guys. Guys please you're allowed to say big boy words. please we cannot keep just rolling with the sanitization of every space on the internet ok. you're allowed to say suicide. you're allowed to say porn. they're not bad words, they're just words.
also by ''censoring'' the words with silly spellings you're actually making it much harder for people to filter out. please just say Sex you don't have to call it woohoo like it's the fucking sims. i promise the Word Police aren't going to arrest you
PREVIOUS PARTS HERE go under Dad!Simon in masterlist.
PART 4 HERE (previous one)
A/N : Based on a concept given by @sutancha in comments. I love it!! And I hope this is what you imagined. Likes, reblogs and comments are more than appreciated (I am thirsty for comments) 🥹😋😋.
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“Darlin!!! Darlin!!! Woman!!!”
Simon comes absolutely barrelling down the hallway, barefeet thudding like gunfire, voice echoing through the house. You’re still on the porch, legs tucked under you, book balanced on your knee.
You look up just as he skids to a stop, bent over, hands on his thighs, breathing like he’s sprinted a mile.
“What–what’s wrong?” You’re already on your feet. “Simon, are you hurt?”
“Si.” You step closer and press your palm flat against his chest. His heart is hammering, wild and uneven. “Jesus Christ. Calm down. You’re shaking.”
“Aye, because me world’s just tilted on its axis” he pants.
You scan him instinctively - arms, shoulders, face. “Tell me what’s wrong. Did something happen to Tommy?”
His jaw tightens at the name. He swallows hard. “He posted.”
“…Posted what?”
“A photo.” His voice cracks, barely. “From last night.”
You blink. “Okay. And?”
“Our lad. On the date.”
You exhale, half a laugh slipping out. “Simon, you nearly gave me a heart attack for that?”
He stares at you like you’re the one acting crazy.
“Since when do you have social media?” you add, crossing your arms.
“I don’t” he snaps instantly. “I mean–I didn’t. I just” He rubs the back of his neck. “Made one. To check what you were postin’. Swear on me life.”
He thrusts his phone toward you, hand trembling. “Just...look.”
You take it, still amused. “What is it? Is she ridiculously pretty? Out of his league?”
“He” Simon croaks.
You pause. “What?”
“He’s not a she.”
Slowly, your eyes drop to the screen.
Tommy’s sitting close to another boy, both of them smiling like the world’s just softened around them. The boy’s got jet-black hair, a grin that looks easy and confident; and in his hands, unmistakably, are the tulips you wrapped last night for your son to gift 'his date'.
Your chest tightens.
The caption sits right beneath the photo:
Look at my handsome boy 🌷
“Oh” you breathe.
Behind you, Simon starts pacing again, dragging a hand through his hair like he’s trying to pull the thought out by the roots.
“So” you say carefully, zooming in. “He’s gay.”
Simon lets out a sound halfway between a groan and a growl. “Never bloody mentioned it, did he?”
You study the photo longer than necessary. They look happy. Comfortable. Safe.
“He didn’t tell us” you murmur. “That’s… a lot to find out like this.”
Simon scoffs sharply. “Aye. Cheers for the Instagram announcement, son. Dumbass”
You glance up at him. “Don’t even start.”
He stops pacing. “What?”
“Don’t you dare tell me you’ve got a problem with this.”
He bristles instantly. “Oi. Don’t put that on me.”
“I’m serious, Si.”
He jabs a finger toward his chest. “I am not hoephobic. I’ve dragged Soap out of enough pubs to prove that.”
You arch a brow. “Then why do you look like you’re about to pass out?” “And it's homophobic Si.”
“Because that ain’t the problem, dove.”
“Then what is it?”
He strides back over, snatches the phone from your hand, swipes aggressively, and shoves another photo in your face.
Johnny MacTavish. Soap. Smiling like always. Mr Charms.
You blink. “Yeah… that’s our Johnny. What about him?”
Simon stares at you like he’s waiting for the penny to drop.
“…What?” you prompt. “Is he..oh my god–”
“No he's not gay” Simon groans. “He’s married. To 'me bonnie' as he calls her. You’ve met her.”
“…Okay?”
He thrusts the phone closer. “Look. Properly.”
You squint at the screen again, leaning in. A beat passes.
“Oh” you say slowly. “He looks like–”
“don’t” Simon warns.
“–like an older version of Tommy’s date,” you finish. “…That’s actually kind of cute.”
Simon drags a hand down his face. “Baby. You're the smartest person I know..don't do this to me.”
Your stomach drops.
“That” he says flatly, “is his son.”
You stare, mouth open.
“…What.”
“Johnny’s lad.” He exhales hard. “Leon.”
Silence crashes between you as he waits for your reaction.
“Our son” you whisper, then louder, incredulous, “is dating Johnny MacTavish’s son?”
Simon throws his hands up. “Exactly!”
You gasp – and then, helplessly, you laugh. This was like a dream, who would've thought this would happen.
Simon looks betrayed. “Why are you laughin’?”
“I don’t know!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I just..of all people!!”
“Will this be a problem for you, Lieutenant Riley?” you tease weakly.
“Yes” he says instantly. “Massive.”
“You literally just said–”
“Not that way!” he snaps. “It’s..work, lines, history–Soap’s gonna have opinions”
The front door creaks.
Tommy steps in, still smiling, until he clocks the energy in the room.
“Uh… hi, Mum. Dad.”
Simon opens his mouth.
You cut in fast. “Hi, baby.” Your voice is warm – too warm. “Food’s in the oven. You can reheat it, yeah?”
Tommy hesitates, eyes flicking between you. “Yeah. Okay.”
He disappears toward the kitchen.
You grab Simon’s arm immediately and haul him down the hallway.
“Oi–what are you doin’?” he mutters as you shove him into the bedroom.
You spin on him. “He hid it from us.”
“So?” Simon fires back.
“So why?” Your voice drops. “Why was he scared to tell us?”
That lands.
Simon’s shoulders drop a fraction.
“…You think it’s us.”
“I think he didn’t trust us enough” you say quietly. “And that hurts more than anything else.”
Simon leans down, forehead nearly touching yours. “So what d’you want, then?”
“We do better” you say. “We make him feel safe. Seen. We don’t confront him. We don’t corner him. Give him time..he will say it. Don't have to force it outta him.”
He nods slowly. “Fine alright....ugh..I won’t say a word.”
“You promise?”
“On me life.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “Anything for you.”
He pulls you closer, kisses trailing along your jaw.
“Simon..uh..Si–stop” you laugh softly.
“What if this gets serious” you murmur. “What if Soap becomes his father-in-law?”
Simon groans into your neck. “Absolutely not. I refuse. I am violently Soap-phobic.”
The door creaks open.
“Ma?” Tommy’s voice. “I was wonderin’ if you’d give me that cake recipe–”
“JESUS!!NO–EW” he blurts, clamping his eyes shut.
Simon jumps back like he’s been shot. You slap a hand over your neck. Both of you standing like kids caught trynna make a bomb in class.
“I..uh yeah” you stammer. “I’ll write it down.”
Tommy flees.
You walk out with him, catching Simon in the mirror, arms crossed, rolling his eyes like the world’s personally offended him.
God. Even after being married for years, he has only grown hotter and more crazier...but you love your big dumb man...so very much. He has his opinions, but he is more than happy to kneel and listen to yours. Understand them. And hopefully, with efforts he will understand his son better too.
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P.S- Yes Soap knew it already. He wanted to give his Lt. suprise of a lifetime....And thanks to his son "I finally have a one up on Lt. Wanker."
i need data for a statistics project for school, so be my sample data, worms. i need thirty people minimum so if there aren't enough voters yet i'd love if you could help. thank you very much. worms.
take this test (https://www.keithcirkel.co.uk/whats-my-jnd/), then come back here:
what's your JND?
.00030-.00099
.0010-.0017
.0017-.0024
.0024-.0031
.0031-.0038
.0038-.0045
.0045-.0052
.0052-.0059
.0059-.0066
.0066-.0073
.0073-.0080
.0080 or greater
Voting ended onMay 13
it doesnt have to be a good score, you dont have to take it multiple times, you dont have to get on a good screen, etcetera. just gimme your score please this is my final project grade :)
azriel requests you say 😼? maybe some jealous az where reader and cass are besties but azriel’s in love with reader but isn’t so good with expressing emotions so he’s all pouty that cassian’s getting more attention than him harumph
pairing: azriel x reader
wc: 3.7k
summary: cassian can't figure out why azriel hates his new friend so much
Cassian enters the House of Wind smelling like you, which is just the cherry on top of Azriel's frustration, already simmering near the surface, ready to boil over. Not only did he have to watch you practically crawl into Cassian's lap earlier, hands blindly smacking at his muscles as you laughed at one of his jokes, but now he has to smell you all over his brother?
Azriel's jaw clenches, and he's decided that his night will probably consist of biting down so hard he shatters all of his teeth when Cassian spots him in the kitchen, beelining for him, face stern and eyes blazing.
"You," Cassian jabs a finger into Azriel's bicep, hard enough that Azriel wants to deck him for it, "-are an ass."
"What?" Azriel bites, using every shred of his self control not to knock Cassian on his ass. He's pissed that his brother gets all of your attention, but at the end of the day it's not his fault. You're Cassian's friend anyways- you'd become fast friends with Cassian during a drinking contest at Rita's, nearly outlasting the male but certainly getting farther than anyone else ever had. Cassian had been so impressed that he'd spent the rest of the night talking with you, and you've been fast friends ever since. You're two peas in a pod, and Azriel can't blame either of you for spending hours upon hours talking and laughing, even if he does want to flatten his brother for it. Of course, it's not like Cassian knows Azriel loves you- hell, Azriel himself only just figured out. But now that he knows, it's suffocating, and he has to remind himself that Cassian is a friend and not a foe.
"What's your problem?" Cassian demands, and Azriel's blood rushes through his ears as a wave of your scent hits him, brought on by the way Cassian is crowding him against the kitchen counter, shoulders squared and arms flexed.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Azriel's hands shove at his brother's chest, and Cassian barely moves, both men now dangerously agitated, "What'd I do?"
"You made Y/N cry." Cassian grunts, his voice gruff and poisonous, "And I want to know why the hell you're so mean to her all the time."
Azriel's stomach explodes.
That's certainly what it feels like- it goes all liquified, it melts and drops to his feet as he analyzes the waves of your smell coming off of Cassian and finds despair hidden beneath the faint hints of jasmine that you exude.
"What?" Azriel breathes, his voice less vicious now. He's caught off-guard, his shadows suspended blankly, his wings held at an awkward half-mast at the thought of you crying. At the thought of it being because of him.
He doesn't hate you. Far from it- every time Cassian brings you around he feels like he might die if you don't look at him. And every time you do look at him he's so busy dying that he can barely get his words out, and he's made a fool of himself so many times that he resorts to fleeing, staying just out of sight and letting his shadows report back to him.
She's pretty, they inform him, and she smells nice, and she smiles at us. She and Cassian go for walks- join, Master, join?
Azriel does not join, and his shadows mess up his hair for it. But he can't be around you, not without tripping over his words or wanting to kill Cassian, so he stays away.
"She thinks you hate her. And I don't blame her-" Cassian scoffs, still in Azriel's space as his eyes flare with irritation, "You're more broody than normal whenever she's here. All you do is glare at her, and when she tries talking to you you spit out these one word answers like you can't be bothered to really talk to her, and then you stalk out like she's personally offended you by asking how your day is going. I'm over it- I know you're a quiet guy, Az, but this is mean. And she's been hesitant to come around lately, because she swears you don't like her and I've been defending you, you know?" Cassian sneers, "I've been telling her that you're not as scary as you seem, that you just need time to get to know someone before you're comfortable around them but the fact is that she's never done anything to you and you act like she's ruined your day the second she sets foot in the house. I'm over it, Azriel," Cassian's teeth gleam in the low lights of the kitchen, bared like he'll go for Azriel's jugular if the man doesn't fix this, "I need to know why you're such a dick to her all the time."
"I'm not- I'm not." Azriel stammers, ready to explain himself at first, then firm and standoffish as he ducks out of Cassian's range, stalking a few steps towards the staircase. His shadows are agitated, distressed and begging him to go help you even if he's got no right, "I don't hate her. I'm sorry-" He has to physically force down the way that his voice wants to fracture, "I'm sorry if she's upset. I didn't mean to make her feel that way."
"Bullshit." Cassian barks, "Stop it. Tell me why."
"Why what? Why I made her cry? I didn't mean to."
"Tell me why you hate her."
"I don't hate her!" Azriel's siphons blaze, and his breath comes out ragged from his heaving chest, "Tell her I don't hate her. Tell her I'm sorry."
"No." Cassian advances on him again, and Azriel considers the very real possibility of coming to blows with his brother in the kitchen, "Tell her yourself- but not before you tell me why you're doing this to her."
"I'm not doing anything to her," Azriel's teeth are clenched again, so hard his jaw aches as his words bleed through them, "I have no problem with her."
"Well you certainly have a problem with something," Cassian laughs dryly, "What are you glaring at, if not her? Why do you run off anytime she's in the same room as you, why won't you say more than a word to her?"
"I can't-" Azriel heaves, his nostrils flaring, his wings tense and his shadows restless.
"You have to." Cassian's fists clench, "I've just spent the last twenty minutes holding her while she sobbed about the way you treat her, so you have to tell me why you're doing this."
Azriel's eyes slam shut at the image, his shadows swarming him like leeches at the thought of causing you so much distress. There's panic rising in him, because Cassian has him cornered and his brother knows him too well for Azriel to be able to lie to him. But he can't tell him the truth- he can't voice his feelings because they're pointless.
You don't feel the same way about him. There's no way you could- Azriel considers himself completely removed from things like romance. Sure, the ladies down at the pleasure houses will entertain him for a night- he's got muscles and tattoos and dark, curly hair. But closeness, adoration, time and thought and care? That's not something he gets, not something anyone rewards him because he won't let himself get his hopes up enough to ask for them.
So admitting his feelings now will only get him laughed at by Cassian, and he's certain that after tonight, whether you hear about his feelings for you or not, you won't be returning.
But Cassian's waiting, arms crossed and stance ready for a fight, and Azriel feels white hot shame burn at his cheeks as he repeats, "I don't hate her, Cass."
It's earnest. It's defeated, and markedly different from the vitriol he's been spewing at Cassian since they'd begun arguing. His brother takes note- his eyes narrow, then soften, and his shoulders slump slightly.
"What's going on, Azriel?" Cassian asks, his voice pleading, "I- I don't like this. I don't like it when my friends are fighting- especially because I don't know why. What'd she do to you?"
"Nothing." Azriel sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, his shadows swarming his arms and begging him to let them help him disappear. "She's done nothing, and I'm sorry for making things awkward."
"I just want to know why," Cassian repeats, and Azriel sighs again, the breath heavy and tortured, "Azriel- you can tell me. You know you can tell me anything. Why won't you tell me?"
Azriel's eyes are clenched shut, but he feels Cassian's hand land on his arm, squeezing firmly. It's not aggressive, not like how they'd begun. Now it's secure, and Azriel's achingly sad eyes flutter open to meet Cassian's.
"She's lovely." Azriel breathes, "Really, she is. I have nothing against her, and you- you two can spend all the time in the world together, really. You're perfect for each other- you have the same sense of humor and you can talk for hours. And that's perfect, so- so you should keep seeing her. Please tell her I'm sorry, and- and don't stop seeing her on my account. I'll stay out of your way."
"Azriel," Cassian murmurs, his voice so thick with pity that Azriel's gut roils. He'd tried not to admit his feelings but his brother knows him too well- and it's that pity in Cassian's voice he'd been trying to avoid at all costs. He knows it's stupid of him. He knows he's got no chance, that he's destined to a life of watching the people he loves look at anyone else but him and it's why he'd tried so hard to keep his feelings a secret. But Cassian's too clever, and Azriel can't look his brother in the eyes, instead choosing to zone out at the tile floor.
"Azriel," Cassian repeats, firmer this time, and squeezes his arm harder. He shakes the man lightly, "Hey, don't do that. You- you could have just said something. I could have set you up-!" Cassian scoffs, "Azriel, do you like her?"
"It doesn't matter." Azriel says flatly.
"It does," Cassian grins, and Azriel notes that his brother's laughter is breathless, relived, almost, but not mocking, "You- you were glaring at me, weren't you? And- mother above, you're so hopeless you couldn't even talk to her. You don't hate her, you love her," Cassian's wings flutter, "Az, this is amazing. Brother- you should tell her! Please, it would be perfect. Two of my best friends- go tell her, Az, go!"
All of a sudden Cassian is dragging him towards the balcony, Azriel's heels immediately digging into the plush carpet of the living room for purchase, "No- Cassian, no, she doesn't feel the same!"
"How would you even know?" Cassian retorts, "You never talk to her. And she cares enough about you to be crying because she thought you hated her-" The man stiffens, and Azriel slips out of his grasp, "Fuck, she's still crying."
"What?" Azriel backs himself into the kitchen island, safely away from the doors to the balcony.
"I was coming to get her water," Cassian shakes his head, still looking like he'd won the lottery, much to Azriel's chagrin, "Go- you take it to her, brother, go tell her how you feel."
"No, I can't." Azriel balks, but Cassian manhandles him again, grabbing him by the arms and forcing him back across the foyer. Azriel strains, but his godsdamned shadows are on Cassian's side, and help lug the spymaster towards the balcony. A cluster of them even pillage the cabinets for a water glass, and fill it nearly to the brim before knocking it into the side of Azriel's head insistently.
"You have to!" Cassian begs, "Please, brother, you owe her this. For making her cry."
Azriel wants to comfort you, sure. He'd actually never like to hear about you ever crying again, if he could manage that. But he's not the right man for the job, especially not if he's expected to spill his guts. He's certain that won't fix things, and he's had enough pity for one evening.
"Cassian, I- I can't tell her," Azriel clings to the balcony doors, holding them shut like he'll die if he lets go, "Please- please just let me go."
Cassian stops fighting him, hands going limp at his sides. There's more fucking pity in his eyes, and Azriel recoils but it's no use- Cassian grabs his face in both hands and jostles it about until Azriel's looking him in the eyes.
"Azriel." Cassian starts, "You fucked up. You have to be the one to fix it. I'm not going to force you to tell her how you feel, okay? But I think you should. I told you- she cares. She was distraught at the idea of you hating her. That's got to count for something, don't you think? Even if you don't want to confess your intense, undying love for her," He jiggles Azriel's face in his palms again, "You'd better think up a convincing enough lie as to why you act this way. You fucked up, you fix it." Cassian repeats, patting Azriel's cheek twice before letting his face go, "Take her some water, brother, and don't come inside until everything's resolved."
Azriel's going to kill his shadows for the way they open the door behind him, giving Cassian the opportunity to push him outside before he can regain his bearings. The doors snap shut before he can scramble back inside, and Cassian locks them while looking him dead in the eyes. Azriel's heart sinks- he spots you in his periphery, sitting on the edge of the balcony with your feet hanging off of the edge, shoulders slumped and head tucked to your chest. His own chest aches, and he clutches at your glass of water so hard he's surprised it doesn't shatter.
"I thought you'd forgotten about me," You laugh weakly, your voice mottled by tears that Azriel's heart squeezes at. He doesn't realize he hasn't responded until you turn curiously, your eyes widening as you find him and not Cassian standing behind you.
"Oh," You groan, burying your face in your hands, "I told him not to involve you."
Words consistently fail Azriel around you, and now is no different. But for once he lets his heart lead instead of his head, and his feet beeline for you. He finds himself planted beside you on the edge of the balcony, his foot knocking gently into yours where they dangle side by side over the gardens.
He passes your water over, nudging the glass against your hand. You peer through your fingers at it, sighing miserably before taking it and sipping it with dry lips.
"I'm sorry." You say, when your voice is less cracked from you tears, "For whatever I did to bug you. I can't figure it out- I just know you don't like me. Can you..." You gulp, taking another sip of water like it's liquor, "Can you tell me? I want to fix it. I don't like causing problems between you and Cassian."
"You didn't do anything." Azriel manages, his shadows thickening and crowding around your shoulders like a massive blanket.
You whine, such a sad sound that Azriel bites the inside of his cheek so that he doesn't reach for you. The despair is so evident on your face, in the way that your shoulders are slumped lifelessly, in the rasp to your voice. He wishes he could fix it- he can't even talk to you, but he wishes he could tuck you into his chest and wipe your tears.
"I know I did something. I know you don't like me." You insist, and the words come from Azriel's mouth before he can rephrase them.
"I do like you. I like you, a- a lot, I l-"
You peer pleadingly up at him, and this time it's his heart that explodes.
"Did I make you uncomfortable?" You ask, your lips pursing like you're trying to hold in another sob, "When- when I tried talking to you? I was trying to be casual, I- I just think I creeped you out and I'm sorry."
You look so impossibly soft in the moonlight that Azriel's hands actually itch with the urge to hold you. He can't speak, he can't think, he can barely breathe while you sit beside him, and you continue talking like you can't stop.
"I didn't want Cassian to catch on but I was just so desperate for you to actually talk to me that I probably went too far and weirded you out and I'm so sorry-" Your shoulders tighten with a sob, one that you keep silent, and Azriel tastes copper against his cheek.
"You- you didn't," Azriel murmurs, "What?"
"I'm sorry," You repeat miserably, "It was so dumb of me to think that you might- and I'm sorry Cassian bothered you, you shouldn't have to deal with me and my stupid feelings. You didn't ask for any of this, and I completely understand if you want nothing to do with me, but..."
This time it's not a sob that cuts you off, but one of Azriel's shadows. It slides over your mouth, no real pressure there, but a shock enough to break you out of your rambling. It settles there for just long enough to catch your attention, then flits to its master's ear to hiss, do it, say it!
"Don't," Azriel's flying blind, his brain whirring a million miles an hour to keep up with his rapidly beating heart, "Don't apologize. You've never made me uncomfortable. I should be apologizing to you- I'm so sorry," He breathes shakily, "Are you- are you alright?"
"I'm fine," You scrub at your face, sniffling wearily, "I- I just want to know what I did to make you hate me."
"I swear I don't hate you," Azriel croons, the noise almost a whimper, "I like you- a lot, actually. That's- it doesn't matter, but I don't hate you. And you've never made me uncomfortable- what do you mean?"
You throw your head back, looking at the heavens above for guidance, "I think I was trying to flirt with you. And I think I was really bad at it, and I don't even know why I tried in the first place because you're miles out of my fucking league, and-"
Azriel's hands shackle your wrists, tight and urgent as his eyes blow wide.
"You were flirting?" He asks, his voice strained and too-tight.
"Yes," You whisper, breathless and ashamed.
"With me?" He confirms, and you nod miserably.
"Like..." Azriel prompts, and you groan, trying to twist out of his unrelenting grip.
"Don't make me say it!"
"But I was- no," He shakes his head, his hair whipping in the cool night breeze, "That doesn't make any sense. Because I think I was trying to flirt with you, too, and-"
"What?" You level him with a defeated stare, "You were flirting with me?"
"Well-" Azriel stammers, breathing ragged, "I don't think I was any good at it, either. I didn't know-"
"You ran away from me!" You turn towards him, your brows scrunching together in an expression that gives Azriel the terrifyingly intense urge to kiss it, "And you wouldn't talk to me, and you kept glaring at me."
"I was glaring at Cassian," Azriel groans, "Because he couldn't keep his hands off of you for two seconds. And- and you never told me you were flirting with me! You just said hello!"
"Because it's all you stuck around for! I wasn't going to lead with, 'kiss me on the mouth', now, was I?"
Azriel's brows raise, and your cheeks flame red hot.
"You should've." Azriel huffs, "This would have been a whole lot easier. You really..." His voice weakens, vulnerable in a way that makes your heart clench, "With me?"
"Of course, with you," You scoff out a laugh, wiping at sticky tear tracks on your cheeks, "You're a catch, Azriel. Granted, I've had to find out secondhand, because you wouldn't be in a room with me for more than a minute before now, but-"
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He squeezes your arms, hands relocating to find your own and squeeze them instead, "Will- do you still want to...?"
"Do- do you want to?" You ask, hesitantly grasping his hands back, "Because- I'd really understand if not. I'm not trying to guilt trip you into anything, and-" One of Azriel's shadows slips over his ear, drowning out your ramblings, kiss her on the mouth, Master, like she said!
Despite his previous ire at his shadows, he realizes now that they hadn't led him astray once. He takes their advice now, and slips his hands out of your own, gripping the sides of your face with them and leaning towards you to plant his lips on yours.
Whatever pitiful excuses you'd been trying to make are swallowed up by Azriel's plush mouth, along with a whimper that comes from your throat when you realize what he's done. It's a soft kiss, a sweet one, because you've both been through enough tonight, and he has no desire to amp things up again. He just wants to stay like this, lips pressed against each other, noses grazing, foreheads flush, hearts beating in time.
He only breaks off for air, and as he breathes heavily mere inches from your face, kissing you is all he can think about anyways. He gives you your own time to heave oxygen back into your lungs, but he has to shut his eyes, because if he sees your mouth, he'll kiss it again- he knows he will. He has to physically concentrate on not putting his lips back on yours, and when he feels your fingers curl around his chin he lets out a whimper of his own.
"Cassian's watching," You hum, and your breath fans over his face in a wave of warmth that sends a shiver down his spine in the cool night air, "Do you want to go back inside?"
"No," Azriel shakes his head once, careful not to dislodge your touch from his chin, "Can we- stay? Unless you're cold, or uncomfortable sitting on the ledge, or-"
This time it's you that kisses him on the mouth to shut him up, and Cassian's gone by the time you both hazily blink open your eyes again.
Honestly if I had the same kind of a crazy long tongue as some birds do, I would also use it to annoy everyone and everything that doesn't expect me to have a ranged weapon.
Part 4 of "@blueangelbby passed me their brainworms onto me"!! I was a little late on this one, so I made up for it with an extra, *looks at clipboard* 700 words? And some juicy updates! So I hope that makes up for it!
(You can find Pt. 1 here for those just discovering me and my mad rambles.)
“...binavitch…bed and we haven’t..rules yet. Don’t think your ass is getting out of this scot-free.”
Jack’s whispered threat slid off Dennis’s brain as it tried to latch onto them. He was curled up around a pillow, a large hand in his hair petting lightly.
“Jack, he just wanted to be close, that’s all. I wasn’t going to let anything else happen.” Robby’s voice rumbled through him at the same time Dennis registered the pillow under him was, in fact, Robby. Dennis had his hand thrown across his torso and loosely hooked into the fabric of Robby’s shirt, with his head resting on his chest. For a moment, Dennis debated going back to sleep- sleeping in blissful ignorance and saving himself the embarrassment.
“Good morning, mouse! You’re just a little snuggle bug, huh?” Shit.
Dennis went to sit up, an apology sitting just on the tip of his tongue before Robby gently rolled Dennis over to Jack.
“It’s alright, I was just going to go make coffee for everyone. You stay here with Jack a little longer.” Robby swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, grunting as his back cracked before making his way downstairs.
He was only gone a couple beats before Dennis tried to sit up again. “I should go help-”
“-nah, let him. It’s his love language or whatever.” Jack rasped, stretching his back as well with a soft groan. It took a herculean amount of willpower for Dennis not to stare at the bit of shirt that rode up over his stomach. “Relax, kid, I don’t bite.”
“Is..” Dennis hesitated. “Is Robby in trouble? I didn’t mean to get him in trouble, can we- I can take some of the punishment-” The word pricked Jack’s ears like a dog, prompting him to sit up and prop himself up on his elbow.
“What punishment, Dennis?” Jack’s face was carefully open, receptive for Dennis to keep going.
“You… I heard you say Robby wasn’t getting out of this scot-free. And since I participated in it too, I.. I dunno. I didn’t want just Robby being in trouble.” Dennis finished, absently picking at his arm. With Robby, Jack would have been asking for eye contact, could feel that pull to ground and soothe, but Dennis wasn’t theirs. Not yet. Jack cleared his throat.
“...right, okay. Well, first of all, you’re not getting punished for anything, Den. You didn’t know our rules, you didn’t know that I wanted to wait and talk through things today before we did anything together. Second of all this is, like, minor infraction shit. Robby’s just going to have to do the stuff we’re been procrastinating on around the house like sealing the leaky window or something.” Jack explained patiently, letting Dennis absorb his words before continuing. “Did you get in trouble for things like that? Not knowing the rules?”
Dennis was sat up at this point, legs crossed and hunched in on himself while he looked steadfastly at his hands. “... they were common sense. I should have known them.”
Jack was about to answer when the creaking of the floorboards announced Robby’s arrival.
“Dennis, this one’s yours, and here’s Jack’s.” Warm mugs were passed down to the members of the bed before Robby climbed back in, settling in the fading warmth of his spot. Dennis thanked him softly and took it, thankful for the diversion from Jack’s attention.
“But you bring up a good point, Dennis. We can go over it when we fill out the paperwork.”
Dennis looked between the two of them. “Paperwork?”
“Yeah, you know- consent checklist, kink list, aftercare, all the good things.” Dennis wrinkled his nose a little at the thought. “That’s your homework for today. Before we do anything. And then… probably just talking through our expectations. Your expectations.”
Jack wasn’t kidding. On the coffee table when Dennis was done with his shower was a neat little stack of checklists to go through. Robby sat a glass of water by the stack when Dennis sat down and told him he wasn’t to move until he got it all filled out.
It was… weird. When he was a kid it wasn’t this thoroughly discussed, and he guessed that it made sense now that he was an adult, but- they should be the one telling him what they were going to do. They knew what was best for him as a dom and switch, and all of this felt like Dennis was in charge.
Dennis nestled himself further into the arm of the couch and looked over the list, rolling the pen between his fingers absentmindedly. Most of it was stuff he could handle- he winced as he saw the option for lashings/belt, but he had gotten plenty of that when he was a kid. He knew what to expect. He was actually pretty proud of himself for how quickly he got through the list.
The aftercare stumped him a little more. He supposed a wipe down or a shower would be nice after, but the things on there- can we touch you? Is there a snack you’d like to have nearby for after? Is a bath or shower easier for you?- just seemed like a little much. Nevertheless, Jack had told him to mark down what he liked, and he checked most of the boxes and scribbled down simple answers.
The last paper was just a list of rules- No dynamics at work, use safewords the second you don’t like what’s going on, this was an ongoing dynamic with room for negotiation, and communication. Simple enough.
At some point Jack had come downstairs from his own shower, curls still damp, loping by on his forearm crutches and into the kitchen to talk to Robby quietly. Finally, he presented the papers to the two of them sitting at the kitchen table, watching Robby put on his glasses and read through. It made Dennis oddly shy watching them read through, watching Jack’s brow furrow before looking up and asking, “some of this stuff is a little… hardcore, Dennis. Is this what you like?”
Dennis blinked at him. “It’s… what I’m okay with? I thought that was the point?”
“Sure, but what’s your definition of ‘okay with it’?”
Dennis stood there for a minute, planted, his brow slightly drawn down as he thought through his reply. Was this a test? “Like… we can do it for a scene. And I won’t freak out or anything.”
“I think Jack’s trying to ask if these are all things that you’re attracted to. It’s totally okay if it is, mouse, we just want to make sure.” Robby interjected gently. “You aren’t in trouble, we’re just trying to understand.”
Jack leaned over into Robby’s space and grabbed an empty sheet. “Go ahead and fill it out again. This time, I’m looking for things that turn you on, not what you can handle.”
“But I just-” Dennis started, feeling the ridiculous urge to stomp his foot like he was a kid again.
“-if you really like those things then you can just fill it out the same way as before. But I still want you to follow what I told you. Alright?” Jack stated firmly, holding Dennis’s eye contact. Dennis looked back until he couldn’t, letting out a soft huff of air. “Yessir.”
“Good. It won’t take long.” Jack promised. This time Dennis stayed in the kitchen- he only asked about a couple of things, but it was still nice to have them explain it in technical terms to avoid searching them up on his own. The green checks were more sparse- lighter things, shying away from whips and chains and leaning into the softer side. This copy he was a little more shameful of turning in, it made his inexperience seem all that more blatant. Still, Jack and Robby seemed nothing but supportive as they read through.
“That’s a bit more like it. That seems to match up with our boy a little better.” Robby hummed, giving Dennis a smile.
“I think so too. I think we can start with a little something as a treat for Dennis being so honest with us.” Jack agreed. That made Dennis perk up a little bit. “Come on, mouse, to the living room. I want you to go grab a couch cushion and place it on the floor in front of the couch. Me and Robby need a sec to move our old man bodies.” Robby scoffed as Dennis let out a light huff of laughter and followed.
Dennis’s thoughts raced with what they could be doing as he settled on the cushion, sitting on it as he watched Robby and Jack follow soon after.
“Ah-ah, kneeling, Dennis.” Robby emphasized, and Dennis quickly moved so he was kneeling on the cushion. He heard Robby walk up behind him, and his hand came down to push gently against Dennis’s lower back until it was straight. “Good, just like that.”
“Do you want to take the wheel on this one? He was so worried about you this morning, thinking I was going to give you lashes or something because you let him up on the bed like a puppy.” Jack teased, moving to sit on the couch to Dennis’s right. Dennis huffed.
“I didn’t think you’d give him lashes-” He started, only to be cut off by Robby sitting on his left and holding a hand up.
“Don’t talk back, Den. Scooch your cushion over here- yup, closer, there you go. We’re just going to sit here for a little bit, try and ease you into this. What are your rules for stopping?” Robby asked. Kneeling like this made him seem just that much in charge, more looming, and Dennis found himself gravitating towards him.
“Um- yellow for slow down, red for stop?” Dennis recited.
“Good, exactly. I’m going to have you kneel here while me and Jack watch some TV. You can lean your body against my leg, but not the couch unless I’ve said you can. If you want something, just tell me. Okay?”
How the hell was kneeling supposed to do anything for him? Dennis was doubtful, but Robby was a switch, so maybe it was something that helped him out? “Yeah, okay.”
“We’ll have to assign some titles once you get comfortable with it.” Jack commented, offering nothing else as he picked up the remote and turned on the TV.
It was fucking boring. Dennis tried not to fidget or slump in on himself, as every time he got a little too interested in picking at his hangnails or slouched in his posture Robby could give him a soft correction. Time seemed to drag by, and the only altered mindset seemed to be when Dennis zoned out and let his mind wander.
“Dennis? Do you need to say something?” Robby asked after the fifth or sixth time he shuffled around to reposition himself.
“I don’t- I dunno if this is doing anything for me, I’m just sitting here. It feels like I’m just sitting, and bored.” Dennis admitted, clenching his hands on top of his knees and waiting for the ‘well this worked on other subs’ or for Robby to switch gears into something less gentle. Maybe if he just had Dennis kneel on the hardwood, or on rice like his parents did, give him something to focus on-
“Good boy, Dennis. Thank you for telling us.” Robby praised, giving him a warm smile. “How about… if you’re comfortable, do you want to sit here?” And he pointed between his feet, between his legs. He would be bracketed by his legs, something to lean against and maybe occupy his mind a bit more.
“I think- if that’s okay, that sounds good.” Dennis looked over at Jack, waiting for his encouraging nod before picking up his pillow and shuffling over to between Robby’s legs. He hesitated a little, trying to decide if he should lean against Robby. “Can I…?”
“Can you what, mouse?” Robby asked gently, patiently waiting out the nervous pause as Dennis gathered his words.
“Can I lean against you? Please?” Dennis asked, his face flushing hot as the words left his mouth.
“Good manners, mouse.” Jack praised gently, his sentiment mirrored by Robby as he raised a hand to gently guide Dennis to lean against his leg and cushion his head on Robby’s thigh. Dennis’s shoulders gently bumped up against Robby’s knees, caging the boy in a way that didn’t feel sexual, necessarily, just… intimate. Sheltered. Dennis blinked as the hand on his head moved to his cheek, Robby’s thumb gently tugging Dennis’s bottom lip away from where his teeth had been biting it.
“Need something to keep this occupied, huh?” Robby muttered, almost to himself. “Open your mouth, sweetheart.”
The words sent a fizzle of heat down Dennis’s spine as he opened his mouth, small and hesitant, and Robby slipped his thumb inside before settling back against the couch like this was perfectly mundane. Dennis’s mouth was still open and slack in surprise, staring up at Robby until he gently reminded Dennis to close his mouth.
It was a steady weight on his tongue, tasting like skin and salt. He could almost feel the grooves of his thumbprint on his tongue, but when he tried to move his tongue back a touch Robby just gently pressed down. It fit in his mouth perfectly.
Dennis didn’t know what happened- one moment he was swallowing down surprise at the new development and trying to settle, and at some point things just… shifted. He was grounded by Robby’s closeness, the thumb on his tongue, the hand on his cheek trapped between Dennis’s skin and Robby’s leg. And the world around him got softer, farther away and fuzzy like a dream. He felt his eyelids drooping slightly, and maybe there was a little spit on the corner of his mouth but he couldn’t find it in himself to worry about it. He just had to focus on Robby, and being good.
“Look at you, mouse, so good. Feeling so nice, huh?” Jack’s tenor cooed, coercing Dennis to drag his eyes up to look at Jack. Had he gotten closer? He was almost leaning against Robby’s shoulder- and then Jack’s hand carding through his hair made those thoughts drift away. It was like… right before you fall asleep. Drifting and soft where time slipped out from under you.
“Dennis, can you open your eyes for me sweetheart?” Robby’s voice pulled him from his haze slightly, and Dennis let out a soft whine when Robby’s thumb slid from his lips.
“Oh, isn’t that the saddest noise you’ve ever heard?” Jack’s voice was so sweet and a touch cruel, it made Dennis blush and tuck his nose against Robby’s thigh to hide away from the gentle teasing.
“Eyes on me, Den.” Dennis peaked them open to look up at Robby, wishing he would let him just go back to wherever his mind had wandered. “Good boy, Dennis, thank you. Can you sit up straight?” It was borderline herculean, but Dennis managed.
“I want you to roll your head back a bit, just like that. Can you move your knees a little and tell me how they feel?” The small exercises slowly brought Dennis back down into his body, taking note of how his neck felt, how his knees and back had a little twinge that meant his body wanted to move positions, and clarity fell slowly around him again.
“What the fuck?” Dennis asked groggily, prompting chuckles from the men he was kneeling for.
“Yeah, beats being alone, doesn’t it?”
“You weren’t kidding.” Dennis agreed, feeling a kind of settled contentment in his body he hadn’t felt in a minute. A glass of water was pressed into his hand that he happily drank from.
“And if you want, it can just be this. If this is all you need, then we can do this for you when you need it. Just give us a text.” Jack explained, making room for Dennis to sit up on the couch.
“Yes, please, this was… I feel great.” Dennis hoped he didn’t sound too eager. He really did want to go back to whatever that space was, and hopefully soon if they would let him.
“Of course, kid, you’re a natural. You were so… yeah. You were great.” Robby finished a little awkwardly, prompting Jack to lean over Dennis’s legs and give Robby a pat on the thigh.
“You were great, Robby. Dennis, how about you go to the bathroom and freshen up a little while me and Robby figure out what to do for dinner?”
They watched Dennis make his way upstairs, waiting for the closing of the bathroom door before Robby leaned forward on his knees and covered his face with his hands.
“Fuck, man, did you see- he went under so fast-” Robby groaned, a blush tinting his ears bright red.
“I got to see my boy treat our mouse so well, being so gentle and good with him. I was fighting not to jump your bones as soon as you told him to open his mouth, brother.” Jack agreed. “We have to get him there more often- he really needed it.”
“Earlier, about the lashes..?” Robby lifted his head up to look at Jack, watching his smile fade a little as he recalled the boy’s flightiness.
“He wanted to be your whipping boy, Mike. Thought that since you didn’t listen that you were going to get some big punishment and he wanted to split it between the two of you.”
The silence sat there for a moment before Robby rubbed the back of his neck.
“I don’t know what kind of doms he’s used to having, but… shit, the fact that he was so ready to take the blame-”
“I know, I know. What matters now is that he’s got two people who want to take care of him.” Jack stated firmly, rubbing his hand over his partner’s shoulders. “He’ll tell us when he’s ready, and if he isn’t… well, it isn’t really our business. It was in the past.”
The Whitaker farm was not known for technology (maybe none if they’re Mormon whoops I meant Amish)
So when Trinity finds out this horrifying detail, she immediately introduces Dennis to the wonder of Disney movies
When Dennis hears Colors of the Wind in Pocahontas, he genuinely starts sobbing so hard
It’s full body heaves as he cries, and Trinity is so concerned and worried. She allows him to cling to her as he sobs and even pulls him closer when he tries to pull away in shame, still crying his heart out
He actually has to call out for the next day because he cried so hard he made himself sick
Trinity has to warn him if the movie they watch is gonna be sad to prevent it from happening again
Trinity has to pause Moana and gently break it to him that Moana’s grandma is going to die, and it will be devastating.
He surprisingly holds it together when Moana and Maui fight and part ways, but his eyes start to water when Moana loses faith in herself completely
When her grandma comes back during the Moana’s reprise, Dennis has to hold Trinity's hand or he’ll fucking lose it
“Yes, hello. Umm, you know the crazy knife-wielding guy that’s been all over the news?”
“Yes, Sir? Do you have information for us?”
“Uh… yeah. Last seen about a block away from the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. He’s about 5’11, wearing all black clothes, but his hoodie has a red circle in the middle, kinda smells like moldy cheese, and his weapon is actually a six-inch serrated knife.”
The dispatcher on the other line paused. “Sir.” She said gently, her words soft and slow. “How do you know this? Are you okay?”
Dennis pauses and takes a moment to answer. “Oh… he got me.”
“He… got you?” Furious typing on her end. “Sir, does that mean you’ve been stabbed?”
Dennis nodded before remembering this was a phone call, and she couldn’t see him. “Yup. Twice cause I wouldn’t go down after the first one. No biggie. Ha.” He immediately regrets trying to make a joke and laugh, his side burning in a way he’s never felt before.
As he shuffles through the alleyway, his foot accidentally hits a metal trash can, causing a loud bang that reverberates painfully through his skull.
“A-are you moving? Please try to stay in place if you’re in a safe area! And-“
“Put pressure on the wound, I know, I’m a doctor.” Whitaker interrupted, wincing slightly from not only the debilitating pain but from how egotistical that sentence sounded.
“Sir-“
“Don’t worry, I actually work in the ER, so I’m just gonna walk myself over there.” Dennis tries to reassure the lady, taking a moment to pause and lean against the side of a building. All the movement he was doing was really increasing the burn; it didn't help that he had to put himself in more pain by putting pressure on the wounds.
“It’s funny cause I just got out of work and the only reason I’m walking is cause my roommate has a date and couldn’t drive me. My roommate also works with me, by the way… I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“Sir, please wait until I call an ambulance for you-“
“Oh no, thank you!” Dennis quickly said. “I can barely afford new clothes, an ambulance would put me under way faster than my stab wounds.”
That was kinda funny, even if it was the truth.
“Okay… I can see the ER, so I’m gonna hang up now. Umm, thank you for…” Dennis grunted, his words slurred slightly. He was too tired to continue speaking, his vision starting to blur around the edges, and his entire body was buzzing unnaturally.
He hung up his phone, his ears ringing too loudly to understand what the dispatcher was shouting from the other side, and stumbled through the ambulance bay.
It was an honest miracle that Dennis managed to stumble his way to the Hub, a trail of blood following his every stumbling step. His side no longer hurt, but his hand was getting numb from trying to press on two separate stab wounds.
Oh, looks like Robby was still doing the handoff to Jack. His boyfriends' looked so cute talking to each other, even if he couldn’t really make out their faces, and their bodies looked wiggly. And Dana was also there? It was getting hard to tell the different-sized blobs apart.
It looked like the day shift was still there, which made sense. Dennis did make sure to leave a little earlier for his walk home.
Suddenly, a blob that suspiciously sounded like Trinity but was underwater rushed toward him just as his body was giving out.
“Sorry… got… stabbed.” Dennis groaned, blood suddenly bubbling up past his lips. Shit, an injury to his lung. That was not ideal in the slightest.
“Hey, Whit, stay with me, man.” Dennis blinked, surprised by the sudden appearance of Langdon right before him. He could’ve sworn it was only Trinity around him. Now there are so many familiar blobs.
Mel, Mohan, Donnie, McKay, and even Victoria happened to be there. Which was weird cause he was only 23% sure night shift would have already started. Or maybe not. Time was slipping away from him.
He blinked again, and suddenly Dana was holding his hand, gently cupping his cheek and looking down at him with a strained smile. He could feel his body moving, so he must’ve been on a gurney.
Another blink.
Robby and Jack never looked good when they worried; it was his least favorite expression from them. He gurgled, wanting to reach out to them, but his body wasn’t responding.
“Shh, baby.” Jack turns and immediately comes to his side, Robby following seconds later. “You’re gonna be okay. Everyone’s gonna take great care of you. You've got some pretty hefty damage going on.”
“We’re gonna have to intubate you, love.” Robby’s voice sounded rough, as if he were doing the best he could to stop himself from crying. “You’re gonna be okay, you’re our fighter, Den.”
“I’m so sorry, Dennis.” Oh. Trinity was also there. Why was she crying? She hates crying.
“I-I should’ve just driven you. Fuck-! I’m so sorry. You better fucking wake up after this, you hear me? I’ll never fucking forgive myself if you don’t.” Dennis could feel light pressure on his hand; maybe Trinity was squeezing it, and he did his best to squeeze back.
Trinity let out a soft, wet laugh, feeling the light flutter of his hand trying to reciprocate, before looking up at the two attendings and nodding.
Dennis felt a small prick before exhaustion took over. Anesthesia before intubation. He was going under. He was getting put on oxygen because one of his stab wounds, or maybe both, pierced his lung and caused damage. He was going to have intensive surgery.
Fuck, he really hoped he would wake up.
He had just found a place where he was starting to feel like he belonged. He couldn’t lose it already. He just couldn’t.
Frank always had an issue with impulse control. His mother blamed his ADHD. His father: a lack of discipline. There was truth in both those statements. But mostly? Frank enjoyed the chaos. Seeing where the dominoes fell and all that. Climbing the tallest tree. Which lead to the obvious broken arm. His innate nosiness. Learning things he shouldn’t. Not planning ahead. Like not hiring a moving company.
But he’s not entirely sure what his body just did could be chalked up to poor impulse control. The early autumn Pittsburgh air cooling. Unfortunately making zero difference to his overwhelming anxiety.
His brain screaming for the release that the benzos gave him. An out from the constant, never ending working of sobriety.
OD.
Benzo OD.
A young guy, like him. Who tried to do it himself. And was now most likely brain dead. Found by his ex wife.
His brain was spiralling out of control. The proof of what his addiction would have lead to. And yet his brain still wanted, needed, craved the numbness that came with the meds. The soothing darkness of sleep. Though rationally he knew it was all a lie. Numbness didn't treat the underlying issue. Just let it sink in deeper. He'd barely kept it together as he rushed out of the Pitt. Ignoring the many voices call after him.
She had found him dry heaving out in the ambulance bay. And refused to leave him alone.
Steady.
Unflappable in the face of his reality.
Always seeing the potential in spite of his cynicism.
Mel’s hand on his arm. His back. Rubbing back and forth. Soothing. Her words just a blur of reassuring sound. But it worked. Slowly, he was able to piece himself back together. Loose stitching but he’d be able to suture the mess bit by bit.
He's rattled. Less composed than he'd like to be at work.
Impulse control.
Frank typically tried to curtail it to having one too many red bulls, or a cigarette that had Mel and Penny wrinkling their noses at him, or letting his thoughts run rampant in his head.
But right now? Still shaking. Gulping down air and clinging to every ounce of support Mel can give him. And he's likely to make a bad choice.
Which is the only explanation for what happens next.
Because one second he’s just staring at Mel as she starts telling a story about Becca. Some silly funny centre related drama. The next he’s pressing his lips to her cheek with a muttered thank you.
Frank’s brain logged several facts all at the same time.
Man you cannot make a whole post about Hucklebaby and then NOT MAKE A POST ABOUT A HUCKLERABBOT BABY CAUSE WHAT DO YOU MEAAAAAAN?
The role switch with those two cause Robby is more permissive and lenient with Dennis and Jack is the disiplinarian. But with their baby??? Jack is a SAP, folds like a fucking lawn chair so its up to Robby to enforce the rules.
The mental image of papa Jack falling asleep watching the news with a lil nugget curled up on his chest has me in shambles
HUCKLERABBOT BABY she’s still called hucklebaby by aunt Trinity and idc if the nickname is huck Finn related in my head that means the baby goes through an insane strawberry shortcake phase bc it’s CUTE
Jack has to be in the other room when their baby gets her vaccines. Every little check up that ends in shots means he's out of the room because he's glaring at the person doing it otherwise. Robby and Dennis banned him after he nearly made a new nurse cry.
Robby holds the line because he's so worried. He baby proofs everything as if the kid is going to be able to walk within a week of coming home. Which, Hucklerabbot toddler is a fucking menace. She's pulling people's hair when they hold her, the crayons get banned after she's drawn on the wall (Jack sobs over her artwork and Dennis convinces Robby to let it stay), she screams bloody murder if the right parent isn't holding her.
Dennis is usually the one that she wants because he can hold her doing anything. Cleaning, at work, making dinner, he's got her in one arm and is using his free hand to do anything else. She just likes to observe what he's doing, his little shadow.
But Robby has to do be the one to get her up from her naps and for the morning. She giggles when she sees him and no one else can get her to be as quite as happy as he does. If daycare sees Jack or Dennis carrying her in instead of Robby, they take a deep breath for the bad mood she's going to be in. Regardless of age.
Jack falls asleep with her everywhere. Naptimes and bedtimes exist whenever she's in his arms. It's something about his heartbeat and how steady he always is. When she's extra fussy and a little colicky, they hand her to Jack and she's asleep within minutes. There are way too many pictures of them asleep on the couch or rocking chair because Jack insists he's not that tired, just one more minute before I put her down.
Price notices small things first, like how Ghost, a man of little direct eye contact, looks intently at someone professional talking about how space travel would look like in a feasible manner. or how Ghost would grunt out the names of constellations to an overeager Johnny, engaging in (while brief) small talk about them. Or how when a corny space movie is playing in mess Ghost grumbles something about it ‘not being accurate’ and stalks out of mess silently. or even correcting Price on referring to one of the space shuttles by the wrong name ‘that 1988 flight was Discovery, not Columbia.’
Price makes a subtle note to make a detour to some sort of space museum and pick up so many trinkets for Simon. also just?? the 141 all taking notice and trying in a clumsy but loving way to get Simon out of his shell?? i’m crying, even while being the most dangerous operative in the country, deep down he’s still a shy closed off kid at school
🪣
ashjxvedved wait this is so precious 🥺🥺🥺 how about dad takes his kids they all go on a little museum trip?
it took me a minute but I'm hooked on this idea now and I'm crying and there's a part two
Price clocks it before anyone else does. Of course he does.
But it’s never obvious things. Never Simon saying anything too loud. It’s the way his head tilts, just barely, when someone on the telly starts talking about orbital mechanics and historical launches.
The way his eyes, usually restless, scanning for exits, go still when a documentary narrator explains how long it takes light to travel from the sun or how otters hold hands to keep from floating away.
How he corrects Soap once, quietly, when Johnny calls a shuttle by the wrong name, like the fact has been sitting in him for years with nowhere to go.
So when they’re home with a rare, blessed weekday free, Price doesn’t say why they’re changing plans, just makes sure they all know. “Museum. 1100. Civies.”
Johnny agrees, so long as he gets to see the dinosaurs. Kyle offers to drive if they need it. And Simon simply doesn’t object.
Price picks a natural history museum. It’s quieter midweek. A few school groups, some retirees. Simon stays half a step behind Price at first, habit ingrained deep as bone, while Johnny and Kyle lead the way. They pass through the dinosaurs. Let Johnny and Kyle take "very important" photos. But as they reach the space wing, something in him… loosens.
There’s a suspended model of the solar system, planets hung in careful scale, lights dimmed and the ceiling covered in specks of little light of distant stars.
Simon stops dead, and they all make their way around him. Price notices, and halts the group with a casual hand.
“Take your time,” he says gently.
Simon slowly steps closer, head tilted up at the planets strung above him.
A curator approaches, young, enthusiastic, and clearly thrilled to have someone actually listening. Simon nods when the young man starts explaining light and scale, space travel and the math behind gravity assists, how astronauts compensate for bone density loss. Simon Riley stands there, six-foot-something of one of the deadliest men in the world, arms loose at his sides, and listens with absolute, devastating attention.
He asks one question. Just one, clarifying bit.
The curator lights up.
Johnny and Kyle exchange a glance, smiling and shaking their heads with affection.
They drift next into an exhibit on deep-sea life. There are jellyfish suspended in glowing tanks, slow and ethereal, pulsing in the light like living stars. Simon lingers again. The movements are hypnotic. No sharp edges. No sudden noise. Just float and drift and light.
Price watches him the way you watch a skittish animal finally stop bracing to bolt.
Later, there’s a section on erosion, water carving stone over centuries. Kyle reads placards aloud in a quiet voice. Johnny makes one joke, to which Simon huffs and rolls his eyes.
By the time they circle back to the space wing, Price has quietly bought a few things from the gift shop. A small mission patch replica. A keychain shaped like a lunar module. (Johnny helped pick that one.) And a book dense, technical, unapologetically nerdy.
He hands the bag to Simon outside.
“Figured you might like it.”
Simon freezes. Just for a second. “…Yeah. Thanks.”
He tucks the bag under his arm.
And for a fleeting moment, so brief Price almost thinks he imagined it, Simon looks less like the most dangerous operative in the country, and more like a quiet kid who finally got to linger at an exhibit without being told to hurry up.
Price doesn’t say a word.
He just makes a mental note to find a planetarium next time.
Scientist on the ship: listen you laugh at the regulations but one time a woman DID try to tale a penguin home with her. I swear. She got it on the ship and was keeping it in her bathroom.
Me: that's WILD. These bathrooms aren't up to spec for penguins even overnight
Scientist: ...how would you know that
Me, realizing I'm about to get to tell my story about managing a hotel when there was an emergency stopover for penguin transport and we were the only place in the area with bathrooms that would work for the night:
Featuring: Captain John Price, Sergeant Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish, Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, & Medic GN Reader.
✨️ This is my first time writing a gender neutral protagonist, so please, if you see something that is gendered in my writing, let me know so I may correct it! ✨️
Overall Warnings: The “can't keep a medic” trope, typical COD violence, potentially inaccurate military references, polyamory dynamics, queer romance, gender neutral pronouns for Reader, potential smut (not 100% sure about it).
Synopsis: It's not easy being a member of taskforce 141, never was really, but, with the team finally fully recovered after Soap's near death experience in Los Almas coupled with the men's stubbornness in welcoming an additional squad mate… things aren't looking so good for the special operations unit. Thank goodness Laswell is always there to help out her boys, offering them one final helping hand in the form of You, a battle hardened medic who doesn't quite live up to their jaded expectations.
John… had a problem. Or really, the brass that he had been standing before had a problem that was, by default, now his. His task force was a well-oiled machine. No one had disputed that. Especially in the early days of Price having put together the 141, but back then, his men and him hadn't been so entangled in one another's lives. There had been a clear line between his care for his men and the job.
But that was then, and this is now. It had been years since his tired eyes had wandered to his charming sergeant, his doting Gaz. Long since the two of them had danced around the inherent military hierarchy and their age difference. They were no longer behaving like schoolyard boys with crushes. And he could say the same about his Lieutenant, Ghost, and his rambunctious sergeant, Soap. The four of them ultimately gravitate toward and around one another in a pleasant orbit.
Soap and Gaz would like to boast that they were the masterminds that brought their little polycule together, but neither Ghost of himself would confirm or deny their lovers.
And in the now of their lives, John was handling the ire of the higher ups as they questioned the teams stability and his control over them, as yet another medic had requested a transfer out of the illustrious 141. In an attempt to keep his men together, John had relied heavily on the brass, turning their even blind eye away from the small transgressions that occurred within many high priority military groups. But they had pushed back one too many times.
. . .
“It's too late for that, John.” Kate's tinny, clipped voice filtered down the landline receiver in Captain Jonathan Price's cramped office. The phone clutched between his ear and shoulder as he fought to not grind his teeth.
The large man slowly rested back into his worn leather chair as he went through the motions of preparing a much needed cigar. Of course, Kate Laswell would know about his team's plight before he even got around to properly asking her for assistance. Brows pinching together, “... meaning?” he exasperated, cockney tone equally as clipped.
“You've pushed the board past their breaking point, John. This is the seventh GOOD medic that's requested a transfer out of your team... Did you think they would turn an eye forever?” The rather tired Station Chief held no hands as she laid John's predicament out to the man.
“I've kept them at bay for as long as I could, but you know every unit needs a dedicated medic. You can't expect me to convince the higher ups that dedicated field care isn't a requirement of highly trained task forces. They want their assets taken care of for as long as possible.” The woman sighed as John lit the end of his cigar and listened. One thing he'd learned to do quickly into his military was to know when to keep his mouth shut. This is one of those times.
John could only manage a grunt in reply as he took in a mouthful of smoke and braced, a hair's breath, into his chair. Of course, he knew that he couldn't keep his men hidden from the demands of the higher-ups forever. Knew they wouldn't stand for the unit's break in protocol and regularity. But the part of him that wasn't the Captain, that wasn't the hardened soldier, had hoped they had had more time.
He can practically hear the woman roll her eyes through the phone as he fails to provide a proper response. “... Clarke, I can understand, John. He was too bullheaded to handle Ghost on the best of days, but Taafee was an exceptional soldier and a top-tier medic! What could your men and you POSSIBLY be doing to make them fold in under a month!? A month, John! That's not even enough time to properly acclimate to base.” Kate doesn't relent in her questioning of her, typically collected, colleague behaving like... like such a schoolboy.
As concerned and perplexed as John feigned to be for his superiors, he couldn't convince Kate that he didn't know how his men were pushing out medic after medic. No. Kate had known him for too long, worked with him for too long to convince her that he didn't know how his own men operated. Taking a drag of his cigar, John released a rush of air and smoke through his nose as if he were some dissatisfied dragon. If he were truly honest with himself and Kate, he would acknowledge that his boys, and him included, often drifted into their own small universe together.
Sometime after all of them had sat down and finally had ‘the talk’ regarding their budding relationships with one another, Gaz and Soap having had to drag the other two into doing so, John had realized that they all were drawn to one another. Not just in the sense that their highly specialized set of military skills drew them all together. No. They sought one another out after hours of training recruits, between practice at the gun range and dinner in the mess hall, when reports were due and they didn't quite feel like being alone while rushing to write it, and when there was just nothing left to do for the day.
Whether his boys noticed themselves, well, he wasn’t completely sure. But he'd noticed the team unintentionally forgetting about the string of additions to the taskforce over the last year and a half. Unless it was directly related to the assignment set before them, they all still gravitated around one another. Having built orbits circling each other as their intimacy grew and having functioned as a four person task force for years made it hard for them to remember to include new additions to the team.
Some part of John wished it was something more petty, that it was something he could easily correct but… this was purely unintentional.
The team had its habits, not that that would be a justifiable reason for Kate. “You know how the lads are, Kate, bullheaded. The whole lot of ‘em. The soldiers they've sent over just haven't meshed right with the team,” he replied stiffly, like the words didn't feel right coming off his tongue. An uneasy silence settled between them as the call turned into a quiet standoff, both of them waiting for, hoping, the other to give in and comply.
“Mesh right?” Kate questioned incredulously, tone skirting the realm of chastising, “It shouldn't matter if they mesh well! You're all trained professionals. What matters is if they can save your lives.”
”We can save ourselves, ‘don't need a bloody medic to compress a wound or use a disinfectant packet.” John managed to defend between puffing on his cigar. His free hand drummed an agitated beat along his desk.
A short bark of a laugh comes down the line from Kate, both of them well aware of how paperthin his rebuttal was. “John. A medic would have stopped Soap's head wound in Los Almas from being so touch and go.” The American says flatly but not unkind. The unfiltered reminder of Soaps’ almost death rattling him in a way he hadn't expected. Conversation dying up on his tongue.
They had dealt with Johnny almost dying on them during the fiasco that was the Los Almas joint assignment. Ghost and Gaz had been inconsolable, Christ. He'd been barely able to hold it together between attending debriefings and staying vigil outside Soap's hospital room. And now they were finally settling back into their old rhythm only for it to be upheaved.
As the silence lay between them once more, Kate continued, “I won’t sugar coat it, John..” Not that she ever sugar coated anything in the years he’d known Laswell, “... the Brass is at its wits end with the sheer amount of medics that have transferred out of the task force. So much so that there is talk of disbanding the 141 until one of your boys is certified as a field medic..” The implications of that hanging between them, thick and cloying in John’s lungs like the cigar smoke already there. That would entail one of them being sent off to receive their nursing degree at a civilian university… meaning they would be disbanded for at least three years… four to five if he factored in the shadowing done in active hospitals. Enough time for the Brass to reason that the 141 wasn't needed anymore once one of the men had the education. Enough time to divide his lovers into new units and away from one another permanently. His mind spiraled through possible outcomes, none of them realistically positive.
“Kate…” John started in, about to ask for even a sliver of assistance, something to give him time to find a way out of the situation. Only to be cut off by Laswell as she offered a proverbial hand, "That's why you’re going to accept my recommendation for a medic with no complaints,” it was firm, an offer out of the hole he had let his team dig, that he couldn't refuse.
John's mouth opened as if he was going to quip back, but his voice fell short. This wasn't the time to have a proverbial dick measuring contest with his colleagues over who was going to take control of the situation. Chewing on his ego, he acquiesced, “Alright… send over their file.” Putting his men above his pride, he listens as Kate hums pleasantly and informs him that his new medic will be there in two weeks. Two weeks to somehow convince them all that this is what they needed, whether they truly wanted it or not.
✨️PLEASE NOTE!✨️ If you wish to be added to the taglist for continued chapters, please let me know!
Yes, I am working on further chapters for this story. I am just a slow writer when it comes to translating the story concepts I have in my head to actual well-written text. 😅
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