#despite him. you know. trying to beat the shit out of a twelve year old black boy and threatening to run him and his friends over but. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miekasa · 3 years

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the babysitter’s club (1)

+ pairing: levi ackerman + (fem) reader, featuring bright-eyed but very easily intimidated interns and part-time babysitters eren and armin who are trying their best

+ genres and warnings: modern au, parents au, fluff, yes the dog’s name is captain and he’s tiny what about it

+ summary: eren and armin are good subordinates, who happen to be pretty good babysitter, too. usually.

+ word count: 2.7k

+ notes: this was just something fun i edited and reworked again, also to provide some more insight about dad levi and my oc kids; this focuses only on holden, who is the oldest of the bunch, but you’ll more about the rest as they go

It’s not that Levi doesn’t trust Holden’s babysitters, he just would rather watch over her himself. Moreover, he would rather have the time to spend with his small daughter instead of having to leave her in the care of someone else who isn’t you, but sometimes life gets busy, and babysitters come in real handy.

He still doesn’t understand why Erwin would schedule the both of you to attend such important work-related meetings on the same weekend; much less, to send you half-way around the world for yours, and then book Levi for damn near twelve hours on a Saturday. He would murder Erwin if he weren’t his direct boss, and a long-time friend. But shit happens, and while it’s a major inconvenience and pain in his ass to be working on a weekend, it’s good to know he could rely on the brats at the office to step up on such short notice.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that if anything happens, I won’t hesitate to dismember you,” Levi says calmly, closing his briefcase after triple-checking its contents.

“Of course,” Armin stiffens visibly, awkward laughter seeping through his words, “Eren and I would never let anything happen to Holden.”

To his left, Holden has already tugged Eren to the coffee table for a game of children’s Scrabble, determined to show off her new skills. Levi smiles slightly as he remembers playing the game with her last week, and how awe-struck she was to have seen Levi create a word bigger than “unattainable”—which is currently the longest word in her four-year-old vocabulary. But he’s certain she would have no trouble beating Eren.

He gives Armin a slight nod. He knows Holden is in good hands; or good enough hands with Armin, anyway. It’s not the first time the duo has babysat, and for as air-headed and clumsy Eren could be at the office, he seemed to be pretty damn good with kids if Holden’s attachment to the brunette was anything to go by.

Levi recounts that you’ve questioned on multiple occasions why Eren was so dedicated to being your PA when he seemed to have a potential career in taking care of, and maybe even teaching children. Not that he’s not a good assistant to you, but he’s certainly not as organized or detailed-oriented as Armin. Levi shrugs away the thought. Eren’s career choices are none of his business; his only concern is that he keeps his daughter safe and sound.

“Right. My card is on the kitchen island, you can buy lunch and dinner or whatever, I don’t think there’s much in the fridge,” Levi informs Armin. He looks briefly to the clock on the wall; he really should get going. “Remember to walk Captain at some point, and no matter what Holden says, he absolutely does need a leash on him. If Erwin isn’t being a complete asshat, I’ll be home by nine. (Y/N) will probably still be on her flight, so call me if you need anything.”

Armin nods enthusiastically, promising Levi that they would take care of everything. They’d better.

“Alright, I’m heading out,” Levi announces, pulling his keys from the table near the door, “Be good, Holden. Tell Armin and Eren if you need anything.”

Holden’s head perks up at the sound of her name. Elegantly, or as elegantly as a four-year-old can be, she stands from her seated crisscross position, to run over to Levi by the door. He should remind her that she should use walking feet inside the house, but he can’t bring himself to, instead crouching down to meet her height.

“Bye, daddy,” she tells him sweetly. Levi reaches a hand out to ruffle the top of her head, much to the small girl’s chagrin. She sports a grimace almost identical to his as he reaches up to try and smooth out the aftermath of her father’s affections, “Daddy!”

Levi can’t help but chuckle, reaching two fingers out to poke at his daughter’s forehead. “Be good. I’ll be back soon.”

“Mommy too?”

Levi sighs, “No, mommy doesn’t come back until Tuesday.”

“That’s four days away,” Holden’s doesn’t hesitate to express her dissatisfaction. Levi nods, a little proud of how quickly she’d calculated that in her head, “Can Eren stay until Tuesday?”

“No, Eren cannot.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Holden crinkles her nose. Levi really has got to do something about her fascination with Eren.

Holden looks backwards to where Eren is still seated around the coffee table, he and Armin watching the father-daughter duo. After reconciling with the fact that Eren does, in fact, have his own home to go back to at the end of the day, Holden turns back around, and holds her hand up, palm facing Levi. He does the same, bringing his larger palm to hers, so that her hand is pushed against the middle of his.

Not one for hugs, kisses, or larger displays of affection, Holden simply turns her palm so that her hand grabs around Levi’s as best as possible, hooking her thumb around his pinky finger—what Levi’s heard the young girl call a hand hug.

“Bye, daddy,” she repeats, squeezing his hand, “Come back soon.”

Levi bends his fingers to wrap around her hand, “I will.”

“Keep an eye on her,” Levi reminds Armin and Eren, after standing back up and gripping his briefcase in his hand, “Don’t cause too much trouble.”

“Holden never causes trouble,” Eren says in response, but his words are spoken in coos to the young girl, who’s already back at his side.

Levi scoffs, “I was talking to you.”

“We’ll be fine, boss, don’t worry,” Eren chuckles with an awkward blush, “We love looking after Holden.”

“I’m not your boss,” Levi deadpans, double-checking his pockets for his keys, “You’d better hope everything is fine. Call me if anything happens, I’ll be back soon.”

With one final round of good-byes, and a wave from his daughter, Levi’s out the door, and stepping into his car with a grimace. It was just one stupid day out of his life. Besides, Holden would be fine with Armin and Eren; she always is. Levi is just grumpy that he can’t be the one to spend the day with her.

He sighs, reluctantly, putting his keys in the ignition. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could come back to Holden. Everything would be fine in the meantime; for now, he had to focus on how he was going to get himself to sit through Erwin’s long-ass meeting.

“Levi! Hi! Um… okay, so don’t freak out, but Armin and I are at the hospital with Holden right now—don’t freak out—because there was a small incident at lunch—don’t freak out and fire me please—but! It’s all gonna be okay, they’re already treating her and she’s doing fine now, so don’t freak—”

“Tell me not to freak out one more fucking time and I’ll castrate Armin and feed you his balls myself.”

“You sound a little freaked out,” Eren placates, wincing and holding his phone away from his ear when Levi growls in response.

“You have five seconds to tell me what you two idiots did to my daughter and explain why I shouldn’t decapitate you immediately.”

“It’s a funny story, actually—so, um, we think Holden might be allergic to nuts…?”

“What do you mean might be, Jaeger?”

Eren can feel his heart in his throat. He eyes Armin on the other side of Holden’s hospital bed. He looks no better—color almost completely drained from his face, but Eren doesn’t think he can say much else to his boss before his knees give out from underneath him.

“Uh, well, it was a lot of technical terms, and—I—um, actually I’m going to let Armin explain!” Eren hurries, all but chucking his phone at the unsuspecting blonde.

Armin’s blue eyes look almost grey with anxiety, but before he can protest, Eren is flailing his hands and pointing fingers and reminding him that Levi will kill them both if he doesn’t start talking.

Reluctant, and terrified, Armin finally lifts the phone to his ear, stuttering out a pathetic hello, but Levi cuts him off before he can say anything else.

“Save it. Send me your location, and pray I don’t kill you when I get there.” Armin chokes out a “yes, sir,” before slowly bringing the phone down to his side.

The good news is that Holden’s allergic reaction wasn’t too severe: her throat had been irritated, and hives had emerged as a result, but it hadn’t been closing up. And luckily, Eren had the endurance to run nearly a mile and half with a four year old tucked under his arm; because with the traffic Armin observed whilst he and Captain huffed and lagged behind, it would have taken thrice as long to get Holden to the ER had they waited and called for an ambulance.

Even better was that Holden was an unnervingly calm kid, even whilst having an allergic reaction. She looked almost back to normal now, save for a few red looking blotches on her neck and upper arm; and seemed more than content to be watching a video on Eren’s phone, despite the situation. She was a little bummed out to find out that she could never eat the new ice cream she liked so much ever again, but she seemed to quickly get over it once Eren reminded her that there were lots of other flavors out there for her to try. Flavors that wouldn’t make her choke to death.

Still, Eren and Armin could probably kiss their jobs goodbye, seeing as they had nearly just poisoned their bosses’ daughter. Holden seemed to like them enough, but, unfortunately, Holden wasn’t the Ackerman who signed their checks.

At the very least, Eren doesn’t think you’ll be too upset with him. He doesn’t think you’ll be ecstatic to hear that while you were away on your already inconvenient work-trip on the other side of the globe, that he also managed to land your daughter in a hospital bed… but you were the more forgiving one. Then again, maybe not so forgiving when it comes to the health and wellbeing of your daughter.

Eren falls back against the wall in dread. You weren’t even in the same country as him and he was worried about what you might say or do to him. Levi was probably less than twenty minutes away and fully capable of beheading him.

“You… uh, you think the Interior Branch is still looking for interns?” Eren breaks the silence, looking towards Armin, who’s taken the seat next to Holden’s bed, petting Captain robotically as the dog sits in his lap.

“I don’t think it matters,” Armin responds, “They won’t hire corpses.”

Fifteen minutes, and several run red lights later, Levi is bursting through the doors to the pediatric wing of the emergency room. He doesn’t care about the old woman at the reception yelling at him for causing a ruckus, or the other parents, doctors, or visitors eyeing him for marching around like he owned the place. Holden was in there somewhere, and he was going to get to her.

“Holden—oh, god, Holden,” Levi coos, frantic, as he marches into Holden’s room, scurrying to the side of her hospital bed. A cold hand reaches up to stroke her face. Angry, red bumps litter the sides of neck, her cheeks are puffier than usual, and the perimeter of her mouth seems a bit irritated, but Levi is relieved. She’s okay, his baby girl is okay.

“’M fine, daddy,” Holden assures him. She’s almost overly-perceptive for her age, able to pick up on her father’s out of character antics, and does her best to console him. “Eren ran with me all the way here when I started coughing and itchin.’”

Levi nods, the dark grey splotches in Holden’s eyes bringing him comfort, ensuring him that she was okay. “They gave me a shot, and I don’t like needles, but I didn’t even cry at all. Ask, Armin and Eren, they saw! Captain, too.”

“Brave girl,” Levi smiles, reaching his hand up to push her hair out of her face then leans over to press a kiss to her forehead.

Levi had almost forgotten that Eren and Armin were in the room until he hears a blundering cough from behind him. The younger boys look petrified, Eren practically shaking in his shoes, while Armin doesn’t even have the confidence to look him in the eye.

“We’re really sorry, Levi,” Eren apologizes, voice scratchy and wobbly, like he’d been the one to just get a shot, “We didn’t know—and when she started coughing and saying she couldn’t breathe, I swear, I ran here as fast as I could—”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s… fine?”

Levi sighs. Maybe he’d been a little harsh with them on the phone, letting his emotions get the best of him. He’d already been pissed off enough to not have the time to spend with Holden this weekend; hearing that she’d been hurt was just the final push over the edge for him, but it wasn’t necessarily Armin or Eren’s fault.

“I didn’t know either,” Levi exhales, reaching at hand out to pet the top of Holden’s head again, the young girl now distracted once again by the phone in her hand, “She’s never had a reaction to anything before, and neither (Y/N) or I have any strong allergies.”

Armin shuffles where he’s standing. “The doctor said she might be allergic to tree nuts. We, uh, we gave her pistachio ice cream after lunch.”

If there’s anything concerning Levi, it’s that they gave Holden ice cream before dinner, but he supposes he can let it go for now.

“Eren told me to try it, and it tasted good, daddy,” Holden interjects, “Before I started coughing, it was good.”

“Ah, well, you can’t—you shouldn’t eat things that make you feel sick!” Eren stutters loudly.

“But it was good,” Holden pouts, “And you said to try new things, Eri. I won’t know if it makes me sick if I don’t try them.”

Levi holds back his laughter. He knows that Holden definitely wouldn’t want to try the same same flavor again knowing now that she was allergic to it; she was just pulling at Eren’s leg. Levi would have to keep an eye out for the stuff anyway, especially if her oh-so-precious Eren has expressed any former love for it.

“Um, Levi, sir,” Armin calls, pulling Levi’s attention towards the blonde, “We didn’t know if (Y/N) would have landed already, but do you think you should call her, to, um, let her know?”

Levi’s face pales three shades when he realizes that none of them had already informed you that your daughter was currently hospitalized with a new found allergy.

“You can call her,” Levi says, a shudder in his spine at the thought of relaying this information to you, “That’s your death sentence, not mine.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman smut #eren x reader #aot fluff

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the-artistic-animal · 3 years

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I’m Still Seven

Daryl x Reader

Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria (set in season 7) Warnings: Angst and some fluffy comfort. Word count: 875

Note: for this one, I recommend you listening to Home, by One Direction ;)

Context: Y/N doesn´t want Daryl to keep running away so she confronts him. He accuses her of being immature and she bursts out on him.

“Daryl, just stop!” The girl hissed at him, stepping in front of the door, blocking the archer’s way. He was about to leave for a hunt when the night had barely settled on the sky, and Y/N could just see he was trying to run from the newly found community. “We just got here; you can’t just leave! We don’t know these people and we need you here.” I need you here, but that part she decided to leave out.

“Get outta my damn way, girl.” Daryl’s tone was warning, and Y/N was glad no one was around to hear their discussion; deep down the archer knew she was right, he was indeed trying to run away from the situation. His hand was on the doorknob, and he pushed it open, but only a few centimeters before it was abruptly shut closed again by Y/N’s hand smacking on it.

She caught the humphy sound and the few under breathed curses that left the archer mouth just before he turned around, pacing back and forth in front of her like a caged animal, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, matching his fists; he was getting angrier by the second. “Get the hell outta my way, girl. Ya dunno shit!”

“Well, you don’t seem very smart to me right now! You can’t just go out there in the middle of the fricking night just because you’re all heated up!” Y/N could feel her voice trembling, and she cursed at the emotional effect daryl had on her. “You wanna go, you’re gonna have to step over my dead body!”

Y/N slid down the door, sitting cross-legged in front of it. Daryl stoped pacing around to look at her, eyebrows knitted together in confusion and anger. “The hell yer doing?!”

“I told you, you aren’t leaving.” Y/N’s tone was calm now, exhaling a short breath. “That’s very mature of ya.” The girl didn’t know if the whispered words were meant for her to hear or not, but she did, and they had more effect on her than she had anticipated, her heart beating fast as she spoke now.

“You know what?! I’m so done being mature! When you’re twenty, thirty-five or forty-seven years old, you’re also fourteen, twelve and five!” Daryl was confused, not connecting the situation with what Y/N was saying. “You never stop being the ages you once were, and maybe the immature seven years old me just wants you to stay. Please stay…” The archer was crouched down in front of her now, studying her as a stubborn tear left her watering eyes. “I- hum… ‘M sorry. Don’ cry.” He wanted to reach out and wipe her tears but contained himself. “Fuck, alrigh’! Just stop- stop cryin’.” He plead guilty, like he didn’t know what do or say.

She wiped her tears away, feeling embarrassment creeping up on her cheeks that we’re getting pink. “You must think I’m stupid, but… sometimes, you just wanna go home, you know? Like when you’re five and you wanna sit on your mama’s lap and feel safe. And sometimes when you’re like… 20 something… I don’t know how old I’m…” she let out a little laugh, quite a sad one, Daryl noticed, but he just kept staring at her as she talked, sniffing.

“And you still wanna go to your mama’s and be held like when you were five. Sorry I’m rambling around; I do that when I’m… emotional.” The archer assured her it was fine, sitting himself with her on the floor. They kept quiet for a while, not the uncomfortable kind of quiet – despite the angry discussion they just had –, but the one that is thoughtful, when you just let yourself feel, the sadness coming from the heart and the comforting coming from the other person, just because they are simply sitting with you. “I read that on a book once, by the way. The thing about ageing and stuff.” The girl explained, and the archer, who’s eyes were fixed on her hands playing with each other on her lap, fixed on her eyes again. “Wish I’d remember it better…”

“No- I liked it…” Daryl felt like he should say something else, something of great importance to her, but he didn’t know how. “Ya good?” He was hesitant, words merely a whisper.

She looked up, deep in his eyes, and the archer never felt that vulnerable. But it somehow didn’t scare him, like he wanted her to see through him, to read the words from inside his mind that he didn’t have the courage to put out. Maybe she did have that ability because, suddenly, she was reaching out to him, pulling him into her embrace, arms locking around his torso and her head resting on the crook of his neck.

He expected her to let him go when he didn’t hold her back, but she didn’t – and for that he was glad. After the first shock of the sudden contact, he held her too, and it felt better than he had anticipated. He allowed himself to close his eyes and breath in the scent of her. Like one of those scents that remind you of a place or a memory or someone, she smelled like home.

Autor’s note: hope you liked this one! It was inspired by this quote here.

Sandra Cisneros, Eleven

If you did, please like, reblog and especially comment! I love to read your comments, you guys! Until next time, babes! (Kisses)

I’ll be opening a tag list, if you wanna be tagged on my next writings let me know!

Take a look at my MASTERLIST for more!

#daryl #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead fanfiction

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poptod · 3 years

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hey there ☺ do you think you can write a soulmate au with ahk where you hear each other's thoughts? and ahk thought he didn't have one all these years only to hear you while he's at the museum and then you try to find each other?

notes: wonderful idea. also i noticed my method of doing requests is do it almost immediately after i get it or wait four months before i get it done so sorry about that, but i hope you enjoy this!

WC: 1.5k +

There are many versions of yourself, all talking over one another in an attempt to control your mind for once. Sometimes it's hard to decipher if your actions are the result of someone in your head tugging you in a different direction. There is the person you believe yourself to be––what you imagine you come off to people as. There is also the person you truly are, and what people actually perceive you to be. So despite there being several voices, they are all reiterations of yourself in some way.

Except for one.

One of them speaks in a voice that is not your own, in a voice you've never heard anywhere but echoing in your skull. Since you despised asking questions as a child, it took you until you were twelve to realize that no, you weren't insane. It was someone who would love you, who had the potential to grow close to you simply by the strings of fate. Your soulmate.

Someone who gave you nightmares for years.

'Get me out of here!' He would scream, sending your heart pounding while you tried to sleep as a child. 'Please, please, I need to see the stars,' he sobbed, 'I did nothing to deserve this!'

Once you grew old enough to deal with the screaming beyond what you thought was a schizophrenia disorder, nighttime brought a deep sadness to you. For some reason, your soulmate would never think during the day––which was incredibly odd––and during the night, the only time he was awake, he would scream and beg and cry until you could feel the hoarseness in your own throat. For your entire childhood, you stared up at your ceiling at night, eyes burning as you tried to calm the screaming.

It was all you could think about, as though the screams had muted your connection to him and strengthened his connection to you. Every now and then you would try to think, try to calm him down, but he never quite heard.

Then, one evening in winter, it stopped.

You were lying in bed, rolled onto your side as you once again listened to the man's yelling thoughts. But then he stopped, and both your hearts skipped a beat, followed by an incredibly clear thought: Thank the Gods, blessed Ra and Khonsu.

That evening you darted out of bed, jumping to your desk where you typed in with slamming, lightning-fast fingers, "khonsu." Ra you already knew––everyone knew Ra, and by connection Khonsu would probably also be a God. The only question you were left with was why you were hearing the thoughts of someone who worshipped Egyptian gods two thousand years after that civilization died.

As you continued your research, his thoughts continued.

They took my tablet?

Who are these people?

This man has no idea what he's doing, does he?

Why is he screaming at the Hun?

He's got my tablet.

About halfway into the night you gave up on your research, instead listening intently to the thoughts. With you entirely absorbed in your soulmates thoughts, you had little room to send your own words to him, which unbeknownst to you, would've reached him if you tried.

You weren't quite sure what to think of him for the following couple weeks. At first your assumption was that he was the insane one projecting his insane thoughts to you, but his quieter thoughts led you to believe there was something different in him. It is true what they say––geniuses are often tortured minds, and though you wouldn't classify your soulmate as a genius, he was clearly a knowledgeable philosopher of sorts.

He thought often of the human condition––the rise and fall of civilizations, the cruelty and the mercy of men that began the stories of bloodstained battlefields. Most of the time you just listened. Now that he wasn't screaming, his voice was soft and more of a comfort than you ever thought it would be.

Sometimes he got very sad. After a while you learned to not question the logic of his thoughts. Instead, you simply tried to understand what he meant, accepting him for where he was in his life.

I miss my brother.

I wonder what happened to my best friend.

I didn't think I would ever be this far from the Nile and the sun.

I abandoned my people, didn't I?

If only I could find where my sister was buried. Would that even make me feel better, though? What closure will I gain from seeing her tomb?

... if she even had one.

There's a melody going on in his head, right now. Something that could put you to sleep if you weren't currently working. It's nothing you've heard before, that you're certain of, and judging by the tone of it and your soulmate's previous thoughts, it sounds Egyptian.

Despite the museum being closed, most of the lights are still on. One of the night guards had a very strange insistence about it, but wouldn't tell you why. Oh well––questioning people is above your paygrade, since you aren't getting paid for this. It is volunteer work. Not that you mind; ever since realizing the voice in your head was Egyptian, you've gotten a palate for history. Currently, however, you're dealing less with history and more with files. The curator at this museum asked you to sort through the records of all the different exhibits that are here, or were once here at some point, which made a very large collection. Massive, actually––you're only sorting through A, and it's going to take you a couple weeks.

He's humming softly to himself. The tune carries into your work, and you allow yourself to enjoy his voice as you sort, going over every record to look for exhibits no longer displayed. For this you have a chart in your other hand––a log of all the exhibits currently public in the museum.

Although you're supposed to be concentrated on your sorting, you find yourself more entranced with the melody in your head, and the clearest thought that rings in your mind is, 'that is beautiful.'

The humming stops. Dead in its' tracks, about to reach its' peak, and it stops.

'My mother sang it to me,' he says, 'before I slept as a child.'

"Holy shit, are you talking to me?" You say out loud with bulging eyes before you can stop yourself. The moment you realize what you said, a bright blush coats your cheeks and you slap your hand over your mouth. But he doesn't seem to mind––actually, he laughs, and it's sweeter than summer sugar.

'You must be my heart,' he says in an astounded tone, and you can practically see his dream-filled eyes. You sit puzzled for a second before replying.

"Do you mean your soulmate?"

'Well... I suppose yes, that could be one of the names,' he says, and it only adds more onto the lists of questions you have for him.

"What is your name?" You ask first, hardly realizing you're still talking aloud to yourself.

'My name is Ahkmenrah," he tells you, and it takes less than a millisecond before the dots connect in your head. Instantly your eyes dart to the sheet in your hand, and near the top of the list, there it sits––Ahkmenrah.

'I know this must be confusing for you,' he continues, 'but I am from another time. While I lived then, I dreaded that I didn't have a heart, as I heard no voice. That fear has carried on into my next life, but now that you're here –'

"Oh I'm here alright," you say, unbelieving of both your circumstances and your unblinking acceptance at them. "I'm, like, two floors below you."

"WHAT?!"

A voice from above catches you, but as the same word rings in your mind, you realize with great glee that he instinctively yelled 'what' without thinking. You laugh, and the thought of your laughter reaches him.

Less than a minute later you can hear footsteps pounding down the stairs, landing at the closed door before the handle wrenches open. You quickly move to your feet, facing the man whose voice you know so well, who haunted your childhood and enchanted your adulthood. You can barely hide the grin that spreads across your face–��whatever magic has brought you to this moment, you thank everything you can for it, your attention ensnared by the soft features of a 4,000 year old Pharaoh.

He pauses once he enters the archive, eyes finding yours immediately. His mouth hangs open slightly as he scans you, absorbs every feature on your body and face, and barely moves even to breathe for a good minute or two.

"I – I'm sorry, I j – I just realized I didn't ask your name," he says quietly, a small, ginger smile growing on his lips.

"(Y/N)," you say, but you don't quite know how your brain worked to make the word. You certainly didn't consciously choose to speak.

"I have waited thousands of years for you," he says, impossibly softer as he steps forward. He's really quite harmless, you realize––for all the fear you had of him as a child, he's nothing but a sweet-faced boy.

"Was it worth it?" You ask, and your voice cracks ever so slightly.

"My heart," he breathes out, affection lacing his name for you, "it was worth every second."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek

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billy-the-hurricane · 3 years

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200 harringrove

Hi sorry it took me a ridiculously huge amount of time to do this, but here we gooo

200. "He loves you, you know? He's just afraid of admitting it"

Steve and Billy's friendship was.. complicated to say the least. Admittedly, Hargrove having punched the shit out of the other boy last November was probably not helping their case. Before that fight, it had been rivalry, mainly fueled by Billy while Steve tried his best to just ignore the guy. After that, they kept their distance for a while, and Steve found out from Dustin that Maxine had threatened her brother with a nailed bat to leave them alone. But the whole thing felt off to Harrington. It's a good thing Hargrove wasn't trying to fight with him anymore, but it seemed everything else was gone with it. His fire died down. Billy came back to school with a black eye Steve knew for a fact he wasn't the one responsible for, and alarmingly quiet. Him who usually was loud and obnoxious was just trying to stay quiet. After interrogating Max (god forbid he'd ask the guy himself), he wasn't given much of an answer, but it seemed Mayfield definitely felt somewhat of an embarrassment when the question dropped. This only concerned him more. The real turn however was one time Steve drove the redhead back to Cherry Lane. Both Neil and Billy's vehicles were parked here and as soon as they got out of Steve's beamer, they could already hear some fighting was going on inside.

"Steve, you should leave now" Max had told, despite the concern written across her face.

"why? What's happening?" Harrington asked with a worried frown that only deepened as Neil's voice raised even louder. They could hear him like he was simply in the room next to them and not outside the house. Max bit the inner side of her cheek, swallowing hard.

"Please, you really sho-" The girl had started before their discussion was cut short by the most haunting pleading Steve's heard. At least in a while. It was clearly Billy screaming, with the sound of a vase breaking right after. He couldn't make up the exact words, but it was obvious the blond was begging for this to stop.

And things kind of clicked. Why Billy was behaving the way he did. Despite Max trying to avoid this being known, because Billy doesn't want it to be known he's guessing, Steve knows now. No matter how much his guts are telling him to storm inside, to just do something, anything, he leaves. He feels extremely gross for days afterwards, spent the weekend wondering if complying to the redhead's request had been a good idea at all. When Billy showed up at school with a scar forming on his eyebrow, having split it in a way that probably would never grow back, Steve had no doubt about the situation.

So he tried finding small ways to somehow approach Billy, befriend him. It was clear the guy's behaviour was stemming from his life at home, but Steve was certain that with some help, he could give the blond a more healthy outlet than knocking people out. This was definitely easier said than done, with Billy being very hostile at the idea of ever hanging out or even being seen with the guy. But one step at a time, one meaningless small talk at a time, they started actually hanging out at lunch. Then after school. Shared joints and deeper conversations ensued over the course of a few months and although this didn't fix Billy's issue, it was obvious he wasn't as agitated anymore.

The main turning point for them was a night of April. In which Steve confided in his own insecurities. Brought up his failed relationship with Nancy, the fact that his parents themselves didn't know him more than on an acquaintance type of level. He felt alone in a stupidly big fucking house all the time, stuck with nightmares he couldn't describe to the blond. For a second he thought maybe Billy would mock him, or flee his way out of the conversation but he did not. He listened. Hargrove let Steve talk and although it was clear the Californian native wasn't used to give advices, he genuinely tried and it showed. Then he opened up too. Billy seemed really hesitant for a hot minute, but he confessed to the abuse at home. The fact that it's been happening for so long and gradually getting worse. The fact that it took an awful turn when Neil caught him with a guy.

Holy shit.

That wasn't expected for sure, caught him off-guard for sure and judging by Billy's face, it showed. The guy looked like he was seeing someone dying. It hit him now. Just how much trust Billy has in him now, to even just share this.

"Nevermind, I'll just go" Hargrove blurted out, getting up with a reddening face. An awful sense of embarrassment coursing through his body. He just made a fool of himself. Again. As he walked out, Steve ran after him, grabbing his wrist but Billy instantly moved it away almost mechanically.

"Listen man, it's okay, I just didn't expect it" Harrington awkwardly let out, watching Billy's back still turned towards him. "It's a bit of a lot to process at once that's all. I think I figured out for your dad, but I didn't know you.." the brunet went on, earning a chuckle that held no joy from Hargrove. "It's okay. That doesn't change anything for me. I'm sorry this happened to you, you don't deserve any of it. Just know you can always come over if you need to sleep away from your house"

And just like this, Billy's sexual orientation was never brought up again. Steve was supportive and offered him a roof more than anyone has in YEARS. He was always stupidly kind, never asked for anything in return. Billy finally had a safe space and someone he could count on. Billy laughed harder than he ever had with him, and the experience was mutual. It was just. Easy. Stress free. Well until he caught feelings. Until he came to realize just to what degree Harrington mattered to him. He'd rather die than admit it, of course, but they were there. The stupid fucking butterflies. Whenever Steve smiled too bright of showed too much care. Usually Billy found a way to distract them both with something totally different, just so he can focus on something else than the way he feels. But with time, it became harder and harder and the fear of slipping up grew bigger and bigger. As much as it pained Billy, he slowly tried distancing himself. Just to avoid this disaster.

However, what Billy hadn't anticipated was just how much this would hurt Steve. He just couldn't understand what the hell he did to upset Billy. And whenever he asked, Hargrove would assure nothing happened and they're fine.

After weeks of useless back and forth, Steve asked Max. Asked what the hell was wrong with Billy. And apparently that was a really stupid question, judging by the stare she gave him. She shook her head with a whispered "boys" before looking around them to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

"You really have no idea?" the redhead asked, crossing her arms.

"Not really, no" the teenage boy reiterated with a sigh.

"He loves you, y'know? He's just afraid to admit it" Maxine explained. "He's changed a lot since you guys made peace. It's obvious he cares a lot for you, so please don't let this destroy your friendship. Just give him time to move on-" she started, cut by Steve that was finally processing the words.

"He's in love with me?" Harrington questioned, although the answer was given to him even before he spoke. Well, damn. He didn't even add anything else, just left with Max calling him behind him.

He just hopped into his beamer and drove off, later realizing he probably scared her to death, she probably thought he was about to fight with her brother over it. But he just had to see Billy. It's now been weeks since he's been questioning himself over this, over how much he cares about the blond. Over the implications of it. But hearing Billy loved him was like all of his thoughts now made sense. He parked into the public pool's parking lot, knowing Billy was on his Saturday shift. He walked in, ignored the girl at the entrance, vaguely explaining he was there to see Billy and headed to the lockers, finding him there.

"The hell are you doing here?" Billy told, putting his sweater on properly as Harrington was just walking towards him in an overwhelmingly confident manner. Now dragged into a changing room, he's really starting to freak out.

"Jesus man, what's your issue?!" Hargrove insisted as the brunet locked the door behind them. "What do you want?"

Steve just found himself speechless once locked in here with the other, now only fully understanding what this was. "You're in love with me" he let out, quite breathless sounding. And Billy turned white like a ghost. The guy that usually dripped in confident was losing all of his arrogance in seconds.

"No" Hargrove mumbled out, his voice now slightly shaky. There were no fucking way out. Both of the discussion and physically.

"You're not a good liar" Steve smiled, watching the blond embarrass himself like a twelve year old.

"Fuck off" Billy replied, trying to move Steve out of the way, just to get his arm pulled even closer into Harrington's space, chest pressed against chest. Steve had this dumb smile on his face, and Billy felt like this was a joke at his expense. Couldn't be anything else. "That's not funny. Just beat the shit out of me, get this over with already"

"I want you to tell me. Say it to me, please" Steve said, completely ignoring Billy's previous words.

"Are you serious?"

"Please" Harrington asked again.

"I.." he looked away, swallowing tightly. "I'm in love. With you"

In response, Steve gave him one of those beautiful bright smiles of his, his hand sliding up to cup Billy's cheek. "You're beautiful" he told before leaning in to kiss that fucking idiot.

#Harringrove #Billy hargrove #Steve harrington #billy x steve #steve x billy #stranger things #dacre montgomery #joe keery #They're dumb and in love #Billy doesn't know how feelings work #But he's trying #Really hard

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kasienda · 3 years

Text

Right Behind You - Chapter 1: Scandal

An Adrino Story - Friends to lovers Maybe the person you need is not the one you’ve had your eye on, but the one who’s been right behind you supporting you the whole time. Chapter 1: Scandal Nino was awake.

Which was a crime.

His gig the previous evening hadn’t ended until well past four in the morning, and glancing at the glowing clock next to his bed it wasn’t even eight yet. He had managed maybe two hours of sleep.

And he could feel it everywhere in his body. The light peeking through the edges of his blackout curtains felt like an assault on his dry and irritated eyes. His left knee ached from a week-old injury caused by a bad landing during one of Carapace’s patrols. Even his thoughts felt like they were smothered in a thick cold fog.

He hated when the all night events hit on back to back days, but he needed the double pay at least a few times a month to afford his downtown Parisian apartment and without fail the requests for such events tended to land on the same weekend. No doubt, it would be worth it in a few hours. Once he had a cup or three of coffee.

Or another five hours of sleep.

But his phone clearly had other plans as the blasted digital brick wouldn’t stop buzzing every few minutes.

Nino left it in the other room every night to avoid this exact scenario, but he must have left it on some plastic container because the vibration was loud. And whoever this was, they were very insistent.

He sat up with a groan, very aware of the dull ache that stretched from one temple to the other. He let his head hang lifelessly to his chest.

The phone went off again. He glared through the open doorway.

“I’ll make coffee.”

Nino tried to smile at the tiny green floating kwami, but it came out more like a grimace. “Thanks, Wayzz. You’re the best.”

He gave himself five minutes of just sitting with his blankets still wrapped luxuriously around him protecting against the chill of the morning. The phone had mockingly gone silent after almost ten minutes of near constant buzzing. He contemplated letting his head fall back to the pillows. But it was probably too late. Despite his fatigue, Nino was rarely able to go back to sleep.

He reached blindly to the small table beside his bed for his glasses, and then stumbled through his small apartment to the kitchen. Wayzz was already pouring black coffee into a cup.

Nino smiled at the ridiculous sight of the floating green creature handling an object twice its own size. It didn’t even look strange to him anymore. Really, Nino was unsure how he had ever gotten by without the constant support of the ancient kwami.

He stepped forward to accept custody of the steaming beverage. He added a spoon of sugar and creamer. Before he could take his first sip, the blasted phone went off again.

Alya’s gleaming smile lit up his screen. He frowned at the device and immediately answered, even as he continued mixing his coffee.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“How do you do that?” her synthetic voice demanded from the other end of the line.

“Al, except for my birthday, you haven’t called me in two years,” he stated flatly. Why was she even asking? They texted quite often, and whenever she was back in Paris they usually would have lunch or hang out with their mutual friends. But ever since their break up, she had not called.

Well, except for his birthday.

“And today is not my birthday. And it’s barely morning! You know that I’m never up before ten at the earliest and twelve is really a better bet. And you’ve been blowing up my phone clearly trying to get my ass out of bed. So I ask again, what is wrong?” he said slowly, emphasizing each word before he licked the spoon he was using to mix his coffee.

“Have you talked to Adrien lately?”

His stomach dropped. This must be really bad news. Alya didn’t usually beat around the bush. She was more like a bulldozer that went straight through things. And if this was about Adrien… “Like three days ago. Why?”

His phone buzzed against his cheek immediately. He pulled it away to see the headline she sent him.

Supermodel, Adrien Agreste, batting for the other team?

Keep Reading on Ao3

He already hated it, but that didn’t stop him from tapping on the link. Nino sucked in air at the sight of the picture. Nino has seen a lot of professional shots of Adrien over the years. This picture was gorgeous. Or, it would have been in absolutely any other context.

The picture captured three quarters of Adrien’s face, but only a bit of his partner. His hair caught the light and gleamed gold, not quite as perfectly in place as it would have been in the morning. Like he had run his hands through it just a few times. His normally peach cheeks were dusted with pink and his eyes were closed. He was pulling away from a kiss with a fair-skinned man wearing glasses. But Nino’s eyes focused on his friend’s mouth. Adrien’s lips were upturned in the slightest little smile - the dopey one he had whenever he was talking about the mystery girl he loved.

And that was the only difference between all the professional shots Nino had seen over the years and the front page tabloid. In this picture, Adrien looked… happy. Genuinely so.

And now, that beautiful private moment was now plastered all over every gossip rag from one side of France to the other.

Likely without Adrien’s permission.

How unfair that one little moment of indiscretion outed him to all of Paris.

Nino’s gut twisted painfully.

All of Paris included Gabriel. Adrien had never told his father about being bi, and it was no wonder as the uptight bastard was an ice statue of propriety with absolutely no feelings.

“It wasn’t at an event, Nino,” Alya explained. “It’s around the corner from that pub we used to frequent after lycee, almost in an alley outside a club. But the photo’s too good for some random person to have just seen him walking by at this time of day. The lighting should have been terrible and the photo grainy.”

“So?”

“The photographer knew Adrien was going to be there and that there'd be something worth taking a picture of.”

“Shit,” he cursed, his free hand gripping his own shoulder. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Thanks, Al, for calling. He never would.”

“I know. I might be terrible at keeping in touch, but maybe we could schedule a catch up?”

In spite of the circumstances, he found himself smiling. “I would like that. When are you back in Paris?”

“I’m here now actually. When else do I read trashy gossip rags?”

He laughed. “Fair. How long are you in town for?”

“Just the long weekend, but I wasn’t going to tell anyone because I didn’t have a whole lot of time and I’m going to be back for like six months in just a few weeks. Then, I read this, and well…”

“Yeah, thanks for the head’s up.”

“Sorry for waking you up so early.”

“You already know this was worth it to me. Thank you.”

“Of course, Nino. Anytime. Now, go track down a certain unfairly attractive supermodel, and make sure he’s okay. I’ll start researching who this bastard is and see if I can ruin his day.”

Nino laughed. Alya was protective of her friends, and positively vindictive. It was a scary combination. But Nino had always loved that about her.

“Nino?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell him I love him, too. He’s not alone.”

He smiled again. “I’ll tell him. Thanks again, Al,” and then he ended the call.

He drained his coffee though it was still too hot. Because he definitely didn’t have time to nurse it, and he definitely was going to need the caffeine rush today. He then immediately called Adrien.

His friend didn’t answer, so Nino called again because there was no way in hell Adrien wasn’t doom scrolling through feeds obsessing over this story.

And again.

On the fifth try Adrien finally answered.

“Did it ever occur to you that when someone doesn’t answer it might mean they don’t want to talk?”

Nino shook his head, put the call on speaker, and thudded back to his bedroom to find clothes he could wear in public. “Never in your case, dude! Where are you? I’m coming over.”

“You don’t have to,” Adrien objected. “What are you even doing up? Didn’t you have an event last night? I was counting on you sleeping until noon!”

“It went late. I never went to sleep,” Nino lied. He didn’t want to mention Alya’s call or plan for revenge yet, or admit to a monster headache. If he did, Adrien wouldn’t let him come over.

“You don’t have to come listen to my sob story,” Adrien insisted. “Get some sleep. This isn’t important. It was my own fault. I was stupid.”

Nino rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Where are you?” He pulled a white t-shirt over his head, and placed the phone back to his ear.

Adrien remained silent on the other end.

“Dude, if you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll call Chloé and Kagami for back up in tracking you down.”

There was a sigh over the phone. “I’m at the hotel.”

“Room number?”

“427.”

“Be there in fifteen,” Nino promised. He jumped into a pair of khakis, kissed the brim of his red hat before slipping it over his head, and went straight out the door.

“Fifteen minutes is cutting it a little close, young master,” Wayzz chided from his left shoulder.

Nino had long stopped trying to get Wayzz to drop the title. The creature was as stubborn as he was old.

“Not if we take the superhero express.”

Wayzz’s disapproving frown did nothing to dissuade Nino from his plans.

Adrien needed him.

…

The door whipped open barely a second after Nino’s knuckles had knocked. For a second, neither of them spoke. Nino studied Adrien’s face carefully for signs of upset. His friend’s eyes were bloodshot as if he’d been up all night, but they weren’t puffy, so he probably at least hadn’t been crying. And his lips were curled into a relieved smile.

Nino returned the expression before pulling Adrien into a hug.

“How did you get here so fast?” Adrien mumbled into Nino’s shoulder.

Nino pulled away, and followed Adrien into the small hotel room. “Trade secret,” he deflected, hoping the humor had Adrien rolling his eyes instead of insisting on an explanation.

Maybe Wayzz’s paranoia was somewhat justified. Not that Nino had any regrets. Adrien didn’t push, and instead immediately fell backwards on the pristinely made bed. His friend clearly hadn’t even attempted to get any sleep last night. His green eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

Nino flopped on the bed next to him, lying perpendicular with their heads side by side.

“So why the hotel?”

Adrien snorted. “The studio has paparazzi.”

“You could’ve crashed my place.”

“But you weren’t there.”

Nino’s head rolled towards his best friend. “So? You have a key.”

Adrien’s gaze remained glued to the ceiling. ”Maybe I’m just embarrassed and didn’t want to explain anything.”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Nino said. “If you don’t want to talk, fine. But I’m here. And if you do want to talk, I’m here for that, too.”

And then Nino just waited, listening to Adrien’s uneven breathing. He suspected Adrien did want to talk. But it remained silent longer than Nino would have expected under the circumstances. And Nino was blissfully comfortable next to Adrien’s warmth and familiar presence and Nino’s caffeine boost was fading fast. He quickly found himself nodding off.

“Promise you won’t judge?”

Nino started awake.

“Nino?” Adrien rolled onto his side toward Nino.

“Yeah?” Nino responded, trying to disguise the crack in his voice.

“You fell asleep, didn’t you?” Adrien observed dryly.

“No!” Nino denied for all he was worth.

Adrien sighed, returning to his back. “I told you that you didn’t have to come.”

Nino shook his head. “Come on! Admit it. You wanted me to be here.”

Adrien sat up on the bed. Nino met his green-eyed gaze easily. “Yeah…” Adrien admitted. “I did.”

Nino gave a slight nod. “So, I’m here.”

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. “I just… I hate being high maintenance.”

“You’re not high maintenance,” Nino said gently for what had to be the millionth time over the last ten years. “Your asshole father just has you brainwashed into believing you have to handle it all yourself. But you don’t. And today, you’re having a bad day, so I’m here.”

“A horrible day!” Adrien agreed. “And it’s only just started.”

Nino sat up, spun his legs to be at Adrien’s side, and then shoulder bumped his friend. “So, let me make the rest of it better.”

Adrien grinned. “Thank you. Thank you for being here.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that, mec.”

“I know, but I want to.”

Nino scooted closer. “So, do you want to talk about what happened? Or do you want to be distracted?”

“How about I tell you what happened, and then you can distract me?”

“Sounds good, mec.”

“I met him at the university library,” Adrien began, his gaze on the far wall, and not on Nino. But Nino gave him his full attention anyway. “I was doing research for my thesis. And when he saw me fumbling with a stack of textbooks he just offered to help me put my reference books away. And he started talking about physics and when we were done, we just kept talking. We ended up downstairs in the student union just having coffee. It didn’t seem like he recognized me.” Adrien tugged at his blond locks. “I’m such an idiot! Of course, he recognized me. How can anyone not recognize me? My face is on every other billboard!”

“It makes me feel like you’re always with me,” Nino joked.

Adrien responded with a flick from his middle finger to the brim of Nino’s hat, sending the red keepsake snapping off his head.

“Hey!” Nino objected. “Anything but the hat.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, mec,” Nino soothed. If there was one person Nino actually trusted with his older brother’s hat, it was Adrien. “So, what happened over coffee?”

“Nothing really. Like I said, we just talked. It was nice. Or… I thought it was. We almost split there, but then he whirled back around and asked me out. He seemed genuinely interested, and I had really enjoyed talking to him, I thought maybe it was worth a shot! Especially after…” he trailed off. And yeah, Nino knew Adrien was still pining after this mystery girl he worked with after years of her saying no. “It just felt nice to be wanted.”

And god, if it wasn’t always the same story.

“We went to dinner at this little cafe. You know, even if he was acting the whole time, he really was a fantastic conversationalist. It was just so easy! And I thought… we had a connection? It was just one kiss. But apparently, the whole thing was a set up. I knew as soon as the flash went off. They had a screen for lighting and everything.”

He must have been good, Nino surmised. Adrien hadn’t been tricked by one of these looking for a moment of fame since they were seventeen.

“But I should have known better. Nathalie always says to never go out the same day they ask.”

“What?! You didn’t give Nathalie time to write a twenty page report on your potential suitor?” Nino asked mockingly.

Adrien barked a laugh. “Twenty? Try forty!” Then his mirth faded. “But I hate it, Nino. I hate being so suspicious and cynical.”

Nino clamped his hand onto Adrien’s shoulder and squeezed in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

“And I hate it more when she’s right,” Adrien added in a whisper.

At those words, Nino pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry, dude. Wish the world was filled with more genuine people and less opportunists.”

“Yeah…”

It was silent again, and Nino was at a loss for how to fill it. But he definitely didn’t want Adrien spiraling in his thoughts for too long.

“How’d your father take it?” It wasn’t the question Nino wanted to ask, but it was always best to get the Gabriel rant out of the way.

Adrien’s whole body went rigid in Nino’s arms. “I haven’t actually talked to him yet.”

Nino just hugged him harder. “How many times has Nathalie called?”

Adrien pulled away, and tossed him his phone. Nino unlocked it with practiced ease. Missed calls - three. Spaced exactly thirty minutes apart. Nino shook his head.

“That’s not that bad.”

“Bet she texts or calls you before she makes it to call number five,” Adrien countered.

Nino laughed. “You’re on. She’ll try you at least three more times. Anything in particular you want me to negotiate for?”

“I don’t want to talk to him today. Tomorrow is fine.”

Nino waved his hand dismissively. “That one’s obvious, dude. I was thinking more like your working conditions in general?”

“I would love it if we could move my fittings to early morning. Like super early. Five am? I’ve requested it before, but it costs extra to have a team there that early.”

Nino made a distasteful face. “I don’t know why you’d want to get up so blasted early.”

“I just want to get it over with so I have more time to study or hang out with my friends during the rest of the day. Is my company not worth a dawn wake up in your world?”

“This is my dawn! And here I am!”

Adrien’s grin faded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“None of that!” Nino waved his arms dramatically. “We already established that when you need me, I am here!”

Adrien’s lips curled up into a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“So, are you okay?” Nino finally asked the question he had been wanting to ask since he arrived. Adrien had just been outed publicly.

Adrien shrugged. “Just embarrassed… mostly. You know I am comfortable with my sexuality. I was really only keeping it under wraps for father and the company.”

“Are you really okay?”

Adrien chuckled darkly. “How do you do that?”

Nino shrugged, his body going limp. “It’s my superpower, clearly. So you’re not okay, I take it?”

Adrien sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I was ready to be out with my friends, and the important people already know, but being outed publicly is terrifying. I feel so exposed. Like more than normal.

“And apparently, I do care what people think. But I hate that I care!” Adrien bit out, the bitterness and self-reproach clear in his tone. “I thought I didn’t, but I definitely do,” he added, his voice softer. “I wish I was brave enough not to.”

“Dude!” Nino objected. “You’re being too hard on yourself. It’s normal to not want to be judged. I know I wouldn’t want to be. Not when it wasn’t by choice.” Nino was out only with his closest friends. He had never talked to his parents. They weren’t exactly traditional, but they grew up in a country where homosexuality was met with prison time. Nino didn’t think they would disown him or anything, but he didn’t expect them to be thrilled. And he didn’t want to risk it. Not unless it was necessary.

Noël didn’t know either. Nino didn’t think his little brother would care, but Nino wasn’t confident Noël would remain discreet either.

“Know that I’m with you every step of the way,” Nino promised.

“Thanks, dude.” Adrien didn’t say anything more, but his blond eyebrows scrunched together so he was clearly thinking about something. “I definitely fantasized about my public coming out at some charity or something. Some event that could help the LGBTQ cause and community. And now it just feels so… tawdry. Like it’s just another sex scandal. And I feel like that possibility was stolen from me.”

Nino was quiet. “I’m sorry, mec. This wasn’t cool.”

Adrien shrugged. “And I’m maybe a little heartbroken. But I’m used to that.”

Nino’s chest tightened. It wasn’t fair. If anyone on this earth deserved love, it was Adrien.

“Anything I can do?”

“You’re doing it!” Adrien looked up and genuinely smiled, his green eyes impossibly bright. “You always do.”

Nino smiled. “That’s because I love you, dude. You know that right?”

“Yeah, man. Of course I do. And I love you, too.”

“What do you want to do for the rest of the day? Do you just want to hang out just the two of us? Or shall I invite the girls over?”

The girls meant Marinette, Kagami, and Chloé. But maybe Nino would include Alya as well since she was in town.

“They will tear this guy to pieces.”

Nino nodded. “Exactly. He deserves it.”

“Do you think Marinette will actually come?”

“I mean, I think if anything will bring her out of her cave of isolation to make you feel better, it would be that headline.”

Adrien hesitated, another hand on his neck. “I don’t know… I don’t know if I want to face them. I’m so embarrassed. Chloé is going to give me hell for not seeing through this guy.”

Nino didn’t agree on that assessment. Chloé would definitely give him a hard time. But she’d do it at some point weeks or months in the future. She wouldn't tease him today. “If she does, remind her of the Antonia disaster!”

Adrien laughed. Thank all the kwamis that that relationship had only lasted six months. Six long excruciating months. They had all hated Antonia, and not only because the feeling was mutual, but because she had torn Chloé’s sense of self worth into shreds.

“Seriously mec, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We’ve all had colossal misjudgements in relationships. Like all of us.”

“When has Marinette screwed up?”

Nino’s laugh exploded from his chest. “Mec, you have no idea. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to say.”

“What?! No fair! Why do you get to know, and not me?”

Nino just shrugged. He probably would have had no trouble gossiping about Marinette to Adrien if so many of her secrets didn’t involve the blond in question. “I don’t make the rules. I just follow them.”

“What about you?” Adrien asked. “When have you screwed up in a relationship?”

“Does a drunk hook-up count?” Nino asked.

“Depends! Were they cute?”

“Not as cute as you,” Nino snarked back.

Adrien actually blushed, and then just threw his arms around Nino again.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“For?”

“For being here despite my protests, for making me feel better.”

Nino squeezes Adrien tighter. “Always, mec.”

“You can invite the girls, but can we do it at my place?”

“I thought your place had paparazzi.”

“Just a van.”

Nino winced. That was almost worse than a crowd. A team on stakeout would be more invasive and they’d stick around for longer.

They rolled to their feet. Neither had anything in the way of belongings and exited into the hallway.

“Which room is the gorilla staying in?”

Adrien jerked his thumb towards the adjacent room.

Nino knocked with a complicated staccato rhythm. The door swung open a few seconds later.

“Morning, Big G!” Nino greeted enthusiastically offering a fist, which Adrien’s protector reciprocated, though his expression remained devoid of feeling.

“We’re heading out,” Nino explained. “Back to his place. I’m ordering breakfast on the way. What do you want from Tom and Sabine’s?”

The stoic man nodded and signed animatedly.

Nino nodded. “Sounds good! We’ll meet you out front in fifteen.”

Adrien shook his head as the door closed. “How is it that you know how to talk to him better than I do?”

“Sign language isn’t that hard, man. And I had motivation to learn!”

It was hard to bribe a man if you didn’t speak his language.

…

Chapter 2

#Adrino #Adrinino #Miraculous Ladybug Fan fiction #friends to lovers #hurt/comfort #adrien agreste #nino lahiffe #Right Behind You #My Own Content

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bluegarners · 3 years

Note

dick + jaw wired shut ???

hiii anon!! sorry this took awhile to get out there, but here it is! ao3

Jaw Wired Shut

It happens quickly. A bit too quickly, really. One could say it happens in a flash, but neither Wally nor Barry are really here to appreciate that, so it just happens quickly.

He’s on his bike, a slightly older model of the same one Robin rides, just larger and more loved (well-used is another kind term, but he really means beat-up), and they’re both reaching speeds upwards of seventy miles per hour. One hundred and twelve kilometres if he’s using the correct measurements, but no one really cares. Either way, the point is that they’re going fast and only getting faster as their high-speed chase takes them down long streets filled with trash and night-walkers alike.

Robin is slightly ahead, his smaller bike a bit better at maneuvering around the sharp angles and narrowing roads, and Dick is trying his best not to think about how one pot-hole could spell the end for both of them at the speeds they are currently keeping. Of course, they’re both wearing helmets with more padding than standard (thank you, Bruce), but it does little to reassure him as he keeps one eye on the perpetrators they’re tailing and the hardly fourteen year old boy handling a motor-bike like he’s been at it for a lifelong and fulfilling career as a Nascar driver.

It’s not raining, Gotham in some sort of mid-fall drought, and Batman took the car in the opposite direction to try and cut off the gang before they reached the city limits, so there are small mercies. Very small, but Dick is used to relying on slim chances so it’s fine. Fine, really.

The thing is, though, is that they’re only getting faster. Later, Dick will wonder how in the world the gang managed to fix an engine onto the old van to make it go so fast, and later Dick will shake his fist at the sky for his inattention or his too divided attention, but for the moment, Dick is only pushing his bike to keep pace with Damian’s, and going back and forth between glancing at Robin’s wildly flapping cape and watching for civilians that got in the way.

They’re hardly forty feet from it when the van doors kick open and two men crouch at its opening, shouldering what looks to be a machine gun (holy shit, they weren’t supposed to have that kind of weaponry) and a few hand-guns. Immediately, Dick is calling into the comms with the new development.

“Fall back, they’re armed!”

Robin cooperates, lessening his speed and coming to ride along Dick’s flank.

“Weaponry?” Batman asks.

“Hard to say,” Dick shouts, wind screaming in his own ear. “Definitely a few 9mm and maybe a GPM. They’ve got more than a few rounds in there too.”

“Copy. Stay back. Do not engage and keep distance. I’m closing in on them. Keep civilians out of the way.”

“Like we weren’t just doing that,” Robin mutters, the feedback in the comms a glimmer of humor despite the intense situation.

“Got it, B,” Dick responds, a grin marring his serious tone.

He’s hardly got the words out before the first lash of bullets is hitting the rough pavement, metal clashing against stiff cement and slightly more malleable cars. They’re lucky that these thugs just seem to want to put more distance between themselves and the vigilantes because the bullets are only hitting the path in front of their bikes. Still, the ricochet is violent, metal casings bouncing up and pelting anything even remotely close, and it pushes Nightwing and Robin back further. It’s the middle of the night, somewhere close to three a.m., so there aren’t too many civilians out, but it’s still Gotham.

It’s just a normal Tuesday for most of them.

“Maneuver five?” Robin asks, swerving to the right as a slurry of bullets hits a sewer covering. “Or seven?”

“Seven,” Dick decides, grimacing a bit as his front wheel wobbles against the pavement. “Push it up to a Scenario B, and,” he adds, taking care to emphasize the stress in his voice, “minimum engagement.”

Robin doesn’t respond, a blow of air into the comms all that Dick gets in reply, before Robin is suddenly speeding up and launching his bike onto the civilian pathways and gliding by store displays and carefully made signs.

A maneuver seven typically involves three people; one to distract, one to enact, and one to take care of whatever other obstacles there are. Seeing as their only backup was about twelve streets away, the plan adjusts to a Scenario B; meaning that now there is only the distractor and enactor. Being the distraction is more dangerous in this scenario as there is no one to ensure that they aren’t instantly put into a direct line of fire, so that role is automatically deferred to either the older or the more experienced. Both of those apply to Dick, so he takes it upon himself to do his best to keep the attention of the machine gun and 9mm on himself while Damian builds up enough speed to intercept or figure out a way to crash the van itself. Thus, the enactor.

It’s a difficult maneuver but not impossible, and both of them have trained and even done the maneuver a few times. Of course, other variables like speed, location, psychology of the criminals, and the vehicle itself all play major roles in the outcome of maneuver seven, but thinking on one's feet isn’t as difficult to do when it’s either do that or die standing still.

Not as reassuring as it sounds, but it works. Most of the time.

Robin is waiting for the signal to increase his speed, riding parallel to Nightwing’s bike, and Dick fishes for a wingding out of one compartment. He snaps it open, sharp metal edges clicking into place, and with a slight head-tilt, both Robin and the wingding are flying towards the speeding van.

Dick’s accuracy hasn’t failed him in years, and the (essentially) metal boomerang collides against one of the legs supporting what he thinks is a modified GPM. He slings another one, flicking his wrist in a motion that guarantees a slight curve, and a second wingding buries itself into the lower bumper of the van. This one is different though as Dick presses down on a button and a flash-bang goes off, a miniature flare emitting smoke and blinding the gang members inside. Robin is getting closer, a little further than twenty feet from the van off to the right on a sidewalk, and Dick readies a third wingding when he sees a commotion interrupt the panicked flailing of the men.

Previously, Dick had only counted two men in the rear of the van, both armed, but now a third one appears, wielding another gun and some unknown object in the other. They’ve got a gas mask on, goggles too, and they’re staring right at Dick.

“Third assailant,” he hurries into the comms, reassessing. “Armed.”

“Got it,” Damian grunts in reply, engine revving slightly as he pushes his bike further and rapidly gains pace. “Batman, update?”

“Encountered some civilians. Five blocks away. ETA thirty seconds.”

Okay, good, good, Dick thinks to himself, throwing the wingding still in his hand. It knocks out another leg on the GPM and he hears the shout of surprise. “Robin, what’s it looking like for engagement?” he asks aloud.

He veers to the left suddenly, pops of one-two-three as one of the 9mm sounds off. He curses as a stray casing impacts against his back tire and he wobbles for the second time.

“Preparing to board.”

What? Dick thinks as he turns his attention to Damian, who is slowly inching his feet upwards onto the seat of his bike. It’s a risky choice, one that is never 100%, or even 80% guaranteed to work, and Dick feels his heart leap into his throat as Damian continues to accelerate, all the while getting closer and closer to the speeding van and bunching his legs together.

Trust him, a voice whispers in the back of his head, but Dick can’t help but divide his attention by watching his little brother, and god he looks so small, gather his feet underneath him, one hand still controlling the bike, and jump into the screaming air, aiming for the front windshield.

The impact is going to hurt, Dick knows from experience, but he can’t help but feel that sting of pride as he hears the shock of the gang members, the van swerving momentarily before regaining its momentum.

And this is where things begin happening too quickly. Where things happen in a flash.

A lot is going on at the same time. Robin is clinging to the front of a van filled with armed gang members. Robin’s bike is currently still rolling on the sidewalk, slowly, very slowly, coming to a stop and falling on its side. Batman is hardly one block away, Dick can just barely hear the rumble of the Batmobile’s engine against the wind tearing at his arms, but it’s out of reach. The two gang members are still rubbing magnesium and smoke out of their eyes and the GPM is tilting out the van, the slightest push away from it tumbling into the street. The third member is elbowing past their blinded partners, dropping the gun in their hand and fumbling with whatever was in the other.

All of this is happening at the same time, and all of these requires Dick’s attention, his direct action, but he’s still half-way between his heart seizing as he thinks about bruised ribs beneath Robin’s tunic and trying to correct the unexpected and severe quaking of his back tire. He’s always been good about juggling multiple things at once. Give him an orange, a spoon, a bowl, and a paper weight and he’ll put on a show. Give him a week to commute between the Titans, Gotham, Bludhaven, and three new case files, and he’ll get it done a day early. He’s good about handling multiple things at once, but it’s a maneuver seven, a Scenario B, and Dick is slightly more harried than he normally is with it all.

So the grenade being launched out of the back doors and the GPM crashing and splintering into the pavement, parts of it hurtling at Dick’s bike upwards of eighty miles per hour, goes unnoticed. Dick is distracted and misses it. Misses those precious few milliseconds of time and pays for it.

The sound of the GPM practically exploding on impact is what alerts him, eyes zeroing in on first the metal pieces and then the rounder object that just seems to… float, mid-air, gray-green and twirling and heading straight for him.

It’s all Dick can do but break. Hard. A jolt so severe the handles jut into his sides and he’s practically leaning over the front of his bike, before he’s swiveling around, desperate to put some space between himself and the ensuing explosion. From the distance he’s at, the grenade and shrapnel coming from the GPM, he’ll be lucky if he scrapes by with some charred flesh. Who’s he kidding? He’ll be lucky if he scrapes by with his life.

There’s nowhere to go but back because even though it’s Tuesday and most of the shops are closed, it’s still very much Gotham, and Dick just can’t take the chance of diving behind a car or swerving into a shop window without the risk of injuring innocents. His back wheel, dented and more than likely missing some rubber, squeals against the asphalt as he lurches forward, away from the van, hand coming up to hastily, hopefully, patch into the comms to alert Robin, warn Batman, about the explosive.

It happens too fast though. Too quick. He’s barely got a finger onto the side of his helmet before he feels the heat burning into his back, the shock-wave of sound following closely behind. The force of the detonation brings the rear of his bike shooting up, his body pushed out of the seat and flying, arms outstretched and ears ringing.

He thinks he screams. It certainly feels like something is being ripped from his throat, loud and fearful. It’s a distant thought though because even though his arms are spread out before him, his head slams into the ground first, the smack comparatively silent against the roar of everything and nothing in his ears.

He’s not too sure what happens immediately after. Dick thinks he might’ve passed out, lost consciousness as he (presumably) rolled and rolled and scraped his body against asphalt and hard Gotham tar before finally coming to a stop.

All he knows is that when he opens his eyes, it is an enormously difficult task.

There’s feedback going off in his ears, a static cling to it that leaves him nauseous. He can’t feel his fingers or his toes, and some part of his brain is screaming at him that that’s not a good thing, but the other part is relieved. Moving is an impossible task and Dick is glad for the shock.

The world is a tinted mess of shadows and yellow shop lights through the visor of his helmet. Half of it is shattered, the enforced glass fractured and in some areas missing altogether. It filters through to his eyes and Dick is tempted to close them, avoid the pulsing brightness that stabs into his brain. He doesn’t though, an ingrained piece of him knowing that to close his eyes would mean to possibly lose the battle and Dick’s not willing to give in just yet.

There are other noises in the background, piercing and violent, metal screeching against metal, but all Dick can really focus on is the sound his breath makes as his lungs expand and deflate. He can’t decide if he’s breathing through his nose or through his mouth, erratic and chattering throughout his helmet. He doesn’t think breathing is supposed to sound like that, echoey and clunky, but he takes what he can get.

There’s also something against his lip. A few somethings. Small and smooth, and there’s a few just sitting in his mouth. His tongue tastes like iron, like he’s been eating nothing but metal for the past few days, and the sensation of it alone makes Dick want to vomit. He tries that, throat working and muscles in his cheek convulsing, but the immediate pain, the prompt resistance, stops him. Again, he’s not sure how, but he doesn’t vomit even though he badly wants to. Instead, he just lays there, allowing his body to take over the reflex of breathing, and trying his best not to succumb to what he’s sure is a comforting darkness.

His right arm is squashed under the weight of his body, a distant part of him acknowledging that it’s probably been dislocated, but he has no energy to move himself to lay on his back. There are a thousand protocols running through his head, ones he’s known for years and could probably recite backwards if need be, so he knows instinctively that laying on his back or moving from whatever position he’s managed to crash into might mean further damaging his spine. His neck. Not that he’d notice the difference if he were to, the shock from his propulsion slowly ebbing away to the point where awareness of his own predicament is poking at his brain.

For now, though, he just lays there and breathes, maybe even bleeds as well, and tries to fight against the urge to scream and vomit. The pain is getting worse, throbbing and burning at his jaw, his cheek, his entire face. He hopes the helmet has done its job and prevented something worse than a concussion.

Suddenly, there’s movement in his peripherals and Dick spots green boots and black laces.

Robin. Damian.

He’s okay. He made it out. Alive.

Dick finds himself sagging a bit at the relief of that. It had only been a barely second thought to, ‘Oh shit, that’s a grenade,’ but the worry for his little brother’s safety had definitely been pounding away in the background. Now that he can more or less see for himself that his littlest brother is unharmed, Dick relaxes enough to the point where he forgets he’s supposed to be making an effort in staying awake. Gray tickles at the edges of his vision, drifting in and out of focus, before a sharp “Nightwing!” snaps him out of it.

Robin is crouched down to his level, elbows digging into the hard tar as his pensive little mask peers through Dick’s broken visor.

“Nightwing, are you awake?” he asks, a fine tremble lurking behind those words.

Dick tries opening his mouth to reply and instantly regrets it, a shout of agony ripped from him instead. Okay, yeah, that’s a broken jaw. A bad one. And… oh god, those are teeth in his mouth. Loose teeth. As in, teeth that are no longer fixed to his skull and are sitting like popcorn kernels on his tongue.

Panic grips him for a moment, the sudden urge to spit out the tiny pieces of not-really- bone violent and driving. His shoulders move, anticipating the reactionary need to pucker his cheeks and convulse his stomach at the same time, but a small yet firm hand pokes at his arm.

“Stay still,” Robin orders, the only sign of alarm being the slightest twitch of his lips. “You’re going to be okay, Nightwing. Batman will be here soon and we will take you back to the Cave.”

Dick wants to nod, signal he understands despite the dread that’s beginning to curl around his chest, but even that tiny movement is sending jolts of fire throughout his jaw and neck. He settles on a low grunt that comes from the depths of his sternum, and the tone vibrates in his teeth. He’s never taken such special notice to the small things before but it’s all he can think about right now. All he can focus on, the feeling of many hard objects just swirling around in his mouth, slicked in his blood and metallic in their taste.

Popcorn.

Something gnawing at the edges of a frenzy poke at Dick’s composure and it is with concerted and severe effort does he scrunch up his left hand and move it back and forth against the road. Damian can only frown at the movement but understanding creeps in as Dick repeats the motion again, visible strain shaking at his arms.

Damage?

“I don’t believe you knowing the extent will do you any good, Nightwing,” Damian answers, chin crumpling the slightest bit. It’s a new tic of his that Dick has picked up on. Damian only does that when he’s stressed. Anxious.

Dick wheezes in reply, fisting his left hand again and moving it against the rough terrain. He taps the ground for emphasis, another dimmed whine involuntarily escaping from his lips as it jerks his shoulder, traveling upwards to his neck. Knowing the extent of his injuries will at least take his mind off of the fact that there are teeth in his mouth. Teeth that aren’t where they are supposed to be. Loose little kernels that taste like flesh on his tongue. Drool sliding down and out of his mouth like he’s some starving animal with a gaping maw. The stench of his own breath and the smells of bodily fluids and blood smearing within the helmet.

He slams his fisted palm into the ground again. It’s more like a plea than it is a request at this point. He’s freaking out and the pain is starting to get to him. Black spots blur in and out of focus and Robin’s green gloves are all he can pay attention to.

“Okay,” Damian relents, one of his hands hovering just outside of the helmet’s visor, “but please. Calm down. Batman will be here soon, Nightwing, but I need you to calm down first. I… cannot touch you or offer comfort, and I am sorry, but please. Stay still.”

Dick hears him, even through the static clouding his head, and relaxes his fist, slumping further into himself. The spots are turning gray and washing over like a film in his eyes.

“Your suit managed to protect much of your backside from the brunt of the explosion,” Damian continues, settling further down into his crouch. His mask is pinched and aching. Dick does not know what to do. “You will have secondary burns, most likely, and a few lacerations from shrapnel. I don’t believe there are any extraneous pieces lodged, however.”

Something clicks, rather clinks, inside of Dick’s mouth and he feels another smooth… piece fall onto his tongue. The urge to swallow, or better yet vomit, persists. The side of his face feels tacky, like half-dried glue is clinging to his lower cheek. A million fire ants pepper his jawline and neck. It burns.

“Visibly, from my stance, there are only a few other injuries, mostly other lacerations.” Damian pauses, his chin scrunching up again. “However, I cannot see your face. I do not know-”

“Robin,” another voice interrupts, deep and controlled. Edging into a degree of certain authority in their small world of chaos.

Dick is still thinking about the clink though, can’t think of much else except the acid seeping into his bones, his entire facial structure, eating away at his skin and every cell he’s ever owned. What little adrenaline that had been keeping the worst of it to a buzz is fading, becoming a roar in his ears and a sickly, numbing ache in the concave of his right cheek. The gray is darkening, bleeding into what small consciousness he has left to interpret what’s going on around him and Dick is left with the cold sensation of undiluted fear in his chest. Icy and coiling.

There’s a long, high-pitched beep from somewhere beyond his vision and he hears the faint but gruff voice that follows it, every second or third word filtering through to his ears.

“...stable… move… secure…. Robin...”

He blinks. The gray turns darker. Knives are digging themselves deeper and deeper into his face, flaying open his skin and grating against bone.

He blinks. His eyelids are sticky. His nose itches. Something is drying on the sides of his lips.

He thinks he might be dying.

He blinks.

The world goes black.

. . .

He’s jolted from the dark to the screeching heat by his ear, and for a moment, Dick is paralyzed with unknown. Not fear of the unknown, but just an unknown.

It’s like there’s a jackhammer going off right next to him, reverberating and shaking his eardrums and brain into mush, and he’s flinching away from it when something prevents him and holds him still.

“Stop,” is what he tries to get out, a mere gurgle of syllables escaping instead as his tongue refuses to leave the dry roof of his mouth. He tastes plastic. Blood. Ash.

The buzzing stops, erratic silence plunges into his head, and he almost wishes for the noise back until he registers the fact that his jaw is no longer rattling and his teeth are no longer quaking where they lay.

Oh god.

His teeth.

His jaw.

The panic sets in immediately, a ferocious awareness that he has no idea where he is or what’s going on climbing on top of the realization that he’s in so much pain that it’s unbearable and ruthless. It hurts. It hurts so much.

“Master Richard?” a voice calls to him, far away and cavernous. “You’re alright. You are in the Cave now. I have to saw off your helmet. Your jaw has been dislocated and that makes removal difficult. Please, do your best to hold still. You’re going to be alright, my boy.”

“Do as he says, Richard,” another voice chimes in, just another noise to echo in his ever shrinking head. “Stay still.”

Dick thinks he recognizes those voices, trusts them enough to try and attempt the task at hand, but when the buzzing resumes and the thundering in his own brain doubles, it proves impossible. It’s as if the Flash himself is summoning the lightning that dances throughout his face: violent, repetitive, and so, so blinding.

There’s another jolt and his mouth yawns open in a terrible impression of a roar and the world goes black again.

. . .

When he wakes up, it's to the feeling of needing to throw up. It’s that same sick-to-his-stomach feeling he got when he was younger, down with a bad case of the flu but not quite knowing it yet and being unable to do anything except lay down with an ice-pack on his face. There’s a faded memory in the very back of his mind of laying on a leather couch, watching cartoons, and then feeling a lurch in the depths of his being that had him practically yelling for a bowl to hurl into.

He doesn’t throw up. His stomach rolls around and the back of his throat is tingling with an impulsive reflex, but there must be nothing left inside of him because nothing comes up.

Opening his eyes is a chore, sticky and weighing a thousand pounds, and when he does, it’s to the cool, dull fluorescence of an overhead light that pokes at his awareness. Its electric flicker reaches his ears, like a fly hanging around his head, and he turns his eyes away from the light to drift around. Next to him is Damian, small and huddled.

There are bandages on his face, butterfly band-aids holding together small cuts that will eventually heal on their own, and greasy patches of skin where ointment has been applied to yellowing bruises. He looks up at Dick’s gaze, stowing away his phone, and frowns carefully. Damian says nothing though and a part of Dick is grateful for it. The world is still a haze, blurry and out-of-focus, and he doesn’t think the pain medication running their course through his veins will let him hold a conversation just yet.

He keeps the silence, keeps his little brother’s gaze, and after a few minutes of staring, he drifts off again, blissfully unaware of anything else.

The throbbing in his face is what wakes him up again. A pounding ache that feels as if someone is repeatedly punching him in the jaw. He reaches up a hand to touch it, the pull of an IV or some other fluid tube in his hand restricting his already sluggish movement, and a different hand comes up to intercept his inspection. Dick turns his direction from the hand to the owner of the appendage, something like a smile tugging at his sore features.

“Glad to see you awake, Master Richard,” Alfred says softly, holding the younger man’s hand in his own. “Before you do anything else, however, there are some things you need to know so you do not… fret… later on. Do you understand?”

Already feeling the dull emotion of anxiousness, Dick nods anyway. He’s tired.

“Good,” Alfred amends warmly, releasing Dick’s hand. “Your jaw has been wired shut,” he continues. “You will have difficulty talking for the time being, but for now, you will not be able to open your mouth at all.”

Now that it’s been pointed out to him, the sudden need to yawn or say something pulls at Dick immensely, practically an instantaneous reflex as his muscles twitch to open his mouth.

“Your jaw was fractured on the right side of your mandible, as well as dislocated,” the old butler continues, not unkindly. “Unfortunately, your face had become so swollen by the time you were brought back to the Cave, your helmet couldn’t be moved without it being cut off of you. Do you remember that?”

Dick nods, somewhat shakily, as the urge to speak pesters him further. He can feel the restraints though, feel his limitations and taste the metal plates and wires in his mouth. On his teeth. Oh god. There are gaps. There are gaps.

“Yes, you woke up as I was cutting away the sides. I am sorry for that, Master Richard. We had thought you would remain unconscious long enough for us to remove your helmet, which, I am unbearably grateful you were wearing. Your injuries would have been considerably… worse had you not been wearing it.”

Dick wants to make some joke or mockery of the lessons ingrained into him about wearing a helmet since he was nine, but the staunch reminder of his limited capabilities leave him mute and horrifyingly silent. He can’t… He can’t even smile properly. It feels wrong. He feels wrong.

“Just as well, the impact that led to your jaw dislocation also popped out your right shoulder. It was put back in without any trouble, it will just feel sore for a spell. You have some minor burns on your shoulders and upper back, and a few lacerations on your arms, but otherwise nothing else.”

Dick wants to ask about his teeth. Wants to ask how many he’s missing, how many are in his mouth, how many are on the side of the road, how long it’ll take to get new ones or be fitted for some replacements, if any of them are salvageable, but he remains quiet. Too afraid to speak. Too afraid to try and find he can’t at all.

He flexes his lower jaw, desperate for the tiniest bit of leeway, but his jaw remains in place. His mouth remains welded shut.

“For the next few weeks, the wires will remain in place and you’ll be given a largely liquid diet. I, or someone else, can help you with that and the cleaning process required to maintain the wires.” Alfred sighs then, reaching up a hand to ghost over Dick’s hair. It lacks the warmth Dick is desperate for. The touch is too light. Too far away. It makes him feel like he’s not truly there. Transparent. “You were tremendously lucky, my boy. Had circumstances been different, I fear we would be having a much different conversation.”

Just as he’s only found himself capable to do, Dick merely nods, crinkling his eyes in what he hopes looks like a light acceptance. Having his jaw wired shut isn’t a first for him. He’s been knocked down enough in his life to have fractured his face more than once, has experience dealing with getting food from a syringe and trying to suck down things he knows would taste better whole rather than in a puree. This isn’t… new.

And yet, something tight is gathering inside of his chest. Something cold and choking, wrapping around his rib-cage, tighter and tighter. Squeezing.

He just nods though, watching as Alfred walks away to get Damian and Bruce, announce to them that the eldest is awake.

And he doesn’t even need to open his mouth to talk coherently. Sure, some of the enunciation might be lost, but he can move his tongue and his lips just fine. He’s fine. It’ll only be a few weeks, and then after the wires and the plates are out, he can be fitted for new teeth. Get the dental work done. Yeah, just a few weeks. No time at all. He’s fine. It’s nothing new. Nothing new.

He’s fine.

Dick hears the quick succession of small feet before he sees Damian enter. There are still butterfly bandages on his face, still sickly bruises on his cheeks, and still a slight pull on his brows. Dick does his best to smile as the boy approaches but his own face still feels like it was rammed with a semi-truck, and he’s yet to look in a mirror or take in his predicament properly, but he’s sure he isn’t a pretty sight to behold.

“Good evening, Richard,” Damian says, stilted and unsure. He hovers, just as he did when Dick was still looking through broken glass.

“H-” is all Dick can get out before he stops, feeling that constriction around his chest further tighten. He tried to open his mouth. He tried to say ‘Hello’ and attempted to open his mouth to do so. He can’t though. He can’t. He can’t do that.

His hand trembles as he raises it to his forehead, pushing outwards in a mock salute. Damian’s brow creases further.

“I see,” is all the boy says, easing into the same chair he had sat in before, leaning forward and steepling his fingers together. “No matter. I imagine you would like a report of everything that has happened since… then.”

Dick just blinks at his younger brother in response, trying his best to breathe around the weight in his lungs. He knows how he’s breathing now. It’s through his nose. How silly of him to think otherwise.

“The grenade used for the gang’s attempted escape was essentially a homemade device. Thus, the explosion resulting from it’s release was not as potent as a military grade grenade would have been. Batman was able to successfully stop the gang’s departure near the same moment the explosion went live. I was not caught in any crossfire,” Damian adds, glancing upwards before settling on his fingers again. “Once the suspects were secured, Batman and I assessed you before taking you back to the Cave. I presume Pennyworth has already briefed you on the extent of your injuries?” Damian’s chin crumples at that, one of his eyebrows twitching in a similar manner.

Dick nods. It’s all he can do. All he can do but breathe. Barely. His chest hurts. He’s not… He’s not getting enough air.

“That’s good,” Damian says, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “It’s been approximately twenty-eight hours since their arrest. There were no other severe casualties than your own. Bat- Father is attending a meeting of some sort. He will be back shortly and will expect a report now that you are coherent enough to give one. Of course, seeing as incapacitated as you are now, it will prove to be difficult for you, so I will see to it that you do not make any mistakes and will help- Richard? Are you alright? Richard?”

Dick stopped listening half-way through Damian’s brief, too focused on getting enough air to his lungs. He can’t remember the last time he had a panic attack so severe, so debilitating, and he knows how to control it, knows how to calm down again, but that involves taking deep, calming breaths, something he is incapable of doing seeing as the easiest way to do that is through the mouth and he can’t fucking open his mouth and he’s not getting enough air-

He can’t suck in oxygen fast enough, each intake of breath through his nose like breathing underwater through a straw; too slow, not enough. His hands are gripping the sides of his cot in an effort to strain himself further, lungs working overtime as he inhales and exhales in the same breath, struggling to get any of it to his brain. If only he could open his mouth, breathe through his mouth. If only he could articulate what he’s feeling, force the words out of his mouth, and even though he knows he can do that without opening up his jaw, it is a task much too difficult for him.

His face is on fire and his lungs are following, consumed in his deprivation. Somewhere off to the right he can hear the sounds of someone calling to him, begging for his attention, but he’s not getting enough air and that’s all he needs. Just a little more air. Just- just a little more air and then he’ll be okay.

There is none though. No oxygen for his starved lungs, no salvation for his leaking brain. The pain, the hurt, pulses through him like his own furious heartbeat, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard it feels like it’s breaking, fracturing, all over again.

Just a little more air. Come on. Come on.

There’s a quick succession of snaps, one-two-three-four, and suddenly his jaw is falling open, and Dick gasps.

Great, heaving breaths fall into his lungs despite the absolute anguish in his relief, the gaps in between his teeth whistling as he sucks in breath after breath- greedy, starved for air.

They stutter in his chest, lungs inflating properly and expanding so much it hurts. He trembles in his cot, overwhelmed with the ability to finally breathe, and as he continues to wheeze and gasp, he falls back, releasing his death drip on the metal bars. The sudden release of tension leaves him light-headed, and his vision spots, graying in and out as he calms down.

A figure stands in his peripherals and Dick recognizes it as Damian, tense and clutching a pair of wire-cutters in his hands. His eyes are wide, watchful, and the creases that line his face betray the stress, the fear, building inside his small body.

Dick raises a hand, still gasping as he presses it to his lips and lets his hand fall back down in a sloppy ‘Thank you’. Damian only jerks his head in response, mouth pressed tightly into a thin line.

It continues on like that for some time, Dick continuing to wheeze and Damian continuing to stand over him, wary and strained.

Dick can feel the jagged ends of the wires poking into his gums as his jaw bobs up and down with each breath. Can still taste metal and blood. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. It’s not new. He’s used to this.

But not really. Not truly. Yes, he’s had his jaw broken before. Has had wires holding his upper and lower jaw together. Has been faced with the ordeal of liquid diets one too many times. None of this was supposed to be new, he’s done it all before, but there is something new he didn’t consider. Didn’t think of immediately as being the cause. Of creating the entire experience “anew” again.

Damian.

He’s never been injured in this way, so humiliatingly, in front of the boy. Broken bones are one thing. Cracked ribs and toes, fractured arms and dislocated shoulders. Long gashes and concussions. Par for the course, Damian has been witness to all of these injuries before and Dick has faced them with the same level of casualness as any other.

But this was different. This was… debilitating. Feebling. Near disabling.

Damian was going to have to watch him get fed through a syringe. Watch his muscle mass shrivel away, even if just minutely, because a liquid diet is not the same as rich, solid food. Watch as Dick struggles and fumbles over basic, normal things like talking. Watch as simple, little things become unbearably painful, as the urge to laugh or cough overwhelms him to the point where he needs to sit down.

And even now. Even just then. Damian had to watch Dick hyperventilate, nearly strangle himself to the point of unconsciousness all because he couldn’t breathe through his mouth well enough. Couldn’t regulate his breaths the way he wanted to. Needed to.

And it was so humiliating.

To struggle so much in front of the child he’s tried so hard to be strong for.

Because he can’t talk his way out of what just happened. Can’t reassure Damian with an easy grin that doesn’t turn into a grimace. Can’t wave away the pain, the bruises, the metal contraption in his mouth. Can’t hide effort in remaining natural, just as he always has before..

He’s supposed to be Richard Grayson. Steadfast and loyal partner to Damian Wayne.

And right now, he just feels…

Wrong.

Dick can’t take his eyes off of the white-knuckled grip Damian has on the cutters. Can’t ignore the way every muscle is stiff and rigid. Can’t not realize that it’s his fault Damian is so shaken, so unnerved, even with all of his own injuries and fresh trauma to care for. And now it’s a different type of pain in his chest that makes Dick feel light-headed. The shame, the guilt, that shrouds his head at the knowledge that he’s no good like this. No good for Damian. No good for Bruce. No good for Alfred.

No good for even himself.

It all just… it happened too fast. Too fast for him to do anything about it.

He can’t even catch his breath anymore.

#tw: broken jaw and teeth #bad things happen bingo #jaw wired shut #my fic #fanfic #dick grayson #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #dick grayson whump

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angstyaches · 3 years

Text

The Strong One

I accidentally posted a reply to this ask too soon (instead of saving it as a draft as I’d planned) but here is what Mushroom Anon said:

ngl your self indulgent fics are some of your best ones. okay so my request was : a generally stoic and strong character getting sick from emotions? like from a panic attack or anxiety? their s/o is worried because ???? what happened?? turns out they’ve been having a Really Stressful Week TM and proceed to get pampered and loved. For felix and elliot. omg also how about : a little outsider shot of the two of them here pov ryan and nancy. thanks! 🍄

Post Thicker Than Blood Arc (i.e. after Felix comes back from visiting his mother’s nursing home etc.) And dude, I LOVED the Ryan/Nancy POV idea, holy shit. Thank you so much for that addition!!

CW: secrecy, bickering, panic attack, emeto, mention of (past) deaths.

___

“Good morning, darling,” Felix chirped as he entered the kitchen. Elliott was sitting at the marble countertop, one hand propping up his chin while the other tapped away at his laptop keyboard. Felix wasn’t sure what Elliott was working on these days – and he tended to get huffy and defensive when asked – so Felix made a grand gesture of cupping a hand around his eye while walking past. Look, darling, I’m not looking!

“Morning?” Elliott glanced down at his watch, tilting the laptop screen so that it was almost halfway shut, despite Felix making it obvious that he wasn’t looking. “It’s basically the afternoon.”

“Hmm?” Felix took hold of Elliott’s wrist, tilting his head to read the time. “No, it’s still the morning for seven more minutes and twelve more seconds.”

Elliott grunted. “Oh. Well. You got me.”

Felix chewed his lip, his feathers a bit ruffled by Elliott’s tone. He glanced through the kitchen towards the sitting room. “Where is everyone?”

“I think Nan dragged Ryan to the farmer’s market.”

“No!” Felix gasped. “I wanted to go, too.”

“Should’ve woken up earlier then, huh? Maybe joined me on a morning run?”

A grin spread across Felix’s face, his natural response to Elliott’s attempts to mould him into a morning person. It hadn’t happened in the last seven years, so it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

He leaned his head against Elliott’s shoulder, even though his hair was still dripping wet from his shower. “I love it when you nag me. You in the mood for a drop of coffee?”

“No, Fee, I’m fine.” Elliott tugged the laptop screen even lower, as though he thought Felix was trying to peek.

Felix looked up, a bit startled by the solemn tone of Elliott’s voice, and confused by just how protective he was being on his screen. His partner looked down at him, still the taller of the two while sitting on the island stools. His eyes portrayed an uneasy darkness that made Felix frown.

“Is…” Felix’s heart skipped a beat. “Is everything alright, darling?”

Elliott blinked. “Yes. Why?”

“I – you just seem…”

One of Elliott’s eyebrows arched.

“… Tense,” Felix grimaced.

“Tense?” Elliott repeated dully. “Well, excuse me. Not all of us had fifteen hours of sleep.”

“Huh. Okay.” Felix pursed his lips and padded unhappily across the white tiles, towards the coffee maker. He felt silly. He could usually handle Elliott’s teasing and such, but something about the way he was acting felt strange. It was like something had shifted between them.

Felix felt his heart sink as he scooped coffee grounds into the machine, his motions slowing.

It had been three weeks since Felix had returned to the Aldridge’s townhouse, after spending a few weeks up north and visiting his mother in her nursing home. Beyond his first few days back, Elliott hadn’t questioned him too much about what had happened up there, so Felix had assumed – hoped – that he’d decided to put it all behind them. But there was a chance he had changed his mind since then, right?

Felix blinked, realising he’d spilled grounds on the glistening white countertop. He barely cared. He turned around. “Elli?”

“What?” Elliott had lifted the laptop screen again, still sitting stiffly as he navigated some screen that Felix wasn’t allowed to see.

“Are – are you still angry with me?” There was a tiny hitch in Felix’s voice, which he couldn’t help. He didn’t want to take Elliott’s mood and make it all about himself, but the thought of Elliott quietly holding onto resentment made Felix’s stomach hurt.

Elliott let out a rasping sigh and slapped the lid of his computer shut. Felix jumped on the spot, watching with wide eyes as Elliott dropped his head into his hands where he sat. Felix was overcome with worry, sure, but for a tenth of a second, all he wanted to do was check that Elliott hadn’t broken his laptop and lost whatever secret project he was working on.

“Darling?” Felix laid down the coffee scoop and wrung his hands. “If – if this is about anything that we talked about, I would want you to tell me.”

“No.” The word was murmured so softly that Felix barely heard it. Elliott let out a shaky, audible breath, his face still hidden in his hands. “No, boo, you – you and I are fine.”

“You – I’m sorry, you keep using that word. Fine…”

“You and I,” Elliott huffed, “are perfect, Fee.”

That should have been reassuring, but Felix still had that sinking sensation in his chest. Elliott’s shoulders rocked forward slightly, like he was trying to curl into a ball where he was seated.

At least this time, Felix didn’t have to hesitate in coming to Elliott’s side. “Elli,” he sighed, sliding his arms around Elliott’s waist, resting his forehead on his back. “Talk to me.”

“I…” Elliott started off shakily, gulping so hard that Felix heard it from where he was positioned behind him. “I-I don’t…”

As he waited for Elliott to find the words, Felix gently moved a hand up and down over his ribs, hoping the contact was soothing and not stifling. Elliott’s chest was rising and falling way too quickly for Felix’s liking. He decided he should probably back off and give his partner space to breathe, but as soon as he started to move, Elliott grabbed one of his hands and tugged it towards his chest again.

“You have something, now, or someone who… who can tie you to your old life.” The words vibrated within his chest and his back as he choked them out.

Felix frowned and lifted his head, looking up at the back of Elliott’s. The taller boy’s dark hair was scooped into a messy bun. The ends were knotted and ratty. It hadn’t been cut in so long. “Darling, I don’t want to be tied to that life. I want to be tied to this life, with you.”

“I know, I know, but it got me thinking about the people I used to know, and how…” Elliott shuddered in Felix’s grip. “How they would all... I knew it was a long shot, but I tried finding some names online, but we – Jesus, most of us didn’t even have full names, we were just trying to survive –”

“Darling,” Felix whispered, at a complete loss for anything more substantial to say.

“I mean –” A dark tremble of laughter broke through Elliott’s voice. He swivelled the stool, stepping down and taking a few steps across the tiles. “It’s pointless to even look for them, right? What are the odds any of my old friends also happened to end up becoming immortal vampires, huh?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Rhetorical question, boo.”

“Sorry.” Felix followed a few steps behind Elliott as he went to the kitchen window. It didn’t even seem like he was looking at anything in particular, but simply exposing his retinas to the light from outside.

“Elli?” Felix said quietly.

Elliott glanced at him, just for a moment. His eyes were dark and wet, his lips trembling as he gradually lost the battle against full-on hyperventilation. He shook his head violently, gaze wandering aimlessly again. “I don’t – I don’t feel right. What’s wr… What’s wrong with me, Fee?”

“Darling, try to slow your breathing.”

Elliott slammed his palms down either side of the kitchen sink, his shoulders buckling forward under the pressure of the gasps and heaves racking his body. “Felix, what’s wrong with me?”

“You’re panicking,” Felix said, shocking himself with how calm he sounded. He closed the last few paces between them, unable to resist being next to Elliott while he was in this state. “I’m right here, alright? I’m going to touch your back, Elli, but – but please, tell me if it’s not okay…”

“Don’t,” Elliott gasped, shaking his head violently. His mouth bobbed open as he lowered his shoulders even further, eyes widening. “G-going to –”

A moment before Elliott started dry heaving, Felix realised what was happening, and obediently took his hand back. As a rule, Elliott detested being touched when he was sick, and Felix had learned to stop fighting that a long, long time ago.

Felix flinched at how violently sick Elliott suddenly was. His head was practically in the sink at one point, his body buckling under the intense convulsions. It was impossible to distinguish between the laboured breathing and the dry heaving, but every sound and every lurch made Felix’s heart twist a little tighter in his chest.

“Darling, I’m sorry,” Felix choked out. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise you had all of this going on inside you.”

Elliott whimpered at that, attempting to lift his head a little higher. “Fee, I just –” He was immediately interrupted by a wet belch, and a clear stream of saliva that he needed to spit away from his lips into the sink. “You just got back, I w-want – wanted things to be normal… for you.”

“Elli,” Felix whined. He couldn’t believe what was happening here. Elliott was trying not to cry as he spoke, and Felix almost lost it too, though he did his best to keep a hold of things. He couldn’t be sure, of course, but he had a feeling he knew exactly what Elliott meant by ‘normal’. He meant the normalcy where Felix could be a mess and Elliott was forced to be the strong one.

He watched as Elliott brought his elbows down gently in front of the sink, letting his head drop against them as the nausea finally seemed to past. He trembled and sighed deeply, seemingly in resignation.

Felix cleared his throat softly. “May I touch you?”

A very quiet chuckle emerged from Elliott’s buried face. “You may.”

Felix rested a hand gently on Elliott’s back, introducing the slightest amount of motion so that his fingertips grazed over a small portion of his spine. He lowered his forehead to Elliott’s shoulder again, this time with very little weight behind it. He needed Elliott to know he wasn’t leaning on him, but that he was there for him.

And he was capable of being the strong one sometimes.

___

“You know, there was a time where you would have helped me bring the bags in from the car,” Nancy sulked. Her arms were outstretched and wrapped around half a dozen bags from different vendors which were pressed against her chest.

“It is not my fault that you insist on buying so much,” Ryan said calmly, following her wife to the doorstep with her hands in her pockets. “For example, you did not need to purchase onions from three different stalls.”

“I told you; they’re different varieties!”

Ryan sighed as she opened the front door and stood back to let her wife into the front hallway of the townhouse. “An onion is an onion, love.”

“Felix,” Nancy grumbled, turning as she walked and narrowing her eyes at Ryan. “Felix will back me up. Felix! Felix, sweetheart!” she called towards the stairs.

The response from within the house was a muted sshhh, which sounded much closer than the upstairs bedrooms. Nancy frowned, meeting Ryan’s gaze for a moment as she closed the front door. Ryan made a beeline towards the kitchen and Nancy followed, dragging her feet slightly on the tiles as she struggled with her bags. She paused by the kitchen island to deposit all of them, watching as Ryan rounded the far corner and stared at what was happening on the sofa.

“Oh, sweethearts, what’s happened?” Nancy gasped, rushing over to stand next to Ryan.

Felix was sitting – almost upright – at one end of the sofa, white Elliott curled up next to him, his head resting in the smaller boy’s lap.

“Is… Is he asleep?” Nancy whispered.

Felix nodded silently. His poor eyes were red and a little puffy as he glanced back and forth between his two foster mothers.

“Anything we can do?” Ryan asked in a low voice, slipping her hands into the pockets of her slacks again. Nancy couldn’t help but pout; oh, sure, you’ll ask them if there’s anything they need you to do, but you won’t help me carry a couple of bags into the house.

A weak smile tugged at Felix’s exhausted expression, and he shook his head. His fingers drifted over Elliott’s head, brushing back a thin strand of his dark hair. Nancy once again couldn’t help herself, this time pursing her lips and wondering how long it had been since Elliott had cut his hair.

“Everything’s okay,” Felix murmured softly. “I’ve got him.”

#Swallow the World #vampire sickfic #vampire angst fic #vampire oc #oc sickfic #oc angst fic #stomach ache fic #emeto #emetophilia #emeto sickfic #emeto fic #vampire emeto #panic attack #anxiety mention #hurt and comfort #hurt and comfort fic #StW Elliott #sick Elliott

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2dmenenthusiast · 4 years

Text

Bring me down (Arvin Russell x Reader)

Plot: Rather than God, you find solace in your only friend in Coal Creak, Arvin Russel, not knowing that he just might need you just as much as you need him.

Words: 4,176

Warnings: None really? Some swearing, suggestive themes, Arvin beating the crap out of people

A/N: heeeeey so first post yay lmao. (I have another blog tho so yeah) but after watching TDATT I just had to write something about Arvin. The movie is so amazing and if you haven’t watched it I suggest you do. Plus Tom Holland in that movie was just absolutely amzing (and hot af). But I hope you guys like this! I also tried to make the reader as gender neutral and non specific as possible for everyone, so let me know if I messed up anything. Also let me know if you’d like to see more!

There wasn’t a whole lot to do in Coal Creek, West Virginia. Besides driving aimlessly or stopping at the few diners around town, there wasn’t much that people did other than go to work and go to church every Sunday morning. However, people that grew up in Coal Creek still found ways to have fun, whether that was getting their rocks off in some abandoned parking lot or terrorizing some unsuspecting soul walking in the night. Most resorted to just getting drunk on a Saturday night before going to church the next morning, pretending that their head wasn’t pounding from the mass amounts of alcohol they drank the previous night.

Which is why you couldn’t understand for the life of you why Arvin did nothing but get himself into trouble.

“Christ, Arvin,” you sighed, rubbing the wet cloth under his nose to try and clean up the dried blood. “I don’t understand how you get in these damn fights all the time. Can’t you just, I don’t know, talk to them maybe?”

You knew immediately how ridiculous you sounded when the words came out of your mouth. There was no talking to Gene Dinwoodie and his lackeys. You just hated seeing Arvin so beat up all the time.

He scoffed and pushed your hand away, looking off to the side to avoid your gaze as you frowned.

“Fuck that. That no good sonuvabitch is gonna keep messin’ with Lenora unless I do somethin’ ‘bout it.” He then let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ talking. Jesus, do you know who you sound like?”

You weren’t expecting him to suddenly face you, and you sighed as you sat down on your bed next to him.

“Emma, I know. I’m sorry. I just…” You reached over and took his hand in both of yours, thumb gently brushing over his bruised and split knuckles. “It kills me to see you constantly getting bruised and beat up. And I can’t even do anything about it.”

You felt Arvin squeeze one of your hands, and you brought your gaze back up to meet his, your eyes slightly drifting to the purplish discolored skin below his left eye.

“Now that’s not true. Who else would patch me up everytime I get the shit kicked out of me, hm?” he asked, his lips splitting into a grin.

You scoffed and took your hand out of his to push at his shoulder before laying back on your bed, resting your intertwined hands on your stomach and staring at the white discolored ceiling.

“You’re lucky I even still do this for you. My daddy’s startin’ to throw a fit, constantly seeing you over here.” You sat up on your elbows to look at the boy. “He don’t like you too much, y’know.”

Arvin hummed and laid down next to you, turning onto his side and resting his cheek in his propped up hand, and you felt yourself wanting to shrink under his gaze. You and Arvin had some unspoken thing between the two of you. You didn’t know exactly what it was, but you knew for sure it wasn’t something as plain and simple as friendship. You had never kissed or anything like that. Well, besides when you both were about twelve years old and wanted to see what it was like, constantly seeing the adults around you kiss like it was something they did all the time. You were both young and curious, and you couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else, so it only made sense. Of course, it wasn’t anything spectacular. You were inexperienced kids, and at the time you weren’t really aware of your feelings.

Of course, you had loved Arvin since you were little. You met him when he transferred to your school after moving from Ohio. He was pretty quiet at first, didn’t really talk unless a teacher made him, and he’d get picked on and beat up by the older kids. He was new and didn’t have any friends, so of course he was an easy target. It wasn’t until he met you that he actually started opening up. You were friends with Lenora and often went over to her house, spending the night and going to church on Sunday with her and her family. Your relationship with Lenora sparked your friendship with her stepbrother, and you two were inseparable ever since.

As you grew older though, you grew distant from Lenora. You had stopped going to church ever since your mother died, your faith pretty much nonexistent at that point, and you began to question everything about religion. You didn’t blame God for letting your mother die. In fact, you didn’t really know how to feel. All you knew was that rather than getting her some actual help, all everyone did was pray.

“Pray for her, y/n. God will save her,” is what they said.

What a load of horse shit. Praying only seemed to make her worse. And when she died, you completely closed yourself off from the rest of the world. Hell, Arvin could barely get through to you sometimes. But despite how angry you were, you still found it in yourself to let him in. The town didn’t like you too much after all that. People who didn’t go to church in Coal Creek weren’t really accepted by the public. They were cast out as outsiders for not finding solace in the Lord’s name. Not that you minded much of course. The town was full of fake people that weren’t worth your time. The only person you cared about was the boy laying on your bed at the moment.

“I miss her sometimes, you know,” you muttered softly, teeth digging into your bottom lip.

Arvin raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised by your words. “Who? Your mom?”

You shook your head. “No… Well, I mean yeah, I do miss her, but… I’m talkin’ about your sister.”

It was silent for a moment, neither one of you speaking as you laid comfortably in each other’s presence.

“... Does she ever ask about me?”

Arvin sighed, running his hand through his slightly untamed hair.

“Sometimes. I mean, she doesn’t really ask about how you are or anything. More like she interrogates me about what we're doin’ when we hang out.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded, standing up from the bed and walking over to your bedroom window, watching as the sun began to set. You then heard the bed lightly creak and footsteps getting closer to you, and you’d be able to tell from a mile away that it was Arvin due to his signature boots. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and you slightly tensed up as his arms wrapped around you.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered softly, looking out at the evening sky with you.

You lightly shrugged. “It’s all right. You’re all I need in this shit town anyway,” you said, turning your head to look back at Arvin with a small smile.

You could’ve sworn you saw his eyes drift down to your lips for a moment, but couldn’t put anymore thought into it as you suddenly felt his lips against your cheek, closing your eyes at the sensation. It was over all too soon when he pulled away, your body feeling cold as he released you from his arms, and you wrapped your arms around yourself to try and get some of that warmth back.

“I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, picking up his jean jacket that he had thrown on the floor once he entered your room and slipping it on.

You hummed and nodded, giving him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes as you resisted the urge to ask him to stay the night. He’d spent the night at your house before, but asking him now seemed a bit too intimate. As he walked towards the door, you felt something bubble up in your throat, and as he began to step out of your bedroom, you took a step forward, reaching a hand up before you could properly think.

“Arvin, I…”

He turned to face you, all the words you wanted to say suddenly getting stuck on your tongue, and you sighed as you let your hand drop to your side, feeling a bit pathetic.

“Please… Please be careful,” you said softly, your concern clear in your expression.

Arvin gave you a small smile and nodded.

“I always am, darlin’. Don’t you worry about me.”

You let out the breath you weren’t aware you had been holding once he stepped out, and you watched from your window as he drove away in his beat up car. It was a miracle that thing hadn’t broken down already. You two had so many memories and adventures in that car, staying out late at night listening to the radio or going on short road trips outside of town that you wished never ended. It was one of the only times you ever felt peace, being in that shabby old car with Arvin. And as you fell back onto your bed and reminisced, you couldn't help but feel your heart ache a bit, thinking that one day all of this might come to an end.

_____________

“So is there any reason in particular you need me to be here?” you asked, looking at the front of the high school building from the passenger seat of Arvin’s car.

Arvin puffed on his cigarette and turned to you, blowing the smoke in your face, which you in turn punched him in the shoulder for as you coughed.

“You never know when to stop askin’ questions, do ya? I’ll let you know after we drop Lenora off to see her mom.”

Your eyes slightly widened at the mention of his sister’s name. “L-Lenora?”

As if on cue, the girl came running out the double doors of the school, pausing for a moment when she saw you in the front seat, before finally hopping into the back, Arvin turning his head to meet her gaze. He then looked back towards the school when he heard Gene Dinwoodie and his buddies shout for Lenora as they ran towards the car before he sped off, and you could hear vague shouts of “sister fucker” as you drove away.

The tension in the car grew thick, and you could feel Lenora’s gaze burning into the back of your skull as you let out a shaky breath. You were going to kill Arvin once you got him alone. He knew your relationship with Lenora was rocky, and yet he decided it was a smart idea for you two to be in a car together?

“God fucking dammit, Arvin!” you thought, your fists clenching in your lap.

You glanced over at the boy, catching his gaze for a moment before he looked away, fingers visibly tightening on the steering wheel. Once he pulled up to the church, you all sat in silence for a moment, the only noise being the loud rumbling of the engine.

“That preacher’s a little flashy,” you heard Arvin say, and it was clear he was trying to relieve some of the tension between all of you.

Lenora then piped up from the backseat: “Are you not coming?”

Arvin shook his head. “No, I got some things to do before we go home.”

Lenora looked at you again before dropping her gaze to her lap, scrunching up her dress in her fists. “Does it have to do with them?”

You sharply inhaled and dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, turning your head to look out the window to try and stop yourself from saying anything too mean. Why was it even any of her business? Sure, they grew up together and were basically siblings, but Arvin was a grown adult who could make his own decisions. And what, she had a problem with you just because you didn’t go to fucking church?

“Go on, Lenora. I’ll be back to pick you up,” Arvin said, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

She didn’t move at first until Arvin told her to go again, and she stepped out of the car, slamming the door a bit more forcefully than she needed to before stomping off towards her mother’s grave. Once she was out of sight, you immediately turned to Arvin and sent punch after punch to his arm, brows furrowed and teeth clenched in anger.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Arvin?! You couldn’t have given me a little warning?! Or maybe picked me up after you dropped your sister off?!”

“Ow, ow! Hey, would you just-!”

He grabbed ahold of your wrists, leaning over you and pinning you against the car door as you struggled underneath his grip.

“Would you cool it?! I wouldn’t have had time to come get you after dropping Lenora off, and I want you to be with me when I do this so I don’t fuckin’ kill someone, you understand?!”

You stopped struggling, looking up at Arvin with slightly widened eyes as your chest heaved, trying to catch your breath. You then became very aware of your position, face flushing as your eyes searched his face and trailed down to his lips. Before anything else could happen though, you pulled your hands out of his grasp and pressed them against his chest, feeling his lean muscles through his tight shirt, and pushed him off of you, quickly sitting up and pressing your back against the seat.

“What… What do you mean by that? So that you won’t kill someone?” you asked, finally looking over at Arvin.

He sighed and glanced over at you before putting the car in drive and driving away from the church, hoping that Lenora didn’t just witness the interaction between you two.

“Fuckin’ Dinwoodie and those other assholes aren’t gonna leave Lenora alone unless I do somethin’ ‘bout it. And I really just need you there to keep me in check. Make sure I don’t beat those sons of bitches too bad. You… You’re one of the only ones that calm me down, so…”

You stared at Arvin for a moment, taking in what he said before letting out a light chuckle and shaking your head.

“Fuckin’ christ, Arvin. You’re a damn idiot, you know that?” you said, your shoulders relaxing a bit as you noticed Arvin forming a smile of his own.

“Yeah, but you still put up with me.”

He sent you a wink and you rolled your eyes, letting out a small scoff as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“All right then,” you sighed. “Let’s go beat up some fuckers.”

_____________

It was raining by the time you and Arvin pulled up to the school, Arvin watching the doors like a hawk for Tommy Matson to come out. Neither of you said a word, simply listening to the radio as you both passed around a cigarette. This must’ve been what Arvin meant when he talked about waiting for the right time. He always mentioned it and told you it was something his daddy taught him when he was younger, but you had never seen him get into an actual fight, you were just there for the aftermath. Well, until now, that is.

Once you saw Tommy exit the building with some girl under his arm, Arvin let out a long exhale through his nose and handed you his half finished cigarette, stepping out into the rain as you took a few puffs. Your eyes then widened when you saw him walk towards the buses with a tire iron in his hand, quickly stepping out of the car and grabbing his arm. He turned around to look at you, the look in his eyes asking “what the hell are you doing?”

“I thought you said you didn’t wanna kill nobody. You’re gonna beat his face in with a tire iron?”

Arvin pulled out of your grip, shrugging his shoulders as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“Won’t hurt him too bad. Just enough to teach him a lesson.”

He then shrugged off his jean jacket and draped it over your shoulders, the look in his eyes telling you that nothing was going to stop him from doing this. Not if it kept him from protecting his sister.

“Stay by the car,” he muttered, parting with a kiss to your forehead and adjusting the tool in his grip.

It only took a few minutes for Arvin to come back, his steps a bit faster and his chest heaving, and he gestured with his hand for you to get back in the car as he threw the wrench he used to beat Tommy with into the backseat and got behind the wheel, speeding out of the school parking lot. While you wished that was the end of it, you knew he still had Orville Buckman and Gene Dinwoodie to take care of. And while you didn’t really like all the violence, you couldn’t help but feel a bit of adrenaline course through you as Arvin drove a bit past the speed limit, tongue swiping out to wet your bottom lip as you glanced over at him.

Arvin soon pulled up to the side of a garage, putting the car in park and stepping out, this time without the tire iron. You knew he probably wanted you to stay in the car, but you couldn;t help but let curiosity get the best of you as you quietly stepped out and followed a few paces behind him, watching as he came up behind Dinwoodie and slammed the hood of the car he was under against his head twice. The scene unfolded so quickly, you didn’t really know how to react, your eyes wide as Arvin kicked the door into Orville and sent blow after blow until his face was bloody, covering his face with a paper bag after rubbing a Twinkie in his face and punching him some more.

At first you didn’t notice it, but your eyes soon caught Gene getting up, regaining his balance as he grabbed a long wrench and began making his way towards Arvin who still had his back to him, completely unaware.

“Hey, asshole!” you shouted, purely acting on instinct as he turned to face you, and you sent a right hook straight to his face, your foot coming up to kick him in the groin afterwards.

You felt a strange, sick satisfaction as you watched him crumble to the ground, hands over his crotch as he wheezed, and Arvin looked at you in amazement for a moment before crouching down next to the moaning boy and putting a paper bag over his head as well. His hands held him by the neck as he made threats to kill him if Gene or his buddies ever messed with Lenora again, the boy wheezing out apologies through the bag, and once Arvin was satisfied, he got up and stepped over Dinwoodie, grabbing onto your hand and dragging you back to the car.

He drove until the garage was far behind you two, pulling over onto an abandoned stretch of road and letting out a shaky breath as he parked the car on the gravel. You two sat there for a moment, listening closely to the sound of Arvin’s heavy breathing before he reached across you and into the glovebox for a rag to wipe his bloody knuckles with.

“Here, let me,” you said softly, grabbing the rag from him and gently dabbing his knuckles with it.

You could feel gaze on you, staring so intently it was like he was trying to burn a hole through you.

“You’re staring, Arvin,” you said, your voice still quiet like you were afraid to speak up.

He didn’t answer, still staring as you grabbed his other hand to clean it as well. You let out a sigh, looking up at the boy.

“Arvin-”

His lips were on yours before you could get another word out, inhaling sharply and tensing up as you felt his hands on your face. It took a second or two for you to relax, melting into the kiss and placing your hands against his chest, gripping his shirt as you felt one of his hands slide around to the back of your neck, pushing your lips further against his as his arm looped around you to pull you against him. This was overwhelming, your mind not able to catch up as Arvin kissed you with everything he had.

“Arvin,” you muttered against his lips, trying to get his attention.

But he didn’t stop, his kisses only becoming more desperate as the rain pounded harder against the windshield, almost as loud as the drumming of your heart. You felt a calloused hand slide up the front of your shirt, and that’s when you knew you needed to stop this before things got way too far.

“A-Arvin!” you persisted, pushing against his chest, and you couldn’t help but feel a shiver go down your spine as he let out a growl against your lips, not happy with being interrupted.

“Fuck, what?” he asked breathlessly, his hand still pressed against your side underneath your shirt as your wide eyes searched his expression.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I… I-I just-”

“Y/n,” Arvin muttered softly, his thumb gently brushing over your bottom lip as you caught his gaze.

You let him kiss you again, Arvin capturing your lips with his and being a bit more gentle and slower than he had been before. However, when you let out a soft moan against his lips, it only seemed to spur him on, causing him to part your lips with his tongue and deepen the kiss as he gently pushed you until your back hit the passenger door. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, your skin hot to the touch, and you didn’t know if it was just you or if it was Arvin’s hands that were causing your whole body to heat up.

You let out a small gasp when you felt his hands go to the front of your jeans, attempting to make quick work of the button and zipper, but your hands stopped him, causing him to pull back with his brows furrowed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-... Isn’t your sister waiting for us? I mean, we’ve been gone for a while,” you said softly. Not that you really cared, you were just trying to buy some time so you could catch your breath and think for a second.

Arvin scoffed in amusement and smirked down at you.

“Since when did you give a shit about what my sister thinks?”

You knew he had you there, and you saw he was about to say something else, probably just to tease you, so you quickly reached up and laced your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to shut him up with another heated kiss. His smirk remained as he kissed you, and in that moment he knew he would never be able to get enough of you. He had always been aware about his feelings for you, and he realized that waiting for the right time could be applied to more than just beating the shit out of people. But perhaps he had waited a bit too long this time, because as his lips locked with yours over and over, he realized he should’ve done this much sooner.

“Arvin, um…”

He pulled away when you began to speak, bringing a hand up to gently hold your face as his thumb caressed your cheek.

“Do you think we could um… maybe do this somewhere less cramped? My dad aint gonna be home til later, so…”

Arvin looked at you for a moment and nodded, giving you one last kiss before pulling away from you and putting the car in drive again. You would occasionally glance at each other during the ride back to the church, not able to help the blush on your face from appearing, and he chuckled at your embarrassed expression, reaching over to hold your hand. He knew once he got you alone, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you.

By the time you got back to the church, the sun had started to set, and Lenora didn’t say a word as she got into the backseat. And if she noticed Arvin’s hand resting on your thigh, she certainly didn’t say anything about that either. She didn’t even question her brother when he didn’t get out of the car after he dropped her off at home, just watching the both of you drive back towards your house in the rusted vehicle. The giddiness was practically radiating off of the two of you as you thought about being alone with each other, Arvin’s hand squeezing your thigh.

But little did you know, your lives were about to get a lot crazier in the months to come.

#arvin russell x reader #arvin russell imagine #arvin x reader #arvin imagine #the devil all the time #the devil all the time imagine #tdatt #tdatt imagine #tdatt fanfiction #arvin russell #the devil all the time fanfiction #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #fanfiction #tom holland fanfiction #arvin russell fanfic

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davidpastrsnack · 4 years

Text

drive (pt. 1) - matthew tkachuk

a/n: slow burn friends to lovers is my shit and so is matthew so here we are. the name is inspired by the song drive by halsey, a classic friends to lovers anthem. i hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think!

After three months of freedom with you friends and family, the summer was finally coming to an end. To celebrate, you and your close group decided to rent a house on the lake for the weekend, clear of all parents and responsibility. When Friday morning rolled around you finished packing your bag before heading off with your two partners in crime, Matthew and Brady.

You grew up in St. Louis, quickly becoming acquainted with the Tkachuk family when your dad accepted a position within the Blues management with Keith. For as long as you could remember, they were your best friends, but especially Matthew. He was the closest in age to you and since day one you were inseparable.

There was no denying that his move to Calgary took a toll on your relationship. You texted every now and then, but it was obvious that you had two seperate lives that the other wasn’t a part of. But despite this, every summer it was like you were still those twelve year olds running around as if nothing had changed.. Except now you two got into a lot more trouble together.

Matthew was driving and you sat in the passenger seat, always forcing Brady in the back for as long as you could remember. They were bickering about Matthew’s choice of music and you started to zone out, getting lost in the scenery as you traveled further and further from the city.

The reality of summer ending was starting to hit you. You had graduated college just a few months ago, yet nothing career wise seemed to be panning out. Your parents reminded you not to worry, that you could stay with them until something came together, but it made hearing all your friends’ plans for the year that much harder. You were over the moon for them, but each time it felt like a reminder of your failure.

You were suddenly pulled out of your trance by the pest in the backseat, feeling him poke your shoulder repeatedly.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N,” Brady joked.

“Sorry,” you shook your head. “What?” you asked, turning to face the blonde.

“Can you go on aux? I can’t listen to his shit any longer.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you connected to the bluetooth in Matthew’s far too expensive car.

“Will you relax?” Matthew muttered to you. “You promised me you wouldn’t stress about anything this weekend,” he pleaded, placing his free hand just above your bare knee.

“How long have you known me? Seriously, when am I not stressing?” you retorted, raising your gaze to meet with his ice blue eyes.

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. “But just try, please.”

“You two are something,” you heard from the backseat, shifting to glare at Brady.

Just like that, Matthew’s hand slipped from it’s post on your leg, moving to turn up the music to shut up his brother.

-----

After finally arriving at the lake later that evening, you all decided to go out to the local bar, a classic, dingy spot that always seemed to make the best memories. You were sharing a room with your close friend Emma, right across the hall from the boys. You got ready with the other girls, opting for a simple outfit of jeans, a white top, and sneakers. The air was hot and thick as soon as you walked in, and you moved straight to get a drink.

Hours later, everyone was having a great time, letting loose for one last weekend before reality struck. You had just enough alcohol running through your veins for a fun buzz, but you weren’t too far gone yet. You and Emma were dancing, totally lost in the beat of the music when your face suddenly dropped.

There was no way.

But unfortunately your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you. Your ex-boyfriend had just walked in with his posse, catching your glance right away and sending you a sick smirk. You hadn’t seen Logan in over a year, but of course here he was the night you were finally able to relax with your friends. Your buzz seemingly disappeared instantly, and you left the girls to go sit at the booth with the guys. You slid in next to Matthew, his arm instinctually wrapping around your shoulders as he kept listening to the conversation.

It didn’t take long for him to figure out that something was off with you, he could feel the tension in your body beneath his grasp.

He lowered his head to be level with your ear, “You good?”

You didn’t want to tell him what was wrong, knowing he would have no restraint. To put it simply, Matthew never liked Logan, but especially not after what he put you through during the breakup.

You nodded, giving him a soft smile. “I just need another drink,” you deflected, slipping from under his arm to get up.

“Wait,” he grabbed your wrist, “I’ll come.”

He didn’t know what was going on, but he had a gut feeling that he shouldn’t let you go alone.

And he was right. As soon as you guys made it to the bar Matthew locked eyes with Logan.

“Y/N, is that…” he trailed off, not wanting to freak you out.

You turned to look where he was, sighing as you saw Logan standing across from you two.

“Yup, it is,” you said, letting out a nervous laugh.

Matthew’s energy shifted immediately, exactly how it does when he’s on the ice. His light eyes darkened and he visibly stood taller, glaring in Logan’s direction.

“Matthew,” you warned. “It’s fine. Just leave it alone. Please,” you begged, wrapping your hand around his bicep in hopes of calming him down. You didn’t want anyone to make a scene, and you knew that’s exactly what would happen if the two of them got any closer to each other.

Just like you thought, your touch made him snap out of his trance, looking back down at you.

“Fine, but if he comes any closer I make no promises,” he declared.

After getting your drinks the two of you stayed put, listening to Matthew ramble about the upcoming season. Logan hadn’t moved, but your back was turned to him so you couldn’t see.

But Matthew could, and he most definitely noticed that he seemed to be inching closer to you, his destination obvious.

The gears in Matthew’s mind started moving right away. He needed to get him away from you but he knew you would kill him if he made a big deal about it.

You were mid-sentence when he panicked.

“Kiss me,” he interrupted.

You were stunned, the shock evident on your face. “What-”

Before you could get another word out, Matthew was grabbing your face and bringing your lips to his. Despite being beyond startled and confused, your body took over and you melted into him. Your lips moved together like they were made for each other, his tongue working perfectly with yours. Your hands moved up his chest and circled around his neck, gently tugging his curls. One of his much bigger hands dropped to your waist, urging you to arch into him.

Matthew was so lost in the moment that he forgot why he kissed you in the first place. He just couldn’t seem to pull himself away, a fire ignited deep within him by your touch. But finally he slowed his lips, gently separating from you and lifting his eyes to scan the bar. It worked, Logan was sitting on a stool with his back facing you both. Message received, loud and clear.

You slipped your hands from his neck, quietly trying to catch your breath as Matthew leaned over your shoulder. After a few seconds he looked back down at you, a cocky, but sweet, smile on his face. It took everything within you not to stare at his lips, pink and swollen, but you quickly snapped out of it when it hit you what had just happened.

You hit his chest, making him stumble back slightly, not expecting it.

“What the hell was that?” you questioned. It wasn’t that you were angry, but now you were forced to confront your feelings for the man in front of you. You obviously weren’t blind to his looks and charm, but you had always admired them from afar, never challenging your status as friend. And you were truly at peace with that, but now that you had a taste of him you wanted more.

His face was laced with nerves, realizing he might have really crossed the line. But then again, you didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m sorry, I-, Logan looked like he was coming over and I didn’t want him to but you didn’t want me to make a scene so I thought if I kissed you he would leave you alone,” his word vomit was in full force, letting everything out in one breath. “I think it worked though.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you, I guess,” you laughed.

And just like that, Matthew was back to his usual self.

“Trust me, no problem,” he winked with his classic smirk on, grabbing your arm to guide you back to the booth.

You rolled your eyes at him, grateful that he couldn’t see your blush. Now you were just hoping that no one saw. The last thing you wanted to do was have to explain that to anyone.

Nearly an hour later you were standing outside the bathroom waiting for Emma to come out. As much as you tried to act normal with Matthew, you were struggling to say the least. Any feelings you previously had were now infinitely amplified and it made him leaving again that much harder, not that anything would happen if he wasn’t leaving.

You were scrolling through Instagram as you waited when you saw the silhouette of a big body heading towards you. You assumed it was Matthew, but you were horribly wrong, looking up to lock eyes with Logan.

“Well hello there, Y/N,” he slurred. Of course, he was beyond drunk.

“Logan, leave me alone. Please,” you pleaded, head glancing at the door wondering what was taking Emma so long.

“Relax, I just want to catch up a little.”

You didn’t respond, rather you went back on your phone, hoping he would just walk away if you ignored him.

“So, you’re finally fucking that asshole Tkachuk, huh?”

Your heart sank at his words, but the anger quickly followed.

“Excuse me?” you were genuinely stunned at how bold he was being. “Who I’m fucking is absolutely none of your business,” you hissed.

Just as you went to enter the bathroom in search of refuge from his harassment, another body joined you, but this time it was one you welcomed.

Brady headed towards you the second he caught eye of the situation, making it just in time to hear Logan’s words.

“Everything okay over here?” He challenged Logan. He pulled you into his side, his arm snaking around your shoulders. He might have been younger, but he towered over both of you.

“Who the fuck are you?” Logan asked, puffing his chest out. You rolled your eyes at his actions, not understanding how someone could be so dumb to mess with these two.

“I’m the asshole’s brother,” he calmly responded.

You had to stifle your laughter at his comment, turning to hide your face in the crook of his arm.

At that Logan gave up, storming off back into the crowd.

“Thanks, Brades,” you smiled up at him, giving his torso a squeeze before letting go and leaning against the wall.

“Of course. But I have to ask, are you fucking the asshole?” He raised his brows at you, a silent way of saying ‘don’t lie to me.’

“What? Are you crazy?” You exclaimed, trying to deflect as quickly as possible.

“Y/N,” he warned.

“No. We are not fucking. Jesus, Brady.”

“Alright, but you two need to figure your shit out,” he murmured.

Before you could give him your rebuttal the door swung open and Emma emerged.

“Hey!” You yelled, grateful for the distraction.

You grabbed her hand, walking side by side towards the door to head home. Brady trailed behind you and you knew you needed to say something to him before you were back with the group.

You turned your head back to face him, “There is no shit to figure out. Drop it,” you snapped.

He threw his hands up, acting like he was totally innocent. But even though you and Matthew were clueless, Brady knew it was only a matter of time before you two came to your senses.

-----

The next day was spent on the boat with the music blasting and the alcohol flowing. Despite everything within him telling him to stop, Matthew couldn’t help but stare at you in that bikini. He prayed that his sunglasses hid the way his eyes dragged over your frame every chance he got. It felt dirty to look at you like that, but last night was like a slap in the face, awakening him to how far gone he truly was for you.

The day ended with a bonfire back at the house, everyone cozying up around the pit reminiscing on another summer together. You were laughing at someone's story and once again, Matthew’s eyes betrayed him. He was in the chair next to yours, so enthralled in watching you so happy. You had been so stressed out about graduation and finding a job that you deserved a weekend of freedom.

He couldn’t help but notice how you started to shiver as the sun went down, only wearing your still-damp bikini and a pair of shorts. He moved to get up to grab you something, but you stopped him.

“Matty? Where are you going?”

His knees almost gave out at the nickname. You had called him that ever since you were kids, but everything had a new meaning now that his feelings were all he could think of.

“I’ll be right back,” he assured.

You nodded, joining back into the conversation. It was dumb, but you already missed having him there.

He was back within minutes, handing you one of his sweatshirts. You thanked him, pulling the soft material over your head, taking your time so you could hide the blush that you knew covered your cheeks. It smelled just like him, and you had a feeling that he wasn’t going to be getting it back anytime soon. His gaze lingered over his name and number on your shoulder, noting how good they looked on you.

As it got later and later, people started going up to their rooms, eventually leaving just you and Matthew alone.

“Come here,” he quietly gestured towards himself.

“I’m right here,” you laughed.

“And you’re also freezing. So come here,” he repeated.

You couldn’t deny that you were still cold, your bare legs not helping much. You slowly stood up, walking to his chair. He moved his arms from his lap so you could sit down, your body resting across his thighs. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him, and you already felt yourself warm up from the heat he was radiating.

You sat in a comfortable silence for a while, your head lying on his shoulder as you both watched the fire die out.

“You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but hear me out,” he mumbled, finally breaking the silence.

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, “What are you up to now?”

“Come to Calgary with me.”

part two here

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #nhl imagine #nhl writing #hockey imagine #hockey writing #my writing

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chicgeekgirl89 · 3 years

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There’s No Place Like Home

Fandom: NCIS LA

Characters: Martin Atticus Deeks, Kensi Blye

A/N: Post ep for “A Fait Accompli” because Deeks got whumped and the writers did not care even a little so I fixed it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Deeks had felt his ribs give during that last round of fight training and was pretty proud of the fact that he’d neither screamed like a small child nor let his opponent get the best of him. He’d taken the guy to the ground despite the fireball of pain in his chest.

He’d limped himself back to his room afterward and collapsed on his bed for like three hours, unable to move as his bones burned inside him. He’d finally managed to crawl himself to the bathroom for some painkillers which had only juuuust taken the edge off.

The plane ride had been tolerable-ish, he’d managed to sleep on and off which gave him respite from the pain, but the car ride home was actual hell. He felt every bump and jostle of the car as his knuckles gripped the arm rest ever tighter, all while Kensi chattered on about how proud she was of him and how they should order a special bottle of something to celebrate with on Saturday. He’d never been so happy and in so much pain at the same time.

Kensi put the car in park and looked at him. “Okay, what’s wrong? You should be over the moon right now.”

“I am,” Deeks said, trying to sound casual and like himself. “Baby I am. I am…beyond thrilled about this.”

“Is it about the party? Because you know that if everyone was here we would—“

“No, no it’s not about the party. I waited twelve years for this, I can wait a few more days,” he told her as he attempted to unbuckle his seatbelt. Every movement sent a stab of pain through his ribcage.

She looked at him hard, clearly unconvinced. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing, not a thing. Let’s just get inside. Very excited to sleep in a bed that doesn’t have the blood, sweat, and tears of generations of FLETC candidates soaked into the mattress.”

He managed to slide out of the car without screaming in pain but things went significantly downhill when he reached for his bag in the back seat. He let out a strangled grunt and dropped it, a hand going against the car for support at he took shallow breaths.

“Deeks? You okay?“ Kensi called from the doorway.

“Yeah!” he called back, trying not to fall to the ground in agony. “Yeah I’ll be there in a sec!”

He managed to get inside in one piece, skirting past Monty who was losing his mind at the return of his two favorite humans, and calling to Kensi that he was going to take a shower.

Upstairs he sank gingerly and cautiously onto their bed, hands shaking as he managed to get his shirt off and then unwind the bandages. His ribs throbbed incessantly and he was honestly surprised he couldn’t see them pulsing beneath his skin.

The bruising seemed to have spread, dark purple and black, to cover half his torso. He probed tentatively and had to bite back a hiss of pain. Shit. This was not good.

It took everything in him to get up and get in the shower, but even the gentle spray of hot water sent searing pain through him so he didn’t last long before he found himself back on the bed, towel wrapped around his waist, energy completely drained.

The door opened and before he could move Kensi came in. “Babe do you—oh my god!”

She was next to him in an instant, hands held out like she wanted to touch him but was afraid to. “Baby what happened?!”

“It’s not that bad,” he managed.

“Deeks it looks terrible!” she said, staring at the bruising in horror. “I thought you’d just pulled a muscle or something, I never would have…I can’t believe they let you get on a plane like this!”

“Well…technically they may not have known.”

Her face froze and then her eyes narrowed. “Martin Atticus Deeks! You didn’t tell anyone you were hurt? What were you thinking?!”

“That I didn’t want to be kicked out of the program for medical reasons,” he said breathlessly.

“That is so stupid! I cannot believe you! I would punch you but it looks like someone beat me to it! How the hell did this happen?”

“I think it was a combination of the agility course and assault training,” he said with a wince.

“Baby!”

“Kens they were already calling me the old guy, I didn’t want to give them any reason to kick me out!”

“This looks like you could have internal bleeding,” Kensi said, her voice low and dangerous as her hands ghosted softly over his bruised skin.

“I don’t. I promise. If I did I probably would have passed out on the plane. It’s just a cracked rib or two. Or all of them. Maybe. Possibly. Kind of feels like all of them right now.”

“I am so mad at you,” she said accusingly, standing and stalking to the bathroom.

“Where are you going?”

“To get you some painkillers, you look like you’re dying!” she shouted back.

“Thank you?” Deeks called back weakly.

“You’re welcome.” She returned and angrily shoved a glass of water and two pills at him.

He swallowed them gratefully, hoping they would kick in fast. “You still love me?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes, I still love you. I’m furious at you, but I still love you. Which is why we’re taking a trip to the doctor first thing in the morning.”

“That’s fair.”

“Yeah, it definitely is.”

She stood abruptly and left the room. “Now where are you going?” he cried.

“To get you an ice pack! And then I’m going to order you dinner! And then, when you’re better, I’m going to kill you for being so stupid! Now lie down and don’t get up again until I tell you to!”

Deeks smiled and shook his head. It was good to be home.

#NCIS LA #Densi #Marty Deeks #Kensi Blye #Martin Atticus Deeks #Thrilled I had to opportunity to use his full name #There's No Place Like Home #A Fait Accompli #Densi Fanfic

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leerongrong · 4 years

Text

Your Baby?

Pairing: Nct Dream x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: You and Mark have been best friends ever since childhood, staying by each others’ side even after he became a Worldwide Idol. When he finally introduces you to his members, who think you’re older than you actually are, what a mistake.

A/N: my first fic lmao i’m soo nervouss, also shout out to my girl @neoculturalshit for handling my shit while writing this

Shoe sole squeaking fills the air with the constant jagged breaths and stuffy humidity coming from the room, intensified with multiple voices mixing in with groans. Mark’s rambles are like mumbling in your ear, replaced with constant buzzing like bees and an unfamiliar feeling resting in your belly. Your bag is on your left shoulder, clutched between stiff fingers as you try to keep up with his fast footsteps.

His twelve a.m to twelve p.m schedule and your eight a.m to eleven p.m schedule proved hard enough keep up with. In between his dance practices, studio recording and your everyday micro engineering studies, there was only little time to catch the other without one having to run off in between hangouts. And even then, Mark always had the dreamies call on him about some unforeseen circumstances that’ll make him leave you all alone.

He’s been apologizing ever since the last time he left you, albeit in a super creepy rooftop at midnight, and wouldn’t stop until you brought on the idea of introducing the dreamies as an apology and here you are now, in SM entertainment heading straight to the practice room where you’ll meet them for the first time. And on the contrary, you feel more scared than excited.

“And there’s Chenle. He’s like realllyyy loud but like really funny and he has this dolphin laugh that’ll make you- Are you even listening right now?”

“Mark, i’m scared.” Saying it out loud makes you feel like a baby, some helpless child afraid of going to their first day of kindergarten, afraid they won’t have any friends or anyone to talk to. You’re embarrassed for feeling this way but right now you have Mark and he knows you. The best out of everyone in your whole life, “what if they don’t like me?”

“They’ll love you,” he chuckles, “If anything, you’ll be the one begging Chenle to shut up.”

Your entire walk there had remained quiet, an occasional quip here and there from Mark whenever he sees you still so stiff. He had done a good job at getting rid of your initial fear, the feeling reducing until all that’s left is jitters and a bit of shyness. Despite your previous fear of them, you still wanted to meet them and become friends, it doesn’t matter if one of them doesn’t like you, you’d at least add one more person to your mark’s-friends-that-became-yours-too list.

“You stay here, aight? I’m gonna gather them first.” He nods to your direction before opening the door and going inside. You hear him greet multiple people, the noise inside exploding with screams and laughter. The nerves come at full force and suddenly your feet feel like jelly and the constant reassurance from mark has lost its grip on you.

The weather outside has calmed down significantly. The storm has reduced itself to raindrops pelting down the window, the constant patter doing nothing to calm you down. Your heart is beating erratically inside your chest and you have to thank Mark for his timing because you feel you’d have burst if he hadn’t come out faster.

All eyes are on you the moment you step in.

Multiple lights shine down the wide room, creating an illusion that it’s bigger than it already is. Gray walls surrounding the space loom high and act as pillars to hold up the entire architecture. your eyes move to the corner where there are an abundant of water bottles looking as if they were thrown messily along with multiple bags, one you recognize as Mark’s.

You’re broken out of your trance when mark leaves your side and crosses the room to the corner, effectively grabbing his bag and water bottle from where they lay. You see him exchanging a few words with the choreographer before he makes a beeline for the door just behind you.

“Where are you going?” You snatch his bicep in a tight grip, frowning when you see him slowly chuckle.

“I have a recording session with the hyungs,” he mumbles, “But i’ll be back in 3 hours?”

Mark flinches when your grip tightens, said boy visibly shrinking under your gaze. “mark lee, i swear-”

“They’re really nice! i promise!”

“I don’t care if they’re nice or whatever. You’re not leaving me-”

“Noona, watch us dance!” The voice breaks you and Aark from your whispering match. You turn your head, only to have Mark break away from your grip and run out of the room at full speed leaving you to stare at his retreating form with a face full of disbelieve. “Don’t worry about hyung, he’ll be back soon!”

The dreamies all surround you, each one introducing themselves in their own unique way. Your heart’s still beating erratically as you try to learn and differentiate their names and personalities, making a mental note in your brain; Jeno’s the shy one with an adorable eye smile, Donghyuck or Daechan is the tan one with a knack for jokes, Renjun’s a little shorter than the others with the sharp mouth, Jaemin’s the one with weird blue hair, Jisung’s the youngest but the tallest, and Chenle’s the one who called you noona.

The jitters and nerves melted away completely in the first hour, the boys doing a good job in including you with them. They told you funny stories about Mark, about when they first debuted, they even went into a detailed explanation about how they knew your name from Mark and how they’ve asked him multiple times to introduce you to them. They insisted you didn’t need to reintroduce yourself because they pretty much already know everything there is, courtesy of Mark. Well almost everything.

Jeno, Jaemin, and Hyuck had decided early on to call you by your first name, the three agreeing that you’re roughly around their age. While on the other hand, Renjun, Jisung, and Chenle had decided to call you noona. You don’t consider yourself to look mature for your age and you certainly didn’t think any of them would be calling you noona, when in reality you’re younger than Jisung.

‘Do i really look that old?’ The annoyance is simmering in you at the thought, little bits of it breaking to the surface when you pout and cross your arms while you watch the boys goof around after finishing their routine. The thought of them thinking you were older leaves an unpleasant feeling in your mouth.

“Time for revenge.”

The multiple shoe screeching in the room had lessened a significant amount, the boys having done their practice and are currently playing a few rounds of rock-paper-scissors to decide who’ll be buying food. You watch from across the room as Renjun walks to the corner to pick up his water. “Renjun-ah! Can i have some water too?”

You giggle to yourself when he crosses the room to give you some from his bottle, the boy completely oblivious to your sneaky intentions. “Thank you, Renjun-ah.”

“Noona!” Chenle’s shrill voice is something you’ve gotten used to both before and after officially meeting him. Mark’s always let you listen to snippets of their unreleased songs and you’ve been able to recognize their voices for years to help with giving your inputs and comments. “Can we go to the store?”

“Why’d you need to ask me?” You cut yourself off before opting to rearrange your choice of words. “I mean, you can go if you want? I’ll stay here to wait for Mark.”

“We didn’t want to leave you alone!” he smiles, “but it’s okay, Jeno hyung and Jaemin hyung are gonna go for us!”

You watch as Jaemin and Jeno gather up their shoes and put on masks, the two chatting around with the other members for a bit and your heart clenches when you see Jaemin squishing Donghyuck’s cheeks, the latter shooing Jaemin’s hands away before pushing them out the door. “Adorable.”

Donghyuck’s gaze is on yours the second the words drop from your mouth and he sticks his tongue at you when he sees you looking at him, a teasing gesture the two of you have adapted. You’ve been acquainted with Donghyuck for the last two months, the two of you starting out awkward before one day, he had stuck out his tongue at you and now you’re always sticking tongues out at the other for no apparent reason, something Doyoung doesn’t approve of.

“Donghyuck oppa, lemme pinch your cheeks.”

Your response is a perfectly trimmed eyebrow raise, “Oppa? We’re like the same age tho?”

“Chenle-yah, let noona pinch your cheeks!” You ignore Donghyuck’s statement in hopes of not blowing your cover, smiling brightly when Chenle comes over and plops himself right in front of you. His cheeks are like mochi in your hands, the skin all dewy, soft to the touch that you have to remind yourself to stop squishing before you become addicted. “Gosh, Chenle, you’re too cute. Like a baby!”

Jeno and Jaemin get back just in time, multiple managers and choreographers burst into the room just moments after them, stopping by to check on their progress. Long hours have ticked away while the sun sets, casting its golden rays and warm hue through the window and into the room. the air is filled with low chatters and you’re in a conversation with Jeno when the door opens again.

“Hey everyone-”

You recognize the voice to be Johnny’s but his next words are muffled from multiple footsteps coming into the room at once, some faster and bolder while others are quiet and dainty. You’re listening as they increase from slow steps into full out sprints and you don’t react quick enough and you shriek when you feel someone heavy crash onto your back, making you face plant to the hard floor, them tumbling down with you

“Mark, really?” Doyoung nags before turning towards you, “Hello, little bugs.”

“Noona, look. Mark hyung’s back.” The minute those words fall from Jisung’s lips, the person on your back, who you realize to be Mark, looks at you with furrowed eyebrows. The air turning awkward for moments until two laughs explode from somewhere behind you and he joins in.

“Noona?” Johnny laughs, “Jisung, she’s younger than you by months!”

Both Chenle and Jisung launch onto their feet, crowding beside you and Mark. You try to push Mark off of you while looking at the two boys and how their mouths are moving so fast you don’t understand what they’re saying, while the expressions on their faces make you laugh along with Johnny and Doyoung.

“Yah! I’ve been your Oppa the whole time?!”

“Call me Oppa!”

“Jisung you’re a few months older than I am! And you’re a babie.”

“Well you’re a babie too!”

“This is disrespectful!”

The room bursts into chaos as each of them try to convince you to call them Oppa, Hyuck and Chenle protesting the most out of the six. The laughs and giggles echo throughout as Doyoung and Johnny shake their heads and watch from afar, smiling fondly at the way you’re slowly blending in with the dreamies. Mark’s hand is on yours for a while, the emotions in his eyes too misty for you to read until he grins. “Told you they’d love you.”

Your laugh is airy and full of emotion, “Yeah and its all thanks to you.”

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone -Chapter 26

Title: Preparations

Warning: it’s filler. I figured we needed some cute daddy Tyler. lol

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @miss-smutty, @tragiclyhip

“When you met mumma, you guys were working together, right?”

Addie poses the question as she sits atop the kitchen island; legs swinging back and forth as they dangle over the edge, the heels of silver and gold glitter infused jelly sandals lightly thumping against the wood. She insisted on bringing one of her favourite pairs of shoes from home; arguing that she didn’t care that they were ‘out of season’ and that she would wear what she wants, when she wants, and no one could tell her otherwise. In the end they’d gone perfectly with the new ‘Christmas’ dress she’d picked out Bloomingdales; a vibrant yellow concoction with capped sleeves embellished with strips of lace, a sash around the waist that ties in an enormous bow at the back, and an elaborate tulle skirt several layers thick that shimmers in the light. Forgoing all the burgundy, emerald green, and red dresses that had lined the regular priced racks in favour of an outfit from the leftover and highly discounted summer section. It was a hill Esme hadn't been willing to die on; preferring that Addie showcase both her independence in choosing her own outfit, and being proud of her personal style and preferences. And it suits her; as bright and adorable as her personality with just enough ‘no fucks given’ sprinkled on for good measure.

While tiny and seemingly fragile, she can be extremely assertive and adverse to any form of compromise; tenacious to a fault and digging her heels in and sticking to her guns when she feels she’s one hundred right about her stance. Even if there’s mountains of proof to show that she is, in fact, completely wrong. Someone so stubborn and feisty lingering inside that cute, wee package; able to hold her own while out playing with her older siblings and not afraid to get a bloody nose or a fat lip or a black eye. And not deterred in the slightest when she DOES get injured; right back to what she was doing only hours after getting stitches or a cast removed. Not shying away from climbing trees or splashing in mud puddles or helping muck out the goats stalls while wearing clunky rubber boots paired with a Disney princess dress. Very much like her older sister had been at that age; enjoying being physical and active and playing sports and rough housing one minute, then showcasing her more ‘girly side’ the next. Loving trips to the salon with mummy for manis and pedis; enjoying picking her own shade of polish and then getting to sip orange juice from a champagne glass while getting a facial and her hair trimmed. Collecting dolls along with various rocks and shells and beach glass. Superhero figures taking up residence on her bedroom shelves right alongside stuffies of her favourite animals -koalas, sloths, and kangaroos currently at the top of the list- and snow globes from different parts of the world. Her closet filled with not only frilly dresses and sparkly leggings and colourful sweaters emblazoned with unicorns and french bulldogs and flamingos, but old hand me downs from her brothers; ripped and faded jeans and tattered t-shirts and board shorts.

“Right,” Tyler confirms, as he tends to running a brush through her waist length hair; damp from misting it down with a spray bottle in order to easier part it into sections.

It’s a far cry from his old life; his beaten and busted up hands with their multitude of scars and calluses once used to being soaked in blood and caked with dirt. Large and weathered with misshapen knuckles, they’d long ago gotten accustomed to hard, manual labour and the brutality that he’d had to inflict on others; fists that pummelled bodies and faces and fingers that pulled triggers and wrapped around throats and choked the life out of combatants. And while they still get caked in mud from working around the house and they’re still entrusted to load magazines and are capable of taking a gun apart in thirteen seconds flat, they’ve morphed into other uses. Beginning with diapering babies and tending to the impossibly tiny snaps on jumpers, buttons on little sweaters, and zippers on sleepers. Moving on to tying kid sized shoe laces and cleaning and patching up skinned knees and elbows. Advancing to far more difficult hair styling techniques than the simple ponytails he’d began affixing on Millie when she was a toddler; various styles of braids adorned with ribbons, and snapping barrettes and clamping clips into place.

Being a girl dad is unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. The six short years -despite the little time he’d actually been home- he’d spent with Austin had prepared him for raising boys. His son, when healthy, had been extremely active and fearless and full of curiosity and energy; getting as messy and as dirty as possible and loving every second of it. Obsessed with superheroes and sports and always clad in clothing that displayed his favourites; football jerseys and baseball caps and sweats emblazoned with Superman or Batman logos. He had been terrified twelve years ago when the news had come in that Millie was in fact going to be a girl; not only envisioning frilly dresses and a closet full of pink and those ridiculous headbands parents insist on putting on their infants, but thinking back to his own treatment of women. The days when he’d used them for nothing more than sex; random strangers picked up in bars or that he’d meet on the street in whatever city a job sent him to. A failed marriage; putting more of a priority on the military than he did on treating his wife properly. And all he could think about was how having a daughter was somehow a punishment for the bad shit he’d done. A little girl that he’d have to protect from guys like him.

It was hard to get used to; big fingers having to master putting in tiny earrings and tending to impossibly small zippers and buttons , getting comfortable with the amount of pink and purple in their rooms and closets. Eventually graduating into attending tea parties and playing with Barbies and helping make crafts; getting used to paint on his palms and between his fingers and glitter stuck under his nails and in his hair and beard. Determined to be a hands-on father even if its activities are way outside of his comfort zone; gymnastic meets and dance recitals as opposed to lacrosse matches and football games. Being a girl dad isn’t for the weak; having to worry about your little girls’ hearts being broken and if the guys they pick will treat them right and if they themselves will make smart and responsible choices as teenagers. And the hormones; the up and down emotions and the drastic switch from bitchy to overly sensitive. Having a wife go through it once a month is enough. never mind the thought of three other girls. The worry of how he’ll handle not only the emergence of puberty, but if all four female ‘clocks’ decide to sync up. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle THAT; all the women in his life going through the cramps and the moodiness and the demands to be coddled and babied one minute and left the fuck alone the next.

“Does that mean mummy beat up and killed bad guys too?”

“No. She never did any of that stuff. That was my job, not hers.”

“What did she do?”

“She tracked down the bad guys. And where they were doing mean things to good people. Then she told me...or guys like me...where they were so we could go and take care of things.”

“So you could go and kill them?”

“You don’t always have to kill people. Sometimes it’s enough to just rough them up a bit.”

“And other times they fight back and try to hurt you and you have to hurt them first?”

“Pretty much.”

“Have you killed a lot of people?”

“Not that many," he lies. It's actually a staggering amount; the death toll -from his hand alone- in Dhaka putting the count well over three hundred.

“How many is ‘not that many'?’”

“I don’t know, Peanut. I’ve never kept track.”

“But you’ve helped more people than you’ve hurt. That’s what mummy said when I asked if it was true. If Tyler was lying when he told me you kill people for a living.”

“That’s a while ago. That you asked mummy that.”

“I was three. That’s a whole two years ago. But sometimes I think about it. Especially when you go away. I think about you having to kill people.”

“And what do you think WHEN you think about that? About what I sometimes have to do?”

“I dunno know,” Addie shrugs, and then lifts the spray bottle clutched in both hands and holds it towards her face; giggling when she pulls the trigger and catches some of the mist in her mouth.

“Does it bother you? When you think about it? That I’ve killed people? That sometimes I still have to?”

“Why would it bother me?”

“Kind of a hard thing to hear, don’t you think? That daddy has to do stuff like that?”

“It’s your job. It’s what you do. You have to hurt people to save other people. And sometimes, if they try and hurt you first, you have to kill them. Because if you didn’t, they might kill you and then you never come home and we never get to see you again. It’s not THAT hard to hear. I’d rather you kill someone and come home than never see you again.”

“You know,” he plucks the spray bottle from her hands and dampens a section of hair. “You’re pretty smart for only five.”

“Smart like mummy.”

He leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. “Cute like her too.”

“Are you going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Who would I get in trouble with?”

“God. Isn’t that one of the things we’re not supposed to do? Kill people?”

“How do you know about that? We don’t talk about that stuff at home.”

“I hear things. At school. Some of the older kids talking. Are you? Going to get in trouble? For killing people?”

“Probably,” he admits. “I’m sure I’ll face some kind of judgement for it. When my time comes.”

“But wouldn’t it be okay ‘cause you only kill bad people? That were hurting good people? Wouldn’t that be allowed? And if you had to kill someone so you could come home to us, wouldn’t that be okay too?”

“I don’t know,” he snags a yellow cloth ribbon off the island and begins braiding a section of hair around it. “I’ve never thought that far ahead about things.”

“It would suck if you got in trouble for helping people. That wouldn’t be fair at all. If you got sent to hell for doing stuff like that. I mean, you were doing something GOOD. You weren’t doing something bad. You HAD to kill evil people to help good people. And to make sure you come home to mummy and us kids. I can’t see you getting in trouble for something like THAT.”

“Doesn’t make much sense to me either. But not a lot does anymore.”

“I’ll be really mad if you get in trouble and sent somewhere different than me. I don’t want us to be in two separate places. I want us to be together. All of us. You and mummy and all us kids. I don’t want us to all be separated. Well, maybe Millie could be. Because she’s mean to me. All the time.”

“Millie is going through some stuff. She’s going to be a teenager soon. A lot of drama leading up to THAT.”

“She says I’m annoying. That she used to really like me when I was a baby and couldn’t do anything. But now I can do lots of stuff and I can talk and she says that pisses her off. That I’m a bratty little sister.”

“You are NOT bratty.”

“Right? That’s what I said. She’s bratty if anything. Am I annoying, daddy? Don’t lie. You can tell me the truth.”

“You are not annoying. If anyone is annoying, it’s Millie.”

“I said THAT too! But she’s mean. She even threatened to cut my hair off. Shave it. Because I couldn’t find my brush and I borrowed hers and she didn’t like that. So you know what I did? While you were gone?”

“What did you do?”

“I took the tops off two Oreo cookies and I ate the middle and then I put in mayonnaise and I put the tops back on and gave them to Millie. I told her I was being a good little sister and bringing her a snack. And she put a whole one in her mouth! She almost puked!”

He can’t help but chuckle. “You actually did that?”

“Yup. It was awesome. I laughed so hard, I almost peed! But then she started chasing me around the house threatening to kill me. Mummy was screaming at her to lighten up, that it was just a joke. And then she told mummy to shut up and Tyler got mad. REALLY mad. He tackled Millie and grabbed her by the hair and pushed her face into the carpet. Then he put her in a figure four leg lock and made her cry.”

“Millie told your mom to shut up?”

“Oooops…” Addie tilts her head back to look at him, a sheepish smile curving her lips. “....I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part.”

“Who told you not to tell me? Millie?”

The five year old shakes her head.

“TJ?”

Another shake, followed by a tiny “No.”

“Addie…”

“It was mummy! She said not to tell you because you’d get pissed off and you didn’t need to. Because she took care of it right when it happened. Well, Tyler did. He was really, really, REALLY mad. She learned her lesson. I’m sure of it. He made her cry. Lots.”

“Did that happen a lot? Millie getting mouthy with your mom?”

“Not really.”

He stares pointedly down at her.

“A few times,” she reluctantly admits. “She said some things that were really mean. To mummy. And she said the F word once, too. Mixed with the B word.”

“She said that ? To your mom?”

Addie chews nervously on her bottom lip. “Yeah, she called her an f-ing B word.”

“What did mummy do?”

“She didn’t get a chance to do anything. Desi freaked out. And he’s really big and he can be really scary when he wants. Like you. Desi told her that she should never, ever talk to her mum like that. And that you’d be really mad if you found out. And that she’d rather deal with him than you. Which is true. Desi might be bigger than you, but you’re definitely tougher. I mean, he doesn’t kill people for a living. You do.”

“Things were pretty bad, huh? While I was gone.”

“A little. Millie went off the reservation. Big time. She’s lucky she’s even breathing. ‘Cause Tyler was ready to kill her. And I don’t blame him. You’re mad, aren’t you. Are you mad, daddy?”

“A bit.”

“You know how I can tell? That you’re mad? Your neck moves. Right here,” she reaches up to press to fingertips against the side of his throat. “Where the bad guy shot you a long time ago.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Mummy told me. I asked her how you got that scar. She said that a long time ago, her and Ovi were in trouble and you had to get them out of a really bad place. And then you made sure they were safe and sound, but a bad guy shot you. In the neck. And that’s why you have the scar there.”

“Did that scare you? Hearing that?”

“A little, I guess. I mean, you could have died, right?”

“I could have, yeah.”

“And then you and mummy never would have gotten married. And had kids. Millie would be the only one to exist. None of us would. So yeah, that part scared me a bit; that the bad guy could have killed and none of us ever would have been born. Did you kill him?”

“Eventually.”

“Mummy said she stayed with you. After it happened. And that she went back to Australia with you and that’s how she ended up there. It’s where you guys got married. And had Millie and me and Kota and Brookie. That we were the ones born there. So we’re REAL Australians, like you. Everyone else is American.”

“Everyone else WAS American. You’re all Australian now.”

“How does that work?”

“A lot of papers you have to fill out. To become a citizen. But you all are. Mummy and I made sure of it.”

“Is mummy an Australian too?”

“By marriage, yeah.”

“It’s a good thing she married you. You’re a lucky guy, daddy. That someone like mummy fell in love with you.”

“I am,” he confirms. “Very lucky. She’s a pretty good mummy, huh?”

“She’s the best mummy EVER. If we could pick our mummies, I’d pick her. Because she’s nice and she gives good cuddles and kisses and she tells the best silly jokes. And she’s super smart and really cute too. And little! Like me!”

“That’s where you get from. Being so cute and wee. You’re just like your mumma.”

Her eyes sparkle as she smiles broadly up at him; the corners and the bridge of her nose crinkle. “And that’s a good thing, yeah?”

“A very good thing,” Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he brushes the tip of his nose against hers; smiling at the way she throws her head back and giggles.

He’s seen her mother do that exact movement and expression a number of times; excitement while on the rides at Disney World with the kids, when she’s had one too many glasses of wine and even his terrible ‘dad jokes’ are suddenly hilarious, when they’ve been on one of their ‘mommy and daddy’ vacations and she’s gotten up the guts to try something new and exciting; emboldened by his encouragement and forever feeling safe and secure as long as he’s by her side. So much of Esme in the tiny little girl in front of him; tenacious and ferociously intelligent and loving deeply and fearlessly. Knowing the darkness and the horrors that exist in the world but not allowing herself to be tarnished by it; always finding ways to smile and laugh and find the beauty in every day.

“What do you think mummy would have done if she didn’t do the job she did?” Addie inquires, when she finally drops her head back down and he’s able to return to tending her hair.

“I don’t know. Teach? Be a nurse? Maybe a doctor?”

“How would you have met her? If she didn’t do her old job?”

“Maybe I would have met her on the beach. In Australia. Maybe she would have come there on a vacation.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you would have gone to where she used to live. In Chicago.”

“She used to live in Colorado. That’s where she was born and where she grew up. Chicago is a totally different place.”

“She used to live by the mountains. When I was in her tummy, you guys lived on a hobby farm. And you had goats and chickens. Mummy says we still own that house.”

“Yup, we do. We rent it out.”

“Can we go there one day? I’d like to see it. I’d like to see where you guys were living when I was in mummy’s belly. Is that where I was made?”

“We’re pretty sure that’s where it happened. Not many other places it could have been.”

“Maybe we can go and visit. And I can see where I was made. That would be fun. I want to see the mountains.”

“Maybe one day.” He finishes up the first braided pigtail, securing it with an impossibly small elastic before turning his attention to the other section of hair.

“If you met mummy a different way, would you have still liked her? Would you have still fallen in love with her?”

“Yup. Why wouldn’t have I? She still would have been mummy. She still would have been the same person. Still would have been the most beautiful girl ever.”

“Do you think she still would have fallen in love with you?”

“I sure as hell hope so. Would sure suck if she didn’t. Your mumma is pretty special, Peanut. She’s the love of my life. Took me until I was thirty five to meet her.”

“You were married before, though. To Austin's mom. You didn’t love her?”

“I did. But not in the way I love your mum. Your mum? That’s who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Grow really, really, REALLY old with. It’s a whole other kind of love. And you know what? It’s not easy to explain. You just know what you feel.”

“Imagine if things were opposite? If you went to Colorado and met mummy instead of her meeting you in Australia and working with you? And then you would have stayed there; where the snow and the mountains are instead of the beach and the ocean. How come you moved? Why didn’t you guys stay? Where the mountains are?”

“Things changed. We weren’t happy there anymore. We needed to get away. Go back to the place where we were the happiest.”

“In Australia?”

“Yup.”

“That’s where I’m happiest too. I love it there. I love how warm it is; the sun and the sand and the water. I like the sound it makes; listening to it when I’m trying to fall asleep. And I like how the beach feels; between my toes and when I let it run through my fingers. And I love my room and my toys and my school and my friends and all the goats and our pigs and our chickens. And Charlie. I love him the most. I love making him peanut butter sandwiches. I’d miss him the most. If we had to leave. We won’t have to leave will we, daddy?”

“I don’t see why we would have to.”

“I don’t ever want to leave Australia. It’s perfect there. It’s where I was born. And where you were born too. We have that in common. We were BOTH born there.”

“Yeah…” he grins, and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “...we were.”

“I mean, we have other stuff in common too. Because you’re my dad and that means you helped make me so that means half of me is half of you. The other half is from mummy. And we both love surfing. And animals. And Vegemite. I LOVE Vegemite. It’s sooooo good.”

“Speaking of Vegemite, was it you that left the Vegemite and Nutella sandwich for Santa?”

Addie giggles. “Maybe…”

“Why would you ever put the two of those together?”

“Tyler made it for his school lunch once and he let me try a bit and it was really good! So I thought Santa might like to try it. Part American, part Australian.”

“You know, that’s pretty genius. And it worked. I tried a bit and it wasn’t bad.”

“Right?! You wouldn’t think it would work, but it does. Somehow. Kind of like you and mummy.”

“What’s THAT supposed to mean?”

“You and mummy are so different. You’re really tall and big and she’s really short and small. Like, you know how mummy is a morning person? She’s always really cheerful and smiley? And you’re not? You’re moody and miserable. A total grump face! And you don’t like to talk until you’ve had your first coffee. With three shots of espresso in it.”

“You notice all that stuff?”

“I notice everything. Mummy says I’m very observant. And that I have really good instincts. Like you. She says ‘cause my tummy tells me if something is right or wrong. And yours does too. You know how else you and mummy are different?”

“How?”

“Mummy talks to everyone! She’s very talky talky. A chatterbox.”

“Geez,” Tyler grins, and tugs playfully at the completed pigtail. “I wonder who ELSE is a chatterbox?”

“She’s a social butterfly. She makes friends everywhere she goes. People like her. Because she’s so bubbly and cute and she makes peoples hearts feel warm because she’s so nice to them. You’re more serious. You don’t talk a lot. At least not to people you don’t know. People are scared of you sometimes. Because how big you are and because you got all the drawings on you and the scars and stuff. They think you’re mean. ‘Cause of all that.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think you’re just daddy. I KNOW you’re not mean. I KNOW you’re a nice guy. I KNOW you give awesome hugs; your arms are big but they feel nice and they wrap all the way around me! If people really paid attention, they’d see that you’re nice. You have soft eyes. They’re blue and they’re pretty and they’re kind. Especially when you smile and they go all crinkly. If people really gave you a chance, they’d see you’re not scary at all. You’re only like that if you HAVE to be. If bad people are near mummy or us kids.”

“Are you ever scared of me?” It’s a recurring thought; if his children ever pick up on the worry and the tension and the fear that comes with his issues. It’s a feat some days; forcing himself out of bed and putting one foot in front of the other. Wanting nothing more than to stay under the covers and surrender to the exhaustion that comes with doing battle with his own mind every day. But his family is his number one priority, whether it’s a good day or a horrible one. And he’ll ‘fake it until he makes it’ as long as his children and his wife know that they’re loved; provided and cared for and made to feel safe and protected.

“Why would I be? Why would I be scared of my daddy?”

“Well, you know what I do for a living. You know what I’ve had to do to people. Does that scare you?”

“Nope. Because that’s just your job. It’s not who you are. When you come home, you’re just daddy. You take us bike riding and hiking and swimming and surfing. And you help us find rocks and shells and you let me sit on your shoulders when we walk on the beach or go into town. And we take naps. On the hammock. I love our naps on the hammock.”

He smiles. “So do I.”

“Sometimes I get a little worried. When you get upset. Or you and mummy argue. I don’t like when you guys argue. I always worry that you’ll hate each other. That you’ll get a divorce. And then you won’t live with us. It makes me sad when I think about that.”

“You don’t need to be sad, Peanut. That’s never going to happen. I’m never going to go and live somewhere else. I’m going to stay right where I am; with you guys and your mumma. And just because we argue? That doesn’t mean we’re going to hate each other. I could NEVER hate your mum. And I’m pretty sure she’d say the same thing about me. We love each other. Very much. Divorce is NOT something you need to think about. But do I ever scare you? Have I ever?”

“I don’t have a reason to be scared of you. Because you love me. You’d never hurt me. I never worry about that. Not even when you yell and your voice gets REALLY loud. I know you’d never do anything mean to me. Just to bad people. And I’m not a person. I’m a GOOD person.”

“You definitely are. You’re a VERY good person. An amazing little person.”

She smiles. “Like mummy.”

“Just like her. More than even I ever realized.”

******

“Addie…” TJ singsongs as he saunters into the kitchen, both hands tucked behind his back. “...what are you doing?”

“Tyler!” She cheerfully greets, and excitedly waves to him with both hands. Her entire face lighting up at the sight of her second favourite male in the house

She’s become extremely close to her oldest brother during her five years on earth; idolizing him and turning to him for help and comfort when daddy is either caught up with one of the other kids, tending to work related matters, or out of the house -and sometimes even the country- all together. And TJ dotes on her in return. Spoiling her and babying her ever since she was an infant and he was always more than willing to help change her diapers and give her feedings. In awe of how tiny she was and how she’d look up at him with so much adoration. He’s the quintessential older brother; patient and loving and ready to kick anyone’s ass that dares messes with her.

“Look at my dress! It’s the one I picked out when I went shopping for mommy. That I kept a secret. Isn’t it awesome?”

“Awesome just like you. It’s really pretty, Ads. Your favourite colour too!”

“Yup! Mummy bought it for me. She said it’s perfect for me. For my personality. It reminds me of Belle’s dress. From Beauty and the Beast.”

“Looks a little like it, I guess. But you know what? It’s even prettier. And you’re more beautiful than Belle. WAY more beautiful.”

“Really?” she gasps, and a noticeable blush creeps into her cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. “You really think so?”

“I REALLY think so. Belle has nothing on you. You’re the prettiest princess EVER. Way prettier than ANY of them.”

“Oh goodness!” She clamps both hands over her mouth in embarrassment, then giggles into them. “Like mumma? Just as pretty as her? Mumma is the prettiest EVER.”

“Just a smaller version of her.” TJ leans in close and presses the tip of his nose against hers. “Guess what I have? What you forgot in my room?”

“Adeline!” she cries, when he reveals the item he’d been keeping behind his back. And she snags the doll from him and showers its head and face with kisses as she clutches it tightly to her chest. “Adeline! I’m sorry I forgot you! I didn’t mean to!”

“I kept her safe for you,” TJ says. “So Declan wouldn’t grab her. You know how he likes to get a hold of dolls and torture them. I didn’t want him getting her. She’s way too pretty and I know how much you love her.”

“He’s mean to my dolls! He’s always taking their heads off and putting their arms where their legs should be and crazy shit like that.”

“Hey,” Tyler frowns, and tugs on the half braided pigtail. “What did I say?”

“No bad language. Especially on Christmas Day. I can’t help it though; sometimes it just slips out. If you didn’t swear so much around us kids…”

“That’s it. Throw me under the bus.”

“You swear A LOT, daddy. Especially in the car. When other people don’t drive fast enough or use their blinkers. If mummy knew exactly how much you DO swear around us, she’d be mad. REALLY mad.”

“Your mum has a worse mouth than I do.”

“As if!” Addie scoffs, and he can’t help but smile; easily hearing Esme’s voice and picturing the expression on her face; the corner up her mouth and her nose scrunched up in disgust, eyes slightly narrowed. “Thank you, Tyler!” She curls an arm around her brother’s neck, squeezing as tight as she can. “You’re the best! Thank you for keeping her safe from the Ginger. You’re the best brother EVER! I only trust you with her. And daddy. That’s it. You guys are big and strong and will keep her safe no matter what.”

“What the hell are you wearing?” He addresses his son as the latter moves to the fridge, pausing in the braiding of Addie’s hair to survey TJ’s wardrobe a pair of ill fitting and impossibly baggy jeans, an enormous untucked dress shirt with its sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a loose pink, purple, and grey striped tie.

“Your pants. And one of your shirts.” TJ reaches into the fridge and grabs a carton of chocolate milk and a jug of white. Closing the door with his hip and carrying them to the counter by the sink; pouring a mix of both into a plastic tumblr retrieved from the dish rack and then snagging two straws from the cupboard. “Mum told me to. She said none of my clothes were good enough for Christmas dinner. All my jeans have holes in them and all t-shirts have to do with surfing. We’ve never had to dress up for Christmas dinner before. Why do we have to start now?”

“Your mum’s trying to make things perfect. To avoid drama. With your grandmother.”

“Too late. Grandma brings drama with her. And drops it on everyone else.” He drags a bar stool across the floor and places it in front of his little sister. “Here Ads,” he holds the cup in front of her. “A yellow straw just for you. So you don’t have to share my germs. Let me hold it; so you don’t spill anything on your dress.”

Giving a delighted squeal and a smile of appreciation, she takes a pull from the straw. “I think you look handsome, Tyler. You’re growing up. You’re going to be as big as daddy soon.”

“It’s going to be a while before I’m THAT big. But I’m going to work on it. As soon as I’m allowed, I’m going to lift heavy too and put on ALL kinds of muscle.”

“Then you can go after bad people too. And beat them up and kill them when you have to.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Tyler suggests. “Something tells me mummy might have an issue with that.”

“Why doesn’t mum just tell grandma to get lost?” TJ inquires. “It’s not like they like each other. They never have. They’ve always fought. I remember how they’d get into it at Christmas. When we were still living in Colorado. Grandma would get drunk and she’d pick fights with mum and mum would fight back and cry and then you’d go off on grandma. Is that going to happen this year? ‘Cause it’s been nice and quiet at Christmas. Do we HAVE to listen to grandma's shit?”

“What did I just tell your sister? About the language?”

“She’s five, but she’s right. It IS hard to stop and it does just come out. But do we, dad? Do we really have to put up with her?”

“It’s one night. I think you can manage. If I can grin and bear it, so can you. Suck it up.”

“If she starts in on mum about ANYTHING, I’m going to lose it. That’s my mum. No one talks to my mum like that. I almost taught Jacobi a lesson. For calling mum cute and wanting to ask her out. I’ll teach grandma a lesson too. I’m not afraid of her.”

“If anyone is going to teach her a lesson, it’s going to be me. You stay out of it. Your mum wouldn’t want you getting into it with her. You’re TEN.”

“Doesn’t matter how old I am. That’s MY mum. And no one is going to treat her bad. We’re supposed to protect her, remember? You and I.”

“You’re supposed to be a kid and stay that way as long as you can. I’M supposed to protect your mom. And I think I’ve been pretty damn good at it for the last twelve and a half years. And if your grandma starts? I’ll stop it. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why does she hate you so much anyway? Is it still the same crap? How she’s pissed because you stole mum away from her family and moved her all the way to Australia? ‘Cause you got her pregnant before you married her?”

Addie scowls. “Who cares? Lots of people have babies and they aren’t married. And so what if mummy didn’t go back home and she stayed with daddy? She’s an adult. She can do what she wants. And she wanted to be with daddy. None of grandma’s business. I’mma tell her that too. If she starts saying mean things about daddy or mummy. I’mma tell her what for.”

“You’re not going to do a thing,” Tyler informs her. “You’re going to leave all the telling off to me, got it?”

“I don’t like her,” Addie says. “She’s not a nice person. She has a mean smile. And her eyes are empty. They don’t sparkle or anything like that. Are you sure that’s mummy’s mummy? Because when mummy smiles, her eyes sparkle. She LOOKS happy. Grandma? She just looks mean.”

“No one likes her,” TJ grumbles. “Best thing we ever did was get away from her. But IS that why, dad? Is that really why she doesn’t like you? Because she still thinks you stole mum and took her all the way to Australia?”

“It’s a few things.”

“I bet it’s the job too. I bet she really has a problem with THAT.”

“Again…” Addie huffs dramatically. “...who cares? So what if daddy kills people? They’re BAD. They deserve it. He helps good people and sometimes when he’s helping them, he has to kill the bad guys. I don’t see a problem with that. If they try and hurt him or kill him, he HAS to kill them first. So he can come home. To us. And mummy. It only makes sense.”

“If Ads can get it, ANYONE can,” TJ says. “She’s only five. What’s grandma? A hundred? If a five year old can get it…”

“Daddy makes the world a better place because he gets rid of the bad people,” Addie continues, as she takes another sip of the drink her brother offers her. “If we had less bad people, everything would be great. There’d be less wars and less people getting hurt and everyone would love one another and be happy. Daddy’s doing a good thing. By sticking up for people. Like you do. At school. You beat up the bullies when you have to. Remember the older kid that tripped me and shoved my face in the mud? Remember him? He’s in grade eight AND you kicked the crap out of me. Because he picked on me.”

“You’re my sister. It’s my job to protect you.”

“And remember that other guy? On the playground by mummy’s store? The one that pulled my hair and told me I was adopted because I’m small and I don’t look like any of you guys. You freaked out on him and made him apologize and scared him away. He’ll cross the street now if he sees you coming.”

“You can’t let bad people get away with doing bad things,” TJ reasons. “If you don’t stop them, they’ll just keep doing bad stuff.”

“Exactly! So it’s a good thing that daddy goes after the bad guys. Grandma needs to learn. And she needs to learn TODAY. You should tell her, Tyler. You should tell her off. You’re not scared of anyone.”

“Not being scared of anyone or anything is not always a good thing,” Tyler informs her. “If you’re not scared, you don’t take a situation or people seriously. That’s when you get hurt. And you know what? No matter how big of a bad ass you think you are? There’s always a bigger one out there somewhere. Believe me. I’ve learned THAT lesson the hard way.”

“The guy who shot you just got a lucky one in,” TJ reasons. “You were already hurt. You weren’t one hundred percent. Some guy had already shot you, hadn’t he? A sniper?”

“What’s a sniper?” Addie inquires. “Is it like Swipper on Dora? Something like him?”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Tyler says. “You don’t need to know that stuff. Not until you’re older. WAY older.”

“A sniper’s a guy that hides somewhere and shoots you,” TJ replies. “Somewhere where no one sees him. It’s why they’re so dangerous. You don’t even know where they are. They just shoot you. And they kill you before you even know what happened.”

“But daddy didn’t get killed. If a sniper shot daddy, shouldn’t he be dead?”

Combing his hand through her bangs, Tyler tips his daughter’s head back. “What did I just say? About you not needing to know about this stuff?”

“I’m curious now. Tyler said they hide and shoot people and kill them. How come you didn’t die? If a sniper shot you?”

“I guess he didn’t manage to get a good shot in.”

“It was the other guy that almost killed him,” TJ says, and takes a sip of the concoction in his hand. “The one that got him in the neck. That’s when he almost died. Mum saved him.”

“How? How did mummy save daddy? Daddy…” she swivels around in her stool to face him. “...how did mummy save you? Did she shoot the bad guy back?”

“Mum stuck her fingers in his neck,” TJ says. “To stop the bleeding. Or he would have bled to death.”

Addie’s eyes widen. “She DID?”

“When you’re older, MAYBE I’ll tell you more more about it. But for now…” Tyler places his hands on her shoulders and gently turns her back around. “...you don’t need to know this stuff. And you…” he stares pointedly at his son. “...don’t talk about this around her. She doesn’t need to know about this. She’s a baby still.”

“I’m not a baby!” Addie objects. “I’m five! I can almost ride my bike without training wheels. Babies can’t do that.”

“Just don’t, alright?” He addresses TJ. “Don’t talk about this stuff around her. Because she’s going to repeat all of this and she’s going to repeat it to your mum and that won’t end well. For you OR me.”

“It happened though. I mean, it’s part of how you guys met and got together and ended up getting married and stuff. It’s your history. I don’t see why…”

“I said ENOUGH. No more. Not around her. Got it?” He’s on edge; the mere mention of Dhaka and the incidents on the bridge playing straight into the anxiety and the panic he’d felt the night before; when he’d woken up from the nightmare and been on the verge of losing control and had turned to the fentanyl for relief. And it scares him; how easy it had been to not only access the powerful med, but actually take it. He’d encountered no resistance or hesitation; remorse and guilt not setting in until the following morning when he’d woken up and it had been the first thing on his mind. It’s alarming how quick things can return; an addict’s mind and behaviour.

Nodding, TJ holds his hands up in surrender.

“You’re both going to be nice tonight,” he says, and finishes Addie’s final braid. “To grandma. Because your mum is already stressed out enough and we don’t need to make it worse for her. So if the best you can do is smile and nod, just do that. I’m not asking you to kiss her ass. I’m just asking you to be civil. Can you handle that?”

TJ nods.

“You?” He tugs on one of Addie’s pigtails. “Can you do that? Be civil?”

“Do I have to be near her? Or sit on her lap? ‘Cause I draw the line there.”

“You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Just don’t be a little asshole, alright?”

“Me? I’m Mary Freaking Sunshine, remember? That’s what Grandpa Koen calls me.”

“Well then live up to it and be nice to your grandmother. Smile until your face hurts, got it?”

“What do I get out of it?”

He smirks.

“Mummy says to always negotiate. Never settle for the first offer. Can I sleep in the big bed tonight? For being nice to grandma?”

“No.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he lifts her off the stool; pressing a kiss to her cheek before setting her on the ground.

She turns to face him. Head cocked to the side and one hand clutching her doll, the other planted firmly on her hip. “Can I have ice cream for my bedtime snack?”

"Maybe."

“Maybe isn’t good enough.”

“You ARE just like your mom, aren’t you.”

“I’ll be nice if I can have ice cream for my bedtime snack and you snuggle with me and draw on my back for half an hour. And that’s after FOUR stories.”

“You're bossy, you know that? Two stories.”

“Three. That’s as low as I’ll go.”

“I will give you two stories, ice cream for your snack, and forty five minutes of snuggling and drawing on your back. Instead of half an hour. We got a deal?”

Her eyes narrow as she considers it; nibbling on her bottom lip and swishing her hips back and forth. “You’re good at this.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Peanut. I’ve dealt with tougher than you. What do you say?” He offers a hand. “Deal?”

“Deal!” she agrees, his hand easily swallowing hers as they shake on it.

Grinning, he runs a hand over the top of her head and then drops a kiss on her hair. “You really DO have a lot of your mum in you.”

“Great things come in small packages,” Addie reasons, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down and pecks her lips. “Thank you, daddy!” she chirps. “My hair looks beautiful. You always do it perfect.”

“Pretty hard not to when my subject is so cute. Good thing I married your mum, huh? So I could have a kid as cute as you?”

“You really are a lucky man!” she declares and then cheerfully skips out of the room.

“I hope grandma is on her best behaviour,” TJ says, as he finishes the drink in his hand and then slides off the stool and returns it to its place at the island. “Because if she DOES start on mum, it’s going to be a wild night. I really hope she watches her step.”

“My too, kiddo,” Tyler sighs, and reaches out to tousle his son’s hair. “Me too.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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