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unproduciblesmackdown · 1 year

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also to go "wow this is just like in pentiment" about absolutely anything and/or "wow this is just like iphigenia crash land falls on the neon shell that was once her heart (a rave fable)" about absolutely anything further:

the Narratives within crash land falls where like, in the end iphigenia being Given the story of both "this is going to happen anyways" and "so why don't you see it as a noble sacrifice to accept." the situation happening to Create a story that she was killed, so her father must be tragic, and sympathetic. that iphigenia does take on that Narrative of taking on the Noble Willing Sacrifice, and it kills her, but she also would have been killed anyways, as everyone also knows. that we even get a bit of pentimentesque [other characters observe & assess things] like, the fresa girls as a chorus, and one at the end like yeah She Was No Saint, i saw everything, but being cut off by The News that's like yeah looks like iphigenia was killed, that seguing into her father saying yeah she was killed, god's will was done, She's A Saint now. seguing to the emcee who introduced the play, but that superceded by achilles, and that superceded with iphigenia's extasis monologue as the end of the play. that whether iphigenia's a saint or not, she dies. that [the whole play] tells us as much, like, this isn't a What If kind of retelling where she escapes her fate, this is a retelling examining itself like, she Will die because the story's preset, so what to do with this as the story that has to take her there, what to do with this as iphigenia who has to go there

that iphigenia takes on another narrative in addition to the one offered by like, violeta as guide and oracle telling her she has to die (As A Noble Sacrifice), that again (as per iphigenia in aulis being like uh hey daughter. let's go to aulis so you can uh marry achilles (it is to be sacrificed)) achilles is this bait, but it's only in the ending that there's any Story about being with achilles, and when iphigenia goes to the mercenary soldier who she knows will kill her, she's the one telling him what to tell her about where she's going and why, i want you to tell me achilles is waiting for me....and she still dies, because This Is The Story. as also applied to the reality, iphigenia as another dead and missing girl following & preceding many; any disappeared deaths when consumed as disposable & replaceable, not given part of any narrative about it. while also iphigenia only gets a chorus of fresa girls from there being crosses put on the factory wall with their names, with one girl even remarking like hey they spelled my name right for once. but at the same time they're also like, both mere Apparitions but also like standins for people who are simply alive. real [shades]esque kind of, i suppose, but like they're not Sanctified for dying either, they'll comment on iphigenia but not with any like, divine knowledge, just as this out of place rich girl. whether iphigenia's A Saint or Not A Saint, she's still dead either way. she wants to be a fresa girl, they maybe want to be her, but everyone's doomed anyways thanks to way larger forces and the Stories that have been told and will be told again

but there's also the moment right before the final section wherein, before she's having to say what she wants within the bounds of [she has to die], there's achilles asking "you still want me" and iphigenia answering with "i want everything" and her vision for, like, getting to be alive actually, i'm on the gulf where the sea is gray, and no one wants a piece of me....the whole inciting event here where iphigenia wants to evade her fate however she can, exiting the bounds of her life, the physical bounds and the family unit and walking away from the rank of status / class / wealth, trying for [have her body for herself] and what the body wants, the sensuous indulgences of (a rave fable), let's hear some more about the roman state like "we don't like the examination and challenge and upending of class and convention in a bacchanalia, so only do the official versions we permit;" the Threat of people's desires for themselves, when that's going to be counter to those in power who'd want these people to be resources at their disposal; the burden on the disempowered to suffer [the only way out is through] with the Additional pain & loss that has to be taken on in pursuit of their autonomy, while also of course suffering for the autonomy they lack, that restricted and controlled and mitigated versions of what you might want are deigned to be provided or permitted so that you have Something, but that everyone's actual undeniable personhood will always be spilling past those bounds, the potential power of transgressive pleasure when one's wellbeing and autonomous choices are counter to the power structures that have to constantly try to suppress and preclude this. achilles just as bait, doomed to die like iphigenia is also still doomed, sex was never going to save everyone and the [recognizing connection as these two parallel people / We're The Same] with your lover here is not going to save everyone but it still makes more things possible for them both; iphigenia does know what she wants, and gets some of it because she wants it, same with achilles in turn, while it can't save anyone from their fates still. but it can mean something even if it doesn't transcend, like even a fleeting night of insignificant dancing that doesn't change anything can mean something, and we all die, but that doesn't mean it's Nothing to be killed any more than it's Nothing to have your desires or choices one way or another to be wrung out of your life before you are

anyways, the stories. the Looking and Presenting here. achilles and iphigenia first encountering each other as images put together and presented by someone else for their own purposes. the presence of what's seen through film/camera/recording versus in person; the potential power relations and even violence in framing, presenting, and the intended looking and assessing. repeated language about eyes/looks that burn, while also that connection between iphigenia and achilles, and their finding the least room in what they do have of their lives for more of their own wants and selves and something genuine and not predetermined, is also connected to eyes and looking and being seen and light and burning. while they're also connected to the protection and possibility of night and darkness, getting to exist and be Without being lit up or seen; that with the power that's still in play, it's never like, well then you should have nothing / no reason to hide; the penultimate moment in the play with achilles being one that's in person and fades into darkness, rather than coming in from the light of a projection / video onscreen as the introduction....iphigenia needing to be guided through a crossroads to even get to achilles in person; violeta giving the Advice and Story and Tradition to pray to eleggua, as iphigenia does before getting to encounter achilles for real, who also doesn't get to break out of a role or a fate in full in any way, but their tragedies are like, pointing towards [autonomy, imagine it] in both the ways they manage to find a little bit of it for themselves, in no small part for simply recognizing each other as in the same boat here, and in the ways they still don't have it and still can't get it

and anyways it's also inevitably saying like, telling a story?? this Play is a told story!! looking? assessing? interpreting? you're doing that in the course of experiencing it! and it's really so fucking true.

#reading the whole of it like okay well i'm different forever now then #tearing a wall down about it like yeah it's extremely chill thanks #iphigenia crash land falls on the neon shell that was once her heart (a rave fable)#what a Narrative can change; what it can't....#those already with the power to do whatever they felt like in the first place just able to create whatever story of events supports that #those whose lives are restricted by that power having to struggle to find any narratives that provide some comfort maybe #whilest perhaps it's the stories that provide an accurate reflection on the pain & suffering in one's reality that are more threatening Lol #like hey i hope that that bacchanalia isn't satiriz....paused to look up ''if satire is based on satyr i'll mclose it lmfao''#Apparently it's not Really; but the latin form was indeed influenced by the greek satyr (for the theatre of it all) on the Mistaken notion #that that Was an influence. so; anyways i hope that bacchanalia isn't satirizing norms & conventions & providing a space to transgress #wherein we can see the Constructed and Enforced nature of things like class such that it can be deconstructed & deenforced #you'd Better not be questioning these conventions by commenting on them even indirectly; playfully; or via imitation....#that achilles can only have this genuine final closeness with iphigenia after voicing & sharing ''i'm dying soon too btw (:''#while iphigenia able to voice what she wants from life is only happening with the context that she'll die & she won't have this #she knows she wants [and nobody wants a piece of me] b/c of knowing that they do; and they'll take it....#their navigating their connection via also rejecting / superseding Their Image(tm). i want to kill the tabloid girl that envelops your skin #i will sink & get rid of every inch of me. that at the end of their scenes of actually interacting it's iphigenia reassuring achilles #who's like [but you wouldn't want Me] [everyone only wants a piece of me] [you'll forget me] vs i will destroy your celebrity; there will #be no one left to adore but me....unmaking oneself in the face of being defined & doomed Already; by the past....#breaking into pieces crash land falling. if you existed once ever that exists forever. the pieces all around & as the foundation #making one's way back around to ''wow just like in pentiment'' again lol....endless things to say all around #as well as when anytime you have something to say you have about a trillion words in the effort to do so #the narrative that matters to you but doesn't save your life still giving you More life while you still have it....#and what gives a little more life than that. and a little more than that

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heich0e · 2 months

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"sukuna!"

the itadori house is quiet as the call rings out through the narrow halls.

"SU-KU-NA!"

a door somewhere in the apartment flies open, and heavy footfalls land against the floor.

"what the hell are you yelling for?" the elder of the two itadori brothers turns the corner into the living room, sweatpants low on his hips and his chest bare. his glower is fixed upon his little brother, seated with his legs crossed in the centre of the sofa, a throw pillow cradled on his lap.

yuuji pouts.

"i'm bored."

"i'm gonna kick your ass," sukuna mutters under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"wanna go see a movie?" yuuji asks him, his eyes bright with expectation.

"no," sukuna replies flatly.

"what, why?" yuuji complains.

"last time we went to the movies on a friday night we were surrounded by teenagers sucking face for two fuckin' hours,"—he holds up two fingers for emphasis—"i'm not spending my night off watching some seventeen year old snots trying not to cream their jeans just cause they've got a tongue in their mouth for the first time again."

yuuji grimaces a little, both at the memory and his brother's less than enticing use of imagery.

"but i'm bored," yuuji sighs, flopping down onto the sofa with the pillow hugged to his chest.

"so you've said." sukuna lifts an eyebrow. "where's your little minion tonight? lose track of her or something?"

"she's not my minion," yuuji points out.

"co-conspirator then," sukuna rolls his eyes.

yuuji huffs. "she's not answering my calls. i bet she fell asleep after she got home from class."

"still surprised the two of you don't have some kind of weird telepathy goin' on considering how much time the two of you spend together," sukuna drawls. "try tappin' into that. maybe she'll pick up."

yuuji's stares at his brother for a moment, a pensive furrow on his brow.

it's quiet.

sukuna smirks. "gettin' anything?"

yuuji's expression relaxes again, and he slumps further into the sofa. he sighs resignedly. "nothing."

the younger itadori brother surveys the elder for a moment, and sukuna crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

"why are you all sweaty?"

"just got back from a run," sukuna replies curtly.

"you're wasting your night off running?" yuuji asks skeptically.

"yeah, and now i plan on jerking off, taking a shower, and going the fuck to bed—what's it to you?" the elder snaps.

yuuji's nose wrinkles at his brother's crass remark.

"gross," the youngest mutters.

there's the muffled sound of a cell phone chiming somewhere in the room, and yuuji hastens to free the device from the front pocket of his hoodie. his eyes light up when he sees the notification on the screen, hopping up to his feet.

"fushiguro just got off work early and said he'd go to the movies with me!" he cheers excitedly. sukuna rolls his eyes at his brother's enthusiasm as he watches him dash across the living room towards the genkan, clumsily pulling on his sneakers and tugging a cross-body bag over his chest.

"y'know, if you run the whole way there you'll look too eager," sukuna singsongs from where he leans against the wall on the other side of the room. even from such a distance away he can see the blush that paints the tops of his baby brother's cheeks.

"shut up!" yuuji replies, reaching for the doorknob.

"try not to cream your—!" the front door slams behind him before sukuna can finish his remark.

the eldest itadori chuckles a little to himself, shaking his head at his little brother's antics. he reaches up and ruffles the hair at the nape of his neck.

"what would you have done if we really did have a telepathic connection?"

sukuna pauses, his hand still brushing through the back of his hair. he turns to glance down the hallway behind him, only to find you—dressed only in his hoodie, the same one that matches the sweatpants he has on—standing behind him with your hands on your hips.

he smirks a little at the sight, appreciating it for a moment.

"surprised you made it all the way out here," he remarks, his head tilting to the side. "those legs were pretty shaky a couple minutes ago."

"shut up," you mumble, turning your nose up at him indignantly.

"how come everyone's always tellin' me to shut up?" sukuna complains, slinking towards you. he tugs you forward into him by the pocket of his hoodie, his arms snaking around your waist.

"maybe because you deserve it," you remark smugly.

"now is that any way to talk to the guy who just let you cum on his face?" he asks, dipping down until he's nose to nose with you. he watches the way your eyelids flutter a little at his sudden proximity. feels the way your breath breaks on his lips.

"no, but it's the way to talk to the guy who left me right after to go talk about jerking off with his brother," you reply, but it lacks the bite he knows you're aiming for—too breathless to have any real sting.

"aw, were you lonely?" sukuna drawls, inching closer until his smirking mouth is right over yours—close enough to feel the soft, wet heat that radiates from it. practically close enough to taste it.

you shiver a little bit, your facade of indifference fracturing under his nearness. sukuna's smirk splits into a full-blown grin, and before you can even blink he's got you tossed over his shoulder as he carries you back towards his bedroom.

"sukuna! put me down!" you protest, wiggling in his grip. the tips of his fingers dig into the soft give of your bare thighs, keeping you still.

"no can do, kid," he replies easily, ignoring your complaints.

he kicks his bedroom door closed behind him with his heel, and tosses you down onto the rumpled sheets of his bed. you bounce slightly as you land, but eventually settle, leaving you to you stare up at him, your chest heaving, from the mattress below him. he leans over and crawls into his bed overtop of you.

"we've got two hours to kill before he comes back, y'know," sukuna says quietly, dragging his lips up along the edge of your jaw. "how should we pass the time?"

#big brother!sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk drabble #jjk writing #writing

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wriothesleybear · 6 months

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I need more soft moments with New!Dad Wriothesley 😭! Maybe the first night home he’s instantly awake the moment he hears his newborn daughter crying and will hurry to see her even though she’s fine. He sits in the rocking chair with the tiny baby on his chest, his big hand completely covering her little body as he rocks his daughter back to sleep 🥺! His wife comes to the nursery concerned why he hasn’t come back to bed and has to gently talk him into putting their daughter back in the crib so he can go back to sleep…

omg i love this anon! its so cute and true🥹 he barely sleeps the first couple of nights because he's on alert the whole time for when his daughter cries. being the first one to tend to her so you can rest after having to do all the heavy work for the last 9 months. he would be the type of husband/dad to try and lessen the work load for you. after all, he's usually gone often due to work so when he's home, he does all the work with the baby while you are finally able to relax.

sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night finding your husband's side of the bed empty. knowing he's probably in the nursery again, you quietly walk there and find him asleep in the rocking chair with your daughter in his arms. it's an adorable sight to see. you contemplate waking him up, but ultimately decide to. you gently nudge him while avoiding to wake your daughter. his eyes slowly open and land on you. "what are you doing up? you should be in asleep in bed." he groggily asks you.

"i should say the same thing about you." you say as you gently comb your fingers through his hair. "come on. let's put her back in her crib and go back to bed." he doesn't move, not wanting to let her go, worried that she'll cry again once he sets her down. "she'll be okay wrio. she's fast asleep." he finally hums in agreement. he gets up from the chair and puts your daughter back in her crib, tucking her in and leaving a kiss on her forehead. once he's done tending to your daughter, you grab his hand and drag him back to your room. you both lay down on the comfy bed. he's already on the verge of sleep as his head hits the pillow. you pull the comforter over the both of you and snuggle close together. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and nuzzles into your neck. "such a good dad." you coo at him as you wrap your arms around him in return, rubbing his back to lull him to sleep. you know he's finally asleep when you feel his breathing slow and he begins to sightly snore. you feel your eyes getting heavy also and you soon follow after your husband to the land of dreams.

a while later, you're suddenly awoken by the cries of your daughter. your husband is awoken also and begins to get up until you stop him. "don't worry. i'll get her this time. get some sleep darling." he gives you a look that silently asks you if you're sure. you smile at him and pull him back down to the bed. he's too tired to protest and takes you up on your offer. you leave a kiss on his forehead once he gets situated back in bed. you get up and head to the nursery to tend to your daughter while your husband catches up on some sleep.

thank you for sharing your thoughts anon🥺❤️ i really needed the fluff rn. i hope you have a lovely day/night🥰

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons

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avatar-anna · 2 months

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The One About the Documentary

i watched part one of the yolanda and selena documentary so you don't have to...and it pissed me tf off. anyway enjoy!

Harry Styles x Latina! Reader Masterlist

When his girlfriend asked to watch the documentary, Harry said yes, but hesitantly.

In all honesty, Harry didn't think Y/n would have any desire to watch it, but at eight o'clock sharp, she was on the couch armed with a bowl of popcorn and two bottles of coke, one for him and one for her.

"Can I ask why we're—"

"Shh! It's starting."

Harry settled into the couch, his arm around his girlfriend, whose eyes were glued to the TV the second the documentary began.

*.*

"So Yolanda's the only one who knew about this alleged affair?" Y/n said to no one in particular. "Yeah fucking right. I hope Chris Perez never watches this."

Harry covered his hand with his mouth to hide his grin. His girlfriend had a knack for talking about people she didn't know as if they were good friends.

Taking a handful of popcorn out of the bowl, he kissed Y/n's cheek. "I don't imagine anyone close to Selena is watching this."

Huffing, Y/n slumped back against Harry's side, angrily chewing popcorn. "I hate her," she grumbled, and he knew she wasn't talking about Selena.

Playing with a strand of her hair, he turned his attention back to the TV. "I know."

*.*

"¿Un accidente? ¿Fue un accidente?" Y/n all but shouted at the screen. Her brows were narrowed in an adorable glare, nose slightly crinkled in anger. "Are you kidding me? You shot her! In the back! Twice!"

Harry debated whether to intervene or stay seated on the couch. His hand reached for the bowl of popcorn in the meantime, taking a handful as he watched his girlfriend shout at Yolanda Saldivar.

"Lovey, maybe we should turn it off," he ended up saying.

Her head whipped around, her glare landing on Harry, though he knew it wasn't aimed at him. "Why?"

Why? he thought. Because you hate Yolanda and I'm not sure my arm can take anymore angry punches.

"You seem a little...heated?"

Y/n's eyes blazed. "Of course I'm heated! This whole thing is bullshit!"

Harry knew his girlfriend was passionate, it was one of the things he loved about her. And one thing Y/n happened to be passionate about was Selena Quintanilla Perez.

"I know that, and you know that, so why are we watching this?"

Y/n had sent numerous messages about the documentary in question when word first got out that it would be released. Fiery texts about how ridiculous it was that someone so horrible was making a documentary after all these years, about how no one would ever be stupid enough to take Yolanda's side, and so on. Harry, of course, was inclined to agree, but he also thought Y/n was merely ranting about the trailer. He didn't think they'd be sitting down to watch it. Honestly, he thought his girlfriend wouldn't have given it the time of day.

"I—I don't know, but I can't just not finish it," Y/n said. "I'm watching in protest."

Swallowing a laugh, Harry pulled his girlfriend back onto the couch. "Okay, then, lovey. Then sit down and let's finish it."

*.*

"Oh come on, Yolanda," Harry groaned, his voice nearly reaching Y/n's frustrated levels. "If all this evidence has been sitting in some storage unit for all these years, why is it only coming out now?"

Y/n was practically bouncing in her seat on the couch as the woman in question spoke. She shook Harry's shoulder with her hands, but he was used to it by now. This was a normal occurrence for any movie night.

"That's my point!" Y/n said. "She's evil. She'll be hard pressed to find an unbiased jury when it's time for her parole."

"You think she'll really be let out on parole?"

Y/n shrugged, her eyes on the television. "She'd probably be safer in solitary."

"Y/n!"

"What? It's the truth!"

*.*

"¡Bruja! ¡Mentirosa! Who the fuck is buying this? You admitted! ¡Me cago en la reputísima madre que te parió la reconcha de tu—"

"Aaand that's where we'll stop," Harry said, turning the TV off with a definitive click of the remote.

"Wha—Why? It's almost done!"

Harry ignored Y/n's protests and took her into his arms, taking her away from the TV and the couch and the popcorn, which she'd begun to throw at the screen in outrage. As he took the stairs up to their room, Y/n turned to begging, promising she'd behave and stop throwing popcorn, but Harry was having none of it.

"This is for your own good, lovey," he said. "It's not healthy to be angry like that."

"Oh, so I'm being irrational?"

Harry merely rolled his eyes. "Now you know I didn't say that."

"Well...You're...Put me down! I need to finish!"

"Not tonight, lovey."

Harry set Y/n on the bed gently. She crossed her arms and glared at him, but it was half-assed, and not entirely directed at her and still at Public Enemy Number One.

She gave him the silent treatment as they got ready for bed, but Harry knew it wouldn't last. His girlfriend had a short fuse, but the emphasis was on short. Y/n didn't stay mad for very long, she never had as long as he knew her. Harry gave it until he got to the second chapter of his book and the silent treatment would come to an end.

It took the third, but Harry smiled a little as Y/n held hos cheek in her hand and kissed the other. "I'm not gonna apologize for being angry," she said.

"I wouldn't expect you to. I know how you feel about Yolanda Saldivar."

Y/n hummed. "But, I apologize for the popcorn. And the excessive profanity. And for bruising your shoulder."

Setting his book down, Harry looked at his girlfriend, nothing but affection—and perhaps mild amusement—in his gaze. "It's okay. I hardly felt a thing."

"Liar," Y/n giggled. "But thank you for putting up with...I don't know, me, I guess."

Harry took that as his opportunity to kiss her properly. Y/n squeaked in surprise, cradling his face gingerly as he slotted his lips over hers. Laying her down properly on the bed, he hovered over her, his hand running along her bare thigh and up past her night gown. Because Y/n was the kind of woman who wore little nightgowns before bed.

That was how Harry knew she wasn't totally mad at him. She wore one of her shorter, more revealing ones. She had a couple that went down to her calves that weren't expressly for when she was pissed at Harry, but he knew—though the joke was on her, he thought she looked just as sexy in those.

Y/n wrapped her legs around Harry's waist, her arms twining around his neck as he kissed the shell of her ear, the curve of her jaw. "It's not 'putting up with,' lovey," he murmured. "You should know that by now. If anyone puts up with anyone in this relationship it's you."

Leaning up on her elbows, Y/n made Harry look her in the eye. "So we're both a little crazy. That's nothing new."

Harry just grinned down at his girl, admiring the soft look in her eyes, the amused arch of her brow, her swollen lips, and chest that breathed heavily. Y/n might have had a short temper, she might throw popcorn at the TV when it made her mad, and she might curse and hit him when she felt particularly outraged, but she put up with all of his quirks with a smile too, loved him for every single one. Harry took up most of their shared closet space—which he had a weird thing about color coding—he had a tendency to talk in his sleep, he had to sit on the same side of the couch and made Y/n move if she was sitting on it (though now she knew better), he often scraped the bottom of the rice pot into the sink before Y/n could save her favorite crunchy parts which drove her nuts, and he had the unfortunate habit of leaving the cap off his toothpaste.

And there was the whole no-privacy thing because of his job, but that wasn't much of a quirk.

"I'm cool with it if you are."

Y/n smiled. "So you'll watch part two with me?"

"Hell no. But I will support you if you decide to scream at Yolanda and her fucked up family through the TV a second time."

"You're gonna regret that," Y/n said as she began to run her hands down Harry's broad shoulders. "Selena. Morning and night. Every minute of every day."

"That's...not a threat, lovey."

Y/n pouted. "Shit, you're right. I'll...only speak Spanish around you so you never know what I'm saying."

Harry's grin widened as he leaned down to kiss her collarbone. "I don't think you realize how sexy you sound, even when you're cross with me. Or your arch nemesis, for that matter."

"Well then I'll—"

"Face it, lovey. There's very little you could use to threaten me," he said, dragging the words over her neck. "Now let me love on you a bit before bed."

"What if I said no?" she asked, even though they both knew she wouldn't. Y/n just liked to be contrary for the sake of it.

"Well that would just be cruel to the both of us, wouldn't it?"

Finally relenting, Y/n slumped back against the bed, bringing Harry with her. She held the back of his head, her grip firm as she brought his lips to hers once more. Harry hummed triumphantly against her mouth, savoring the taste of her on his tongue. They eventually found themselves tangled together, Harry on his back while he hugged Y/n close to his chest. One hand was buried deep in her hair while the other kept a steady grip on her waist. He already knew each little sound she made, each reaction burned time and time again into his mind. But he collected each sigh, each graze of teeth like it was the first time, savoring it like this would be his only opportunity to ever kiss her.

Infatuated. He was infatuated with her. He loved when Y/n was loud and bright and opinionated, and he loved when she was shy and demure and unsure of herself. He loved the way she said his name when she was exasperated by something he did, and he was obsessed with the way she sometimes started speaking in another language without realizing it. He loved the way she loved him, so confidently, so tenderly—he loved that each devouring kiss seemed to say that she was just as infatuated as he was, that he wasn't alone in these intense feelings.

"Love you, bubba," Y/n murmured, the words getting tangled in their kiss.

"Love you," he replied.

It was all there really was to say.

#harry styles #harry styles x latina! reader #harry styles x latina reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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i-am-trying-my-best-okay · 2 months

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Season Three Bridgerton Predictions (Mostly Just Stuff I Want To Happen)

With Charithra Chandran not coming back in season three, they're going to excuse Edwina's absence by saying she married the prince and is living with him in Prussia.

We get flashbacks of Colin and Penelope as kids, where they were closer, but then we see them get distant because of ✨️society✨️ sending them on different paths.

Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth start having a few relevant and independent character moments and actions other than just being 'the younger ones' and have a greater impact on the story.

So. Much. Jealousy. From. Colin. And he doesn't even know it. He sees all their lessons paying off, and he gets jealous, but then he has no idea what he's even feeling. He'll act so passive aggressive with a potential suitor and Penelope's will be like, "What's wrong with you; we had a plan?" And he's like, "I don't know??" "Well stop." "I can't????" He'll land to the conclusion that he just think these men aren't good enough for Penelope for so long. It'll come up in a big argument and she's all like, "Well whose good enough for me? Someone like you?" And then he's like "Yes! Oh." And Penelope is so annoyed because NOW this guy likes her? Just as she was trying to move on? But the thing is she still likes him, so things progress.

Eloise and Penelope avoid each other like the plague, but when Eloise finds out Penelope and Colin are kind of having a thing, and she flips out. She doesn't want Colin to get hurt, so she tells Penelope to steer clear from Colin or she'll tell everyone she's Lady Whistledown. So she does and Colin is very confused and hurt. Then Penelope and Eloise go through some sort of shenanigan and end up having a deep conversation, making up and are once again friends. But then Colin accidently does find out Penelope is Lady Whistledown and is hurt, and Eloise becomes Penelope's #1 defender.

Kate's pregnant, and has the baby within the season. Anthony is freaking out about this; about being a dad, about the baby being okay, about Kate being okay, and how difficult the birthing process will be (trauma from Hyacinth being born). Meanwhile, while Kate is worried about the baby, she's more so focused on what responsibilities she now has as a Viscountess.

They don't reveal the Whistledown secret, at least not to the general public. I think the Bridgerton's will find out, as well as the Featherington's; so when Portia finds out, she sees Penelope in a completely different light, and they have a bonding moment. Maybe in lieu of a big reveal like in the book, at the end of the season the Queen finds out, and instead of exposing her, now she and Penelope sort of work together, aligning their agendas. This elevates the importance of Penelope's work, low key spying for the Queen and reporting on things to manipulate general society. BUT I think Eloise is leaning more to the politically radical side of things, and Penelope's work is now sort of leaning in the opposite direction of that. Despite this, they still find a way to be close friends, despite their very different agendas.

Colin does a big gesture on how he's proud of being with Penelope, that he'll flaunt it in public for all to know.

#bridgerton #polin #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #eloise bridgerton #edwina sharma #francesca bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma

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the-kr8tor · 3 months

Text

Sailing Close to the Wind

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.2k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mention, CW violence, TW injury.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 5 >>> CHAPTER 6

Trousers, oh you'd love to kiss the person who invented trousers. You can't climb a mast with heavy cotton skirts especially without anyone below getting a full look at what's under it. Not to mention how comfortable it is, granted it's technically not your trousers, it's a bit big on the waist so you have to use a rope and some type of knot that James taught you. The cotton shirt and lambskin vest makes you look like an honest to god pirate, you fit right in, if only you could get up on the perch without falling.

The wind is breezing by you as you find leverage with your foot on the iron footholds, your hands are clammy, eyes strained against the sun and wind. The height thrills you, reminding you of the time when you used to jump all-over roofs to escape coppers.

“Hurry up, gorgeous! I'm bleeding up here!” Yuri screams from the top, showing you her so-called injury on her palm. It's bleeding, yes but it definitely does not need any stitching.

You swear she's messing with you. Training you perhaps? But it wouldn't matter as you won't stay on the revenge for too long. According to Miles, land is close, a couple of days at most. You secretly hope it's more than two, you're liking your stay on Hobie's ship, dare you say you're quite fond of having the crew around. Minus all the rival pirates and navy ships attacking the revenge, maybe you'll love it more here if those events don't happen on a daily basis.

There's a sense of security on the ship or maybe you're just beginning to get used to the routine and you just don't want the routine to get derailed by leaving the ship.

Even with all the dangers of staying on a pirate ship, you'd like to stay a few more days on it.

Your mind flies back during the crew meeting a week ago while you're slowly making your way up towards the crow’s nest. You can still feel everyone's eyes on you but you've only got your eyes clocked on to Hobie's intense look, he's determined, lips curling into a smirk as he says your name in front of the crew.

“Lastly, we're gonna need scuttlebutt, she's the only person not known to the navy in the colony.” Hobie's voice tells the crew but his gaze stays on you.

“She'll be our distraction then?” Ned asks.

You suddenly feel sweaty in front of everyone's eyes.

“Aye, we've already discussed her part. She knows what she's gonna do.” He stares at you intently, addressing you only. “After that you can finally get back on land.” You nod, slowly. Hobie finally looks away from you, speaking to the crew.

“Everyone else just needs to follow her lead. This isn't your first heist, you all know how to work with each other, keep up with the plan and we'll get the documents we need.”

“Remember, distraction,” Gwen glances at you briefly, “no guns inside, we get in the governor's office, get the plans, we get in and we get out quick.” Gwen speaks up from Hobie's right, her tone is serious, the low lamps swaying in the ship's movement makes shadows dance on her face.

“After that a round in the tavern, right?!” Two-fingers shout from the corner, most of the crew cheers with him.

“If we do everything right.” To everyone's dismay, Hobie corrects the cheering crew.

Yuri faces Hobie with a stern look. “Then after that we get the bastard, we get our bloody revenge, and then we're done.” you feel the tension filling the cramped space. “We go back to what we used to do.” Hobie observes her quietly, “The sea is calling and we better fucking answer, am I right cap'n?”

Hobie inhales, you could only get a glimpse of his anger flash across his face. “Then we answer the call”

The sudden rhythmic stomping from the crew makes you jump, Pavitr turns to you, whispering close. “So you've already discussed it with the captain, huh?” he wiggles his brows.

“Really, Pav?”

He continues to wiggle his eyebrows that are weirdly flexible. “Is that all you've discussed? Orrrr” You roll your eyes.

“Pav?”

“Yeah?”

“Go jump overboard”

“If that will get you to stay then I will jump overboard.” He happily says, skipping away from you.

“Wait what—?”

Yuri reaches down, flexing her ringed fingers for you. “C’mon landlubber, I'll help you up before the wind takes you.” her voice brings you back to reality.

You take her hand, “Thanks, how did I do?”

“You climb like my old hamster. Very cute but not very fast.” Heaving you up, you finally reach the bird's nest.

The circular space is filled with random stuff hanging from the banisters. A sextant hangs on a ribbon on your right, an old telescope swings in the wind, hitting your shin. The basket of yarn sits by your feet, a pair of knitting needles lay next to it.

“Thanks?” you look around and the view takes your breath away, the sun shines brightly painting the open water in watercolor light. There's nothing but blue as far as your eyes could see, you've never felt tinier in your entire life.

Waves heading in different directions, seagulls circling above the ship, providing a chorus of unending squawking.

“You're welcome, pretty.” She sits down on a tiny stool, palm up. “Before I bleed out.”

You chuckle. “You're not gonna bleed out,” taking a bandage and ointment from your handy dandy trouser pocket, you squat in front of Yuri. “It's just a scratch, and here I thought pirates are all tough.”

“Am I a pirate? Haven't felt like it recently.”

You look up at her, pausing from treating her wound. “What do you mean by that? Of course you're a pirate.”

“You look like a pirate too, Y/N, but logically speaking, you're not one of us.”

“Touché” you continue to bandage her hand, there's a sudden weight in your chest. “And here I thought you're not a pirate?” You throw back her own words.

She laughs, the sound akin to tiny bells twinkling. “Oh I'm gonna miss you and your wit.”

You smile genuinely, “and my medical prowess too?”

“That and more, doc.”

“Yuri, can I ask you a question before I inevitably leave?”

She stretches her hand, trying out the bandages. “Finally!” You jump slightly. “And here I thought you would pass asking me all your incessant questions.”

“Am I that annoying?”

“Oh no you're not, don't worry, darling. We're just not used to having new comers, the last time we had one was a while ago. And that was Danny, bleh.”

“Great, and here I thought everyone hates it when I ask questions.”

“They do,” you blink, “but if they ever complain they get a stare down from Gwen so they let you be curious.”

You bite back a laugh.

Yuri crosses a leg over the other. “So what is your question? I'm dying to know.”

You clear your throat. “During the meeting–?”

“Ah that!” She leans on the railing, shoulders relaxed, face facing the sun as it bathes her in sunlight. “The whole revenge thing has put a stop to our usual…” Yuri thinks of an appropriate word. “Adventures, that's why I just want it done and over with. Three years chasing the king's flame is too long, don't you think?”

“The king's flame?” You try to recall his real name that you've read a few times in the newspaper. “Captain Mathias something something.”

“Oh he's something alright, got our captain's knickers in a bunch for three straight boring years.” She pauses to look at you through her eyelashes. “I hate the wanker as much as the crew but my god I just want to bring him down as soon as possible.”

Sighing, she squeezes the bridge of her nose. “The navy attack was a blessing in disguise I suppose, if not for the lieutenant singing we wouldn't get the information about his little travel directory.”

You nod. “You just want to go back to pirating, I get it now.”

She hums. “That's why I like you so much”

You look away embarrassed, clearing your throat, you continue. “About the whole revenge thing? Everyone dances around it every time I ask and—”

“Maybe you'll find out if you stay long enough.” She smiles, a genuine one without a hint of flirting. “We need you y’know.”

“I know but I've got my own path to follow.”

“Screw following your path!” She waves you away, clicking her tongue. You frown at her. “I know you're starting to like it here. Look, I'm not opposed to you staying, I haven't seen this crew this healthy in a loooong while. Not to mention, Hobie bounced back real quick after all the attacks. Morale is at an all time high.”

“Only because he had less to worry about, like the crew dying of infection and disease.” you scoff.

“No, it's the opposite, he has more to worry about.”

You quirk a brow questioningly.

“You're asking the wrong questions, doc.”

“And what questions should I ask then?”

“Why did the hellion flee? They clearly had us, they just had to sail to us, back up the smaller ship but they didn't, they stayed behind, watching.”

You blink slowly, contemplating. “This didn't come up during the meeting. Have you told Hobie?”

“Of course I have and he reacts the same way every time I express my concerns about his revenge plan.” She shakes her head. “Fuckin’ indifferent.”

“I can tell him, maybe he'll listen.”

Yuri gives you a look, a neat eyebrow raised, lips straight. “Please, he might actually throw you overboard this time. We've tried that, love, trust me nothing's holding him back. He'll only stop once he gets his hands on the captain and I don't think even death itself will stop him either.”

“What did the navy do to him to warrant that?”

“Y’know what,” she stands up, stretching her back. “Go back down to the deck, Hobie's been staring at us for a while and I think his iris is burned from staring too close to the sun for too long.”

Sure enough, you look down to see Hobie knocking on the wooden mast, the sound reverberates upwards. He looks tinier from up where you are.

“Come down here and make yourself useful!” his hands are cupped around his mouth, yelling out.

Staring back at Yuri, she busies herself with her knitting, crafting a dark blue scarf. She waves you off wordlessly, eyes trained on her craft.

You climb down carefully, making sure your foot has leverage and your hands properly holding onto the steel bars.

Your mind filters through more questions, why would the crew not just answer you directly? Why does everyone compare you to the mysterious MJ? What is up with Hobie and the navy—?

A strong gust of wind suddenly blows past. With your hands slipping off the metal, feet unhooking from the foothold, you fall. Barely letting out a sound, you close your eyes, bracing for impact.

But you don't land on the floor with a harsh splat, instead you feel strong arms enveloping you, a hand gripping onto your thighs tightly, fingers spread across your shoulder, holding and tender on your skin.

“Fuckin' hell!” You hear someone yell.

Cracking an eye open, you see Hobie's furrowed brows, chest heaving. After seeing you alright, his face morphs into the most smug look you've ever seen. His lips curling into a smirk, eyes crinkling in the corners, dimples in full display. With his eyes full of wordless teasing, he opens his mouth with confidence.

“Got you fallin’ for me now, hmm?” The sun shines behind him, giving him a heavenly halo above his head. You swear you want to punch it off his face.

Shoving yourself off his arms, he drops you unceremoniously, you land on your behind with an ‘oomph’. Hobie looks down at you with a growing smile, hands tucked in his pants, his casual shirt dances with the wind, giving you a full show of his exposed chest. You sneer at him, wanting to tug the strings on his shirt to close it and maybe strangle him with it.

“A thank you would be great” He snickers, “saved your life a few times now. We should have a board here that tallies it all down.”

You stand up, pretending to dust yourself off but in truth, your tailbone hurts. “I fell from six feet, I would've survived, thank you very much.”

“You are very welcome, scuttlebutt” you can't believe it but he still manages to irk you.

Sucking in your teeth, you exhale, letting out your frustrations through it lest you get thrown overboard by the captain himself.

“What do you want, Hobie?”

“It's captain to you.”

“Captain” you say with gritted teeth, eyes searing holes into his shirt.

“That's better, I need help with tying the sail down. The others are unfortunately busy”

You raise an eyebrow, “why don't you do it yourself?”

“The wind’s too strong, I need someone to hold the ropes.” Hobie points at the large flapping ropes tied around the main mast, it could take someone's eye out with how wild it's moving around.

“Fine”

—

You're practically hugging the entire mast, making sure the numerous ropes stay close to the wood, the hemp ropes slap you across the face while another gust of sea wind passes through you, fluttering your lashes. You're glad that you're wearing trousers instead of the usual long skirt.

Hobie wrangles the wild cords. You can't see him but based on all the groaning and frustrated grunts, the ropes seem to be winning.

“Alright, got this one tied—fuck!” You hear a slapping sound against cloth. Silently chuckling, you'd give anything to have seen that just now.

“Hand me the next one!” He yells atop the rushing wind. You blindly take a single rope, handing it to Hobie's side.

Waves crash on the side of the ship, rocking you back and forth. Good thing you're already holding on to something strong.

He grabs it, his hands grazing your palms. It's warm, warmer than you thought it would be, you feel his calluses and all the history around it.

This continues on until you're only holding onto one rope, you've practically memorized every indent and lines on his hands and palms. Hobie ties the last rope on the steel hooks, the muscles in his arms doing all the work, sweat drips on his chest, following it with your eyes. it's like seeing a carriage crash, you can't look away.

“Fuckin' hell” you fling your eyes away when you hear his tired voice, looking at anything else other than him.

You're glad no one's looking your way.

The wind whips your warm cheeks, incredibly thankful to mother nature, you look back at Hobie, avoiding his sweat covered chest.

“Last one, scuttlebutt.” He flexes his hand towards you, smiling brighter than the searing sun. Why was he so happy when he was attacked by hemp cables a few minutes ago?

Before you could give it to him, Hobie had a better idea. “Why don't you do this one? Learn how to properly tie a knot.”

“James already taught me”

He beams, “that's good then, go do it.” Moving aside, Hobie gives you ample space to tie the cord.

You begin to twist it around the hook, looping it around itself. Hobie sighs behind you, looking over your shoulder, he has his hands on his hips.

“Continue, let me see what he taught you, yeah?”

Going back to your knot, you recall James’ instructions, over and under, twist it around then tie it together. You're done, looking behind you, Hobie grins, nodding.

“Adequate.”

The pride in your chest dissipates. “Really?” You scoff out.

“Good, but not enough, here.” He walks towards you, standing so close to you that your elbows kiss his.

You smell sea salt and the distinctive wound ointment.

Hobie unties the last knot, “focus here,” he tethers it differently, practiced hands gliding along the rope. “Got it?”

“Y-yeah.”

He unties it again, handing it back to you. “Let me see then.”

You side eye him. “I saw it.”

“Prove it then” he smirks, leaning sideways on the mast, arms crossed on his chest.

You bind it together like he did, hands suddenly clammy, face full of concentration. “There?”

“Not quite. Let me?” He closes the small distance, hands gesturing towards the rope, you nod thinking he's about to show it to you again. Instead he takes your hands in his. Careful and gentle like a flower petal kissing your hands.

Hobie uses your own hands to tether the rope around the steel, your mind has never clouded this much but you're determined to listen this time or he might not leave your hands alone.

“D’you have it, scuttlebutt?”

You clear your throat before speaking. “Y-yeah”

He unknots it once again so you could do it yourself. Holding the rope makes you sweat more as his eyes observe you. You follow through, finally doing it perfectly, it's a bit wonky, leaning to the side but at least it's secure.

Hobie chuckles, clasping your shoulder briefly, not a second more. “Good job.”

You blink, “thanks”

He walks away, leaving you on the spot.

—

The revenge drops anchor further away than the main docks. You've arrived a day earlier than you thought. With your small bag of belongings, you grip it tightly in your hand. You haven't been this further south in your entire life. The air is humid and warm, the trees more scarce.

The anchor clinks against the chains, with one strong push of the large wheel by Finn, the metal comes tumbling down to the depths with a splash.

A ramp is brought down to the side of the ship, it bangs loudly on the asphalt. The crew rolls down barrels upon crates of things down as you watch on with a clenched jaw.

“You'll do great.” Gwen makes you jump in place, she looks at you apologetically. “Don't be nervous, I know you won't fuck up.”

“Thanks?”

She slaps your back, “No problem.”

“Ow” you rub at the small of your back.

One by one they walk off the ship, stretching their arms, some hoot and holler. The late afternoon sun doesn't help with your nervous sweats as you carefully make your way down the ramp.

Finally standing on solid ground, you wobble a bit on your feet, too used to the rhythmic rocking of the ship.

Hobie jumps off the ramp following after you, his boots thud against the ground, heavy leather coat scraping by his shoes. His usual hair is tied in a ponytail hidden under a tricorn hat.

“Is this supposed to be your disguise?” You question him.

He whirls around, smiling almost immediately. “You'll be surprised at how many people don't recognize me in this.”

“Sure–” A crowd of children saunters over to the crew. Your eyes widen at the sight, their faces unafraid, giggling amongst themselves. “Uhh?” You point.

Hobie twists around, bringing your hand down for you. “Calm down, they can smell fear.”

“W-what?” You hide behind Hobie's large coat.

“You're all a sight for sore eyes, eh?!” Hobie bends at the knees while the children greet him with smiles and high fives. Pav and the rest of the crew join in, laughing while some happily chat with them.

“Open the crates,” Hobie calls above the chatter. “Give them the supplies.” He holds a child by his feet, swinging him while more children gather around him, calling for Hobie to swing them around too.

You watch quietly as the crew gives the gaggle of children some food, blankets and coins.

“How's your mum?” You hear Hobie ask a brown haired child. She whispers to him timidly. “Yeah? That's good, give her this bag, tell her it's for medicine.” Hobie hands her a clinking bag, the girl nods, smiling at Hobie.

Your heart warms at the sight, Finn gives the children piggy back rides as he gives them bread that you helped bake. Gwen talks quietly with a silver haired boy, Miles fights off a handful of children as they poke his pockets for coins. Pavitr’s handing each child a fleece blanket, laughing as he covers their heads with it.

You can't believe your own eyes.

A brown eyed girl tugs at your jacket. Looking down, you smile politely at her. Kneeling down to her height, she gives you her best puppy dog eyes.

“I know you're good but give it back, please?” You say while you offer her your open hand.

Her facade breaks, rolling her eyes. “Fine.” she hands you back your coin pouch.

“Need more practice,” you chuckle, standing to your full height.

“Ugh, I know!” She skips off, heading towards Ned.

“That's Estelle, quite a pickpocket huh?” Hobie appears next to you, a couple of children clinging on to each of his legs.

“Yeah, caught her with my coins though.”

“She needs more practice”

You laugh, “that's exactly what I told her.”

Hobie smiles, there's a comfortable silence between you. Just watching everyone interact with the children, more people arrive on the dock, both children and adults alike. They smile and wave. Surprisingly, Hobie waves back with a bigger smile. The children on his legs run off to what looks like their parents. Your smile falters.

Something pokes your side, you look down, finding a book poking you.

“What's this?” you ask, taking the book from Hobie.

“Farewell gift, I figured I won't have the time to give it to you after we take the papers”

Reading the title, you giggle, a smile coming back to your lips.

“‘How to conquer your fears volume five: Learn how to swim by Sir Riordan of Canterbury’ of course it's this book. I can't believe it took him five volumes to write this one.”

“Thought you might need it on your adventures.” He turns to you fully, eyes roaming around your face.

You're about to thank him, despite everything that happened, he let you stay, if it was any other pirate ship you'd be dead. Before you could say your piece, Hobie holds out his hand for you to shake.

“Good luck, Scuttlebutt. I can't say you were a pleasure on board but I'm glad you're not navy” you take his hand, shaking it, he tugs you closer, whispering in your ear, his breath fanning across your cheek. Sea salt and leather captures your senses.

“I better see you later or I'll—’’

“Or you'll hunt me down, I know, follow the plan. I won't let them down.” You lean away, cheeks warm, hand still holding his. “I promise.”

His grey eyes swirl, smiling at you. “Good, you're learning.”

“Surviving” nodding, you don't back down from his stare. “I'm just surviving.” you clasp his hand tighter like a hidden threat before you let go.

—

A shot rings out. You scream bloody murder before running frantically out the dim alleyway, sprinting towards the guards guarding the manor. Your barebones shoes clack on the rocks, feeling the jagged edges through your soles, you keep running, calling for help. Frantic shadows dance around your peripheral, footsteps as quiet as the night.

Reaching the silver gates, you bang on the metal. “Guards!” You screech, a couple of young guards sprint towards you, muskets raised in your direction.

“Stop right there! This is private property!” One says, you can smell the ale on his mouth from where you're standing.

This will be easier than you thought. Hopefully.

You heave, playing the part of a damsel in distress. “It's my brother! He's been shot, please help him!” Taking the younger guard’s hands through the metal gate, you flutter your eyelashes. “Please.”

They look at eachother, muskets pointed away from you. You grip his gloved hand tighter for emphasis. Wordlessly, they converse, eyes flitting between you and the manor.

“Please I just need someone to carry him to the hospital.” You shakily take your coin pouch out, the contents clinking against each other. “I can pay,” your eyes water. “I can pay both of you.”

With a nod and a smirk from the older guard, they open the gate, promptly closing it behind them.

“Thank you! Oh thank you!” Leading them towards the alleyway, you speed walk back. “This way, hurry!”

They obediently follow you into the dark.

You step into the darkness, they look around the empty alleyway, “oi! Where's—?”

Yuri emerges from the darkness accompanied by Finn, their guns drawn pointing it right at the guards’ temple.

“Don't move,” Yuri says with a tilt of her head. “Or…you know what happens next.”

You look away before a metal hits flesh in a sickening thwack! They drop harshly on the ground, your cue to look back.

Finn drags the bodies further into the alleyway, away from any prying eyes. You step to the side, giving him space.

“Good job, have you ever thought of a career in theatre?” Yuri asks, sporting two new muskets strapped to her back.

You wipe your eyes free of unshed tears. “I'll think about it.”

“This is it then, landlubber? I really hope I see you again.” She holds your elbow, surprisingly, you don't flinch away.

You fondly smile at her, “Me too, Yuri but I think I'm still needed here.” Your trouser pocket clink as you tap it.

Meanwhile, Hobie and the trio sneak into the manor that's now left unguarded. They go around the large home, finding a servant's back door. Gwen jiggles the doorknob.

“It's locked.” She whispers, kneeling down, she takes a lockpick from her belt. Hobie and the others watch her back.

After numerous tries, the lock pick breaks. Gwen clicks her tongue, taking out another lockpick.

Seven lockpicks later, sweat dribbles on Gwen's neck, the door still sits locked. She looks at Hobie frustrated, brows knitted together.

“Hey!” You whisper shout. All four of them look at you, eyes wide, eyebrows raised. Taking out the ring of keys, you show it to them with a large grin.

Hobie jogs over to you quietly, the full moon watches his lips slowly curve into a smile. “How'd you—?”

“Pickpocketed it from the guard.” You smile back, “that's a new lock.” You gesture with your chin, whispering your words. “The usual lockpicks won't work on it. Here” giving the keys to Hobie through the gate, his hand linger on yours as he looks at you with shining eyes. “What?”

“You–” he chuckles. “You know how to pickpocket?”

“What? Like it's hard?” You joke, earning a deep laugh from Hobie.

“How do you even know about the locks?”

“Look who's asking the questions now,” you smirk. “I'm full of surprises I guess.”

After a beat, he stares into your eyes. “Stay with us”

Your heart skips a beat. “What?”

“I know you heard me, scuttlebutt.”

“I–” you consider it, but what would happen if you stayed? What would happen if you join and they still leave you down the road? It's better to go now and save yourself from the heartache.

“I can't” you let his hand go. “I have to go. Good luck, Hobie”

Walking away, you didn't miss how his smile falters.

It's better this way.

—

The smell of the musty tavern brings you back. A plate of ham and beans left almost untouched, it's not the same as Finn's. it tastes like tree bark compared to your meals on the ship. Huddled in a corner, you mindlessly read the book Hobie gave you, its pages pristine and well taken cared of.

You shut it closed, with your eyes growing heavy, you wonder where you're going to be sleeping tonight.

The doors bang open, a loud rambunctious group saunters in, yelling for drinks.

“First round’s on Gwen!” Someone shouts.

“I don't even drink, you fucker!” Gwen shouts back.

Wait, Gwen?

“Gwen?” You mumble.

Like fate, Gwen finds you amidst the crowd. Her eyes widen right before a smile replaces it.

Pavitr yells your name first, pointing at you like he hasn't seen you in years. Everyone follows his finger, the rest of them cheer, pushing patrons away to get to you. James shoves Danny out of the way, taking the closest seat next to you.

Ned grabs both of them by the hem of their shirts, “give her some space, fuckin' hell!”

You give him a smile as thanks, he nods once, mock saluting you.

Yuri guffaws loudly. “I knew it! We're meant to be together, eh?” She shakes your shoulder, planting a loud smooch on top of your head. You giggle, waving her away.

“Alright, let's all calm down.” You laugh loudly, “Mug, watch your stitches!”

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

Gwen sits next to you with a small smile while half of the group head on to the bar to order their alcohol.

“How'd it go?” You whisper to her, “where's Hobie?”

“Everything went well.” Her eyes darted all over the place. “Hobie went back to the ship to store the papers.”

“What's wrong?” You look around, trying to find what's gotten her nervous. “You alright?”

“Yeah, it's just—I don't know.”

“It was too easy.” Miles pipes up, handing Gwen a cup of something warm.

“That,” she nods as thanks to Miles, sighing. “He's right, it seemed too easy. We sneaked in, never making a sound.” She whispers closely. “We only saw three housekeepers in the entire manor and you know how these officials are.” you nod. “I'm just keeping an eye out for everyone, just in case.”

“That's why we chose this tavern, it's far from the manor.” Miles explains. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be out and adventuring right now? Y’know ‘finding yourself’” he makes quotation marks with his fingers.

“I was just resting. Am I not allowed to rest?” You sarcastically say.

“Oh I'm not gonna miss you on board.” He sips from his cup.

“Sure, say how's that tea taste? Like shit right? I bet you're gonna miss the brew I always make for you” you ask with a teasing smile. Gwen chuckles next to you.

“You're horrible.” he says into his cup of swirling dark liquid. A ghost of a smile hiding behind the ceramic.

A bundled loaf of bread drops in front of you, almost shattering the plate of so-called ham and beans. Looking up, you see Finn nodding at you.

“Thank you, Finn.” You smile at him, he grunts in reply, heading towards the rest of the group.

Pav visibly sags into his chair, blowing his bangs out of his face.

Used to his attitude, you tilt your head, asking him. “What is it, Pav?”

“I'm tired,” he sighs. “And I'm gonna miss you.”

You feel heat behind your eyes. “I'll miss you too, Pav, and our late night talks.”

“You kept me awake,” you chortle. Pav tentatively reaches for your hand over the table, letting him in, you open your palm wordlessly. “I guess we didn't hit any rocks because of you chattering endlessly. So thank you.”

You smile, squeezing his hand once.

He drops his sadness, going back to his usual self. “Are you sure you can't stay? Come on! We've got…” he thinks for a second, finding the bread on the table he gestures towards it. “Bread!”

“A lot of places offer bread, Pav”

“Yeah, but they're not Finn's bread”

He's right, they're not Finn's, or Gwen's or Miles’ or Hobie's. They're not from the crew and nothing will ever be once you finally leave. Despite all of these, you smile, standing up with shaky legs.

“I have to go.” Your small voice echoes in their ears, they look at you with fond smiles. “Thank you, really.” You think about hugging them but you change your mind last minute, it's better this way, you say to yourself.

You wave goodbye, fighting yourself from looking back.

Exiting the tavern, the cold evening air blasts your cheeks, a tear escapes and you wipe it immediately.

“Y/N, wait!” Gwen runs after you. You stop in your tracks, looking over your shoulder with a sad smile.

You can't keep doing this, you need to leave, your mind tells you but your heart says otherwise.

“Here.” She hands you a hefty bag of coins, the pouch is pink with her name embroidered on it. “for your travels and as a thank you for helping with the crew.”

You shake your head, “I can't take this.” Pushing it back towards her. She gives you a stern look worthy of a first mate. “Gwen, I can't. Give it to the children, I don't want it.”

“You won't survive another day with what you have on you right now” before you could protest, she stuffs it into your bag. “You can pay me back when we meet again.”

You nod, “Alright, I'll pay you back. I promise”

“Good luck and I don't know if this might be helpful but we're heading north. If–if you want to come aboard again we'll be near the thousand islands. Waiting” the moonlight illuminates her sad eyes.

“Thank you, I'll think about it.” You turn around but you look back against better judgment. “Can you tell Hobie…just say thanks for me.”

“Will do Y/N.” Gwen smiles genuinely at you.

So you walk with no true destination. You roam around on your tired feet, waiting until something happens, you don't know what it could be and you're too fatigued to think right now.

A cat meows in the alley, followed by a chorus of soft mewls. Its bright green eyes blink slowly at you, an orange tubby and cream colored cat sidles up to the black cat. They meow simultaneously, getting your attention. Their noses probably got a whiff of the ham you've pocketed.

“Hungry?” You squat, taking the covered ham to give it to them. They take bites, sharing the meat with each other. “Yeah, I know the feeling.” sighing, you look at the end of the alley, your heart almost falls when you see the same engraving of a bird taking flight stamped on the side of a crate, followed by another and another.

“What the fuck.” You speed walk towards the docks, ankles hurting from all the running you've done. “Hey!” You yell at a worker who's currently loading the crates in a ship.

“Oi yourself” he turns around, hands on his hips.

You try to catch your breath, “what's that?” Pointing at the crate, the man looks at you like you've lost your mind.

“A fucking crate, love. You haven't seen a crate before?”

“No, I meant the design, the fucking sigil.”

“Ah, it's clearly a blue jay. look at its tail.” he gestures at the tail.

“That's— that's not what I was asking but thanks, I guess. I meant the sigil. What does it mean? And where is it going?” hope fills your chest.

“I dunno about the symbol, I just haul them in. As for where we're going, I'll tell you. For a price of course.” He smiles, showing his teeth with one gold fang.

“Fine.” You don't hesitate giving him a coin.

He chuckles, pocketing the money immediately. “Further north, near the capital.”

“The capital.” this is your chance so you take it. “How much? How much to board?”

He laughs at her face. “If only you were a man!” He eyes her up and down. “Clearly you're not.”

You scoff, glaring at the man. “You're fucking nasty.”

“Y/N?” The simple call of your name sends shivers down your spine.

Your heart stops beating for a second, you bolt it out of there without looking back at him. You know it's him, his booming voice yells after you, loud footsteps echoing in the night.

“Y/N!” Miguel yells.

His partner appears from an alleyway, you sprint past her without sparing her a glance.

“Whoa!” She yelps, almost falling on her back.

“It's her!” he screams, voice cracking from the sheer volume. “Lyla, it's Y/N!”

“Oh shit!”

You hear two sets of running footsteps behind you. There's no advantage for you this time, you don't know the city and its streets. It's only a matter of time before you walk into a dead end.

“Fuck!” With your aching knees, thighs burning, lungs gasping for air, you head towards the only sanctuary you can think of and where people can help defend you—The tavern.

You can feel him getting closer and closer to you, turning a corner, your ankles almost give out from the sudden turn. “No, no, no!” Limping slightly, you continue to run as fast as you can with a sprained ankle.

“Y/N, please!” His partner yells.

The familiar roof of the tavern peeks over all the houses, a beacon of hope for you. With a sudden tug on your arm, your body harshly takes an unwanted turn to the right. Strong yet familiar set of arms holds you, a calloused hand covers your mouth as you struggle to get out of the alcove.

“Calm down, it's me.” He whispers close to your ear.

You stop your squirming, looking up, Hobie's serious face looks at the opening of the alcove, eyebrows knitted together in anger.

Your back is squished on his chest, shaking hand holding his wrist. The dark alcove saves you as Miguel and Lyla run past.

Hobie takes his hand off your mouth, you heave, almost falling to your knees if not for him still holding on to you.

“Thank you.” You whisper like he could still hear you.

“Why is the former admiral comin' after you?” He turns you towards him in the cramped space, your knees banging on his legs, hips dangerously close to his.

“What? He's an admiral?” There's no way he's an admiral. You try to remember the day but it's been years, you don't recall him ever wearing a uniform.

“Yeah, he's—” Hobie shuts up, hearing voices from outside your little alcove.

It's him.

You look behind you and it’s a dead end. Craning your neck up, you have an idea.

“We need to climb up.” You quietly say, heart beating rapidly.

“Are you sure you can do it?” He looks at your swollen ankle.

You nod, “I don't have a choice.”

Hobie nods, lips tightly closed. “Alright. You go first, if you fall I'll catch you, again.” He doesn't waste an opportunity does he?

With your feet laying flat on the wall and your hands on the other side, back straight. You slowly make your way up. Hobie's close behind you, doing the same but managing his speed, slowing down for you.

Looking down, you almost fall as your ankle throbs.

Miguel's voice echoes out in the darkness, he's close.

“It's alright,” Hobie encourages you. “I'm right here, yeah? If you fall we'll run, even if I have to carry your arse out of here.”

Why couldn't your savior be Gwen?

With a roll of your eyes and a groan, you continue to climb up. Finally reaching the top, the moonlight greets you. Hobie helps you up by pushing you up by your feet, careful of your injury.

Laying down on the sodden roof. You roll over to the side to help him up by his hand, pulling with all your might.

Hobie climbs over the edge, laying down next to you, breathing heavily.

“I underestimated the height of that.” He says in between breaths.

“I underestimated how heavy you are.”

He pats his stomach. “This is pure muscle, trouble.” turning to face you, his piercings shine in the evening's light, smile across his lips like you're not hiding from someone.

“Full of Finn's stew more like.”

“I'm a growing boy, I need the sustenance.” he twists, looking below. “They're gone, I see them walking back towards the docks.”

You let yourself breathe again, head thumping on the roof. “Thank fuck.”

“Don't you mean thank me?” Hobie lays down next to you again, you groan in reply. “How's the ankle?”

“I think it's just sprained—” A twig snaps, you swear the roof caved in a bit. “What was that?”

“Shit, I think it's the—”

Crack!

The roof caves in, Hobie lunges for you mid air, holding on to you, hand guiding your head on his chest as he braces for impact.

You land on top of Hobie, he groans in pain, your eyes adjust at the candles littered around the frilly room.

“Shit! Are you bleeding? Please don't tell me you hit your head!” you frantically pat behind his head. Instead of warm ichor, you feel something soft.

You pull it out from behind his head without warning. He yelps when his head hits the carpeted floor.

Wincing, you apologize. “Sorry.” looking at the pillow in your hand, you're more confused than ever. More confusing than the sight of a crystal ball sitting in the middle of the table.

Roaming your eyes, you stop at a woman clad in furs and velvet, she stands frozen with her teacup in her hands.

“Uh, welcome to Nellie's?”

—

You're incredibly glad Nellie's nice, she even gave you ice for Hobie's back, ice! In this season! There's also ice on your swollen ankle, the cold seeping through your skin, giving you reprieve from the pain. You bet she's rolling in coins judging from all the generous ice she's given. Maybe you should learn how to be a fortune teller from her. You think about asking her if she needs an apprentice.

After dropping off almost half of Gwen's money to pay for the roof, you stare at it longingly, already missing its weight inside your bag.

She comes out of her kitchen, the beaded curtains flutter as she moves through it.

“Shoulders.” Hobie grumbles. He sits next to you, back hunched while you hold the ice on his back for him. “Y/N, move the bloody thing.”

“Right, you can say please, you know.” You slide the cloth covered ice up to his shoulders, he hisses when you hit his tender muscle. “Sorry, my fault.”

“Definitely your fault.” He quietly says with a pout.

“Oh don't be such a baby,” Nellie drops off a silver tray full of tea and crumpets. “I foresaw that you'll heal in no time.” she says with a smile.

Hobie raises a brow skeptically. You wordlessly communicate with him, telling him to shut it or she might call the coppers on you two. He sighs, rolling his eyes, taking a bite of a crumpet.

“So Nellie, you're a fortune teller huh? How exactly do you uh do that?” You ask, making conversation, careful of your words.

“I'm so glad you asked!” she giggles excitedly, pouring you and Hobie a cup each. Nellie drops a cube of sugar and milk in yours just like how you like it while Hobie gets three cubes. Wait.

Hobie beats you to it, “How'd you know I like my tea with three sugars?” He says with his mouth full.

Nellie smiles, tapping her temple. “I have the gift.” She sits down across from you, “although it's not always accurate, but I give it a” she sucks in her teeth, thinking. “Eighty percent chance of being right? My trusty crystal ball helps in filling the gaps.”

She gestures around the ball, making whooshing sounds.

You and Hobie share a look.

“Do you want a go?” She flicks her different colored eyes at you two. “I'll throw it in for free since you paid me already for the damages. I know I'm incredibly nice, no?”

You have nothing to lose, and you have to wait until Hobie recuperates. Said man eats his third crumpet.

“Sure, why not, right?” you chuckle nervously.

“Lower back.” Hobie instructs, you scoff before doing what he asked. He did save you again, that's the only reason why you do what he asks for.

“Fantastic! Let's start!” She claps her hands, the inside of the crystal ball swirls, pearlescent colors shining inside like water. “Oooh let's start off with you!” Nellie addresses you, you straighten up in your seat.

She roams her ringed hands around the ball. “I see that you're running from someone, M? I think?”

You look at Hobie in the corner of your eyes. He thickly swallows his crumpet. “Shoulders,” he says lowly. You move it up, annoyed.

“And for Mr. Hungry here,” she glances at Hobie. “Oh, I see the letter M too! You're more alike than I thought!”

Hobie stops eating, exchanging his crumpet for a cup of tea.

“Hmm, and a J? For…” she narrows her eyes, looking directly at the swirling colors. “The both of you, again. Huh?” Nellie chuckles, “that's— I've never seen that before, even from other couples.”

You swallow thickly, not bothering to correct her.

Taking your tea from the tray to calm your nerves.

She's dangerously accurate.

Her bright demeanor suddenly falls, her mismatched eyes empty and devoid of light. Her smile fades. “Something lurks in the water.” She says flatly.

“Alright, we should go.” Hobie stretches his back. “This is all bollocks, let's go–”

Nellie suddenly punches the table. Hobie sits back down, holding your wrists just in case he needs to run.

“I see the blazing sun and sand beneath your feet” She sharply turns towards you. “Don a white dress and you'll find what you're looking for.”

You take your wrist away from Hobie. “What do you mean?”

She ignores you, twisting suddenly towards Hobie. “I see blood and steel kissing your neck if you stay on the path. Answer her call and you'll be safe.”

Hobie looks at her with an unreadable face. Fists tightly closed. “Whose call?” She ignores him, blinking rapidly.

Nellie smiles back, the light in her eyes coming back. “Oh look at that! I see the same white dress and sun in yours!” She giddily says to a confused Hobie. “A beach wedding perhaps?” She giggles while you and Hobie are shaking in your seats.

Hobie has had enough, taking your wrist again, he stands up. “Thank you for the hospitality and for not screaming bloody murder but we have to go.”

“To plan the wedding?”

“No, to murder and pillage.” Hobie takes the ice from the floor. “Goodbye”

“Uh sorry about the roof!” You yell back. He tugs you outside.

“Wait, are you two pirates?” Nellie asks into the now empty room, scratching her head.

—

The sun is rising as you and Hobie sneak quietly out of town and into the secret dock where the revenge rests.

You can't help but exhale out your nerves once you reach the ship. Hobie's shoulders visibly relax, waving towards Gwen who's eyes widen when she sees you. Pavitr stands next to her, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You shake your head rapidly, he gives you a thumbs up while Miles has the most disgusted look on his face.

Hobie turns around, “You comin’?”

You contemplate what happened today, your bones are aching and begging for sleep.

“I–I need to go.”

Hobie could only nod, walking away from you without looking back. “Lift the anchor” you hear him say from the ship.

The crew waves back at you, faces of different variety, some smiles, some could only look at you with sad eyes. Finn nods, a small smile on his lips. Gwen leaves, sparing you a glance. You think you hear Yuri yell ‘no, my wife!’ you chuckle to yourself in the empty dock.

You watch as the people's revenge sails further away, the anchor lifting back up slowly.

North. The word jumps back at you. They're heading north.

Without thinking, you run.

Your ankle screams for you to stop, but your grin says otherwise. You pray to every divine entity out there to help you reach the anchor in time and to not let you drown.

“Wait!” You yell. Everyone runs towards the edge of the ship, watching with wide eyes as you run the length of the wooden dock.

Pavitr cheers you on, yelling loudly. Everyone else follows his lead, hands rhythmically banging on wood, screams making you run faster.

Hobie beams from the ship. Tossing off his large coat and hat, he climbs to the side of the boat through its ropes, as close as he can get to you.

With an outstretched hand, he calls for you. “C’mon, trouble!”

With a running leap, your fingers graze his palms. You don't make it.

Hobie lets himself fall, holding your hand with both arms. The crew made themselves a rope to hold Hobie while he grips on to you tightly.

You laugh loudly, seeing the human chain, Gwen holds on to Hobie's waist, while Miles holds on to Gwen, Pav and the others begin to heave you all up to the boat.

With a jump, you reach up with your dangling arm to hold on tight to his shoulder.

Hobie beams down at you, “I hope you've read the book because these wankers might let us go for shits and giggles.”

“No I haven't,” you say above the wind, feet dangling several feet off the deep waters. “But I trust them. I know they've got me.”

The sun wakes up to loud cheering and smiles.

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foundmywei · 3 months

Text

Buddie Fanfic Recs 2

Here are my favorite buddie fics! Now includes 40 fics~

Check Part 1 for more

10k words or under

We're Both His Fathers by thebravestthingIeverdidwasrun

(1,276 words | General Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

Buck has his foot up on the back of the ambulance when an arm shoots across his chest. It’s the other paramedic. “Sorry, it’s family only. You’re not on this call.” --- Christopher's school bus has an accident on the freeway. Buck and Eddie make sure to save him, but just as Buck is about to join Eddie and Chris on the ambulance he gets told it's "family only." May Day parallel fic

let the choir bells sing by foxwatson

(3,486 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

All at once, Eddie has an idea. It’s definitely the stupidest idea he’s ever had in his entire life, but he has it all the same, and there’s no time to come up with a better one. He puts his hands on Buck’s elbows, tugs him in closer, and says, “Kiss me.” Based on combining the prompts "kiss me like you mean it” and “i don’t know what i would have done if you weren’t here”

Something Dumb to Do by glorious_spoon

(8,509 words | Explicit | Chapters: 1/1)

"Too bad we can't just date each other." Eddie laughs. "What?" "No, I'm serious!" Buck sets his beer down, the better to gesture with both hands, face lighting up, and Eddie just—he really loves the guy, okay. Ridiculous as he is. "It would be so much easier! You wouldn't have to introduce a new person to Chris—he already likes me anyway—and you could tell Pepa so she'll stop setting you up on dates that don't go anywhere—" "And what would you get out of this?" Eddie asks, grinning. - Or: Buck and Eddie try something out together.

drawstrings by browney3dgirl6

(3,736 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

“Buck?” There was more rustling before Eddie heard a, “fuck, stupid—Eddie?” Eddie laughed with a shake of his head. “You decent up there bud?” Eddie heard a loud sigh and some more shuffling before Buck answered. “Yea, mostly.” Slowly, Eddie crept up the stairs, unsure of what kind of predicament he’d find Buck in. At the top of the landing, Eddie came to a halt, a soft smile spreading across his face. Buck was sat on the edge of his bed, hoodie ridden up and exposing his tummy. His head was bent toward his waist where he was battling with the drawstrings of his sweatpants, grunting as he went. Eddie stayed where he was watching. He found the entire thing oddly endearing. —or— Eddie helps Buck fix his drawstrings. How was he supposed to know it’d lead to him sitting in Bucks lap?

i'm someone you maybe might love by allyasavedtheday

(6,580 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

She opens her locker, giving him a sidelong glance. “So does Buck know you’re-“ The rest of her question gets cut off by a quiet, disbelieving, “Eddie?” and she and Eddie turn just in time for Buck to slam straight into Eddie. Eddie takes a step back with the force of it but his arms come up around Buck immediately, hugging back just as fiercely. She catches sight of his blinding smile before he tucks his face into Buck’s shoulder and Lucy stares, can’t help it when they’re hugging like long-lost lovers being reunited. Buck pulls back first, hands still firmly on Eddie’s arms as he jostles him. “You asshole!” he exclaims with a laugh that sounds more than a littler watery. “I was literally at your house last night; why didn’t you say anything?!” “Wanted it to be a surprise,” he says, voice low and soft in a way that finally makes her turn away to pretend to be busy with her locker. * Five times someone realises Buck is in love with Eddie and one time Buck realises he's in love with Eddie.

I'm still standing in the same place where you left me standing by trysetmeonfire

(8,303 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

“It’s alright,” Bobby says, another useless lie. Eddie’s eyes open, look straight into his, and his next words are remarkably clear. “I love him, Bobby.” “No,” he shakes his head, a strange and frantic panic bubbling up inside him. “You can’t tell me this- you can’t tell me this-“ a hundred smiles shift slightly to the left in Bobby’s memory. It’s barely a surprise, really, he picked Eddie out for Buck himself, years and years ago. He thought they’d make a fine pair. “You have to- we’re getting out of here and you’re telling him yourself, you can’t-“ -- Bobby deals with the ramifications of a misplaced confession

forever, ceasing never by lecornergirl

(3,985 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

Until he drifts over just a little too far and loses his balance, and instead of resting his head on Buck’s shoulder like he’d intended he overshoots and finds himself sprawled out on the sofa, his head somewhere in the vicinity of Buck’s hip. Buck’s lap. His head is in Buck’s lap. Somewhere in the back of his wine-soaked mind, he knows he should get up. That this isn’t something they do. That this is crossing a line they’ve only skirted before, with the tackling and the tickling—always measured, always with a pretext. He should get up, but Buck’s hand slides into his hair, and when he looks down his eyes are impossibly soft. “Hi,” Buck whispers.

might as well be drunk in love by fleetinghearts

(2,326 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

“Oh. You’re—uh.” Should he—say something? Why would he say something, though. Just because this isn’t something they do… Eddie’s clearly fine with this, initiating this, and Buck—there’s never a time Buck doesn’t want this, want this bad. So why would he say you have a bed right there and come off as a dick when they’re both perfectly fine with this. Or, worse in ways that are both hysterical and heartbreaking, come off as vaguely homophobic or make Eddie uncomfortable about the way he’s currently spooning Buck like he’s been doing it all his life. He settles for a lighthearted, “Are you drunk?” Eddie sighs sleepily, breath tickling Buck’s neck. “Yeah. Kinda.” or, getting little-spooned by his drunk best friend was not on buck's maid-of-honour checklist, but. it's happening

Java Blues by Ravens_Words

(5,530 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

Bobby doesn't share his coffee with anyone. Ever. (Unless it's Buck.) Or, eight times Buck drank Bobby’s coffee, and the one time Bobby made it for him.

let me fix it for you by smilingbuckley

(10,355 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

5 times Eddie fixes or builds something for Buck + 1 time Buck thanks him for it (... sort of) -- “You look like you need a good breakfast,” Bobby says at the sight of Buck, handing him a plate highly stacked with waffles. “You can shave here if you want to.” “And risk being halfway when we get called in?” Buck snorts, “Nah, I’ll shave when Eddie fixes my sink.” “Oh, didn’t know you were a free handyman on the side,” Hen says, stretching to look at Eddie, “You know, we’ve been looking for someone to fix our backyard fence." Eddie, with his mouth full of waffles, shakes his head, “Family only.”

5 times Buck calls Eddie baby before he’s his + 1 time after by jesuisgrace

(2,314 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

The first time it happens Eddie knows that Buck is just being Buck, sweet and affectionate and funny. That he’s just matching the energy Eddie just ribbed him with when he hurls, “damn, don’t do me like that, baby!” at him over the pool table. Eddie feels himself freeze, feels his mouth fall open just a little, feels his cheeks heat. And wills himself to stop, to not make it weird, to just laugh. Because he knows how Buck meant it. But he hears “baby” in Buck’s voice, meant just for him, echo through his head all day.

don't read the last page (i stay) by screamingcolours

(9,090 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

Eddie forgets about the couch thing. And he forgets because there isn’t supposed to be anything to remember about it. Instead, he remembers Christopher’s appointments and he remembers to go to his own. He remembers to do his laundry every few days and he remembers to bring Buck his clothes that Eddie finds in the hamper every once in a while. He remembers to go grocery shopping and he remembers to ask Bobby to give him the day off for the parents-teachers conference next month. Life goes on and he grows a little softer around the edges each day that Buck spends at his house instead of the loft every time he has time off, but it’s not anything he really worries about anymore. Buck hasn’t been doing his best, and if spending time in Eddie’s kitchen cooking enough for a whole army of Chris’s for hours on end until he’s too tired to go back to his place makes him happy, then who’s Eddie to deny him that? * or: mandatory 'making buck realise everything he ever wanted is right there in front of him' fic

was blind but now i see by seraphina_snape

(6,368 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

"Who is going where with Eddie?" "Buck is trying the romantic Greek-Italian restaurant he's been talking about with Eddie tonight. That's why he's in such a hurry." Chim's jaw drops a little. "Is that the place that basically only has tables for two and where there's no overhead lights, only those little mood-lights on the tables?" "Uh-huh." Hen nods. "They're going to discuss which high school to pick for Christopher." Buck looks up and checks himself in the reflection of the locker room's glass wall. He grabs his bag. "We'll tell you how the food was next shift. Or Eds will. I think it's my turn to split with B-shift." He looks at his watch and curses a little under his breath. "All right, gotta go. Have a good night!" Buck hustles out of the locker room, leaving Chim and Hen staring after him. Chim eventually shakes his head and starts getting dressed. "I don't even know what to say to that. Is he really going to the hottest date location in town to talk about Christopher's high school options?" "Oh yeah. That boy has no idea." Hen sighs. "Neither of them do."

11k - 40k words

Left Unsaid by C_M2

(33,431 words | Mature | Chapters: 7/7)

A woman shows up at the station with a picture of Buck on her phone. It goes better than last time. OR: The discovery of a small facebook group full of tsunami survivors rocks station 118.

help me to help myself by woodchoc_magnum

(26,678 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

In which Eddie slowly figures out who he really is in the aftermath of his breakdown.

please linger near the door by fallingthorns

(12,096 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

Buck glances at Eddie’s bedroom door one more time, almost like he’s willing it to open. But the door stays mostly closed and Buck feels himself deflate as he grabs his bag and keys. He quietly closes the door and locks it behind him, and he’s just about to turn the car on when he frowns and realizes that he left his jacket in the house. He knows he’ll probably be back at some point tomorrow to get it, but he thinks about Eddie under all that mud. He thinks of his head on Bobby’s lap and Eddie’s name on his lips, screamed into the air. He felt – He felt like his whole soul was being buried under the mud, and that’s what scares him the most. Sighing, he gets out of the Jeep and decides to get his jacket, and if he happens to listen for any signs of movement from Eddie’s room for a few more seconds before he leaves again, then that’s between Buck and God. -- Or, Buck lingers until he finally stays.

right in front of your eyes by rainbow_nerds

(15,295 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

He and Chris, and Buck. They work, they’re a unit. Why should it matter that he’s single? Buck is watching him, like he’s reading every thought on his face. “You’re already planning to lie about the date. Why don’t you just tell her you met someone yourself?” Eddie shrugs and tilts his head to the side, squinting in thought. “She won’t set me up on dates if she thinks I’ve got someone,” he muses. “But she’ll want to meet whoever it is.” “So... Introduce them?” Or: Buck offers to fake-date Eddie so Pepa will stop setting him up on dates.

a touch of someone else (to save me from myself) by allyasavedtheday

(19,390 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 2/2)

Of course, all of that comes to a grinding halt when he stops outside the locker room to find arguably one of the hottest guys he’s ever seen getting changed right by his locker. He stands there, gaping and trying desperately to get his mind out of the gutter – but Jesus, those abs – when someone bumps his shoulder and he turns to find Hen sidling up to him. “Enjoying the view?” she asks with a knowing smirk. Buck raises an eyebrow, feeling the corners of his mouth turn up in a smirk of his own. “He from B shift or something?” Hen’s about to answer him when Bobby appears on his other side. “That’s Eddie Diaz, our new recruit.” Buck’s brain does some approximation of a record scratch and he whirls around to face Bobby. “New recruit? Why?” * In which Eddie joins the 118 during season 1 instead of season 2 and Buck has a lot to say about it. AKA Eddie meets Buck 1.0.

sweet summer heat by waywardrenegades

(39,748 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 6/6)

It’s July in LA, there’s a heatwave, and Buck is fucking upset.

upon reflection by jeremycarver

(24,817 words | Explicit | Chapters: 7/7)

Buck doesn’t think, just says, “Hey Eds, you wanna?” Half to wipe that caught-out look off his friend’s face and half because, well. Buck doesn’t not want to. It would be fun, something to do to pass some time in the most stressful month of everyone’s lives. Eddie sits back so he’s between Buck’s thighs instead of on top of him and is slow to answer. Buck waits, and finally he answers, “Should we?” or, Buck and Eddie get into a friends with benefits situation that quickly spirals out of control.

baby, it's okay if we both end up afraid by Underhung_Aura

(28,376 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

Buck hadn’t forgotten how cold the ocean is. He hadn’t forgotten the bite of it or how the crest of a wave can feel like the edge of a knife or how the water stings and cuts and carves and settles in the bottom of your lungs and the pit of your stomach like a handful of broken glass. But he had forgotten the water’s weight. He had forgotten how heavy it is as it clings to you and refuses to let go, something he supposes he has in common with this powerful, almost undefeatable force of nature. Letting go has never been something he is good at, in any capacity, in any situation, always clinging clinging clinging like his very life depends on how well he can hold on to all the things that want him to release them. OR buck and bobby battle their past traumas in the middle of a shipwreck. eddie pines in the aftermath. and somehow, for all of them, love endures and overcomes.

you strip me down into nothing (show me what i've been missing) by screamingcolours

(28,000 words | Explicit | Chapters: 1/1)

“You could sleep with me.” It’s Buck’s turn to choke on his drink. “Wh—what? That’s not funny, Eddie.” “I’m not joking.” “Okay,” Buck says, slowly and looking at him with so much confusion, like he’s expecting a catch. “Why? Why would you offer to do this?” That’s the part where Eddie should have a thought out answer about how this makes sense, because they’re both single and trust each other with everything or whatever, and maybe it wouldn’t be a lie. But the truth is, he’s looking at Buck right now, on the verge of some kind of breakdown over sex of all things because he needs to be told he’s good and loved and needed, and Eddie will be damned if he’s not going to give him that. “Why wouldn’t I?” or Eddie offers to sleep with Buck ~for science~, they become friends with benefits, and Eddie takes way, way too long to pick up on what it all really means.

be as you've always been (lover be good to me) by frozenwisteria

(16,553 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

Eddie looks across the sofa to see Buck’s chin cradled in his hands as he watches them instead of the screen, and Eddie hides his face in Chris’ hair because Buck can see the heat on his skin. As easy as it is becoming to let Buck in, it astonishes Eddie when Buck is so open and vulnerable with them too. He’s just spent the day taking care of Chris and now he’s smiling so softly and sincerely just watching Eddie and Chris relaxing together. Eddie’s heart beats quickly in his chest and Christopher squirms a bit when he hears it. “Are you okay, Dad?” Chris whispers. Eddie nods against the mop of curly hair that he should probably schedule a haircut for soon. “I’m really good, Chris.” or Eddie rejoins the 118 following the events of season five, slowly finds himself, and realizes along the way that he's in love with his best friend

Golden Hour by maybeamystery

(19,837 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

Okay, in the cold light of day, Buck can now admit that he is totally and completely in love with Eddie. The gross, sappy, want-to-write-a-million-soft-ballads kind of love. Eddie is the first person he thinks about when he opens his eyes in the morning; when he falls asleep at night, it’s usually to thoughts of Eddie and Chris, the two most important people in the world to him other than his sister and Jee-Yun. Not for the first time, Buck wishes he had the guts to confess his feelings to Eddie and get it over with. Instead, he’s trapped Eddie in this weird dog adoption farce, and he doesn’t know how he’s going to get out of it with his heart intact. [or Buck adopts a dog with the Diazes, and they live happily ever after.]

there's more to life than chasing ghosts by differentsnowflake

(19,955 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

"So," Eddie begins. "Let me see if I can remember. You've worked in a dude ranch, done construction work, went to bartending school, did some Navy SEAL training, tended bar in like, in a bunch of cities, and, um- I feel like there's so much more you haven't told me." "I used to walk dogs too. Oh, and work in an old book shop." And yeah, there's so much he hasn't told Eddie yet. Maybe it's because Buck doesn't want him to know about the long nights spent sleeping in the backseat of the Jeep, and the loneliness and the fact that everywhere he went he just felt like he was going in circles, trying desperately to find a place where he'd belong. He doesn't want to tell him about the uncertainty and the fear of not being able to find whatever he was looking for. Also, maybe it's because he finds the frown in Eddie's face funny, like it still bothers him not to know everything about him. In which Buck is totally not having a crisis about turning thirty, Eddie throws him a birthday party, Buck likes keeping secrets about his past, and they're both idiots who refuse to talk about their feelings.

Muscle Memory by Daisies_and_Briars

(40,051 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 14/14)

After a disappointment in his personal life, Buck wakes up one morning to find everyone he loves has forgotten him completely. No memories. No recognition. Almost like he was never really there.

Why Not Take All of Me? by Daisies_and_Briars

(13,235 words | Mature | Chapters: 5/5)

When a small disaster strikes the morning of Maddie and Chimney's wedding, Buck, Hen, and Chim find themselves unwittingly caught up in an emergency across town, while Maddie and Eddie get stuck in an elevator.

Batting a Buck & Change by Daisies_and_Briars

(15,557 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 5/5)

“Do you remember that shift where Buck was off and Hen was on mandatory relaxation, and they both got drunk in Hen’s kitchen in the middle of the afternoon while we had to resuscitate a canine?” Eddie nods vigorously. “Oh, Hoover. I remember Hoover.” “Why have we never been drunk during a dog resuscitation, Eddie? Have you thought about that?” “Well now I am.” “We should call them and let them know that we can have fun on Dads’ Night Out.” Nothing could go wrong. OR Eddie and Chim embark on a “Dad’s night out” to watch baseball at a sports bar, and after a few too many, Eddie accidentally lets his feelings for Buck slip.

i wish i said it better by llovely

(12,315 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

He's surprised he made it to Buck's in one piece, driving through a haze, on autopilot towards the one person who can take the jumbled pieces of Eddie's mind and gently slot them back into place. He doesn't even register the time of day until he’s opening the door to loft with his key and saying, “Hen thinks I should go on a date with a man,” which he guesses is paraphrasing, but you know. It's what she meant. * anybody order some fake dating poker date spec 3 months too late? this was supposed to be like 2k i don’t know what happened.

Don't Take the Money by HMSLusitania

(21,831 words | Mature | Chapters: 3/3)

“You know, being stuck here isn’t actually the end of the world,” Chimney says, coming up to the table and picking up one of the smoke detectors. “It just feels like it, Buck. Trust me, I know.” “I’m pretty sure it might actually be the end of the world,” Buck says. “Considering this is the sixth time I’ve lived this day.” Chimney stares at him for a beat and then his eyebrows lift. “Wait, are you like – dude, are you in Groundhog Day?” OR The post-lawsuit time-loop AU literally no one asked for.

dragged in dust (bathed in blood) by tawaifeddiediaz

(39,125 words | Mature | Chapters: 4/4)

I'm leaving the 118. Or, the aftermath of Eddie's decision, and what it means for his relationship with Buck.

Trying Hard to Remember, Trying Hard To Forget by kristen999

(25,499 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 6/6)

Eddie doesn’t remember the shooting and Buck is haunted by it. As they struggle with their feelings for each other, Eddie and Buck grapple with the realities of trauma recovery and the understanding that everyone heals at their own pace. Coda to 4.14.

don’t wanna let you love somebody else but me by fleetinghearts

(14,710 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 1/1)

“Well, we’re doing a fancy dinner and mini golf and karaoke,” Buck says, “and those are kinda date activities anyway, right?” “Right,” Eddie says slowly. “Except it’s Chim’s bachelor party, so we can hardly bring dates along, even if we could find them. That’d be weird.” “Well,” Buck says, “I was thinking… what if we were each other’s dates?” Eddie’s brain bluescreens for a moment. Buck must take his total lack of reaction for disagreement, because he hurriedly says, “Like, a pretend date. That way we could test out our, like you said, moves on each other. And then be totally truthful about whether they worked or not. So we get honest feedback and we don’t have to worry about finding someone to try them out on and we can still make it to Chim’s party. And then give Chris some advice before Sunday. Right? Does that make sense?” or, chris wants dating advice and it turns out taking your best friend on a pretend date to practice being as romantic as possible is not a good idea in theory or in practice, considering the pesky being-in-unrequited-love of it all

Close My Eyes and Stumble (Right Into Your Love) by HMSLusitania

(21,652 words | Mature | Chapters: 1/1)

Eddie's PTSD is just that little bit worse and when he moves to Los Angeles, instead of joining the LAFD, he joins dispatch. Which is all good and fine, except for this one firefighter he keeps ending up talking to.

this must be the place by euadnes

40k+ words

(75,619 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 10/10)

Every life altering event is often led up to with a series of other important events. In this case, there were at least three: An unstoppable fire. An afternoon spent underneath a blanket of California blue sky. But firstly, and maybe the most important of all: There was the impeccable aiming of an ex-sharpshooter. *** Or, the Buck is also shot by the sniper AU that no one asked for.

What's love got to do with it? by ColorMeParanoid

(134,079 words | Explicit | Chapters: 30/30)

"Hear me out," Buck said. "Clearly, both of us are sick of dating other people. And we're a good fit, in pretty much every way that matters. So what if we're not in love? We don't need to be in love to be happy together." Eddie frowned. "So basically, we'd be boyfriends, without benefits?" "Yes!" Buck snapped his fingers. "Like platonic boyfriends! We'd get all the benefits of a relationship and none of the heartbreak." And maybe Eddie had finally lost his mind, or maybe it was from all the alcohol clouding his judgment, but the idea of it didn't sound half as crazy as it should have. *** After Buck’s and Eddie’s dates both end with disasters – proving once again that maybe dating just wasn’t meant for them – they decide to simply settle for each other. If there was one person in the world they'd ever trust with their hearts, it was each other. And who was a better person to date other than your very own best friend?

the weekly bet (but the forever kind) by theleftboobgrabber

(49,678 words | Explicit | Chapters: 9/9)

When the squad bets on how long it will take for Buck and Abby to get back together when she comes back to LA, Eddie is forced to reconsider keeping his feelings for Buck a secret. “Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, hiding his face deep in his pillow, even if Buck can’t see him in the dark. “What for?” Leave it to Buck to be confused about something so obvious. “Being you, idiot.” “And again with the name calling,” he answers, content and sleepy. Nights like this, Eddie feels like asking for a miracle. But to the team, it wasn’t a matter of if Abby would take him back, but when. A matter of days.

gave me no compass, gave me no signs (were there clues I didn't see) by Kwills91

(55,596 words | Explicit | Chapters: 9/9)

Eddie Diaz is finally opening himself up to the idea of dating again when a call ends with a building collapse and trapped inside with Buck, both men have realisations about how they want to move forward. But as Buck helps Eddie recover can either of them find the courage to tell the other how they feel. *** Takes place shortly after the events of 6x14

Being Eddie by Daisies_and_Briars

(79,830 words | Teen And Up Audiences | Chapters: 21/21)

When Eddie starts seeing a new therapist, he’s presented with the opportunity to revisit several days from his past and right regrets that still bother him. OR: Eddie goes through the time travel therapy process of the 2009 Canadian TV show Being Erica

Leave the Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania

(44,415 words | Mature | Chapters: 7/7)

“We’re here for our grandson,” Helena says. “Chris is still sleeping,” Buck says. “I meant, we’re here to take him back to Texas,” Helena clarifies. “Yeah,” Buck says. He’s too tired, way too tired to be tactful. “Over my dead body.” -- An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed. While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 abc #911 fox #buck x eddie #buddie fic rec

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marleyybluu · 3 months

Text

Glasses

Husband!Oscar x black!wife!reader

Word count: 2k

Content warning: fluffy fluffy, Oscar is a stubborn husband, a little sexy flirtatiousness at the end, just your typical married couple and we love it, reader is hot for Oscar and his glasses (I mean I would be too tf)

A/N: bare in mind that i don’t have glasses idk how the process goes lmao I just made shit up so sorry if it’s not accurate I guess. Who cares we’re in make believe land rn

Sorry for typos && bad translations if any

(I know these aren’t glasses glasses but… you get it lmao)

"Mama..." Rafa says poking your arm, you look down at him and smile. "Yes?"

"Why is Dad making that face?" He asks pointing over to Oscar who's holding his phone down in his lap with his head tilted up slightly so that he can see the screen better. You shook your head. That old bastard was a stubborn one. You have noticed for months now that Spooky is squinting to read everything, he's holding things at certain angles just the see the words correctly. He even has the kids reading things for him when he flat-out can't make out any of the words.

And of course, you've confronted him about it, saying if he wanted you could schedule an appointment with an optometrist and get his vision checked but he tells you— "No, mamita, I'm fine."

Stubborn Jack ass.

You roll your eyes and sigh dramatically. "Mi hijo, maybe you can talk some sense into your big-headed father. Because he won't listen to me." You say loud enough for your husband to hear. He grumbles and looks over at you, so tempted to say something disrespectful but your son is there. You wiggle your eyebrows taunting him.

"Papa, I think you need gafas."(glasses)

Spooky breathes heavily like a dragon, you swear smoke comes out of his nose too. "Mira, baby, let me just take you to check your eyes. If I'm wrong I'll eat my words and do anything you want."

His ears perk up at the offer. "Anything?"

And you knew what that tone meant. Spooky had been asking for another baby sooner rather than later but you constantly rebuttal with the fact that your third child, Emilia, was only a year old and you refused to have two under two. "Yes, anything." You reply confidently knowing you'd win this battle. He says it's a deal and you smile proudly keeping a reminder to make his appointment later.

-- --

In the days leading up to the appointment, he swore up and down that you'd be wrong, that you'll soon be walking around with a round belly all over again and he couldn't wait to see it. You remain quiet and shrug, occasionally giggling at how cocky he was about this.

After dropping the kids off at your mom's, you two head over to the Optometrist. You're pleasantly greeted by the woman at the front desk who asks you who the appointment is for. Oscar finds himself a seat and huffs like a child. You roll your eyes and mention his name. "I'm assuming you made the appointment." She smiles light-heartedly. "That obvious?"

"Trust me, I've got one at home whose chain I have to pull to even get him to the doctor. They're all like that."

You giggle and look over your shoulder at him as he pouts and looks at his new shoes. The receptionist says she'll let the doctor know you two were there and be back to guide you to a room. You take a seat next to Oscar who immediately puts his hand on your thigh, squeezing at your supple flesh. "So, what do you think the next baby will be? I hope it's a boy, I can't lie."

"Will you shut the fuck up? You are not winning this bet, Diaz."

He looks around before trailing his hand up your dress, your eyes widen when his fingers brush over your panties. "Who you talkin' to like that? Don't let this bet get you fucked up."

You swallow your attitude and shrink in the chair, he removes his hand and gently kisses your temple. Maybe he'd get another baby out of you regardless.

It wasn't long before you two were called in. Once in the room, Oscar was told to sit in the chair that was hooked up to everything while you sat in the extra chair not too far from them. He starts by asking Oscar about his medical history; and if anyone in his family has problems with their vision but he says, "Not as far as I know."

You watch as he's asked to read the chart across the room and he instinctively squints, you cover your mouth to stop your giggles.

Even with the act of squinting he ends up getting a lot of them wrong.

He's tested furthermore and, honestly, it was not looking too good. He was struggling so much that it was truly getting to him, his nails scape at the jeans over his knee caps-- taps them once in a while whenever he lets out a frustrated sigh. You were beginning to feel bad for him, wanting to whisper the letters to him so he didn't feel so... shitty.

The lights in the room turn on and the optometrist sits in his chair. "Mr. Diaz, unfortunately, I do think you'll need some prescription glasses. You are more farsighted in your right eye than you are in your left. The left eye seems to be fine for now. So, I will put in an order for a pair of lenses and when they're ready we'll give you a call to pick out the frames."

Oscar sighs, he sounds so defeated. You two thank the doctor and make your way out of the office building and back to the car. He sucks his teeth while buckling his seatbelt, he crosses his arms and waits for you to put the car in drive but you don't budge. "Why are you acting like this?"

He shrugs. "Let's just go."

"No. What are you upset about?"

"I'm old."

There was a moment of silence, took you a a minute to realize he was serious. "I'm old, mama. I can't see shit, I'm tired, I'm cranky. I'm fucking old. Next thing you know I can't play with my kids, can't play Fútbol con Rafa, dios mio." (Soccer with Rafa, my God)

He was genuinely spiralling. "Papito, I hate to break it to you but we're supposed to get old." You say to him but it (obviously) doesn't help.

"Lo sé, mi amor, pero, they still have to make it to middle school and high school, I gotta see them through college."

"Who says you won't? Mi marido, (my husband) we will be there for all of their events, for all the big changes. We will still be there when they all leave the nest to create their own, and when they come back to visit." You reassure. "I'll still be next to you in a rocking chair. We are not going anywhere, anytime soon. Entiendes? No hay prisa." (Understand? No rush)

He nods, still pouting. You lean over and plant a loving kiss on his lips. "If you ask me you will make a sexy Abuelo. Glasses and all."

"En serio?" A little bit of confidence coming back to him.

"Sí, papi chulo." You purr pulling him in for another kiss. "You know we have a lot of time before we got to get the kids." He grumbles his lips travelling down your neck. "Let's go before you get us in trouble in this parking lot."

He shrugs. "Wouldn't be the first time."

You laugh. "I know, I don't want to relive it."

-- --

Days passed and Oscar finally got the call to pick up his lenses and choose the frames, you offered to go with him but he said he wanted to surprise you. You'd been waiting all day excited to see what would walk through the door.

You sighed flipping through the selections on Prime, the house was quiet with the kids either distracted or sleeping and you were bored-- until you heard the car door slam shut and his keys jingle right outside the door. The door swings open but he doesn't enter, not yet. He calls out for you and when you answer all too eagerly he chuckles at your excitement. "You been waitin' on this all day?" He asks.

"Yes, hurry the fuck up." You rush. He appears from behind the door and stands with his arms slightly open. "Cómo me veo?" (How do I look?) He asks. Your eyes widen and your jaw slacks. They were simple black frame glasses, they weren't obnoxiously thick or oddly small, and they were good enough to fit him. You sit up on your knees and lean over the back of the couch. "You look... good. Muy guapo, papito." You slur feeling a heat spread in your lower belly. His eyebrows raise in surprise, he knows that look anywhere.

"Quierida..."

"Oscar... " You had the filthiest line ready for him to hear until a pair of footsteps descended from the steps. "Whoooooa! Elliana, Mira! Papa got glasses!" Rafa announces rushing down the stairs to get a better look and shortly another set of little feet made their way over. The two children were so interested in what was on their father's face and how different he looked. "Can you see better?" Elliana asks and he smiles giving her a sweet kiss on her head. "Sí, mi corazón. Thanks for asking."

Rafa turns to you. "Mama, doesn't Dad's glasses look cool?"

Their eyes were on you but you could feel the taunting nature of your husband's eyes. "Yeah... mhm, he looks... they look-k good." You stammer causing Oscar to smirk.

He had seemingly found an upper hand on you with these glasses and he wasn't afraid to use it over the next week. He had them on even when he didn't need them to see that look on your face— the lust, the adoration— your pupils seem to expand whenever you see him in those spectacles. He just looked fucking hot.

It was the best when he walked around in his grey sweats, alone, with no shirt. Just his tattoos and glasses to complete his look and you ate it up every time. You tug on your bottom lip as you paint the picture in your mind. But why imagine, when you can just go see. The house was quiet, all the kids were sound asleep, you shifted out of bed as carefully as you could to not wake Emilia. Once you are successful you grab the baby monitor and creep downstairs, the television is off and the whole first floor is dark-- the only form of light shines through the windows courtesy of the moon.

"Why the fuck would you do that!?"

Ah yes, of course, he was in his habitat. The basement. You sneak your way down to see that the ceiling light is off and he just has the ones around his monitors on, though they are bright enough for her to see where she's going. His back is turned and he's so zoned in that your presence goes unnoticed for quite some time. You cross your arms and dramatically clear your throat to let him know you're here. "Yall give me a minute, wifey is here." You can hear the collective; "Hi wifey!" "Hola señiorita!" "What's good Mrs. Spooky?"

You smile and greet them right back before he mutes his mic. "What's up?" He spins his chair to give you his full attention. "Emilia's awake?"

You shake your head. "No, she's still sleeping. Just came to hang out." Your eyes ogle the print in his sweats. He follows your line of sight and chuckles. "You sure?"

"Mhm." You swing your leg over his legs and perch yourself on his lap. "I mention how fucking good you look in these glasses?" You purr leaning in. "They havin' an effect on you, ma. That I can see." He hums ghosting your lips with his. "And that's why you should listen to your esposa (wife)more."

Your lips finally meet and it's not long before you two are practically nibbling at each other with a mutual desperation to end the sexual tension that's been created over time. "Let me hop off the game-"

"No, it's okay. They can't see you right?" You smirk gnawing at his jaw. "No, they can't."

You reach between your bodies and slide your hand into his sweats. Oscar reaches up to adjust his glasses and when they begin to fog up he cleans them off and reaches to put them on his desk when you stop him.

"The glasses stay on, Diaz."

if you liked this fic, feel free to like this fic, reblogs and comments are appreciated. peace and love, see you in the next one🤙🏾

🏷️: @darqchilddaydreamz @educatorsareslutstoo @realhotgurlshit @bigenergy777

#fluff #spooky fanfic #marleywrites #marleysfanfictions #on my block fanfiction #spooky #on my block #spooky x black!reader #husband!oscar #oscar diaz x black!reader

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apomaro-mellow · 4 months

Text

King&Prince 5

Steve's sleep at this point was mostly restless. It was hard to get comfortable down here, being a dungeon and all. And he was already a light sleeper by nature. Still, it took him longer than he liked to realize he was being watched. He'd awakened, feeling slightly colder than normal. He didn't hear footsteps or breathing, nor had any of the torches lit. Yet he could feel eyes on him. Someone was here. And it was something inhuman.

He could imagine a drooling maw opening wide and then snatching shut. Or a clawed hand reaching out to gouge. Slowly, Steve reached out for one of the stray bricks in his cell.

He turned and shot up quick, brandishing the rock only to find nothing. It was still completely dark, but he didn't feel the presence anymore. He dropped the rock and sat back down, still feeling tired but now completely awake. He stayed up, watching the bars of his cell until someone came to light the torches and deliver his breakfast.

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

"He looks pathetic", Eddie said, feet propped up onto the table.

"He's been sleeping in his own filth this whole time, of course he does", Nancy said, arms crossed.

"Are you sure his father isn't coming to save him?", Jeff asked.

Eddie had sent the ransom letter on a demobat. He was able to connect to any of the creatures in his domain and he'd kept this one tethered just to see and hear what King Alric would say once he'd received the message. The demobat had heard it loud and clear and relayed to Eddie the fact that his letter had been burned.

"No one from that kingdom is coming for him. He's been abandoned", Eddie said. Not too long ago, he would have said that with glee, maybe even dancing. But after seeing the state that Steve was in last night...

"So what's the next move?", Nancy asked. "You're not just thinking of letting him go, are you?"

Jeff stood up. "Why not? He's no use to us if he's a worthless prince. We might as well send him back."

"Send him back to what?", Eddie shot up. "His own father threw him away like trash." He went over to the window, gazing at the view of his kingdom at sunset. "I can't return him to that."

"Are you suggesting that you keep him as a pet?", Nancy raised a brow.

Eddie snorted. "Not me. Robin can have him. She's been wanting some help corralling the kids for their music lessons and to rearrange the storage for instruments."

"You're going to make a prince be Robin's lap dog?", Jeff snickered.

"She'll love it", Eddie grinned.

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

"I don't want him", Robin said as they went down to the dungeons.

"Too bad, he's yours", Eddie said.

"Do I at least get a leash?"

Eddie stopped when they got to Steve's cell. "I think he's already broken."

A brick thrown at the bars said otherwise.

"I think he's still got some fight in him", Robin snarked.

Eddie looked the prince up and down. He looked more like a street urchin than a member of a royal family. Covered in dirt and grime and probably other things. Eddie took a key from his pocket and started to unlock the cell.

"Time for my execution?"

"More like it's time for you to earn your keep around here", Eddie said as he slid the bars open. "You've been getting free meals and your own room to boot. I bet it's barely a change from back home."

Steve stood up suddenly and jabbed a sharpened piece of brick at the monster before him. His wrist was caught easily though and he ended up pinned against a wall. He didn't let up though, trying to land a hit until the king had both of his wrists held above his head and his lower half was being pressed by his hips, keeping him from kicking out. It didn't help that all this time being trapped and fed scraps had made his body weak.

"A rather valiant effort. You almost got close to laying a hand on me."

"Fuck you", Steve bit out. "I'm not working for you or for anyone here."

"You don't have much of a choice. I'm not in the business of letting people rot away useless. So you will be of use to my household in whatever way I see fit."

Steve thought of the horror stories he'd been told as a child. This beast could shift into anything and rip him apart. Why was it that right now, he was holding back? He had just tried to murder him Was he that little of a threat? Or maybe he was trying to keep from damaging the goods, lest his father go back on any deals to get him back.

"You can go ahead and execute me then. I'd rather die than be of use to you." Steve was surprised when he was released. It was so quick that he couldn't help but stumble.

"You would rather die than be a hostage for ransom? A little late for that, isn't it? And if you die, there goes negotiations."

"I don't know what my father has promised you for my return, but I don't fucking care anymore."

Steve hadn't even raised his voice, but the silence that followed was deafening. How long had he felt this way? His home wasn't a home anymore. His parents had already been shipping him off in the hopes of bettering him and meeting their standards. The difference between this cold dungeon and their frigid stares were very minimal.

He met the king's eyes but his expression was unreadable. Someone cleared their throat and Steve looked to the woman who had come with him. There was a trio of guards surrounding her now. Why a creature of chaos and darkness needed guards, Steve didn't know. Honestly, he was surprised to see as many humans as he had so far.

"Get him cleaned up", King Edward ordered. "Then take him to Robin's study."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "You can't be serious. I told you I don't want him!"

He walked out of the cell and the guards entered, taking a hold of Steve easily despite his struggling. He was taken out of the dungeons for the first time since he arrived. The castle's architecture and decor looked...homey. It was still grand, as most castles were, but Steve could hear people talking. Just talking. Some of them laughing. It was quite the change from his own castle's silent walls, but Steve wasn't able to take it in much before he was thrust into a room with a steaming bath.

He wanted to cry but then he immediately got into a defensive mode, expecting the guards to forcibly undress him and toss him in. Instead, once they released him, they left the room. He was surprised but not too surprised to see that they had locked the door behind themselves. Resigned, Steve took off his rags and stepped into the tub.

He couldn't help the soft moan that left his lips as he submerged. Instantly, his mood lifted. He soaked for a while, and then began to wash in earnest before the water could cool. He knew he'd been filthy but seeing the color of the water when he got out made him shiver. Steve dried off and looked around for something to wear. On the sink, a folded bundle got his attention.

While the prince was washing up, Robin was working in her study, trying to figure out what the prince could even do.

"You could always keep him busy with some heavy lifting", Eddie offered, being very helpful by sitting off to the side and tossing nuts into his mouth.

"You're really not going to tell him, are you? About his father's refusal to come?"

"...I think part of him already knows." Eddie had seen that look many times before. When Nancy had shown up at his doorway, tiny Mike in tow. When he'd found El causing a ruckus in one of his towns. Even the vision of Max popped up in his head. They had all been leaving something behind. But that something turned out to be absolutely nothing to them.

Prince Steven, coming from a long line of Harringtons, born in the lap of luxury with a legacy secured as long as he stayed in line...he didn't want any of it.

Eddie wanted to know why.

Part 7

And he's out of the cell!

Tag Team

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent @snakeorsquid @ignoremyworld @theclichefortunecookie @goodolefashionedloverboi @just-a-tiny-void @0body0disphoria0 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @samsoble @sugartin @jamieweasley13 @y4r3luv @xtkxkrzrizir @un-knownperson @greekgeek24 @justdrugsformethanks @potato-of-the-lord

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steve: you'll be playing the role of my father #robin: i don't wanna be your father #steve: good you already know your lines

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luckybunny555 · 10 months

Text

⋆｡˚⋆ Little artists - Spidey Squad ⋆｡˚⋆

You had to take care of Mayday while at the Spider Society, so you decided to have an artistic play date, but you caught someone's attention

Characters: Miles 1610!, Hobie, Gwen, Pavitr. Not necessarily romantic, can be read as platonic too! GN! reader(lmk if the compliments I used aren't gender neutral, english isn't my first language!)

A/N: this is my first time writing for Miles and Pav, I have no idea how to write accurate dialogue for them(and maybe Gwen and Hobie too lol) but I tried

Peter B. had to participate in one of Miguel's meetings, and Mayday wouldn't be quiet, she's got the explorer instinct and curiosity in her

You were bored of Miguel's voice, always complaining or scolding or something, you didn't really know because you totally tuned him out a while ago

Since you got along well with kids, and you clearly weren't paying attention to the meeting, he asked you to take care of her for a little while – and how could you say no when she's almost begging you to hold her, adorably extending her arms to you?

You totally accepted

So you had an idea. You remembered you kept some colorful markers in the bottom of your bag, because who knows when you might get the urge to draw something, right?

You take your markers, but you don't know where to draw, can't find any paper

Then you had another idea

Why not leave your and Mayday's mark on the wall? A sweet, sweet gift for Miguel to find at some point

You sit down on the floor, legs crossed and Mayday on your lap, markers scattered all around you

You give her a hand when she needs it, but we've seen how agile and quick to learn she is, she'll get the hang of it in no time

You draw on the wall too. Maybe you have a petty distaste for Miguel, maybe you like to defy authority and break rules, maybe you just wanna give the place a bit of color... You have your reasons(or maybe you don't? you do you)

You make sure your drawings don't overlap with hers, giving her plenty of space to express herself and create her colorful little masterpiece

And you add your little details to your drawings, personal touches to mark it as yours

But you weren't the only person who got bored at the meeting

Miles

He was sick and tired of hearing about canon events and whatever else Miguel had to say

He was looking around, not thinking about anything, just trying to find something interesting to distract him with

Then his eyes landed on you

When he saw you and Mayday surrounded by a bunch of markers, drawing on Miguel's wall? He just had to join

Dude just walks over with that big smile of his, sits next to you and starts asking you about your "play date"

"What're you guys doing over here?"

You stop to take a look at him, unaware that you had a (one man) audience, and explain your idea to entertain Mayday

"Oh, that looks cool! Can I join?" He grabs a marker and waits for your answer, you could see how excited about it he was

You playfully slap his arm and nod

When he starts, you take a few moments just to look at his process, observing the way he looks when he's all concentrated in his drawings and wondering about how it'll turn out

After a while, you continue yours, you and Miles sharing a few jokes and tips as you both laugh

Occasionally, you guys would help Mayday, and you couldn't help but smile, seeing just how great with kids Miles was

He's just so careful and friendly with her, not to mention he also has that "childlike wonder" and youthful energy that makes him connect so well with kids

When you guys are done with it, he'll take a selfie/picture of it(with you and Mayday in it), so he can take a look at it in his gallery whenever he misses you – never fails to make him smile

Hobie

He's sitting on a table, legs extended over it, not caring about the meeting since the moment Miguel opened his mouth to speak, even though he's still listening

He's an observer, so he already had his eyes taking in everything that was going on in the room, his gaze occasionally turning to your bored expression, or to Peter when he handed Mayday to you

His attention would shift from time to time, but when you sat down in front of the wall with all those markers, he was too intrigued to take his eyes off of you

A little while after you started drawing with the kid, he got up from the table and made his way to you, leaning casually against the wall, clearly observing you and Mayday

"Adding a lil' punk flair to Miguel's boring old wall?" He says with that signature smirk of his

You look up, stopping your drawing for a moment, and let out a chuckle

You hold out one of your markers, asking if he wants to join

He obviously accepted. Leaving his mark on Miguel's wall? it's a surprise if he hasn't done that already

He'll make it as vibrant and punk as possible

And he's damn good at it, like c'mon, you've seen his guitar, his jacket... the guy's an amazing artist

Every once in a while you'll stop just to admire how the drawings are turning out, or how cute and caring Hobie looks when interacting with Mayday

The three of you make a colorful mess on that wall, and when you're done, oh, does it look awesome

He'll friendly fist bump you, praising you for your artwork – and your "defiant artistic expression" idea or something like that ;)

Gwen

She was trying to pay attention to the meeting, she really was

But she couldn't help but be curious and intrigued by what you and Mayday were doing, sitting on the floor in front of a wall

So she quietly made her way towards you, careful not to draw anyone's attention and get you into trouble

She leaned against the wall, a slightly amused(admiring) grin on her face as she observed the scene

The both of you looked up at her, and she just admired how cute you two looked for a moment

She noticed how good you were with kids, and it kinda gave her butterflies, you were so adorable

You asked if she wanted to leave her mark on the wall too, but she didn't wanna get into trouble with Miguel, so she kindly refused

"I'm not much of an artist anyways"

But she did sit next to you to help Mayday with her little drawings

So the three of you just sat there for a while, Gwen lovingly admiring you while you were so focused on your artwork there, and you guys would talk about a bunch of stuff

Very supportive of Mayday's artistic expression as well, compliments even the ones with uneven, crooked lines and messy coloring

She completely forgot about the meeting btw, she'll ask someone later what it was about, but right now she just wants to talk to you and watch you do your thing

She kinda can't take her eyes off of you, you look so fascinating and beautiful when you're focused on your "creative project"

She'll totally compliment you when it's done, she genuinely adored it and she appreciates your talent, it's really impressive to her

Pavitr

My logic is that if dogs love him, kids must love him too(who wouldn't love this sunshine of a boy tbh?)

You caught his attention when he saw Mayday in your arms, how adorable she looked as you played with her

A few moments after you sat down to start drawing with her, he had to approach you out of curiosity

Mayday immediately smiles at him, doing that "hand grab" reach thing that kids do when they wanna be picked up

He just wins kids' heart so easily, ok? It's adorable, really

He'd start off just helping Mayday, but then he wouldn't resist to add his own touch to the wall, and he's so excited about it, smiling and laughing while you guys talk and draw

"Aaah this looks amazing! You're such a great artist" this boy gives the most excited compliments, he genuinely appreciates your art style

Every few moments he'll take a look at what you're doing and comment on it, so much praise and excitement from him

And he'll be Mayday's biggest cheerleader too, anything she draws he'll be like "Yeess, it looks great, little one!" and give her a high five

And his drawing looks hella cool too, I totally see him as an "arts and crafts" guy, so he totally has some experience

You'll see the pure joy and pride in his face once you guys finish your artwork, he totally loves it and he enjoyed every second of it with you and Mayday

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alicedash2 · 1 year

Text

Teen Shanks x Teen Y/N Whitebeard daughter!

Warning: none

Roger and Whitebeard meet in an inconvenient way on an island, and obviously Roger will not stop fighting Whitebeard, but Whitebeard said that someone had to take care of YN, as she was young and only 13 years old, she she had just joined Whitebeard's crew and had a lot to adapt to, nobody wanted her to get hurt, right?

- some of you keep lookout in YN! She ended up getting off the ship, I saw her running around- Whitebeard spoke

- oh, do you have a daughter, Whitebeard? How beautiful! - Roger teased

- yes, it's my precious daughter, who I'll kill anyone to protect, she's getting used to her new life!- Whitebeard said laughing, YN was saved from a massacre on the island she was on, the shock was so big in YN that caused several problems in YN

-don't worry, I guarantee you she'll be fine!- Roger said, getting ready to fight

- I know one thing, I know her strength, however small it may be, she is very skilled- Whitebeard was getting ready, while they fought among themselves, certain teenagers meet

- She's Whitebeard's daughter, Shanks!- Buggy tried to keep Shanks from wanting to approach YN, who was sitting under a tree,Shanks was mesmerized by YN's beauty, he was in love, she looked so sweet and sweet, her delicate shape and charm made Shanks' face turn red

- I know! But she doesn't look strong, it's okay to talk to her, and look at her! She's unarmed, what a danger...- Shanks said as he looked at the small girl playing with the grass, Shanks gets rid of Buggy's grip and goes to YN

- the problem is not her, but Whitebeard, leave her there and let's go!- Buggy pointed to the other side of the forest

-And who's going to take care of her?- Shanks asked with a worried face

-Shanks! Put it on your head! SHE-IS-DAUGHTER-OF-WHITE-BEARD! WE-ARE-ROGER'S-CREW!- Buggy yelled at Shanks while poking Shanks' forehead with every word being said

- if Whitebeard finds out we've talked to her, he'll kill us! And besides, she's a girl, it's going to be even worse!-Buggy said with a look of fear, Shanks, changes his expression, he puts his index finger close to his mouth, signaling that he was thinking

-You're right...- Shanks said

- Now you understand? Let's get out of here before anyone sees us- Buggy said anxiously

-but...- Shanks starts to speak

- NO BUT! SHH! LET'S GO! I am going! I don't want to mess with Whitebeard and his daughter!- Buggy left stomping, Shanks, takes advantage and approaches YN, who was still there

Shanks sneaks up next to YN, who just looks at Shanks but ignores him.

-Why aren't you with your crew?- Shanks asked

- and you? Why aren't you with your crew?- YN asked without taking her eyes off the ground

- I saw you around here, I thought it would be dangerous to leave you alone - Shanks smiled shyly

- Are you worrying about the enemy? Why?- YN asked looking at Shanks, who was leaning against the tree

- hmm, I don't see you as an enemy, maybe that's why- Shanks said calmly, Buggy didn't leave, he just walked away and watched the two

- I'm Shanks, I don't know if you've seen it, but my friend is Buggy, he was just with me - Shanks said with a huge smile

- I'm YN LN- YN said, only changing to a soft expression

-hey, YN, do you want my friend?- Shanks asked

-hows Shanks is dumb! Obviously she won't accept being friends with anyone from an enemy crew!- Buggy whispered

- yes!- YN said happily

- It's worse than Shanks!- Buggy cried

- what's going on?...- a voice is heard behind Buggy

- just two idiots being idiots! - Buggy said

- YN will have a lot to explain!- the voice said again, Buggy is paralyzed, trying to figure out whose voice it is, he looks slowly and then lets out a scream

-WHITEBEARD!!- Buggy starts running towards Shanks, who also starts running, but Whitebeard jumps and lands in front of them, preventing them from running and releasing a gust of air, causing the 3 to fall backwards

-YN! How dare you make friends with the redhead?!- Whitebeard asked extremely angrily

-like this? He doesn't present any danger!- YN said putting himself in front of Shanks

- he might be tricking you! - Whitebeard said

- Well, I don't think so!- YN said with an angry look.

-YN, go back to the ship!- Whitebeard said

-What?- YN asked

- get back on the ship, now! We'll have a long talk later! But first, I'm going to have a talk with these two!- Whitebeard said

- I knew this was going to happen, Shanks, this is your fault!- Buggy said pointing to the redhead

-Wait a minute!- Roger approached

- I don't see any problem with Shanks and Buggy being friends with your daughter, they're just teenagers- Roger said with a huge smile

- for that very reason! The chance of my daughter starting to like this redhead and wanting to keep it is huge! - Whitebeard spoke

- but they met today, I don't think that could happen, at least not now!- Roger laughed

- I already know how to defeat you now, Whitebeard! - Roger makes an evil face

-Shanks, I allow you to be friends with Whitebeard's daughter!- Roger said, Shanks' face lights up, he takes YN's hand and Buggy's arm and runs away with a smile on his face

- Let's get out of here! They're going to start fighting- Shanks said

- I don't even want to imagine the lecture I'm going to take!- YN said with tears in her eyes, thinking about what will happen

- It's okay, then I'll talk to Whitebeard - Shanks said, he goes to the coast, there, they are watching the landscape while listening to the sounds of fighting, Buggy, still afraid that something could happen, but Shanks, was so distracted and enthralled by YN, that in the blink of an eye, they'd be 17 and 18

-YN! Don't get off the ship!- Whitebeard said, but YN jumps off the ship and falls into Shanks' arms, who kisses her sweetly

- I STILL HAVE NOT ACCEPT THIS RELATIONSHIP!- Whitebeard said, but deep down, happy that YN had found his happiness, however hateful it is for Whitebeard

#shanks one piece #one piece #one piece x reader #whitebeard pirates x reader #akagami no shanks #shanks #shanks x reader #shanks x y/n #gol d. roger #red hair shanks #red haired shanks

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sprout-fics · 10 months

Text

Falling Down to Earth (Part One)

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Four of Snowblind

(Part Two Here)

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 7.6k Tags: Slow Burn, Heavy Angst, Trauma, Found Family, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Self Esteem Issues, Referenced Familial abuse, Mom Laswell, Domesticity Warnings: References to childhood verbal abuse A/N: Three part character study of the medic named Fix, therapy included

There's exactly nine hours and ten minutes on the plane ride from England to Washington D.C. for you to finish falling down to Earth.

You sit in a far corner of the C-17, curled up on a seat and away from the other troops. Mostly American, some Canadian. They chatter for the first hour or so, and there's excitement, relief that buzzes through them. There’s smiles and laughter that drowns the fatigue of the things they've seen, the nightmares they'll all have. It doesn't matter right now. They're going home. Home to loved ones and familiar places, to joy and relief before the memories set in.In their camaraderie, someone produces a deck of cards, and there’s jovial laughter and friendly jibes as hands are played.

You listen from afar, gather bits and pieces of their lives- where they were stationed, for how long, where they're going home to, the people waiting for them. There’s an ounce of something that remains untouchable between them, refusing to speak of the bullet, the bombings and bombardments that scream in the silence of your mind. Some of them exchange numbers, share pictures of spouses, children, pets. There's a woman a little older than yourself who confesses she'll be proposing to her girlfriend the moment she lands, and the announcement is met by cheers and hardy claps on her shoulder.

You should join them, let the brightness of their joy drown away the dark pit that opens inside you with every mile that grows between you and the men you called brothers. Instead, every bit of illumination in their eyes seems to only make you sink further into yourself- wanting that happiness desperately for your own tender soul and far too afraid to reach for it.

There's no one to return to when you get home. Nobody to embrace you as you land, to burst from the door of a house and cry as they wrap their arms around you. Nobody to take you out to drinks even as you search the crowd for a familiar dark hoodie, a baseball cap, listen for a smoky, gruff voice or the lilting accent of a Scot. The only people for you are the people you've been forced to leave behind, staring across the sea and hoping maybe they'll think about you too.

You see the way the other troops eye you from afar, see the lost shape of you in your eyes that have long since stopped being able to shed tears. You think maybe one of them will come over, try to drag you from your thoughts, and for a moment you want so desperately for that to come true. It doesn't, and as the buzzer sounds and everyone finds their seats, you feel yourself descending to Earth once more, buckling away that horrid loneliness of you for whatever task comes next.

True to story, there's a small crowd of folks who welcome back the returning heroes with signs and embraces and delight. You tug your cap down a little farther, push past them and towards the direction of the base gate to grab a cab to...somewhere.

There's no one here for you. Not that you expected there to be. It's been a long time since you talked to your family. They'd tried to contact you while you were in university, and even now you can remember your father's commanding voice, warning you against the foolishness of your current path. He had been tempered only by your mother, with her docile, sad tremble, pleading for you to listen, to come home.

You stopped having a home with them a long time ago.

The last time you had heard from any of them was from your brother, the golden child, asking if you'd please consider coming to his candidacy announcement. Sweet, apologetic, filled with false niceties the result of only forceful ignorance.

"I don't know what happened between you and Dad, but maybe consider he said whatever he did because he cares about you?"

You hung up the phone, took your deployment papers, and never looked back.

Now, in a city that you've grown up in, one that feels like a foreign land, you falter, look to the wind for guidance. Air rushes past your form as you feel the center of yourself falling, an Icarus desperately reaching for the sun as you hurtle down into the dark waves of the ocean below. There’s no hands to catch you, nothing to stop your fall as you desperately grasp for an anchor against the gravity that forces you down into nothing.

You turn on your phone, watch it light up and prepare to call yourself a cab to a hotel. You're pretty sure your lease ended a long time ago, apartment cleaned out of the few things remaining there. You didn't bother to check, never expecting you'd be anywhere but here.

Surprisingly, you see a little green bubble pop up from one of the only numbers you have saved.

Laswell.

Fix. It reads, and you can almost hear Kate's clipped, wry tone in her words. If you're looking for a place to stay, come to this address. I've got a spare bedroom, and it sounds like you could use it. Let me know if you make other arrangements.

Attached is an address on the other side of the city, an hour's drive from where you are. You're ready to tap on it when there's one more message that appears beneath your thumb.

Text me when you get this. The boys want to know you made it home safe.

You're glad Kate isn't here to watch the sorrow color your eyes at the reminder of the men who have left you behind. You send a quick reply, summon a ride, and once more feel the world spin once more beneath your gaze as it rushes upwards, uncertain of where you will at last land when you sink through the clouds and into the ruin of yourself.

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

It’s a nice house, you think.

Pressed up against a small thicket of trees, the brown brick bungalow exudes solitude, tucked away at the end of the aspen lined lane. The roof slopes steeply upwards, shingled and crossed over at the eaves with German styled paneling. It's older than many of the homes on the same street- newer, trying to appear older than they are with the faux stone exteriors and freshly installed windows.

The house before you is one of the few that has remained the same, steadfast against a changing world. Worn, tiles on the roof in need of mending, the stone steps gritty with dirt and age. It's quieter, yet somehow warmer than the homes around it. Like a hearth, it beckons you closer, offers the temptation of sanctuary. You can see a window jutting out into the direction of the side yard, a hidden perch that whispers of a quiet, needed withdrawal.

A glance down at your phone shows Kate’s message, the white letters contrasted against the gray darkness of your screen.

I won’t be home until after dinner, but Paula will be home. She’ll show you around :)

You shoulder your bag- standard issue military duffel- onto your back, trying to swallow down the gnawing sense of reluctance that paces the inner confines of your thoughts. The wince at the motion comes before you can stop it- the reminder of your suspension still scathing fresh against your skin. The lace of pain in your side instantly summons the memory of words fired between the sterile whiteness of a hospital room, aching with that same hurt.

“You have nothing to prove, Fix.”

“I have EVERYTHING to prove!!”

Even now, the freshly healed bullet wound you’d carefully concealed aches with an insistent, dulled sharpness against your ribs- almost worse than Price’s devastating command, thundering down onto you with dreaded finality.

“You’re suspended. Come back when you’ve got your head on straight.”

It hurts.

Not the wound itself, but the consequences you’ve reaped in the act of hiding it from the others- thinking that your injury would betray your own inner weakness. Deeper than a bullet, the horrifying, dreaded result of your own actions wind around your limbs like shadowy tendrils, dragging you down with an inertia you can’t control, wax wings melted by the sun.

Yet here the windows of the house glow warmly in the drawing dusk, candles in the dimness flicker, summoning you into their gentle embrace.

The hollow knock on the old wooden door seems to mimic the emptiness in your own heart, crying out in an emptiness you’ve always known, one you won’t be able to fill even with the insurmountable number of your disappointments.

The one who answers the door isn’t Kate. No, it’s a figure that’s a bit shorter, brown-eyed, coiling hair pulled away from her face. Still, the warmness of her eyes when she smiles, the brightness of her stare feels familiar, welcome.

“You must be Fix.” Kate’s wife greets, standing aside as your toes balance on the threshold. “I’m Paula. Please, come inside.”

You murmur a thanks, quiet and muted, eyes gazing down at your feet. You shuffle inside, perch precariously in the foyer as she shuts the door behind you.

This feels…wrong.

You desperately want it to not be so. You want to enjoy this- a warm house, a friendly face, a place to stay, to catch yourself. Yet there’s ghosts here, ones that whisper of chandeliers and polished centerpieces, beautiful tapestries and furniture meant only to look at. An artificialness you thought you abandoned long ago but persists even now. The scent of your father's office in your nostrils mutes Paula's gentle words.

“You can put your bag right here, we’ll get you settled later.” Paula gestures to a couch in the room beside you, where a dozing German Shepherd lies splayed against a frayed blanket. He gives you a few lazy thumps of his tail, raising a grey muzzle before flopping back once more. “Don’t mind Whiskey, he just had a run in the backyard, he’ll come say hello in a bit.”

Wordlessly, you drop the bag down on the cushions, turning back to Paula. Yet when your lips part, there’s no words. What do you even say?

I don’t want to be here. I want to be with them. This feels too much like the home I used to know, the same one I want to forget.

…Do you know where I can find myself again?

Your eyes find Paula’s, and all those words seem to be conveyed in your gaze alone. Heartbreak, bitter disappointment, longing, despair, a fury muted only by your own inescapable loneliness.

She takes a step forward, and you almost want to retreat, to press yourself away from her on instinct, a fragile thing that even a gentle touch might shatter. Yet there’s no threat in her eyes. Instead, there’s a warmth, a sadness that’s stifled by something that feels dangerously close to tenderness, to hope.

When her arms wrap around you, it feels less like a sentence and more like the inevitability of falling into a place where you want to rest the tender, hurt fringes of your soul.

You bury your face into her shoulder and sob like the child you never got to be.

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

True to her word, Kate comes home well after dark, bags under her eyes heavy as she drapes her jacket across the back of the couch. Whiskey, who until that point had been sitting attentively by your feet as you idly stroked his ears, barks and bounds over to Laswell, feet splaying forward and tail wagging. You watch as the fatigue in Laswell's eyes brightens to fondness, and she kneels to offer the German Shepherd a ruffle of his neck and a few tender words.

When she stands, she notices you past the door of the kitchen, perching on one of the barstools as Paula finishes making dinner.

"Fix." She offers in greeting, and she sounds oddly pleased, different than her usual, severe instruction to you and the team. "Good to see you."

You swallow around a piece of cracker and cheese and offer her a hesitant, shy glance with a smile that doesn't reach your eyes.

"Hi Chief." You supply in turn, and Kate waves a hand at you as she passes into the kitchen, Whiskey at her heels.

"You can drop the honorifics." She tells you, humor concealing the drain the day has had on her. "You're in my kitchen eating food from my pantry. This is about as informal as it gets."

"That would be my kitchen, actually?" Paula supplies her with an arched eyebrow as she stands over the stovetop, overseeing the steaks in the cast-iron pan. Yet as Laswell reaches her the feigned annoyance in her eyes fades to something sweeter, and she cranes her head as Laswell delivers a fond peck to her wife's cheek. "Hi hun, long day?"

"Aren't they all?" Kate replies, peering over Paula's shoulder and making a pleased noise at what she finds.

You shift a little where you sit, feeling suddenly as if you're deeply intruding on a very private moment between the two women.

Kate seems to notice, and she turns to you, grey eyes regarding your stiff, uneasy figure perched beside the counter. You're still dressed in your fatigues, haven't yet retrieved a change of clothes from your bag still dropped onto the couch. It makes you feel strangely out of place. Within the dim, ambient light of the kitchen, in a place that feels like the tender warmth of a hearth, the green and grey camo of your uniform makes you seem a whole world away.

You think Laswell might follow you there, might immediately ask about what happened in England, about your fight with Price, about the healing bullet wound in your side, about how long you'll be here.

Instead, Kate smiles and asks: "Chocolate or pistachio?"

You falter, perplexed by her non-sequitur, eyes blinking as you provide: "Choc...olate?"

Kate nods sagely and vanishes back in the direction of the living room. You hear her rustle around for a moment before she appears once more, hands full before she deposits a plastic container on the kitchen counter in front of you. You blink at the dessert, once more feeling a bit out of place with the strange mundanity Kate has bestowed upon you.

"Cannoli." She quips, and it startles a little gasp from Paula, who turns and delightedly snatches a plastic container from her wife's hands.

"Eastern Market?" She asks happily, and Kate nods, looking a touch pleased with herself. "No wonder you were so late."

Kate offers a tired shrug, taking a bite of her own dessert, to which Paula tsks.

"Dessert before dinner?" She inquires, and again Kate shrugs. Yet this time there's that wry smile of hers tugging at the corner of her lips as she leans against the counter beside you.

"Who's to say we can't?" She replies, and when she glances at you her eyes flicker down to your own dessert and then up to you with a meaning there you don't fully understand yet. Her grey gaze rests on yours as if she's trying to convey a message through her stare alone. It remains to be deciphered, unwritten and unspooled just like the depths of you.

When you take a bite, the sweetness coats your tongue, and there's a small, foreign part of you that twinkles with joy, like the barest sound of wind chimes in a warm breeze.

-----

Kate shows you to your room after dinner and dishes. It's sparse. A bed, a dresser, a desk, a lamp, a closet. The window you saw earlier looks into the backyard, a cushion seated inside the frame like a silent lookout. It pleases you, oddly, scratches the part of your brain that instinctively seeks perches from which to set up a sniper position.

"It's not the Ritz Carlton." Laswell tells you as you stand, frozen on the threshold. "So, you'll have to bear with it."

"No." You whisper mildly. "It's...it's perfect."

You've spent so much time sleeping in trenches, on rooftops, on planes and in safehouses and not sleeping at all that this- this room with the downy white comforter and the soft hazy light of the lamp by the bedside...is more than you think you deserve.

You lower the duffel onto the bed with a considerable amount of hesitation, feeling Kate's eyes on you as you trace the print on the decorative pillow nestled at the headboard. She's silent, in that way of hers that you know is watchful, contemplative, discerning the secrets of others like sifting sand through her fingers in search of sea glass.

"Thank you." You offer after considerable silence, feeling and gratitude beyond words, trying to swallow down the protests that threaten to spill outwards.

I don't deserve this. You think. How can I possibly stay here, with you, after you chose me and I failed? How can you forgive me for that?

When you turn to Kate, she somehow sees all of this and more written across your gaze, and she sighs.

"Fix." She begins, and normally that's enough to make you panic, shift inwards and prepare yourself to be defensive, to receive orders and bury any doubts in exchange for duty. You expect instructions, constraints, consequences in the way you've lived all your life.

Yet Laswell holds her breath, looks at you with an emotion that feels too wise and sibylline to be pity or concern. Instead, it reminds you of the prophecy she held in her gaze in Ethiopia, where she told you to find her once more, had drawn you in like a moth to flame as if she knew you needed to be burned whole to find yourself amidst the ashes.

"Whatever you need." Kate offers at last. "I'm here. I mean that."

You want to believe her, want so desperately to bask in her comfort and ask of her more than you can bear, but the whisper of something deep and dark and unknown coils in your ear, drags you down and muffles any other sound than "Thank you."

It doesn't seem to satisfy Kate, because the line of her mouth goes taut and grim, form a little tense and it's hard to not think of it as disapproval.

"There's something else." She supplies in the silence that follows. "Price...mandated that you see a therapist while you're on leave. I'm supposed to sign off when you're fit to return to duty."

You can acutely hear the sound of your own heart hammering in your ears, feel the world spin in dizzying chaos once more as you process Kate's words.

"I thought you should know." Kate tells you as your face shifts in something close to fright, anxiousness. "But in exchange you can't keep pretending like there's nothing wrong."

There is nothing wrong. You want to tell her, knowing that it's a lie. So instead, you offer her silence, refuse to damn yourself further with your protests.

Kate paces over to the desk, pulls a drawer and produces a journal, places it gingerly on the surface of the desk before looking back to you.

"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. You don't even have to tell your therapist if you want. If you tell no one else, at least try and tell yourself."

You don't respond. What is there to say? Confess why you know you're here, that you think this is wrong despite that? That somehow for all the ruin in you, you're being punished?

Kate holds your gaze for a long moment before she closes her eyes, seemingly in resignation, pacing over to the door.

"The others..." She tells you, halfway turned to you, dim shadows slating across her form. "They care about you, Fix. We all do. I hope you remember that."

There's a pain then, one that flashes through you, makes something dull and rotted inside you crave towards brightness. You don't truly understand why it hurts until much later, curled in bed, staring at the ceiling in the darkness and trying to uncover the secrets of your own heart.

You think, deep inside, it's because you want to care about yourself too.

-------

The days that follow inch by.

You try your best to make yourself at home, memorizing the schedules of the women who host you. Laswell wakes first, at an hour most would consider ungodly, making herself a meager breakfast composed mostly of coffee before she kisses Paula and heads out towards the Pentagon. Paula follows later, flitting about the house muttering about misplaced papers, keys, glasses, her purse. You learn the first evening with them that she's counsel to a large immigration defense firm in the city, her hours intense but fairly flexible. She's usually back by early afternoon and manages to retain a wealth of energy Laswell seems to lack upon her arrival. The days repeat themselves, and every morning you watch them leaves, ears ringing in the quiet, empty house they've left behind.

You try to relax, as Laswell has ordered you, at least for the first few days. You read books, leaf through the Washington Post, go on long, rambling walks with Whiskey and end up with his head in your lap as you flick through movies on TV. You watch the characters there fall into silly, desperate love, jump from burning buildings and look into the camera with dewy, glowing gazes. It feels so foreign to you, so very detached from the things you've experienced, the life you've led.

The journal on your desk goes untouched.

Kate arrives back in the evenings, and sometimes she's too tired to even talk, forcing herself to eat and then collapsing on the couch for an hour, Whiskey splayed across her front. You join her in mutual company, curl onto the other sofa and sink into the confines of your own thoughts in mutual silence. Sometimes you join Paula in the kitchen, aid her in washing dishes and cleaning the remains of dinner. Yet the unwavering warmth in her, the brightened chatter she offers feels too sharp, too indulgent against your frayed, muted senses.

Instead, you find yourself with Kate, who talks in a low, quiet voice. The tone of her feels like the ocean casting gently against a pebbled beach, rhythmic and soothing, cradling you as the clipped, wry intonation of her drops away in the solitude of evening. You feel for the first time as if you're observing not Laswell but Kate. Somehow softer but just as resilient, a glimmering glass that reveals the machinations of the world itself.

Kate talks to you about music, about politics, to which you find yourself closely aligned, about pop culture that Paula chimes in on, about her travels. She regales you with stories about her missions abroad, spending time in the dust bowls of the Middle East, of beautiful tea shops and warm people. She spins images of ruined buildings but the people there straining against injustice and wanting desperately to not just survive but to thrive. She tells you of trips down into the heart of Sub-Saharan Africa, of tracing networks of terrorists through jungles and of the many languages she's spoken to find them.

She doesn't tell you about the lives she'd lost as a result.

She's careful not to talk about work, you notice. Any intel she has to share, that which you would normally be privy to, remains conspicuously absent in your conversations. There's no discussion of intel on AQ, on Russian gangsters or foreign mercenaries or underground criminal networks. She's purposeful, calculated, and more often than not you're led by her conversations so much so that you forget the questions you want to ask.

What did you find? Where? Who? Will you send them? Which ones?

...How are they?

The mere thought of the 141 aches you to the bones, makes you hurt so badly it cracks at the very foundation of you. You haven't heard from them since you left England, and every day that passes you catch yourself staring into the messages last sent by them. Gaz, inviting you to come watch a soccer match with him and Price, one that ended up drawing all of you as Soap groaned in defeat and Gaz stood proudly on the couch whooping at the TV. Price, reminding you wheels up in fifteen, suggesting you double check your medic kit one more time before you all leave. Soap, a selfie of you and the others at a bar, where Price and a dark hooded figure sit passively in the background.

Ghost, with your message a parting, aching gift you sent while you were recovering from your original injury after being shot. He had texted to let you know he and Price would arrive shortly, bring you a change or two of clothes from your bag, that they were five minutes out.

You had sent back "See you soon."

It's on more than one night you hug your phone to your chest, chest lacing with a pain where you can't discern the phantasmal from the physical. It feels like a curse, one with no remedy, a dangerous, sacrilegious hypocrisy you scream against with no escape. It's a reminder that you, you were the one to put yourself here, the rope that bound you to them frayed by your own mistakes and snapping into nothingness, watching them rise far above you atop the summit of impossible expectations you built for yourself. You scrabble to climb it anyways, carrying stones to place at the zenith so you'll never reach the apex of your own victories.

You shake apart in your bed at night, tremble in the dark and find echoes in your sorrow. You feel your chest weigh down with the poisonous solitude and sink you further into the abyss of the ocean, far from the sun. It's dark, cold, insufferably lonely and despite the soft comfort of your bed it feels like at the slightest touch you'll splinter into irreparable fragments of yourself.

You wish you were still with them, and the pain of it draws you taut like a bowstring. Their fingers skim along your thoughts and memories, along the tether of you so they can listen to the hum. At a moment's notice they'll recoil away from you in your thoughts, snap and release. You crave the temptation of allowing yourself to shudder into their grasp, their hands embracing you and tracing along your surface like trying to coax poison from a wound. You want so desperately for them to not leave you behind, to stay in their hearts where they might someday accept you with grace, listening to the whisper of your surrender in being loved by them.

When you wake in the mornings you don't recognize the birdsong outside, mistaking it for the whistle of impending missiles.

You sometimes wonder if they died while you were asleep.

------

It's that second week into your stay that you go to see your issued therapist for the first time.

Despite your protests Paula takes time off work to take you there herself. You assure her you can call a taxi or even walk there if you have to. You've hiked kilometers wearing your whole gear set and pack before, this is not difficult. Yet Paula merely hushes you, reminds you once again of your injury, and you realize it's a lost cause to argue with her.

Even so, you squirm uncomfortably in the car on the way over, cheeks warm, feeling like a little kid again being taken somewhere you don't want to go. The sensation follows you inside, as you sit ramrod straight in the waiting area, too tightly wound to relax even an inch. Paula had given you the grace of leaving you there by yourself, but for some strange reason you wish she hadn't. Even in your shame of attending this mandatory punishment you wish selfishly that maybe she'd return, cover your hand and let the erratic thump of your heartbeat settle in your lungs.

Eventually the door to the interior office opens, and out steps an older man, hunched over with a cane, grey hairs sticking out from under a cap that reads 'Vietnam Veteran'. He glances at you over his glasses, pauses just long enough to give you a nod with a smile that barely contains the grimace underneath. It's only once he's passed that the doctor behind him calls for you, and you shoot to your feet, a live wire rigged with electricity.

The inside of his office is...quiet. It's a little strange, admittedly. There's knick knacks scattered across the shelves, wedged between acclimations and awards, plants with long stems spilling across the windowsill behind his desk. More of them perch on various stands and stools, tenderly cared for and alighting the space in greenery. The bookshelves scarcely contain the number of books within them, some stacked slightly askew to make room for more. Yet despite the crowdedness it isn't messy. It simply feels...full. Cozy, like the warmth of an open heart.

"Fix." You correct him when he sits across from you. You realize he doesn't bother with a pen and paper, doesn't sit in front of a laptop screen. You weren't sure what you were expecting- perhaps a dry, sterile office in pastel colors with motivational poster and a man clinically scratching down shorthand with a murmur of 'and how does that make you feel?'

"Fix." He agrees with a kind smile, and the sound of your own name is enough to make your leg stop bouncing.

He doesn't launch straight in, taking a moment to inform you of your rights and responsibilities as a patient, the things he is and isn't allowed to share. He reminds you that you still need to pass a psych eval before you're cleared for duty, and you swallow the urge to ask him if you can do that part already, recite the answers you already know and get back to where you belong. Yet you know Laswell, with her keen perceptive eyes, would only sigh in disappointment, recognizing the transparency of you.

"I'm a medic." You tell him in response to his prompt to introduce yourself despite the fact he's already read your file. "I'm the designated medic for an international terrorism taskforce. I can't tell you the name."

He waits expectantly, as if for you to provide something else. You falter, trying to figure out if there's anything else you should add. Yet nothing appears, nothing else than your identity built through purpose, a thing designed inherently to be useful for others.

"Do you do anything outside of work, Fix?" He gently pries, and again you hesitate, trying to find something in yourself you aren't sure exists.

"I...sometimes go out with my teammates." You offer after a pause. "Pubs, usually. Soap and Gaz, they..." You trail off, feeling once more that pain pulse through you, a hard and heavy burst of awareness against your ribs that makes the air in your chest catch. "Soap and Gaz, they like to go dancing sometimes. They dragged me along once but I didn't like all the noise and the crowds so I didn't go again."

"Sounds like you're fairly close with them." He remarks as he sits back in his chair, and you try not to grimace at his words. There's a deep ache in your chest that makes you want to press a hand there, feel the hollow where the absence of your team lies.

"Maybe." You reply enigmatically, shifting your eyes away, letting your gaze trace the electric clutter of the room, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. You think about the veteran you just saw, wonder if that’s how he sees you too- some scarred, broken thing with eyes looking distantly to the past where your nightmares echo into your soul.

"Where are they now?" He goes on, and the chest ache deepens, forces the air low in your ribs as your brow knots. You think about the faces of Soap, of Gaz, as they lingered outside your hospital room after you pushed them away. The guilt, the tearing regret inside you threatens to choke your lungs, send warmth flooding to your eyes with the memory.

"England." You answer, voice very small. "Or...I don't know. They could be deployed. I haven't been told. They..." You trail off, feel the downward spiral open inside you once more, your awareness circling the drain into where your deepest, darkest thoughts lie.

"I failed them." You say suddenly, surprising even yourself with the abrupt confession. It's more to yourself than to anyone else, a solemn reminder of the person you are, the things you couldn't achieve, the deep frost of the shadows they cast on you as they hike ever onwards into the hills.

"How so?" The therapist asks, and you look down into your fingers webbed together, upturning your palms as if they have answers.

"I...fucked up. Got myself shot." You breathe after several long minutes of silence, where you think he will fill the void, and instead waits for you. He takes a deep inhale, lets it go in contemplation before speaking.

"I don't think getting shot counts as failing them, not when you're in our occupation." He provides, and it makes your head shoot up, blinking as you meet his gaze.

"Our...?" You echo.

"Former army medic." There's a gentle smile on his face as he explains. "Left the service and went back to school. I still help soldiers, just a little different these days."

"Oh."

You're not really sure what to say to that, face turning downwards towards your hands once more. You think about the times they've been caked with blood, how often you've felt someone else's pulse bleed across your fingertips. The memories of the men and women you'd treated amidst the hail of gunfire, the whistle of incoming mortars and the distant thunder of tanks rise automatically- a warm, wet pulse on the underside of your skin. You remember every face, every set of eyes on the people you've saved, the horror of death looming in the distance.

All of them. Afraid. Confused. Desperate. Lost.

Just as you are, you think. Lost in a fate you can't seem to control no matter how desperately you strive against it. You’re constantly trying to strain towards the heavens even as you hurtle down through layers of clouds, watching feathers cast an abstract of loss behind your descending form.

"Can you tell me about what happened after you were shot?" The man before you offers once more in the silence that follows, one filled only with the thrum of your heartbeat. You breathe shaky, unsteady sigh, trying to calm the twisting knot in your stomach as you struggle to answer against the pain of recalling what events led you here.

"I went back to our home base with them" You answer at last. "...But they had to be called away on another mission, and I was still healing so I couldn't go."

You remember Price. You remember his hands on your shoulders, his face turned down. Weary but kind, stern but gentle, all the things you desperately wanted in him, soothing the balm of forgotten memories. The sound of the oak door in your father's office shutting behind you with a click that spoke of finality.

"I...was trying to heal faster." You go on, leg bouncing once more as you fail to contain the rising, frenetic energy inside of you. "I was trying to make sure I could be fine once they got back, but..."

You trail off, feel silence press heavy on your shoulders.

"But?"

"I ended up really fucking things up instead." You reply, voice small, and it hurts. The volume of your words sounds like childhood, of the echo bouncing back from the repository of the things you longed desperately to shed, to be made anew. "Made a right mess of things."

"How so?"

You grimace, feel tears threaten in your eyes. The taste of a sob sours on your tongue, and you force yourself to swallow the bitterness of it instead.

Don't cry. Don't cry. You remind yourself. Don't show them. Don't let them know.

They might leave you.

When you don't answer, let minutes lap into nothingness, his voice at last fills the emptiness between you. Gentle, coaxing, reminding you of a smoke laden reassurance that shudders through you with longing.

"It sounds like you put a lot of pressure on yourself." He observes quietly.

You pause.

Your bullet wound hurts.

"Yeah, well, someone has to." You at last reply ruefully. Your shoulders feel too tight, aching with the weight of the wings you’ve used to loft yourself towards sparkling heavens, only to reach too far and instead witness the looming maw of darkness under you.

You hate this.

You hate the feeling of someone peeling back layers of your skin, slicing through the exterior of you with a scalpel like gaze. You hate how gentle his eyes are despite how wretchedly vulnerable you feel, despise the way he can be so soothing and yet somehow reveal the rotten interior of your soul. It burns, and the pain concentrates on the center of your failures, where a bullet ripped flesh from your form and rendered you lost in the labyrinth of yourself, unable to find a way out.

"-and that person is you? Why?" He asks, and his voice echoes out, feels like it reverberates in the hollow center of you, bouncing endlessly in an irreligious choir that sings of the things you don't understand.

"I...don't know." You answer, and it's a lie. You know it is. You know the tether that binds you extends years into the past, is wrapped tight in the fist of the one whose voice echoes in the cavern of your thoughts. He dwells in the ocean below, where churning, disastrous waves of emotion close over your drowning form.

"Worthless."

The man before you pauses, seems to consider the things you've said, and the words that stay unspoken in the silence. It reminds you a bit of Laswell, of the way she can pluck unseen things from the mist and discern them like the tides of the world itself. You're caught in the rip current, carried to an unknown destination as the men you hold dear drift further away from you, their backs turned from your voice that refuses to call out.

You wish they’d turn and cast their eyes upon your form, that maybe they'd rescue you.

You're too afraid to ask.

"I think we can find out, Fix." The man before you offers at last, and it feels both like a shimmer of light in the darkness and a shadow that blots out the sun. Hopeful, terrifying, entirely foreign but somehow wanted.

"Will you tell me more about your teammates?" He goes on to ask, and you do raise your head at that, blink into his spectacled gaze with his warm smile that feels like an embrace you don't deserve.

The words tumble out before you can stop them.

You tell him. You tell him about the men you've served with, of your brothers. You tell him about Soap, with his brawny and boisterous voice, of his playful and endearing banter. You tell him about how the Scot was the first besides Price to welcome you to the team, was the one to give you your nickname when he had bled into your hands. You tell him about the moments where Soap is softer, gentler, offering himself to you in a way he hoped you'd might one day return.

Gaz, with his softer smile and unwavering focus, his deep loyalty to his team members that bolsters you all. He sees the things the rest of you don't, gaze sharp like the scope of a rifle you're all too familiar with. There's a softness to him unlike the others, one that you will sometimes forget in the midst of him at your back under a hail of gunfire. You know the sound of his laughter, know the bump of his arm against yours and the tenderness in his eyes at the things you won't admit.

Then Price, with his stern guidance that you never fail to adhere to, the hand on your shoulder that conveys more than words. You feel safety under the shelter of his wing, look to his stare that looks past the obstacles that stand in his way. He paves the way before you all, secures the ground behind you, stands in unrelenting, furious opposition to the forces that dare advance upon your mission. Yet despite his violence you feel the trust he shares in you, and you desperately crave to someday live up to it.

Ghost.

Ghost, whose real name you don't yet know, just like so many things about him. The first time you met him was in a briefing room, Price standing tall beside you and announcing you to the team. Ghost had leveled his dark, dead gaze at you from afar, and despite the urge to shrink away you had instead returned his stare wordlessly, allowing your own resilience to shine through. You remember how his eyes had widened a mere fraction, a tell you would come to learn as interest.

You know it had been him who had taken off your boots when you collapsed into your bunk after Nepal. You know it had been him to give Price the thermos of tea to bring you in the hospital. You know it had been him who had gently lowered you onto the floor of the plane upon your return to England, ensured you wouldn't wake up sore and hurting.

You know it was he who had told Price of your failures- had revealed the depths of your own self-hatred blossoming like carnations across the skeletal grasp of his glove.

You know he's always been able to see you more than anyone else.

You don't say all this, of course, the secrets of your wishes and desires for these men stay close to your heart. You know by now the sacredness of things left unsaid, even if the swell of them inside you threatens to fester your bones, rip feathers from your flesh.

Don't let them know. Don't let them know. Don't let them know because you'll find out just how disappointed they are. You'll find out they never wanted you to begin with.

At last, your therapist nods, as if to himself, before leaning forward a bit so his elbows rest on his knees. He looks at you, and in your weary heart left in the wake of your memories, you feel the clairvoyant gaze of him pierce into your ribs where the ache of it all dwells.

"Can you come back next week?" Is all he offers.

You aren't sure. You want to say no, that this is far too much, that you've already spoken more than you want to. You're afraid if you share more he might somehow decide your fate for you, might pull the strings of fate so you will never return to the place you're supposed to be.

Yet, somehow, you say yes instead.

------

You go home, silent on the drive with Paula, who gives you grace in the absence of words. You are silent for the rest of the day too, offer scant bits of conversation as you pick at dinner. The world feels different somehow. The air rushing past your ears feels quieter, the wind not as sharp against your skin. You’re still falling, still sinking, still watching the heavens loom too large above your form. You recall the memory of being younger, smaller, looking up at the unfathomable expanse of the world and wondering when you would grow to meet its size.

You stare up at it in the darkness of your bedroom, hear the gale howl in the silence of midnight. There’s questions left to you that you have no answers for, upturning your palms once more and trying to sift sand through them in search of something there you don’t yet know.

"That person is you? Why?"

It has to be me. You think to yourself, hearing the sound of your own voice hush against the emptiness of your room. Nobody else is here anymore to do the same. I have to be better. I can't fail. I can't disappoint them. That way they can't see the failure I am inside.

Don't let them see. Please, dear God don't let them see.

It's a desperate cry into the midnight, a hand thrown up in desperation that sears against the sun. The blistering brightness of it burns against the back of your eyelids, rendering you blind to yourself. White consumes your vision, and you hear the fated whisper of snow blindness echo against the fraught fringes of your soul once more.

"I see you. Just you."

You blink, once more feel the tug of pain in your side where his hand had clamped down on your scarlet wound. The sight of his eyes is inescapable in the realm of your thoughts. Dark, grim, gazing into you as if somehow he is discerning himself. You remember those same eyes as you had bled over his fingertips, had begged him to please, please not look. You remember seeing something that flickered across his stare, that had shaken you to your core, trembled the foundation of the earth under your feet.

Grief.

You rise from your bed, stare into the darkness of your room, feeling the Earth rotate under your falling form. You spread your arms, trying to slow your descent as you pace over to your desk where the gift from Laswell lies.

If you can't tell anyone. At least tell yourself.

You pick up the journal and begin to write.

Tag List: (Reblog this post to be added to future fics from this series! If you'd like to be removed please DM me!)

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @yeyinde @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfieriiii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes @alicesfracturedmirror @rentaldarling @mockerycrow @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @tinykaka @dumb-djarin @homicidal-slvt @soapskneebrace @nightingale-ghost-writer @selinn777 @nachtcirce @jujubashow @mutuallimbenclosure @kkinky @trash-boi-4-life @scatter-mind001

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #mw2 #cod mw22 #Simon ghost riley x oc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix #I'm actually really proud of this #and honestly this series isn't as beloved as some of my other faster dirtier sloppier pieces #But I'm okay with that #because at the end of the day this story is and has always been for me #It isn't something I choose to write #It's something that's existed in me all along #and even if people don't like it I am desperately in love with Fix's world and that's what matters

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strawberryspence · 1 year

Text

00:59 🕰️

Steve can't remember a time he's run this fast, his heart beating so loudly against his chest. He wishes, not for the first time, that he has the ability to control time. But as he runs, four lines cracking in the sky, he has never wished for it harder than right now.

Even from a distance, he can already hear it. Dustin's crying, screaming and— Steve’s mind goes to the worst place possible. His brother, just shredded into pieces by demon bats, bleeding and dying. God, he shouldn't have left the two of them. What was he thinking? Eddie was a rookie; he was a newbie to all of this.

“Steve! Help!” He sees Dustin, sitting upright, a sigh of relief passes through him before he realizes that Dustin’s cradling a body.

Steve slides on to the ground as he reaches them. There's— There's so much blood. He doesn't think he's ever seen so much blood.

00:43 🕰️

“Fuck, Eddie. Stay awake.” Steve urges as he pulls off his coat and presses it hard on Eddie’s bleeding torso.

Beside him, he can hear Nancy and Robin catching up to him. There bags landing on the floor with a thud.

“I can't.” Eddie mutters back, barely even audible.

“No, Eddie. You have to.” Steve says, as he looks up to Nancy. Nancy will know what to do, she'll— she'll find a way.

She always found a way. She’ll tell them that it's gonna be okay, that they'll bring Eddie to the hospital and he'll be fine, “Nance, what do we do?”

Nancy's eyes are traveling all over Eddie, her eyes checking. There's something painful that passes through her face, before she finally meets Steve’s eyes and she shakes her head.

“No! Nancy! We can still go! I can carry him to the hospital!” Dustin's crying beside him, Robin has a shaking hand against his shoulder for comfort.

“Steve.” He turns, Eddie’s glassy eyes stares back at him, “You have to go. I won’t—” He coughs more blood, so much blood, “I won't make it.”

“I told you not to be a hero!” Steve defends, his eyes already filled with tears.

Steve selfishly wants to say so much more, beg Eddie to fight so Steve can know him more, ask him for his forgiveness, learn his favorite songs and his favorite bands and how he likes his coffee in the morning, smoke some weed with him, be his friend, maybe see if there's something in that small spark of electricity he felt when there hands met. Steve wants more, wants to know who Eddie Munson really is.

“I am sorry. I had to keep Dustin safe.”

00:36 🕰️

Steve nods, smooths Eddie’s hair away from his face, “You did good. You did so good, Eddie.”

Dustin’s still crying; but Robin's taken him away from Eddie. Steve knows it's about to happen, and no child deserves to watch their friend, their idol, their brother, die in front of them, in their arms.

Eddie smiles up at him, there's blood in his teeth, but it's— it's still so bright, his dimples deep and his smile beautiful. Steve wonders how long it will be after all of this before he completely forgets what Eddie looked like when smiling.

“What do you think will happen next, Steve?” Eddie asks, his breathing slowing down. In his hand, Steve can combs through Eddie's hair.

Steve chokes, but indulges him, “I think you’ll go somewhere good. Somewhere peaceful, with good lighting. You can paint those tiny little figurines Dustin keeps on bugging me to buy.”

Eddie laughs, it's small and quiet, but it's a laugh and it's the best damn thing Steve's ever heard, “That’d be great. That's a beautiful picture to paint a dying man, Steve.”

“It's the least I can do.”

00:27 🕰️

Eddie can barely move, but he raises his arm, cups Steve's face into his hand.

“Can you grant a dying man his last wish?” Eddie whispers.

Steve nods, “Whatever you want.”

“Kiss me?”

“Just fyi,” Steve whispers as he moves closer, “I would've done this too if you weren't dying.”

Eddie whimpers. Steve doesn't hesitate, doesn't even think about it, as he closes the gap between him and Eddie. There's a metallic taste in it, sweat and tears and blood all mixed together. But it's so terrifyingly sweet and tender, because it's Eddie. It's Eddie and Steve's just found everything he's ever wanted and it's all dying in his arms.

When they pull apart, Eddie has a small, content smile on his face. His hand slowly, falling from Steve’s face. Steve already misses the warm, callous fingers against his cheek.

“That was—” Eddie stares at him, “Magical.”

00:15 🕰️

“Eddie.” Steve sobs, holding his forehead against Eddie’s as he cradles him in his arms. Eddie hums softly. His heartbeat is almost skipping beats against Steve's hand, and god—

Eddie's brown eyes stare back at him. There's still that familiar twinkle in it, mischievous and real.

After all of this, Steve will miss it, he’ll dream about it, and will wander around cities searching for anything that comes remotely close to Eddie's brown eyes. He will never find it.

But for now, Eddie's eyes flutter close, so slow and soft, almost like a butterfly flapping its wings.

“I hope we meet again, Steve Harrington.”

00:00 🕰️

🕰️ 00:00

There's something so peaceful about museums. Steve never really understood his love for them, but in every city he visits, he makes sure to visit one.

Maybe it's because Steve is an architect, loves the way a building is sculpted to perfection to fit and house a collection of the world’s most beautiful pieces. Maybe it's because of his innate curiosity to learn and know the background of each piece, its history and its story.

Chicago has a few museums. The Art Museum has old and historic pieces, to new and modern pieces, all housed together in a beautiful building. He's been here before, for Robin's 16th birthday.

Steve looks down on his phone, sends a quick text to his younger sister, Robin, before turning it off. She tends to worry when he goes traveling, always worrying if he got kidnapped and taken away.

The guy on the front of the building smiles at him, checks his ticket and says, “Have a wonderful day! Enjoy the museum!”

🕰️ 00:00

Steve's not sure how much time passes as he moves along from one painting to another, from one piece of art to another.

He enters the part of the museum for the newly installed pieces from new artists. There's only a few people walking around. Across from Steve, something catches his eyes. It's a man and a younger boy. Steve can vaguely hear them fighting over what to eat for dinner: Taco Bell or Olive Garden.

Steve chances a glance at them, and almost stops on his tracks. The older man might actually be the most beautiful person Steve’s ever seen. The natural light coming from the window ceilings makes him look like an actual angel. He has long curly hair, it's all gathered together in a low ponytail that helps frame his jaw and face. He's smiling at the boy— his brother, Steve thinks— and he's got a dimple that Steve wants to poke.

Because he's a human being, the man turns, feeling the burn of someone's eyes on him.

Across the museum, their eyes meet and everything— just slowly blurs out. Steve should look away, pretend that he was never even looking in the first place, but this man has the brightest, brown eyes he has ever seen.

There's a feeling creeping in Steve's back, like he's been here before, but that's ridiculous he's never seen this man before. It's almost like— déjà vu.

The man snaps away first when his brother claps a hand in front of him.

Steve looks away in embarrassment, starts walking to the other side of the gallery to avoid the man.

A painting at the end captures his attention almost immediately.

🕰️ 00:00

Steve walks closer to it, instinctively gravitating towards it, something about the piece was calling to him.

The painting was simple. It was a landscape, but instead of the usual spring fields, with blue skies and clouds, it had a dark sky, with red specks and a bolt of lightning. Instead of green pastures, there's black vines surrounding the ground. In the middle, there's a boy, just sitting.

Steve squints at the plaque under it.

Edward Henderson

Born on March 27, 2023

Waiting, created on 2051

Acrylic on Canvas

Henderson is a new and upcoming modern artist from Chicago. Although he is a newbie, he is creating a name for himself with his vivid paintings. There's darkness in the way Henderson uses his colors, a way of showing his grief and longing.

“Waiting (the painting) came to me in a dream when I was younger. It was so real, so vivid. I was just sitting there, under the dark skies, waiting for someone, something.” - Henderson

Steve blinks at it, feels the beating of his heart in his chest and tries not to think about his own dreams, and how the painting in front of him is the perfect depiction of it.

He hears footsteps coming closer to him.

🕰️ 00:00

The man from before shows up on his peripheral view, he folds his arms and looks at the painting.

Steve's not sure how much time even passes as they stand beside each other, just staring at the painting, just waiting.

Steve turns to him first, just as the man turns to him and for a solid second, they just stare at each other.

The man smiles at him, and it's— it's bright, his dimples deep and his smile beautiful. It's like being in front of the sun and still not wanting to look away.

Steve easily returns the smile, something in his chest settling, like his heart physically sighing in content.

The man blinks at him, alive and slowly, almost like a butterfly flapping its wings, before saying, “Hello.”

🕰️ 00:01

based on this poem:

#steddie are soulmates im right #they are soulmates #theyll find each other again #dae writes #daeheadcanons #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie headcanon #steddie soulmates #steve harrington x eddie munson #tw mcd #tw major character death #tw blood

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