was so angry I wanted away from Oakland, from the MC, all of it.”

“I don’t blame you,” her godfather tells her. “You haven’t had it the easiest, I didn’t shield you from as much as I should have.”

“No, don’t. All the good memories I have from my childhood come from you. It was hard sometimes, but I was loved and I had everything I needed to get through,” she assures him. “It took me almost two years, but I’ve realized I can’t forget who I am or where I came from, and I don’t want to.”

“I’m glad,” Bishop admits and gives her a smile.

“Normal is very overrated, I found out,” she tries to joke. “Boring Christmas parties, stuffy work functions, Sunday brunch at the club. It’s all very pastel and white with fake noses and bad dye jobs.”

“Sounds like scary shit to me, baby,” he insists. “I think I’d rather wear black and drink some beers with my brothers.”

Mia forces a smile. “It was nice in the beginning, I guess. All the restaurants and fancy galas, getting to dress up for more than a funeral or a court date, nice cars and all that, but,” she shakes her head as she thinks about it, “it was all a lie. That’s not who I am, and it took me too long to realize that’s not who I want to be either.”

“We all go through shit, Mia,” Bishop reminds her. “You didn’t choose this life, you were born into it, raised in it. It makes sense you wanted a taste of another life. I’m just glad you decided the old one was worth hanging on to.”

“It is,” she promises him quietly. “It’s a memory of you that make me realize I was in over my head, was living a life I wasn’t meant for and being someone I wasn’t.”

“A good one, I hope.”

“I was, uh,” Mia starts while staring at nicks in the table. “I was going through some shit from when I was a kid, pictures and stuff,” she partially lies. “And I found that one of me on my first bike the day you got it for me, do you remember?”

Bishop chuckles and nods. “It took me an hour to get you on it, then three hours to get you off at the end of the day.”

“I remember crying when I realized there were no training wheels and thought that meant I couldn’t ride it,” Mia says with small smile. “But you said I didn’t need training wheels, that I was a big girl, and by the time you were done with me I’d be riding like a pro.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” he asks with a proud smile already on his face.

Mia nods. “You usually are. Do you remember what you said the first time I fell?”

Bishop grins at the memory. “We were screaming at each other in the middle of the park. You were six, had pig tails, your arms crossed, and steam coming out of your ears. I really thought I was going to lose the fight there for a minute.”

“You let me fall! I felt betrayed,” Mia defends herself. “But do you remember what you said?”

Bishop lets out a long breath. “I told you life was going to knock you down over and over again, but you had to get up and keep going because that’s how you grow and move on.”

“I think you added something in there about proving all the fuckers who tried to keep me down wrong too,” she teases.

“Yep, I did,” Bishop recalls in a laugh.

“And then you told me,” Mia goes on, “that when I felt like I’d been knocked down one too many times and I couldn’t get back up all I had to do was turn around,” she says as tears fill her eyes again. “All I had to do was turn around because you’d be there to help me up and remind me how strong I was. Do you remember that?”

Bishop simply nods and squeezes her hands.

“I realized I got knocked down a while ago, and I needed help getting back up,” she tells him. “I’m sorry if it’s a bad time or if I messed up anything for you and the club—”

“Stop,” he orders, his tone firm. “You will never be a problem, you understand me? Never.” He brushes a tear off her cheek. “And I’m here, always, just tell me what you need.”

“I think I just,” she stops to sniffle, “I think I just need my dad to pick me up and tell me everything will be okay, and maybe a place to stay for a while. I don’t have much money or,” she’s cut off by Bishop’s arms wrapping around her.

“Don’t worry about any of that,” he tells her.

“I realized I wasn’t being the woman you raised me to be. I was trying to be someone else because I was so angry, and I don’t want to be angry anymore.”

Bishop holds her tighter. “Everything is going to be fine. I’ve got you now.”

Mia just lets herself be held by him like she did that day at the park when she fell again and again, hoping that when he lets her go she’ll be ready to stand up again.

~3 weeks ago~

Mia doesn’t even attempt to get up from where he left her on the floor, and instead curls into a ball. Ignoring the little pieces of glass piercing her skin, not caring about the blood threatening to seep into her eyes, and struggling for each breath, she just waits.

It’s less than ten minutes when she hears glass crunch underneath his shoes and smoke fills the air. The smell makes the tension she’s holding in her shoulders alleviate the smallest bit. Smoking usually means he’s done, that the battle is over.

“What am I going to do with you?” comes from above her. His voice is hoarse now, as it usually is after he’s spent hours yelling.

A hand slips into her hair and Mia can’t help but shrink away from his touch, but that doesn’t stop him or seem to bother him.

“Hm? Any ideas?” he asks with his hand still caressing her hairline.

When she still doesn’t answer he blows the skunk smoke in her face causing her to cough. She wants to tell him that his dealer sucks, his weed is weak, but stays quiet. It’s safer that way.

“Maybe I should get you pregnant again, huh?” he wonders aloud, his free hand now cupping her stomach, and at this she physically recoils. Jay pulls on her hair, hard, to tug her back in place. She winces at the little pieces of glass that are now embedded in her flesh. “But I can’t trust you with that, can I? Since you killed the last one.”

“It wasn’t a baby,” she mutters and waits for the pain, but none comes. “It was cells—”

“It was my baby,” he corrects her as his grip tightens on her curls. “It wasn’t cells or yours to decide what to do with. It was mine. You hear me?”

Mia’s eyes fill with tears because he’s wrong, he’s so wrong. She was barely eight weeks and it could have been a baby, her baby, but she couldn’t let it become that. Not with this father, not this life, not if she could help it.

He stands, accepting her silence as both cowardice and surrender. “No, I think we have some growing and learning to do before you have my baby,” he sighs, disappointed she doesn’t already know her place. “If you think this is going to ruin my trip, you’re wrong,” he says with the joint hanging out of his mouth as he reaches into his pocket. He drops a credit card and wad of cash on her. “This shit better be cleaned up by the time I get home, you hear me? Like it never happened.”

Mia only nods and he walks away back towards the bedroom, probably for his luggage. He was finishing packing when she came home. Of course, he can’t miss the annual weekend golf trip with his frat bros. That would be a shame.

It isn’t until the door closes behind him that Mia breathes easily and lets more tears fall from her eyes.

How the fuck did he find out about the abortion?

She’s gotten most of the glass picked out of her arm when a photo in the mess she’s supposed to clean up catches her eye. All she can make out is the top of her own head and hair of the man who is on her thoughts more than she wants to admit.

Mia’s careful to walk on the small path already cleared with the broom in her barefeet as she approaches the broken curio cabinet and reaches for the picture hidden behind all the photos of Jay at his law school graduation.

Her lip quivers as she looks down at the man who raised her, his arms around her as she sits on a purple bike with teal tires and handlebars, her favorite colors at the time. She looks so happy, innocent, unbroken.

It’s probably the only picture of her past in the entire house. The rest are all lies—them smiling at business functions, family barbeques, his brother’s wedding. What they don’t show is him squeezing her leg tight under the table in warning for her not to mess up again, a hand digging so hard into her neck it leaves bruises, and a look in his eye that makes her scared to go home.

But the picture in her hand is real. It contains joy, love, and it all feels like a lifetime ago.

Mia stands now, the picture never leaving her hand, and she knows what she has to do, because she remembers who she once was.

~present~

“We should make a list of the shit you need,” Bishop calls from the clubhouse kitchen as he goes to refill both their plates with the scrambled eggs and bacon he made.

Apparently, she isn’t the only Mayan daughter around. Coco has a sixteen-year-old that is in and out of the clubhouse regularly, which means there is more than beer and chips stocked in the kitchen.

“I don’t want you to worry about that. I’ll get a job and get it on my own,” Mia says as he returns.

He sets the plate down in front of her and gives her a look she knows means he isn’t going to lose this one. “Mia, you’re my kid, let me take care of you. We can fight about you paying me back later.”

She tries not to laugh with a forkful of eggs in her mouth. “When you put it that way.”

“You need a phone, right?” he questions, to which she nods as she chews. “I’ll put a call in, get you added to my plan. You can head down and pick out whatever you want this afternoon. You can toss the prepaid one you got. Smart move, by the way,” he adds. “Don’t want the asshole following you because you kept the phone he was paying for.”

“You never even met him, Bop,” she reminds him, then bites her cheek. Why is she defending him? He is an asshole.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t tell he’s an asshole,” he responds and she keeps quiet this time. “I got a room for you at my place, but since you’re staying awhile we’ll get you moved in to this small house I rent out in a few weeks,” he goes on. “It’s a shithole right now, but I’ll put the prospect on it, maybe a few of the guys. We have a warehouse full of shit too, you can go and pick what you want, make the place yours.”

“I hate feeling like a burden,” Mia mumbles.

“You kidding? I’ve been asking you to move down here for years. I’ve got it all worked out up here, baby,” he says with a finger tap to his head. “SPG is always hiring, you’ll have a job there by the end of the week, no problem.”

“SPG?” she questions as she sips at her orange juice. Her headache is gone, finally.

“Santo Padre General,” he fills her in. “If you want, I can put a call in. I know someone, Gracie, she—”

“I really appreciate all you’re doing for me, Bop, but I can get a job on my own,” Mia cuts him off. “Especially as a nurse. I want them to know I can do the job because I’m good at it, not because my dad called someone.”

“Alright, alright,” he mutters before lighting up one of his cigars. He usually only smokes during celebrations and Templo, so she looks at him with her eyebrows raised. “What? I can’t be happy my little girl is here?”

Mia can’t help but smile at him. “I’m happy I’m here too.”

Bishop grins back at her with a pat to her knee.

She looks back at her eggs covered with hot sauce and lets out a shaky breath. This is what she has been working towards for almost three weeks. She’s here, with Bishop, and he knows just enough not to be suspicious. She’s with one of the few people she feels safe with, in a place where she doesn’t have to look over her shoulder all the time because she never told Jay about it. He never cared to know about her ‘ghetto past’ as he liked to call it.

“You alright, pequeña?” he asks, breaking her concentration on the eggs.

“Uh, yeah, I was just thinking,” Mia tells him. “I need one more thing.”

“Name it.”

“The plates on my car, they are kind of fake,” she says before putting more eggs in her mouth.

Bishop takes the cigar from his mouth. “Kind of?” he questions, to which she shrugs. “I’ll have it handled by end of day. That piece of shit Chevy on the curb is yours?”

“No,” Mia orders, seeing the wheels in his head turn. “I don’t need a new car. It’s just old, that’s all. I haven’t really driven it in two years. I was using one of his cars, and I couldn’t very well take it when I’m leaving him, now could I? But the plates were off it, so I had to get new ones to drive it here.”

It’s a lie. It had plates, but Jay knew what they were, and he’d use them to look for her. There are perks to growing up in the MC, she knows quite a few tricks.

“Fine,” he mutters, but she knows it will be one of those fights saved for later.

“I also need to open a bank account,” she adds on. “I closed mine out when I decided to come down here. Figured it’d be easier that way, I mean, there aren’t many of the usual franchises in town.”

“Good call,” Bishop comments. “You look exhausted, mija,” he says a moment later.

“Thank you, that’s just what every girl wants to hear from her father,” she tells him as she finishes off her plate.

“Let’s get you out of here. We’ll stop at the bank and the phone place on the way to my house, then you can sleep the rest of the day, or do whatever shit you want to do.”

“I would not say no to sleeping for the rest of the day,” Mia agrees.

“And I’ve been thinkin’,” he goes on as they stand, “maybe on Sunday we can have a get together here with everyone, so you meet ‘em all. You know Taza and Hank, but not any of my other guys. We can fire up the grill, tell stories of all the shit you put me through as a teen—”

“Hey! I was not that bad,” she insists. “I was never officially charged with anything, anyways,” she corrects herself and he laughs. It’s full and hearty and makes her feel better inside than she has in months.

“You up for it?” he checks as they exit the clubhouse and are once again out in the blinding sunlight. He hands her the sunglasses clipped to his kutte without a word.

She puts them on and beams up at him. “Definitely. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a real clubhouse party. Think any of the guys will want to get in the cage? I haven’t seen a good fight in even longer.”

“Haven’t been in one either, I bet?” he teases. “Use any of those kickboxing skills I paid for lately?”

Mia looks down at the sand underneath their feet. She doesn’t want to tell him she’s been in fights, not the kind he’s talking about, and that she didn’t fight back. In fact, she barely put up one most of the time. “Not in a while, no.”

“I got a bunch of your old gear if you want to get back into it,” he tells her. “There’s some here, some back at the house, but it’s all yours if you want it.”

“You’re such a packrat, Bop,” Mia teases as they stop at the row of bikes.

There is a whistle behind them and they both turn to see Angel walking over, but he doesn’t look happy about it.

“One sec,” Bishop says and meets him halfway.

Mia takes the moment to look at him. Angel, that is. She can’t believe she let that happen last night, hooking up with him in the bathroom. She smiles at the memory though.

How long had it been since she’d done something for herself? Besides the decision to come down here, that is? Too fucking long.

Maybe it was just what she needed—a good time and an even better fuck to remember what she’s fighting for, or rather show her the kinds of things she is missing. Of course, she doesn’t want or need a relationship, he likely doesn’t either, but some fun? She’s definitely down for that. After the hell she’s been through, she thinks she deserves some.

Mia hadn’t been joking or lying when she said he was her angel, because maybe he was. In that moment, he was exactly what she needed, and she doesn’t regret it for a second.

They only speak for a minute, then Bishop is heading towards the scrap yard and Angel is coming towards her. He looks good in his Romero Bros Scrap shirt. The sleeves are cut off and those veins she loves in his arms are popping in all the right places.

“Hey,” she greets while sliding the glasses up into her hair.

“Bish needs to talk to Taza, wants me to keep you company, introduce myself, you know,” he tells her and his voice is much harsher than yesterday. He pulls out his cigarettes and lights one.

“You think we should tell him we already got that out of the way last night?” she asks, and his mouth opens in shock, causing him to almost lose the stick hanging from his lips. “I’m kidding! Calm down, will you?”

“You knew exactly who I was, that I knew your ‘other Dad’,” he says with finger quotes and all. “And you fucking played me.”

“Are you seriously mad at me right now?” she asks. “Which part are you mad about? That I didn’t tell you that you were fucking your president’s daughter or that I let you play up the big, bad biker thing when I already knew all about it? Just so I know for the sake of the argument.”

Angel takes a long drag of his cigarette, then shakes his head. “I’m just sayin’ you knew all the facts going in, I didn’t know shit, thought you were just passing through.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you usually ask all your fuck buddies for their whole history, want my mother’s maiden name too? How about my record, that seems more your style?”

“Let me guess,” Angel starts with a pointer finger on each side of his head for dramatic effect, “you’re on the run for attempting to assassinate a high-ranking government official.”

Mia can’t hold back the smile from forming on her lips and doesn’t want to. “Wow, tall, dark, and psychic, a real triple threat,” she teases.

“Sometimes I fuckin’ wish,” Angel says while flicking his ashes. “Doesn’t change the fact that you played me.”

“Oh, come on, that is so unfair,” Mia insists. “I didn’t play you, I played my part. We all got what we wanted, didn’t we? I even made it easier on you by leaving before you did and skipping the awkward parts.”

“Or,” he counters while taking a step closer, “you skipped what could have been round two. Ever think about that?”

Mia’s cheeks flush. “Well, I am now,” she mumbles. “But, admit it, you like it, don’t you?”

“Like what?”

“That you fucked your president’s daughter,” she answers easily, and he shakes his head, fighting the smirk that wants to form on his face. “You do, it’s okay to admit it. Makes you feel a little bit like a rebel, maybe. When you’re sitting with him at Templo you’ll be able to look him straight in the eye all while thinking about how you know the noises I make, what it feels like when you’re inside me. After all, I’m not blood, right? So, it can’t be that weird for you.”

“Does blood matter when I’m thinking about fucking you in his chair too?” he asks, and now it’s her turn for her mouth to drop open. “Angel Reyes, nice to meet you,” he offers at her silence with a hand out and all.

“Mia Flores,” she replies automatically as her hand slides into his. “Are you still mad at me?” she wonders once she gains her bearings again. “Because if it counts for anything fucking you had nothing to do with you being a Mayan.”

Angel barks out a laugh and drops the butt so he can step on it, then lowers his head closer to her ear. “And I’ll fuck you again knowing you’re my president’s daughter, if that counts for anything,” he tells her, then steps back while dropping her hand.

Mia smiles up at him, but notices Bishop making his way back. “I’ll keep that in mind, but you never answered my question.”

Angel shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe we’ll have to find out a way to make it right.”

“Maybe we will. It was nice to meet you, Angel,” she says once Bishop reaches them.

“You too, Mia,” he confirms with a wink before turning around and heading back to work.

“Everything okay?” Mia asks her godfather as he reaches for his helmet.

“Yeah, just catching Taza up. You wanna follow me?” he answers with his leg already swinging over his bike. “You probably don’t want to leave your car here.”

“Sure.”

As Mia makes her back to her car she can’t help but look back, hoping Angel is still visible. He isn’t, but she wishes she could get another look.

She doesn’t know what it is about Angel, but he makes her forget what she’s running from, all the shit she’s been through. He makes her feel like the old Mia, the one before Jay, before she lost herself in all the anger she still carries. She feels safe with him, and it’s surprising, but she also doesn’t want to question it.

She’s had so little to be happy about lately, why overthink one of the few things making her feel that way?

-:-

“So, we’re standing in the middle of the best accommodation’s Oakland PD has to offer, Mia in the jail cell, me on the other side, if you can believe it—” Bishop stops to laugh along with the others gathered around them, much to her chagrin. “And she’s insisting it wasn’t grand theft auto, more like, what did you call it again?”

Mia looks down at the empty beer in her hand and shakes her head. She was such a fearless, stupid kid. What happened? “Mediocre borrow auto, I think it was,” she admits, and more laughter erupts around them.

“Right, and we start screaming at each other, mostly in Spanish, and the fucker who arrested her is laughing at us…” he goes on.

Mia squeezes Bishop’s shoulder as he tells the story. “I’ll be right back, I need a refill,” she mentions, and he nods, but keeps the telling of her past indiscretions.

It’s the day of ‘her’ party, as Bishop calls it. Even though she had met most of the club on the day of her arrival (and the one after it), he wanted a celebration in her honor, so here they are. Multiple bonfires are lit, girls are in every direction, and there’s probably more beer than they can all drink in one night, but she doesn’t want to underestimate the charter. It’s too soon to tell.

She could have gotten a beer at one of the many ice buckets around, but wants away from the crowd, somewhere she can hear her thoughts without loud music or pretending to smile. While she’s happy to be in Santo Padre, it’s a very different environment than the one she’s been living in lately.

Everyone is loud and rambunctious, unashamed and proud, and it’s wonderful, but takes some getting used to. She still finds herself looking over her shoulder every few minutes, biting her tongue to stop herself from saying whatever comment comes to mind, and second-guessing every other move she makes.

Mia knows it will take time to feel at ease in her life again but she’s taking the right steps, at least she thinks so.

As she makes her way into the clubhouse, it’s not empty as hoped.

“Need something?” EZ asks as he stands from the barstool in a hurry.

“Sit, please,” she urges, and he looks hesitant, but listens. “I’m not in the club, you’re not my prospect, I don’t need to be waited on.”

EZ smiles and nods. “I just wanted a few minutes away from…everything.”

Mia goes behind the bar and grabs herself a new beer. “Away from being everyone’s bitch for five minutes?”

“Right in one,” he laughs and they clink their bottles together. “So, you happy to be here, living with your dad?”

“Happy to be here, yes. Happy to be living with Bop, still up in the air,” Mia answers and takes a swig as he chuckles. “Surprisingly, he’s a clean guy, at least in his own way. Everything has its place. He’s a creature of habit and I’m throwing him all off.”

“Why do you call him ‘Bop’ by the way?” he asks.

“Well, when I was little I couldn’t pronounce Bishop, so I settled for Bop and it stuck. He’s my dad in every way besides blood, but calling him that…” she trails off, “felt kind of wrong because my real dad would have been around if he hadn’t died, you know?”

“I get that,” EZ agrees with a nod.

“I was lucky to have him, probably would be dead without him, or worse, like my mother,” she sighs, then takes a long swig.

“Sounds like there is a story there, but I think I’ll keep my questions to myself,” EZ decides a moment later.

“You know, they told me you were smart,” she teases and they both laugh. “So, how are you adjusting to the life? Aside from loving your bitch duties.”

“I do love my bitch duties,” he agrees, and she laughs again. She likes these Reyes boys. “It’s nice to be part of something, to feel like I’m working towards something. Being able to get close to Angel is honestly the best part…it’s easy to take the small shit for granted until you don’t have it anymore. Let’s just say I’m not taking anything for granted ever again.”

“You guys weren’t close before?”

“When we were kids we were best friends, I guess all kids close in age are. We grew up, got interested in different things—girls, sports, friends, and he’s still my brother, of course, but I took it for granted, so did he, I think. You think you’re invincible when you’re young. You think nothing bad will ever happen. It’s okay to skip out on family dinner to be with your girl because there will always be another one. It’s alright to flake on your brother because he’s your brother and you know he’ll get over it eventually. We don’t do that shit anymore. If I make a promise, I keep it. If I tell Pop I’ll stop by and help close up, I do it. If I tell the club I’ll be there when they need me, for whatever they need me for, I am,” he tells her.

“I like the way you think, EZ. I recently went through something that made me remember what’s important in life too. It wasn’t prison, at least, not the kind you went to,” she mumbles, “but still life-altering. There’s nothing more important than family, whether it be blood or the one you’ve chosen.”

“I will cheers to that,” EZ states, and their bottles clink together once more.

“Aye, prospect,” they both hear and turn towards the front door. Angel is walking up, that swagger being used with every step. “You might want to get out there. Coco is trying to set you up in a fight.”

“Of course, he is,” EZ sighs as he stands, and Mia giggles into her beer bottle. “It was nice talking to you, Mia, I hope we can get to know each other more.”

“Back at ya and if you need fixed up after let me know. I am a nurse. An unemployed one, but still,” she offers as he’s walking away.

When he reaches the door EZ turns. “I just might take you up on that. Thanks.”

Angel joins her behind the bar and grabs a beer of his own. “You flirting with my little brother, Flores?” he questions as he twists off the cap to his bottle.

Mia shrugs and tries to look innocent. “Well, I figured I might as well try for the whole set. Is your dad dropping by again later?”

Angel chokes on his beer and Mia laughs as he spits up a little. “Very fucking funny,” he grumbles while reaching for something to wipe his kutte off with.

“I thought so,” she agrees. “So, what are you doing in here? Aren’t you worried your brother is going to get his ass kicked by whatever patch Coco set him up with?”

Angel snorts. “The kid spent eight years in Stockton, he can hold his own. Besides, I hear we have this new nurse hanging around in case he gets in any trouble.”

“Oh really? Lucky guy,” Mia teases before lifting herself onto the bar. There’s a mirror behind it she can see herself in.

Her hair has held up in the somewhat tighter curls she tried for, thanks to the mousse, and her make up is still doing its job of hiding her ever-present eyebags and adding a little pink to her cheeks. The smoky eye is something she hasn’t attempted in a minute, but it’s not half-bad.

Her outfit is something she hasn’t worn in forever, since she lived in Oakland, actually. Jeans that are so tight they are a second skin and high-waisted, with a black top that laces and ties up the back like a corset. Still, a good bit of her stomach is showing, and some cleavage too. Bishop had given her a look back at his house, so a big black sweater was put on over top but has now fallen around her elbows.

“Shouldn’t you be out there enjoying your party?” Angel asks, breaking the objectification of herself.

“My party?” she questions before finishing off her beer and tossing it in the trash.

Angel looks around expectantly. “I’m sorry, isn’t all of this for you, or am I fooling around with the wrong girl?”

Mia shakes her head down at him, or directly at him more like, since at this height she’s in his eye line. “No, this party is for Bishop. We haven’t been on the best terms for a few years, so this is his chance to show me off, get the DILF card, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s more than that,” he tells her. “I’ve known the guy for years and I’ve never seen him smile this much. He’s genuinely happy you’re here, querida.”

Mia smiles down at her hands and picks at her black fingernails. “He is, huh?”

Angel lifts her chin so he can look her in the eye. “Mhm, but if I had a daughter that looked like you, I would not be parading her around in front of these fucks, that’s for damn sure,”

“Is that so?” she asks, her tone lined with laughter. Before she can stop herself, a hand reaches up and caresses his beard before tugging on it playfully.

“Not in those fuckin’ jeans, hell no,” he confirms.

“What’s wrong with my jeans?” she asks as her nails rub the underside of his chin. His beard is softer than it looks, he obviously uses something in it to make it that way, and she wants to tease him for it, but saves the information for later instead.

“I don’t know if you know this, but,” Angel starts and moves to stand between her legs, even pulling her a little closer by the backs of her knees, “if you put a quarter in your back pocket, I bet you could tell if it was heads or tails. That’s how tight they are on your ass.”

“You been starin’ at my ass, Reyes?” she questions with another light tug on his beard.

“Um, yeah,” he answers easily, and his face looks so ‘duh!’ that she can’t stop the laughter from bubbling up her throat. “Among other things,” he adds on, then takes another sip of his beer.

“It’s nice to know it’s being appreciated,” she whispers with both her hands cupping his cheeks now, and her forehead leans forward to rest on his.

“Among other things,” he repeats softly before nipping at her lips with his. It’s gentle and slow, pretty much the opposite of their encounter the other night.

“You know, I think I figured out how to make it up to you,” she murmurs when they pull away.

“Oh, yeah?”

Mia nods as a hand slips inside his shirt to scratch at his happy trail. “I know it sounds simple, but hear me out,” she whispers, to which he nods. “I can suck your dick.”

“That’s it, huh?” he asks with hands sliding up and down her thighs.

“Oh, but I’m really good at it,” she assures him, and he chuckles against her mouth. “Wanna see?”

Angel just nods and kisses her.

After a few moments Mia pushes him away and hops down off the bar. “C’mon,” she urges as she takes his hand and leads him down the hall towards the kitchen but enters the storage room instead.

“Really?” he questions and flicks on the light above them.

“What? You think you earned fucking me at the table where you hold Templo? Uh-uh,” she says while undoing his jeans and letting her sweater fall off in the process. “Besides, who says you get to fuck me? All I agreed to was sucking your dick.”

Angel grins at that and pulls her into a kiss that includes tongue and teeth and makes her feel dirty in the best way. “We’ll see about that,” he mumbles when they pull away.

“I guess we will,” she agrees and pushes his boxers down until his hard-on springs free. “I’m sure you heard this before, and I hate to boost your ego, but it has to be said,” she starts as her hand wraps around it and pulls just enough to make him sigh. “You really do have a nice dick.”

“I’ll keep that in mind—shit,” he swears when she drops to her knees and wastes no time taking him into her mouth. “Fuck.”

His hands thread into her hair and take hold to keep her in place. She’s able to take a large part of him into her mouth before he triggers her gag reflex and he moans at the flutter of the back of her throat.

She hums as her head bobs, one hand on the base of his cock, the other paying attention to his balls, softly massaging them with her fingertips. When his hands tighten on her scalp she pulls away from him, making a loud smacking sound with her lips.

“No, back,” Angel whines from above her and tries to maneuver her mouth back onto his cock, but she resists.

Instead, she pumps him with her one hand while her tongue swirls and plays with his tip. His hips buck and she can practically feel his impatience. Enjoying this side of him, Mia continues to tease. Her tongue curls and sweeps up and down the sides of his cock, her mouth even moving to suck on his balls lightly. They tighten against her tongue and she giggles a little—Angel Reyes likes his balls played with.

Before she can go on one of his hands pulls on her hair, the other lifting her from the armpit so she’s standing again and his lips are on hers, completely taking control of the situation until she’s the one backed against the wall and he’s attempting to undo her jeans.

“No, no, no,” Mia breathes, pushing on his chest, leaving him heaving in front of her. “I promised to make it up to you, remember? You’re finishing in my mouth, bebé.”

Angel shakes his head and crowds her against the wall, his lips hovering over hers. “I want to turn you around and take you right here, right now, mi dulce.”

“As lovely as that sounds,” Mia murmurs as her nose brushes against his, “I keep my promises. It’s my mouth or nothing, you choose.”

He leans down and kisses her roughly, biting at her lip in frustration. “On your knees, then.”

Mia grins, puckering her lips to kiss him once more before getting back into position. Pre-cum is leaking from his tip and she knows he’s close, even after their little intermission. She makes a show of licking it up and Angel groans while pressing his palms into the wall behind her, his hands threatening to turn into fists.

She takes him into her mouth after pumping him a few times, and he surprises her by bucking into her, triggering her gag reflex before she’s quite ready. A hand grabs onto her head, keeping her there, and she lets it happen even though it makes her eyes water. It only goes on for a moment before he’s emptying himself into her mouth and she opens her throat instinctually to swallow.

“Jesus Christ,” Angel huffs as he lets her go, his eyes closed and his face looking completely blissed out.

Mia wipes her mouth and picks up her sweater as she stands. “Told you I was good at it.”

He grins now, his eyes fluttering open. “Yes, you did,” he mumbles before kissing her and it shocks her a little, especially when he uses tongue because Jay never did that after she blew him, he didn’t like it. Of course, it didn’t happen regularly because the guy had a problem coming too quickly with even small amounts of foreplay.

Mia pushes the thought of her ex out of her head and lets Angel kiss her. It’s slow and drawn out, and his tongue is doing things that she wants recreated between her thighs. She forgot what it’s like to just be kissed, kissed really fucking well.

This guy cannot be fucking real.

“Well, I believe my job here is done,” she breathes after literally forcing herself away from him.

“Mine’s not,” Angel insists and tries to pull her back into his arms.

“That, my friend, is your problem,” she tells him while reaching for the doorknob.

“Seriously?” he asks and she bites her lip to keep from laughing at the sight of him. His pants are still pushed down below his ass, his dick is getting hard again, and he looks like a child who just got taken his favorite toy taken away.

“Weren’t you the one saying I have a party to get back to?” she questions and leaves before he does something to change her mind.

She stops in the bathroom to look herself over. Her lips are a little swollen, but not very noticeable, and she flips her hair a couple times so it’s not so apparent Angel’s fingers were in it. When she comes back to the bar, EZ is back, and Coco is there too, but no Angel.

“Wow, done already?” she asks as she reaches for what will probably be her last beer.

“It wasn’t really a fight,” EZ explains as Coco laughs. “He was pretty drunk. I tried to tell him it wasn’t a good idea.”

“Boy Scout threw one punch and knocked the fucker out,” Coco tells her. “He’s still laying in the cage.”

“I didn’t knock him out, I think he passed out on his own,” EZ insists. “I was wondering if you’d check him out though. We tried to wake him up and didn’t have much luck.”

“Sure thing,” Mia agrees and starts to follow EZ when Angel comes out from the back hallway. “We probably shouldn’t leave him there if he’s that drunk anyways.”

“Bro, you fucking missed it. Baby brother knocked someone the fuck out,” Coco boasts.

“I didn’t… never mind, c’mon,” EZ sighs and leads her out of the clubhouse.

Less people are milling around. She assumes quite a few either are sleeping it off somewhere, or a group headed back to Vicki’s for a whole different kind of fun.

“Hey, grab that,” Mia instructs EZ as they pass an empty ice bucket. He doesn’t question, just grabs it, and she thinks again, she really likes these Reyes boys.

He’s an older Mayan, the one passed out in the middle of the cage, and he’s snoring. He’s one of the guy’s riding through the area and stopped for the party. She opens his lids to check his pupils and shines her cellphone light in them—it’s so nice having a smart phone again, she thinks.

“Hey, Bop, this guy volatile?” she calls when she sees her godfather watching.

“No more than anyone else,” he answers with a shrug.

Mia nods and stands, the beer still in her hand. “Alright, EZ, pour it,” she instructs. A group has gathered to watch the show and EZ, once again, does as he’s told.

He wakes up screaming in Spanish and swinging at the both of them.

“Hey, watch it,” EZ threatens and pushes Mia behind him a little.

“The fuck was that for?” the man yells.

Mia crouches down to look at him. “If you would have rathered stay here and choke on your own puke and die all you had to do was say so,” she says sweetly.

“Get dressed and sleep it off in the clubhouse,” Bishop instructs the man, who still looks very grumpy.

“…definitely his fucking kid,” she hears him say as they exit the cage and she shakes her head, but is smiling all the same. She’ll never be offended by that statement again.

A few minutes later she finds herself away from everyone, nursing her beer, and looking up at the sky. There’s so much to see away from the lights of cities and pollution. All these stars aren’t visible in San Francisco, or even in Oakland. Everything is clearer out here, less complicated, and exactly as it seems.

“Hey,” someone greets from behind her causing her to jump and drop her beer. “Shit, sorry,” Bishop apologizes and picks it up for her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, just lost in my own head,” she attempts to laugh and takes the near-empty bottle from him. “What’s up?”

“You have a good time?” he asks, and Angel’s right, he hasn’t stopped smiling since she got here.

“A great time,” she confirms and looks up at the sky again. “It’s beautiful out here at night. There’s so many stars.”

Bishop looks up with her as an arm wraps around her shoulders. “I never really noticed before.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop noticing,” she murmurs.

“How much did you have to drink?” he questions and she smacks him on the stomach, and he laughs. “Listen, I don’t want you hanging around attempting to clean up after your own party. I asked around, Angel said he’d give you a ride home if that’s okay with you?”

“He did, did he?” Mia laughs and nods. “Yeah, that’s fine. But I’m happy to hang out and—”

“No, pequeña,” Bishop cuts her off. “We got this.”

“By ‘we’ you mean EZ?” she jokes and he laughs too.

“Something like that,” he replies. “I have a few things to take care of here, but I’ll be home in a few hours.”

They start walking back towards the clubhouse. “A few things to take care of, huh? Is that what they are calling it nowadays?”

“Ha-ha, you’re hilarious, you know that?” he tells her and bumps into her shoulder with his.

“Anyone I need to give a talking to? Let them know how awesome you are and that I’ll kick their ass if—ah!” she squeals when he tickles her.

“Enough, Mia Valentina,” he states, and she laughs loudly.

“Yes, sir, Obispo, sir,” she goes on with a salute and all.

“Alright, Angel, get her home, will you? She needs to sleep it off,” Bishop calls over and it’s only now she notices they are near their line of bikes and Angel is already on his with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“Will do, jefe,” the younger patch promises.

“Hey, I am not drunk,” she assures him as he kisses her cheek. “I’m not, I’m just in a good mood. Am I not allowed to be?”

“Yeah, just do it somewhere else,” Bishop tells her and she opens her mouth in fake shock. “Grab your helmet from my bike, don’t make him give his up, you know how I am about helmets.”

“Wow, I think you just lost about ten cool points,” Mia mumbles, but does as she’s told.

“There is nothing cool about splitting open your skull on the side of the road,” Bishop says in a firm tone.

“You really have a lot of confidence in my ride home, don’t you? You sure I shouldn’t pick a different one? Gilly, maybe? Or EZ?” she suggests while fastening the helmet to her head. “Oh, what about Coco, I’m sure he could show me a good time.”

“On the bike, Mia,” Bishop practically orders.

Mia grins. She missed teasing him. She’s one of the few who get away with it. “Fine, geez, if you’re gonna make me,” she sighs as she swings her leg over the bike and settles behind Angel.

“Make sure she gets in the house,” Bishop tells Angel. “And Mia, lock the door behind you, both bolts—”

“The cool points are dropping by the second,” Mia sing-songs and can feel Angel chuckling in front of her.

Bishop decides to ignore her and instead does that manly handshake they do. “Thanks for this. Safe ride home, brother.”

“Back at you, brother,” Angel responds as he kicks the engine over as he grabs ahold of the handlebars.

“So, I hear you selflessly volunteered to drive me home.”

“Well, I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” Angel assures her.

“Hm, I’ll be the judge of that,” she whispers in his ear and he revs the engine as they make their way out onto the road.

It might be the alcohol, or maybe the easy relationship her and Bishop seem to be falling back into, or even the anticipation of the sex she knows is going to happen again with Angel, but Mia feels happy.

It’s funny, the weightlessness of it, how her body is responding to it and making her giddy.

She knows that it’s fleeting—when she goes to bed bad memories will plague her dreams, she and Bishop will continue to not talk about her mother, that little voice in the back of her head will make her wonder what Jay is doing, how hard he’s looking for her, if he’ll ever find her.

But for now she gives in to the alcohol, the love she has for the man who raised her, and the growing affection for the man driving her home.

Mia gets caught up in watching the lights speeding by, reminding her of shooting stars in the sky, of the endless possibilities she has if she can stay hidden and keep her secrets. She doesn’t even notice they are slowing down until they are at a complete stop.

“What’s wrong?” she asks over the low rumble of his motorcycle.

“I don’t know about you, mi dulce, but I always stop at stop signs,” he insists.

She rolls her eyes at him. “Ha-ha, this is more than a stop sign, where are we going?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you,” he replies, his head turned back to look at her. “We go straight, I take you home. We turn left we pass my apartment and take the long way. Your pick, querida.”

“Your apartment, huh?” she asks and squeezes his middle. “You think we’re there, yet? Going from a bathroom, to a storage closet, to your bed is a pretty big jump, don’t you think?” she teases. “I don’t know if we’re ready for that step yet.”

Angel’s mouth curls up into a smirk. “Believe it or not, I got a lot of fucking surfaces at my place if you think the bed is too much of a commitment for you.”

Mia lets out a loud laugh. “Fucking surfaces, huh? Nice choice of words.”

He revs the bike’s engine. “Waiting on you.”

Mia leans in closer to his ear. “Turn left. I want the scenic route,” she whispers. She feels his chest rumble as he chuckles but takes off without another word.

A few minutes later they are pulling into a sprawling apartment complex and Angel parks in the very last spot on the end marked with a letter and number, she assumes his assigned parking spot.

“Not bad, any of the other guys live here?” she asks as they get off the bike and undo their helmets.

“Why, wanna make a house call?” Angel counters, and she tosses her helmet at him, hitting him square in the stomach. “Oof, feisty.”

“I’ll show you feisty,” she mutters with her arms crossed in fake anger.

“Not tonight you won’t,” he tells her before bending down and maneuvering her body over his shoulder.

“Ah! Angel!” she exclaims, holding onto his hips for balance.

“You had your fun earlier, I’m in charge now,” he warns with a smack to her ass.

“Watch my head,” she pleads, the amusement in her voice obvious, as he walks up the steps to his second-floor apartment. “I don’t want to ruin the mood with a concussion.”

“Haven’t you learned by now? You’re safe with me, querida,” he assures her while unlocking his door. He kicks it shut behind them before setting her back on the ground.

“Whew, head rush,” she breathes and flips her head until her hair is out of her eyes.

Looking to Angel she finds he’s already taking off his kutte and it reveals a concealed gun holster underneath. He quickly does away with that too, dropping it on the table next to the door for now. She tries not to be turned on by the sight of him with a gun but fails miserably.

Having grown up around guns, they don’t scare her—in fact, Bishop taught her how to use one at thirteen years old right before her first “real” date. If she remembers correctly, he also gave her an expensive looking pocketknife around then, telling her that if she’s ever attacked to stick it in her assailant’s gut and twist.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she speaks up a moment later as he stares down at her during the silence. “You’re in charge remember? I’m just waiting to be told what to do.”

Angel shakes his head at her. “You know exactly what to do, you taught me that earlier, remember?”

“I left an impression, huh?” she jokes while slowly undoing that buttons to his shirt, but instead of the bare chest she wants, it’s a wife beater underneath.

“Oh, long before that,” he assures her, making her smile to herself and push the button-up down his shoulders.

Soon after she’s lifting the tank top and he takes the hint, tossing it aside all together. “There it is,” she breathes, smiling at the sight of his chest. Her fingertips instantly reach forward to play with his happy trail, lightly scratching down until they hit the button of his jeans.

Before she can continue Angel twists her hips so her back is to him and starts to untie the laces going up her spine. When it’s loose enough she raises her arms so he can take it off her altogether.

“I’m in charge, remember?” he whispers in her ear as he moves all her hair to one shoulder so his face can nuzzle in the other.

“If you say so,” she sighs contentedly, her head falling to one side to give him more room. His lips travel along her shoulder and neck, kissing lightly, his beard tickling her just so.

Her entire body jerks when his hands take ahold of her breasts, pinching her nipples between his thumb and pointer fingers. “Didn’t get a change to pay attention to these the other night,” he says in a husky tone that makes her knees weak.

“What a shame,” Mia breathes and before she knows it Angel is scooping her up in his arms and dropping her on his couch none too gently.

“The couch okay? Or you think we should take this to the kitchen table?” he asks as he towers over her. “Don’t wanna skip too many fucking steps.”

Mia grins and takes off her shoes, socks included, before shrugging. “You’re in charge, remember?” she counters, being a brat and she’s fully aware of it. “Your call, papi.”

Angel licks his lips as he looks down at her, his dick obviously hard in his jeans, the area becoming so tight it looks uncomfortable. Mia lifts a foot and starts to rub the bulge slowly, teasingly. “As lovely as this view is, and feels,” he says as he takes ahold of her foot to stop her, “I have some payback to do.”

“Payback?” Mia questions and lifts her hips as he pulls on her jeans. “I owed you, remember?”

He does that licking his lips thing again as if he knows it’s driving her fucking nuts. “Mhm and leaving me there like that means now I owe you,” he says and slips her underwear down her legs too.

Angel lifts both her legs up in the air and wastes no time licking all the way up her swollen pink slit. “Fuck,” Mia pants, her toes curling as it feels like he’s devouring her.

Just as she feels her pleasure building, he pulls away causing her to whine. It’s faint, but he hears it, and grins down at her as he wipes her juices from his beard. “Up on your knees, face the other way,” he orders and on with shaky limbs she does as she’s told.

She hears movement behind her but doesn’t look back. Suddenly her knees are being spread apart and she feels his head settle between them. “Shit,” she breathes as he positions her opening over his mouth.

Maybe it’s the lack of foreplay in the last two years or any real pleasure actually, but even if she had been getting off more than just to her own vibrator, Mia thinks Angel has a gift. He knows how to eat a woman out. It’s like he’s showing her how good he is at it because of how she teased him earlier.

And she’s starting to regret it.

As his tongue licks and flicks at her clit Mia grips onto the arm of the couch, her nails digging in. “Right there, like that,” she chants and curls over the arm, and honestly considers grinding down on his face and cutting off his air supply. He’s so good she thinks he really might have some sort of gills.

She’s so close and it feels so good the muscles in her legs start shaking in need.

“Please, I need…” she trails off when she feels him shake his head at her request. “Yes, I can’t,” she stops when his tongue leaves her clit altogether and instead sweeps up inside her. “No, no, no,” she cries and before she even knows what she’s doing she’s off his face, off the couch, and on the floor crawling away from him.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?’ she hears above her and she just shakes her head with her eyes closed.

“I just need a minute,” she whispers, her body curling into a ball with her legs crossed to ease the ache.

“Here’s how this is going to play out,” Angel says, and she opens her eyes to see him dropping his pants and rubbing his own hard-on. The sight doesn’t help her situation any. “You’re going to come on my mouth first, or not at all.”

Her own words from earlier echo in her head and she curses herself.

“Your call,” he repeats her words once more.

Mia lets out a shaky breath and opens her legs to him. As he descends upon her she thinks that if he licks his lips one more time she’s going to slap him. Still, when those same lips pucker around her clit she threads her finger into his hair to keep him there.

He doesn’t tease much this time, because he probably knows she’s close to either hitting him or finishing the job herself if he doesn’t.

It’s at the exact moment he begins to hum with her clit in his mouth that she comes, and she comes hard. Her legs start to shake, fingers rattle along his hairline, and her eyes squeeze closed as he flicks at her nub through the entirety of it.

When he finally pulls away, Mia curls into herself once again and crosses one leg over the other. “Evil,” she manages to mumble.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” she hears him say before she’s being put back onto the couch belly down. “I got plans for you, mi dulce.”

“Not to purposefully play on words, but I’m screwed,” she sighs and feels his lips ghost up her spine as he chuckles.

“Yes, you are,” Angel agrees while lifting her hips until she’s on all fours.

“Can’t wait,” she replies and moans when he slides two fingers into her, curling just so. They exit her as quickly as they enter, but before she can complain about it his fingers are replaced with his cock in one swift movement. “Oh, my God, holy shit.”

Mia moves back and forth, up and down, noises exiting her throat every time he’s completely sheathed inside her, filling her up. He’s mumbling something in in Spanish, but she can’t make out what.

Angel grips her hips when her moves become frantic, taking control with his dick deep inside her. “Sh, baby, I got you,” he promises as a hand wraps around her throat and his lips kiss at her temple.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she swears and holds onto the arm of the couch until her knuckles turn white. “Angel,” she moans, her voice low and needy.

“C’mere,” he murmurs and turns her head until their lips connect.

“Oh, my God,” she breaks the kiss in a moan and drops her head down to bury it in the cushions.

Angel pulls out of her and situates them so her legs are in between his and she’s lying flat. Mia pushes up on her hips so he can slide into her more easily and he does without warning. “Fuck,” he groans as he slides into the tight hole.

Mia sits up just enough so she can shake her ass in a way that’s proven successful in the past, but she only does it for a few moments before Angel takes over, leaning down over her and fucks her even deeper, making her cry out so loud she bites a cushion to stiffle it.

“You like that?” he questions in her ear and she nods into the cotton she’s still biting. “I wanna hear you, querida,” he urges, using his hand to pull up on her throat and let go of the cushion. He continues his movements and she tries to keep in her shrieks, but it’s not easy. He’s hitting a spot that’s only been felt once or twice before in happy accidents, but Angel’s not holding back.

“If you don’t… I’m gonna—” she manages between thrusts and cries.

“Do it,” he tells her and speeds up. “You have any idea what it feels like when you come on my cock, baby?” he asks as she feels herself start to spasm. “Your pussy—fuck,” he stops as she starts to come. “Just like that. Your pussy is so tight, and when you come your whole fucking body shakes, your pussy included.”

He let’s up when she screams, unable to hold back and her entire body sags, but he’s right, she is shaking. When her body settles Angel pulls out of her and she notices he’s still hard—he hasn’t come yet.

Seriously, he isn’t fucking real.

Mia flips over, still in between his legs, and finds him stroking himself above her. “I know, I know, you’re not done with me,” she sighs and he chuckles. “But a girl needs a minute to recuperate.”

“You want me to be done?” Angel questions while opening her legs and resting them on his hips.

“Fuck no,” she answers easily and links her fingers through his, pulling until he’s on top of her and presses her lips against his. “Now, fuck me deep and slow and don’t stop until you come too.”

Angel smiles against her mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

CHAPTER 3

taglist:

@joalsglasses

@mrsamaroevans

@justahopelessssromantic

#angel reyes #mayans mc #mayans m.c.#angel reyes x oc #fanfiction #clayton cardenas #ao3 link #friends can break your heart too

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dfroza · 3 years

Text

the marriage relationship is of great significance

since it reflects how Christ and His Bride are as “One” in heart, connected in Spirit.

and so a man becomes “One” body with a woman, as equals in grace, through the marital bond here on earth. marriage is Authored by our Creator, our heavenly Father who we see illuminated in the Son.

and this is seen in Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the Letter of First Peter:

[Cultivate Inner Beauty]

The same goes for you wives: Be good wives to your husbands, responsive to their needs. There are husbands who, indifferent as they are to any words about God, will be captivated by your life of holy beauty. What matters is not your outer appearance—the styling of your hair, the jewelry you wear, the cut of your clothes—but your inner disposition.

Cultivate inner beauty, the gentle, gracious kind that God delights in. The holy women of old were beautiful before God that way, and were good, loyal wives to their husbands. Sarah, for instance, taking care of Abraham, would address him as “my dear husband.” You’ll be true daughters of Sarah if you do the same, unanxious and unintimidated.

The same goes for you husbands: Be good husbands to your wives. Honor them, delight in them. As women they lack some of your advantages. But in the new life of God’s grace, you’re equals. Treat your wives, then, as equals so your prayers don’t run aground.

Summing up: Be agreeable, be sympathetic, be loving, be compassionate, be humble. That goes for all of you, no exceptions. No retaliation. No sharp-tongued sarcasm. Instead, bless—that’s your job, to bless. You’ll be a blessing and also get a blessing.

Whoever wants to embrace life

and see the day fill up with good,

Here’s what you do:

Say nothing evil or hurtful;

Snub evil and cultivate good;

run after peace for all you’re worth.

God looks on all this with approval,

listening and responding well to what he’s asked;

But he turns his back

on those who do evil things.

If with heart and soul you’re doing good, do you think you can be stopped? Even if you suffer for it, you’re still better off. Don’t give the opposition a second thought. Through thick and thin, keep your hearts at attention, in adoration before Christ, your Master. Be ready to speak up and tell anyone who asks why you’re living the way you are, and always with the utmost courtesy. Keep a clear conscience before God so that when people throw mud at you, none of it will stick. They’ll end up realizing that they’re the ones who need a bath. It’s better to suffer for doing good, if that’s what God wants, than to be punished for doing bad. That’s what Christ did definitively: suffered because of others’ sins, the Righteous One for the unrighteous ones. He went through it all—was put to death and then made alive—to bring us to God.

He went and proclaimed God’s salvation to earlier generations who ended up in the prison of judgment because they wouldn’t listen. You know, even though God waited patiently all the days that Noah built his ship, only a few were saved then, eight to be exact—saved from the water by the water. The waters of baptism do that for you, not by washing away dirt from your skin but by presenting you through Jesus’ resurrection before God with a clear conscience. Jesus has the last word on everything and everyone, from angels to armies. He’s standing right alongside God, and what he says goes.

The Letter of 1st Peter, Chapter 3 (The Message)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 27th chapter of First Chronicles that documents various leaders in Israel during the life of King David:

[Military Organization]

Here is the listing of the sons of Israel by family heads, commanders and captains, and other officers who served the king in everything military. Army divisions were on duty a month at a time for the twelve months of the year. Each division comprised 24,000 men.

First division, first month: Jashobeam son of Zabdiel was in charge with 24,000 men. He came from the line of Perez. He was over all the army officers during the first month.

The division for the second month: Dodai the Ahohite was in charge: 24,000 men; Mikloth was the leader of his division.

Commander for the third month: Benaiah son of Jehoiada the priest with 24,000 men. This was the same Benaiah who was a Mighty Man among the Thirty and their chief. His son Ammizabad was in charge of the division.

Fourth division for the fourth month: Asahel brother of Joab; his son Zebadiah succeeded him: 24,000 men.

Fifth division, fifth month: commander Shamhuth the Izrahite: 24,000 men.

Sixth division, sixth month: Ira son of Ikkesh the Tekoite: 24,000 men.

Seventh division, seventh month: Helez the Pelonite, an Ephraimite: 24,000 men.

Eighth division, eighth month: Sibbecai the Hushathite, a Zerahite: 24,000 men.

Ninth division, ninth month: Abiezer the Anathothite, a Benjaminite: 24,000 men.

Tenth division, tenth month: Maharai the Netophathite, a Zerahite: 24,000 men.

Eleventh division, eleventh month: Benaiah the Pirathomite, an Ephraimite: 24,000 men.

Twelfth division, twelfth month: Heldai the Netophathite from the family of Othniel: 24,000 men.

[Tribal Administrators]

Administrators of the affairs of the tribes:

for Reuben: Eliezer son of Zicri;

for Simeon: Shephatiah son of Maacah;

for Levi: Hashabiah son of Kemuel;

for Aaron: Zadok;

for Judah: Elihu, David’s brother;

for Issachar: Omri son of Michael;

for Zebulun: Ishmaiah son of Obadiah;

for Naphtali: Jerimoth son of Azriel;

for Ephraim: Hoshea son of Azaziah;

for one half-tribe of Manasseh: Joel son of Pedaiah;

for the half-tribe of Manasseh in Gilead: Iddo son of Zechariah;

for Benjamin: Jaasiel son of Abner;

for Dan: Azarel son of Jeroham.

These are the administrative officers assigned to the tribes of Israel.

David didn’t keep a count of men under the age of twenty, because God had promised to give Israel a population as numerous as the stars in the sky. Joab son of Zeruiah started out counting the men, but he never finished. God’s anger broke out on Israel because of the counting. As it turned out, the numbers were never entered into the court records of King David.

[Supply Officers]

The king’s storage facilities were supervised by Azmaveth son of Adiel. Jonathan son of Uzziah was responsible for the warehouses in the outlying areas.

Ezri son of Kelub was in charge of the field workers on the farms.

Shimei the Ramathite was in charge of the vineyards and Zabdi the Shiphmite was in charge of grapes for the wine vats.

Baal-Hanan the Gederite was in charge of the olive and sycamore-fig trees in the western hills, and Joash was in charge of the olive oil.

Shitrai the Sharonite was in charge of herds grazing in Sharon and Shaphat son of Adlai was in charge of herds in the valley.

Obil the Ishmaelite was in charge of the camels, Jehdeiah the Meronothite was in charge of the donkeys, and Jaziz the Hagrite was in charge of the flocks.

These were the ones responsible for taking care of King David’s property.

[David’s Counselors]

Jonathan, David’s uncle, a wise and literate counselor, and Jehiel son of Hacmoni, were responsible for raising the king’s sons.

Ahithophel was the king’s counselor; Hushai the Arkite was the king’s friend. Ahithophel was later replaced by Jehoiada son of Benaiah and by Abiathar.

Joab was commander of the king’s army.

The Book of 1st Chronicles, Chapter 27 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Tuesday, january 26 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A post by John Parsons about the next Hebraic holiday of the Trees:

Shalom chaverim. Wednesday January 27th at sundown begins "Tu B’Shevat" (ט"ו בשבט), or the 15th of the month of Shevat, which marks the traditional date celebrating the “New Year” for Trees...

The Bible begins and ends with the great Tree of Life -- first in the orchard of Eden, and later in the midst of the paradise of heaven. ‎"The Tree of Life (i.e., etz ha’ chayim: עֵץ הַחַיִּים) was in the midst of the garden..." (Gen. 2:9). "Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the Tree of Life (etz ha-chayim) with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month" (Rev. 22:1-2). Notice that the “twelve fruits” (καρποὺς δώδεκα) from the Tree of Life are directly linked to the “twelve months” of the Jewish year (κατὰ μῆνα ἕκαστον ἀποδιδοῦν τὸν καρπὸν αὐτοῦ: "each month rendering its fruit"). Twelve months; twelve fruits.... This teaches us that the sequence of the holidays (moedim) was intended to teach us revelation about God. That is why God created the Sun and the Moon for signs and for "appointed times" (Gen. 1:14), as it also says: "He made the moon to mark the appointed times (לְמוֹעֲדִים); the sun knows its time for setting" (Psalm 104:19).

The Scriptures state twice: "Take root downward and bear fruit upward" (2 Kings 19:30; Isa. 37:31). As Yeshua said, "unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it abides alone; but if it dies, it brings forth much fruit (John 12:24). We pray we might surrender ourselves to the Lord fully, being immersed in His passion, "bearing fruit in every good work (ἐν παντὶ ἔργῳ ἀγαθῷ καρποφοροῦντες) and growing in da'at HaShem (דַעַת אֱלהִים) - the knowledge of God" (Col. 1:10). The "fruit of the righteous is a Tree of Life" lit., etz chayim (עֵץ חַיִּים), literally, "the Tree of lives" (Prov. 11:30). It is the fruit of Yeshua, the Tzaddik of God, the Righteous One, who bears fruits of healing in the lives of those who turn to Him in trust...

The "Tree of Life" (i.e., etz ha’chayim: עֵץ הַחַיִּים) is mentioned ten times in Scripture, corresponding to the “ten words of God” (i.e., the Ten Commandments). In the Torah it first appears in the center of the paradise of Eden (Gen. 2:9; 3:22-4), but it is soon lost to humanity because of Adam's transgression. In the book of Revelation, it reappears in the center of the Paradise of God (Rev. 2:7, 22:2), resurrected on account of the faithful obedience of Yeshua as mankind's "last Adam" (1 Cor. 15:45). Those who have washed their robes by means of His righteousness are given access to this Tree in the heavenly Jerusalem (Rev. 22:14). The paradise lost by Adam has been regained by the greater ben-adam, the Son of Man, Yeshua the Messiah, the Savior of the children of men... [Hebrew for Christians]

https://hebrew4christians.com/

1.26.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

January 26, 2021

The Elect of God

“Who shall lay any thing to the charge of God’s elect? It is God that justifieth.” (Romans 8:33)

The doctrine of election is a key doctrine of Scripture, but it is also controversial, so any discussion of it should, mostly, let the Scriptures speak for themselves. The Greek and Hebrew words for the “elect” are the same as for the “chosen,” and it is clear that whenever the elect are mentioned, it is God, not man, who has done the choosing.

For example, Christ elected the 12 to be His apostles of His own volition. They are called, in fact, “the apostles whom he had chosen” (Acts 1:2). The Scriptures also speak of “the elect angels” (1 Timothy 5:21) and even of Christ Himself as being the “chief cornerstone, elect, precious” (1 Peter 2:6).

Most often, however, the term is applied to those who have been saved through faith in Christ and His substitutionary death, and they are said to have been “chosen...in him before the foundation of the world” (Ephesians 1:4). Having been chosen, these elect ones are then, in the fullness of time, drawn to Christ. As He said: “No man can come to me, except the Father which hath sent me draw him”; and He also said: “All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out” (John 6:44, 37). Finally, to make it crystal clear who does the choosing, Jesus said: “Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, and ordained you, that ye should go and bring forth fruit” (John 15:16).

None of this eliminates our individual responsibility to “make [our] calling and election sure” (2 Peter 1:10), but the grand purpose of this great doctrine is simply this: “Base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen....That no flesh should glory in his presence” (1 Corinthians 1:28-29). HMM

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blood-gulch-reds · 4 years

Text

Here is my secret Valentime's day fic for @not-madder-red !! Enjoy :)

When Dexter Grif was in highschool, Valentine's day was a day to be spent alone in his room downing discount chocolate by the package and rewatching season 253 of the bachelor, criticising the stupid people on the trash TV, and secretly wishing he had someone to laugh at the bachelor with. Over all, Grif never really cared about Valentine's day. But now that he actually had someone to watch TV with, he felt as though he owed it to Simmons to do something... Nice for Valentine's day.

While this mind set of niceness was... Well... Nice, it presented a set of problems. First off, Grif and Simmons had only just started dating ( if you could call watching star trek holding hands instead of not holding hands a date) for 4 Earth months. So in a romantic sense, Grif was absolutely in the dark about what Simmons enjoyed romantically. Secondly, Grif never really did Valentine's day and had no idea where to begin. Did Simmons expect roses? Did he think Grif would get him chocolates in a cardboard box? Out of all the things that the happy couple had talked about before tying the knot, romance was one subject that was never brought up to often.

And lastly, Grif had completely forgotten about Valentine's day until he woke up (at noon) to find that Donut had decorated the whole base with hearts cut out pink and red construction paper and plenty of glitter.

"Rise and shine buddy! Happy Valentine's day!" Donut sang from the kitchen,where he was preparing heart shaped sandwiches.

Realization hit Grif like a bag of bricks and his face showed it. The only thing he was capable of saying was "I forgot it was Valentine's day". He slumped down into a chair at the kitchen table and donut set a plate down in front of him with a ham and mustard sandwich (sans the crust) cut in the shape of a heart with chips on the side.

Donut smiled curiously as he began to wash dishes. "Sure is!" He chirped in a chipper tone. He turned the water off and grabbed a dish towel to dry off some plates. "Hey, I could have sworn you didn't do Valentine's day? Why the change of... Heart?" He Snickered at his own stupid joke and thought Grif didn't show it (or any emotion besides shock for that matter) his distaste for the pun was immeasurable.

"Well..." Grif began, absent mindedly taking a bite out of the sandwich. "Ia neavur- mm-" he decided to finish chewing the food in is mouth before talking, an unusually civil thing of him to do. Donut picked up on this gesture immediately and deemed whatever Griff was about to say as extremely important. He put away the plate he was holding and gracefully sat down at the seat across the table from where Grif was seated. "Mm damn that's a good sandwich. Where was I? Oh, right" Grif wiped his mouth with a napkin and took a breath. "I never really felt like... Well I never really got the whole point of it, y'know?" Donut nodded intently, slowly leaning more and more forward. "It's a fuckin Hallmark holiday- a chance for the big corporations to make money or whaterever and a chance to pick up some discounted candy for the lowly working man. But now that..." Grif drifted off for a moment, a slight ting coming to his cheeks. His eyes wandered elsewhere and Donut dared not to disturb him. "Now that Simmons and I... are a thing... I think I get it. I wanted to make our first Valentine's day special and like, get him something? but now it's just too late" Grif finished. A look of genuine disappointment spread across his face.

Donut perked up. Finally, a moment in need of his expertise! "Too late? That's totally not true at all!" Grif looked up hopefully. If he was trying to hide his inner dialogue, he was failing miserably. "Look Grif, you've got the whole rest of the day to figure out what you're going to get the love of your life for your guy's first ever Valentine's day together as soul mates!!" Grif shrunk down into his hoodie and let out a groan. Donut pressed on anyway. "If you don't know what to get him, why not pick some flowers for him? It's shallow, but shows that you're trying".

Grif sat up and thought for a moment. "That's... That's not a bad idea." Grif then stood up and scarfed down what was left of the sandwich before walking towards the door. "Maybe I can turn this thing around... I don't have a ton of time but," he stoped and smiled to himself. "It's worth a shot. Thanks for the food Donut!" He said as he closed the door behind him.

Donut yelled "Wait! You forgot to put your dish away-" but Grif was already out the door. Donut rolled his eyes and placed the used dish in the sink. "These love birds..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

12:30 p.m.

Grif was gitty to get Simmons the perfect gift and, although Donut's flower idea was cute, he deemed him correct in saying it was a bit cliche. Grif wanted something a little more personal, and who better to ask about relationship then his ever romantic sister.

When Grif walked over to the 'blue house', as they had dubbed it, there was the ever familiar scent of burnt toast and chaos in the air. Before Grif could even process what was going on, there was a loud crash as panini press came flying through the window, followed by even louder yelling from Kai.

"ITS NOT THAT FUCKING HARD BRO I DONT EVEN KNOW HOW YOU BURNED- oh hey Dex!" Kai stormed out of the house, fuming, but her tone quickly changed when she saw her brother. Grif was stunned, but tried to quicky get over it as he had a job to do.

"Hey, Kaikaina. I had a question if you're not busy-"

"WHY IS THE WINDOW BROKEN? tUCKER‽" Washington's voice rang shrill in Grif's ears. Kai's face went pale.

"Why don't we take a walk?" She offered with a guilty smile. Grif pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Yeah- ok that sounds good." The two of them walked toward the shore. Although they'd never talk about it aloud, the beach here fondly reminded them of home. Not the chaos of thier mother, nor the periods of time without food, but the gentle laughter they shared making each other feel better. Grif decided to start off with some light conversation. "Soooo," he began "what was that all about"

"Uhg it's bullshit! It all started last night when Tucker got drunk and put his dick in a-"

"Woah! Ok never mind! Jesus Christ...", Said Grif, who realised there was no use trying to decipher blue team's bull shit and it would probably be best to just get to the point. "Look it's Valentine's day and I wanna get something nice for Simmons. Any ideas?"

Kaikaina stood still for a moment, just looking at the ground in awe. "I thought... I thought you didn't do Valentine's day."

Grif flushed "yeah well, things are different now". He was going to stop there but quickly added on, "and I only got like, a couple hours so... If you have any suggestions I'd like to hear 'em".

Kai lit up like a Christmas tree. " 'if I have any ideas'? Bro I've been waiting for you get laid on Valentine's day since we were in highschool!" Grif's cheeks and ears darkened in tone while the patch of Simmons skin on his right cheek turned bright red.

"Just get on with it!"

Kai smiled. " Ok ok... You need a gift idea? Here's one: get him something he's been talking about for a few weeks." Grif was about to thank Kai for her genuinely good advice before she continued, "that way he'll know that you're a good listener and be way more eager to let you go down on him like a tow truck!!"

"I second that! Chicks- er- bottoms are totally into good listeners!" Said Tucker, who had appeared our of seemingly nowhere.

"Where the fuck did you come from???" Kai inquired, shifting her weight onto one hip.

"Oh, you know-"

"No. We don't." Grif interjected.

Tucker shrugged. "I needed to get away from base for a while. It's was getting to chaotic for me-

"That and Wash probably threatened to skin him for burning breakfast and breaking a window" Kai teased. Grif smiled at Kai's remark and watched Tucker throw his hands up defensively.

"Hey! First of all, you broke that window. Secondly, I needed some space from caboose! He's all emotional because it's Valentine's day. He misses church."

Grif suddenly had an idea. No one was more... Soft? Innocently romantic? Genuinely kind?? Then caboose. Kai and Tucker were bickering like lovers often do (not that they were together... Or maybe they were? Grif didn't know, nor did he want to know) so he slipped away and he was off to find Caboose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1:20 pm.

When Grif finally made it to the blue's house, things had seemed to settle down. He let himself in and found a very defeated wash sitting at the kitchen table, clutching a cat shaped mug. Carolina was looming over him, clearly trying to be comforting. They both looked up when Grif came in, but otherwise didn't acknowledge his presence.

"Uh... Hey. Is caboose around?"

Wash mumbled into his mug, "how did he burn a bowl of cereal…."

"Yes, I think he's on the roof" said Carolina, who looked sympathetic and tired.

Grif noded and showed himself upstairs. The aftermath of whatever happened this morning clearly has left it's scars on everyone and Grif and absolutely no intention of finding out the full compendium of events that had occurred. He made his way into the attic and through the small window on the south facing side of the house that led to a flat, sturdy spot on the roof. The Reds' and Blues' houses were built exactly the same, but they mirrored each other. Sarge absolutely refused to believe that the houses were identical and claimed that the Red house had three more roofing tiles, making it superior.

Grif opened the window and crawled out onto the roof to find Caboose sitting with Church's helmet, a glass of orange juice, a copy of the old earth show Friends, and a red heart shaped paper folded down the middle. Grif felt bad disturbing him, but it had to be done. "Uh, hey man. Happy Valentine's day…"

Caboose looked up (he had been looking at the clouds) and smiled. "Hi Gruff!!! Happy Valentime's day" he look around as if something were the matter. "Where is Cinnamons? It is Valentime's day and you two aren't together?"

Grif crawled up next to him and pulled out a bag of Hershey's kisses. He offered some to Caboose and said "yeah about that… I want to get him a gift but I don't know what to get him. I figured you might have an idea?". 'Why am I even asking?' he thought to himself. 'if Donut, Kai, and Tucker of all people couldn't give me good enough advice why am I even here‽ Desperation?'.

Caboose was quiet for a moment before thoughtfully saying, "when church was still here, he didn't like it very much when I gave him hugs, but he really liked this one show?" He held up the copy of Friends, and Grif nodded intently. "So we would watch it together alot! On Valentime's day, I would make him a card like this one-" he pointed to the red heart shaped paper and Grif noticed that there was writing on the inside. Not Caboose's writing because the penmanship had bitchy (and legible) undertones. He concluded that it was Church's card to Caboose and suddenly Grif started to put everything together. "I liked cards and he liked Friends! So we did that together. I miss him alot sometimes", Caboose concluded.

Grif tapped him on the shoulder. "I know man. We miss him too." There was a moment of bitter sweet silence before Grif said,"thanks Caboose. I have to get going to Sim-... Cinnamons."

"Ok! Happy Valentime's day Gruff!" Caboose said cheerfully. Grif smiled and climbed down. He set off to town, with a pretty good idea of what to get Simmons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2:30 pm

Grif got stuck in traffic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~