Your Frank Imagine Was So Good!!

your frank imagine was so good!!

you restore my faith in tumblr anon :) big love. for you, i will keep writing for our favorite boy

when he’s sick headcanons

note — can you tell i was in a francisco morales mood when i wrote this? also, i’m incredibly soft. i just wanna hold them :’( also also send me your  own headcanons!! i wanna hear ‘em!! big love <3 - nat

MANDO

- he doesn’t know how he survived all those bouts of sickness alone when you step in to help him for the first time

- his body aches, and not the usual after-bounty-capture either

- his head is foggy, he can feel the sweat in his helmet, and his breathing is hard

- he can’t tell if it’s coming through the modulator, but when you bring soup up to the cockpit for him, he knows you know

- he takes it gratefully, knowing that if there was nobody else here he would have just gone to bed to sleep it off, dinner vetoed for the night

- your cold fingers wrap around the back of his neck, moving his cape as you do so, and he melts into you

- he doesn’t know that he lets out the smallest whimper when you do this, and it makes you want to tear off his helmet, pull him into your arms, and hold him until he’s better

- but you can’t, so you settle for a hand on his neck, and the tilt of a helmet when he drinks the soup in front of you, as requested

- he definitely has a fever, and maker knows what else

- so you tell him to get some rest, that you’d watch the ship and get him if anything went wrong

- you supervise him down the ladder, just in case, which he finds funny and sweet

- you wish you could squish into his bunk with him, but you don’t want to invade on his personal space, especially while he’s hot and sick

- you you settle into the cockpit, the ship on cruise control, and you check on him every once in a while, keeping grogu occupied and quiet while he gets some well deserved rest

EZRA

- you knew he would get it

- right after you recovered from your illness, he started displaying symptoms of the same one you had just gotten over

- shortness of breath, fever, aches, lethargy

- he had taken such good care of you, so it was only fair that you’d do the same in return

- resources were sparse and quarters were cramped on the green, but you did what you could to make him as comfortable as possible

- his feverish back was pressed up against your chest in a cot designed for one after he’d stripped down to his underwear to avoid overheating

- he really enjoyed you being the big spoon sometimes, and now was one of those times

- when he got too hot from your shared body heat though, you would sit on the floor next to the cot and stroke right behind his ear to get him to fall asleep

- you made sure he ate as much as he could keep down, and you gave him all the fluids you could spare for his speedy recovery

- it broke your heart to see your usually verbose boy so quiet and in pain

- he muttered fever nonsense to no one and whimpered in his sleep

- you moved your cot directly next to his in order to keep a close eye on him

- but you knew that with time he would heal, and that as soon as he started talking to you again he was getting better

FRANKIE

- he sweats through the sheets next to you in the early hours of the night

- you’re the one who wakes up first, and you honestly thought one of you had wet the bed because of how much liquid there was

- but you realize that it’s frankie, back drenched and sweating out whatever flu he had acquired from whoever he had gotten it from

- you wake him from what seemed to be a not great dream anyway, and when he realizes what happened, he apologizes, groggy from sleep and illness

- “no, no! i’m not mad, frankie, you just can’t sleep in this sweetheart. you’ll get more sick. how are you feeling?”

- he curls up deeper under the covers and you get out of bed to kneel next to him

- your hands card through his matted, sweat soaked hair, and you wipe the drops from his jaw

- “do you want a cool shower, baby? you’re soaked.” you suggest, but frankie is so out of it

- he was fine last night, you remember

- sure he didn’t eat dinner, and went to bed early, but you thought maybe he had a late lunch and a long day

- now, helping him out of bed to the shower, you understand that it was early onset symptoms of whatever he was battling

- he pressed heavily to your side and you’re nervous as you strip him down and get him into the tub

- he sways, and you’re not sure what you’ll do if he passes out, or hits his head, so you sit him down, take off the shower head, make sure the water coming out is room temperature, and you run she showerhead over his overheating body

- you’re careful not to get any water in his face and ears, and you don’t wash his hair, just his body with a gentle soap

- you figure this is one of the only times frankie will let you take care of him like this, so you milk it for all it’s worth

- you blow dry his hair on a low setting, just in case he has a headache, you change the sheets of your bed, you lay him down on his side and you bring him close to your chest

- which is how he falls asleep for the next few nights until his illness eventually subsides

WHISKEY

- he curls up in your lap on the couch as soon as he gets home from work, which is how you know something’s wrong

- but you ask him anyway

- “i don’t feel so great, sugar,”

- which scares you, because did he get drugged? is this just a regular illness? is this like a biowarfare mission gone wrong?

- you leave him to get the thermometer, and when you come back, he’s got sad eyes looking up at you that just break your heart

- turns out, it’s not biowarfare. just a fever of 100.4

- you slip your hands up the back of his shirt and it’s so warm, along with his forehead

- he moans weakly at your touch, worn and tired from his extensive mission that day

- he’s definitely been overexerting himself

- as you settle back onto the couch, he settles into your lap again

- you let him rest for a while, but not after long, you realize he’s fallen asleep, and you’re stuck there for god knows how long

- you turn the volume down on the tv just in case, and you stroke behind his ears and you play with his fingers

- it’s best to just let him sleep it off, and you're not opposed to letting him do it on your lap

- you imagine there are statesman resources you can use to help him, but if he’s feeling better after he’s slept it off, then maybe you won’t need to misuse them

JAVIER PEÑA

- you scared the shit out of him, knocking on his door like that

- in your blinding rage, filled with thoughts like “how dare he take the day off to bang hookers, to recover from his hangover, to generally be a hindrance to the fucking DEA,” you had not pondered the possibility that THE javier peña, was sick

- he’s pulling on a t-shirt just as he opens the door, wearing pajama pants, and it startles you to see him so disarmed and casual

- his eyes and nose are red, his hair is disheveled, and he looks... exhausted

- “wow, you look like shit."

- “i feel like shit,” he says, walking away from the door, sniffling

- you take this as an invitation in, and close the door behind you

- he collapses back onto his couch, where you assume he’s been all day, and wraps himself up in a thick afghan blanket

- his hands shake the slightest bit as he opens his lighter to ignite his cigarette

- you take a seat next to him and help him with his lighter, and he nods his thanks to you

- “you’re gonna be late,” he mutters, taking the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out smoke into his apartment, coughing it out halfway

- “i’ll call out,” you offer, eyes wandering up his blanket clad body

- he closes his eyes and lets his head rest on the back of the couch

- “go in. i’m just gonna sleep it off anyway,”

- you lean in close to him and press your hand against his forehead and he freezes, staring at you

- you run your hand down his neck and feel his warmth, and he melts into your touch just a little bit

- you offer to only call out for a few hours to get him settled and make sure he doesn’t die or something, and he lets you, simply because he knows his illness will only get worse

- when your time is up and you have to go back to work, javi’s eaten, gotten some fluids in him, and taken some pain meds

- you let him know that he can call you if he needs anything, and before you even walk out the door is sleeping contently on the couch

MARCUS MORENO

- you find out he’s sick when he calls you, and asks for a favor

- “hey, can you do me the biggest favor ever?”

- he’s super congested. at first you think it might not be him because of how grainy his voice is

- “i hate to do this to you on such short notice, but would you be able to pick up missy? i’m not feeling too hot right now.”

- when you make it back to their home, it's very clear why he thought he wouldn't be able to make it

- he's curled up in bed, tissues piled on his nightstand, trying to get some sleep, but clearly failing

- he notices the two of you come in, and you quietly usher missy away to her own room to entertain herself while her dad tries to get some rest

- he thanks you for picking up missy, and you tell him you'd be there for him whenever he needed you to be

- you make a special phone call as you care for marcus, keeping his curtains closed and running your cool hands up and down his back and shoulders until he felt like he could fall asleep

- you let him know that you'll be right back, that you were going to pick up a few things for him and that if he needed anything at all, just call

- knowing your chicken noodle soup skills were rusty, your special phone call had been to marcus' mother's house, where she had tupperware containers full of soup waiting for you to pick up for him

- when you get back to his house with pain meds, gatorade, and the soup, marcus is passed out in bed

- you don't want to wake him up, but you have a hunch that he hasn't eaten all day, so you whisper his name softly and lightly shake him awake

- he's so grateful and only eats a portion of what he normally does, but anything is better than nothing

- and you don't want him feeling even more sick as a result

- you end up eating the incredibly nostalgic and rich soup with missy at the table and talk to her about your day while marcus gets some sleep

MARCUS PIKE

- it's only when you get home from work that you realize something's wrong with marcus

- he's asleep on the couch

- which would have been fine, if you had worked overtime, or had gotten out late, but it was only four thirty

- plus, you two had planned on going to see a movie you he was excited about tonight in theatres and maybe grab dinner after

- the tv plays lowly in the background, and he hasn’t changed out of his work clothes yet

- he startles when you close and lock the door, and rubs his temples, eyes squeezed shut in pain

- "marcus, are you okay?"

- "yeah, i'm fine." he tells you, and when you mention the date, he looks shocked that he forgot about it

- "oh my god, you're right. i can’t believe i forgot, i’m so sorry babe, i'll get ready right now."

- you tell him it's no biggie, but he insists

- after you've taken off your work clothes and showered quickly for your date, you realize the two of you are most definitely staying in

- he's promptly fallen back asleep on the couch, and he looks adorable

- you put on your pajamas and he does too, and you settle into the couch behind marcus, flipping through channels with him

- he says he doesn't care what you watch, as long as it's not too bright or loud

- so you choose some old black and white movie with the subtitles on

- normally you're the one between his legs, as he rubs your shoulders and plays with your hair

- but this time, he's curled up into you, his back pressed up against your chest, his head tucked into your shoulder using it as a pillow

- you figure you didn't really want to see the new movie anyway, and decide takeout and casablanca was a better way to spend your time with your sick boyfriend

MAX PHILLIPS

- a big baby

- but he IS a vampire and DOES NOT get sick, which slips your mind completely when you come home after some overtime and find him paler than usual on the couch, his head in his hands

- you try to get him to tell you what’s wrong, and he refuses, but he caves when you sit down next to him and start stroking his head, and playing with the hair at the base of his neck

- he tells you that after the whole vampire fiasco with the company, he was set for a while, and has been feeling great, but he hasn’t had human blood in so long that it’s made him weak

- he gives you a sad puppy dog look, and you know he’s being an asshole about it, but you hate to see the dark circles under his eyes or the color his skin turns when he’s like this

- so you oblige, but you give him STRICT instructions to follow, otherwise you won’t do it again

- don’t take more than a pint, don’t leave unnecessary bruises, if you use your safe word he has to stop immediately, and he has to make it as quick and painless as he possibly can

- he nods enthusiastically, and pulls you into his lap

- he nuzzles into your neck, and grabs your chin, anchoring himself to you

- he blows softly on your skin, and presses hard kisses to the area to get your blood flowing and disarm you

- which isn’t fair because he knows your neck is so sensitive

- it’s a sharp prick when he ejects his fangs into your body and you stop moving completely, your hand fisting at his shirt, just listening to your breathing and his soft moans echoed against your skin

- out of habit your rub soothing circles into his back, more to sooth yourself then anything

- minutes pass, and you start to feel light headed and are about to tell him to stop when he pulls away, grinning ear to ear at you

- he’s back on your neck in seconds though, licking and sucking the leaking blood from the small holes he’s left in your skin

- now that, that feels much better than the bloodsucking that was going on originally

- you jump when he presses soft kisses to the sensitive area along your throat and dives a hand between your legs

- looks like someone’s feeling better already

MAX LORD

- tries to power through it as much as he can with pain killers and cough syrups, but after he almost passes out at dinner after a week of symptoms, you beg him to take at least a day off to recover

- that morning, his hair is a mess, he missed a button on his shirt, and his tie was uneven

- he was about to put on two different colored socks when he begrudgingly obliges

- you unbutton his shirt and help him take off his tie

- it’s easy to bring him back to bed after that, and you let him hold you from behind like a teddy bear, no matter how uncomfortable his arm is shoved under your neck

- usually he likes to be held, but he can feel his own back burning up, so he decides to hold you instead

- he whimpers in his sleep, plagued by fever dreams and his traumatic past

- so when he wakes you up in the middle of the night, something he so very rarely does, you’re concerned

- “i’m sorry, for waking you, i just... i just need... you... i want—“

- it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he needs a hug

- you hold him and rub his back until he falls back asleep again, in your arms

- when he wakes up with a killer headache, you fight to keep him in bed again, rubbing his temples and pressing kisses to his forehead

- he falls back asleep in less than five minutes

- needless to say, one more day off couldn’t hurt

OBERYN MARTELL

- it’s not often than he gets sick, surprisingly, considering how close he gets to so many different people

- when you arrive at his chambers that morning, the guards seem keen on not letting you in

- you argue with them, but they insist oberyn didn’t want anyone in there

- you call them out, obviously upset and visibly frustrated when his doors creak open and you see him, in a robe, hair messy and pressed down to his forehead

- he quietly tells the guard to let you in, and you’re a little confused

- he sits down on his bed and looks up at you with guilty eyes

- “apologies, my love, but I don't want you to see me like this”

- you scoff and roll your eyes at him, moving in front of him

- you take his head in your hands, and he stares up at you

- “apology accepted, but i’m offended, my prince.”

- he scrunches his eyebrows and presses his chin to your stomach

- you run your hands through his hair and he brings his hands to your waist

- “you think mere illness could keep me away? keep me away from you?”

- his confusion melts into a small smile, and he lets his head rest against your belly as you pull him into you

- “can i get you anything, oberyn? wine, medicine?”

- “no, my love. just you is enough for me.”

PERO TOVAR

- wants to be left alone for the most part

- grumpy in general, and it doesn't get better when he's sick

- he'll let you wipe a cool cloth over his forehead and neck, and doesn't complain

- he says he doesn’t want you there because he doesn’t want you to catch what he has

- you know, survival rates are low for things like this at this point in history

- but really, like oberyn, he doesn’t want you to see him weak

- he’s afraid it’ll ruin your image of him in your mind

- william asks you to get some rest, as they can’t afford to risk more days at the campsite with sick travelers

- so you oblige, keeping your distance from pero, but you stay vigilant

- you stand guard for him for most of the night, listening to him breathe, watching his chest rise and fall, until you eventually fall asleep too

- but you’re up early, with the rest of the men, except pero, who sleeps well into daylight

- the rest of them take off, desperate to find something for dinner, but you stay back with him, stroking his forehead, a gentleness that’s rarely ever been afforded to him, listening to him ramble half in english, half in spanish, but he has your full attention

- it would be a rough few days until he recovered, but his muttered thanks and appreciation for you was more than enough for you to do it all over again if he ever needed you to

domestic frank is the best frank

Loungin’ Frank Castle

keepin’ busy

request: 5. “I know a few ways we could keep busy…” 19. “Pornhub is giving away free premium right now you perv. Get away from me.” 20. “That’s a dangerous game to play if we’re gonna be stuck with each other for the next four weeks.” with Frank Castle? idk how many prompts per request we're meant to send so I picked my fave 3

summary: frank’s been a lot more… tense, since quarantine started. whether that’s because he’s not taking his rage out on bad guys late at night or because he’s stuck in your house without a little privacy? that’s anyone’s guess… 

pairings: frank castle x reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: suggestive content, frank has nice hands ;) 

a/n: if only we could go back to a time where we all thought we were getting like, eight weeks off… hah…haha…hahaha…whew… on a less depressing note, jon bernthal is really fucking hot. pretty pretty please send in some requests for my boy frankie :( i love him so much. If you’ve had any ideas floating around you’d like to see written out to completion, now’s the perfect time to see it happen! maybe some smut, or fluff, or angst, or anything really… big love <3

He wasn’t supposed to be staying with you. But apartment hunting when your face has been all over the news recently as one of America’s Most Wanted criminals in the state of New York is kind of hard to do, not to mention when there’s a global pandemic going on. You knew first hand, apartment hunting was hard enough as is. At first, you didn’t really notice him. He would always be out going on runs, exercising in the basement in order to not disturb any neighbors, and guarding the streets at night, like a vigilante cop. Soon, he was staying home more than he was patrolling. Frank still got out from time to time, but it was hard to catch bad guys when they were at home, drinking and sleeping and waiting to be able to go back to causing trouble again.

You hadn’t touched anyone in weeks. You were starving for affection of any kind. You missed hugging your friends, awkward cheek kisses from your family, even shaking hands with strangers at this rate. What you wouldn’t give for a nice firm handshake… 

It was driving you crazy. Frank on the other hand, was making the most out of his time stuck in your apartment. He had recently gotten into a netflix show, you had noticed, which was just one of the luxuries exposed to him during the pandemic. He strummed on your old guitar, the one you barely played anymore, if at all. It was a surprise to hear, but you knew from the familiar sounds of tuning and plucking strings that it was not coming from the television. It was a nice thing to see, him hunched over on your couch, guitar case open on the floor, fiddling with the capo for a song he knew by heart. It was nice he could let his guard down a little bit. He was even learning how to cook, and could make a mean fettuccine alfredo for the two of you. 

Frank was a very domestic man outside of his nightly routine of making New York a cleaner place to live. 

Nights were different now. You two sat together on the couch, your head on his shoulder, dozing off against him as he tried to clue you in on what was happening. It was a gangster show, but that was the only thing you gleaned from his run down. 

“I bet you were a mafia man in a past life,” you said, breaking the silence between the two of you. He tore his gaze from the television.

“What?” he said, smiling down at you. You didn’t look away from the TV, but continued.

“Like, a mafia boss or something. Yeah, I can see that.” “Where is this comin’ from?” he asks.

You hum as you imagine it, ignoring his question. 

“You’re weird,” he comments, and he puts his legs up on the coffee table.

“You can see?” he asks, and his feet are in the way of the screen but you’re not really watching it anyway, so you nod your head against his shoulder. He moves his arm behind your head and rubs your shoulder softly before resting it over the arm of the couch. You readjust yourself, head on his thigh, curling up into Frank. It became easier to listen to his breathing when he turned the volume down a bit, fully aware of you on his lap. It didn’t take long before you dozed off, but when you woke up, you were in your bedroom, shrouded in darkness, covered carefully by a comforter. 

OVER the course of the coming week, the two of you get closer. You’d even become invested in the show he’d started watching. 

With your closeness, you hadn’t noticed you started touching Frank a lot more. 

Nothing you wouldn’t do to your other friends. It was mainly just laying your head on his, playing old hand games you remembered from your childhood, and petting the back of his neck. It was absent minded, and it was only because he had shown you how to cut his hair with his old beard clippers. When asked about why you would run your hands over the prickly surface, you explained it felt nice, and that you had the right to admire your handiwork. 

Later into the quarantine you ordered a palmistry book, and since nobody else was around, you asked Frank to read his palms. He of course was hesitant, but did as you asked, handing over his right hand for you to examine. His nails were nicely trimmed, you noticed immediately. The tips of his fingers were calloused, as were his palms, the skin cracked under harsh and constant use. He held the flashlight from your phone as you read from the book and bent and pulled at the taut skin there. You read him his diagnosis, and he said it was all bullshit, like astrology. You just think he didn’t like being labelled as a dreamer. 

It really only heated up when you asked for the massage.

You said it as a joke, but Frank was by your side, rolling his eyes and pushing up the sleeves on his black Henley before you looked up at him.

“Oh shit, you’re actually gonna do it?” You mused, flipping yourself over. Very briefly you were self conscious of your lounge shorts and novelty shirt that was a size too big. But just for a second, because then Frank was straddling your back, considerately resting most of his weight on his knees, kneading your shoulders with his big hands. His palms work the knots out and you breathe a little lighter as he trails downward, pressing hard into your lower back. It makes you moan a little bit, but if he hears you, he doesn't acknowledge it. He takes precious time down there, all fingers and knuckles and palms, pushing hard into your soft skin, almost like he’s done this before. 

You feel him back up off of you, and you note the lack of contact, making you open your eyes for a second. His thumbs push and pull the soft flesh of your calves. It’s only moments before they move softly up your thigh, sending shivers down your back. He goes just a smidgen too high for comfort. It makes your heart jump into your throat, and you wriggle out from his grip.

“Pornhub is giving away free premium right now, you perv. Get away from me,” you say playfully, smile on your face. It’s not contagious.

“I thought that’s what you wanted?” He spoke, confused. Your brows furrowed.

“What?”

“You’ve been doing little things all week like that… ‘thought you wanted me to… God, never mind. I’m just… I’m sorry,” he apologizes, and stands up from the couch. 

You’re dumbfounded. You don’t know what to do. But you know you don’t want him to leave.

“What?” you respond again, this time with even more confusion.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re fine,” he says, making his way down the hall. Did he mean what he said? Did he say what he meant?

You stood up hastily to follow him, tripping over your own feet in pursuit. His hand is on the door handle to your office, which had since been converted into a room for Frank, complete with luxuries such as a pull out futon and fast internet speeds (thanks to the router being in there).

“Frank,” you said, stopping at the beginning of the hallway. You watched his hand grip the knob. His shoulders rise and fall with his breathing.

“I…” you start, but don’t know where to go. What to say. You’re confused, and you don’t want him to be upset. Not even at you, just in general. You can’t stand the lack of contact with the outside world already. It would suck to be alienated by your… roommate? If you could even call him that.

“What is this?” you say, and he spins around to look at you. 

Now it’s his turn to be confused.

“What?” he questions, and his shoulders are squared and tense.

“Where is this coming from? I mean… yeah, but… me?”

His brows are furrowed and he squints at you suspiciously.

“You?” He questions.

“I guess quarantine is taking a toll on everyone, and you can’t really see anyone else… do you… do you really want…”

“Do I really want what?”

You could barely look at him, eyes tracing the wood patterns in the floor and the door behind him. 

“Do you want that, Frank?” You ask. Your eyes meet his.

“Do I want what?” He asks again, irritated. You sigh gently, and your feet move on their own accord, anticipation and worry festering where your heart should be. He watches you come to him.

You stand in front of him, your feet almost touching, your hands by your side.

His eyes are dark in the dimly lit hallway. His gaze is intense.

You reach your hand out to him, taking one of his hands in yours and squeezing it, pulling it closer to you. He moves his head closer to yours, tentatively stopping within centimetres of your lips.

Then he’s on top of you, pushing his lips into yours, unyielding and feverish. His hand comes up to cup the nape of your neck and you breathe heavily into the kiss, softening under his touch. 

He pulls away, and you’re panting with the intensity of it.

“That’s new,” you say, backing up slightly. He smiles mischievously.

“We can take it slow.”

THE television in your room is smaller than the one in the living room, and has remained largely unused since Frank moved in. 

It’s nice to have Frank in bed with you. There are flashes of color bouncing off the walls of your dark bedroom. It’s not Frank’s mafia show tonight. It’s the news.

“It’s crazy out there,” you interrupt. “Never seen anything like it.”

Andrew Cuomo is on screen, making important announcements about the state of New York, when he changes your whole outlook in just a few words.

Statewide shutdown ends May 15th, adding another month on top of your quarantine with Frank. A lot longer than you had originally anticipated.

“That’s... two whole months, huh?” He ponders, your back pressed up against his chest in your bed.

“I know a few ways we could keep busy…” you suggested, tracing patterns up his arm. You tilted your head up to look at him.

“That’s a dangerous game to play if we’re going to be stuck with each other for the next few weeks,” he spoke quietly, tension thick in the air. He was so close you could feel his breath on your lips. 

His hand cups your chin and throat, and you swallow hard, gaze unwavering. You lick your lips inadvertently. 

He comes in even closer, and envelopes you in a soft kiss. Frank being a sweet lover, you never would have guessed. Your skull is cradled in his big hands, and it makes you notice how vulnerable you are to him. Your neck exposed, bodies pressed against each other in a hot passion. His lips are a little rougher down other parts of your body, but his hands are always soft and firm, touching and squeezing and dragging his fingertips down your stomach. He’s painstakingly slow with it, and it makes your breath hitch in your throat. What a tease. He knows what he’s doing to you, and it drives you crazy. It would be a long night. 

Frank knows how to take care of a partner, too. Only in his case, it’s not bandaging and stitching. It’s much, much more pleasant.

you’ve got a friend in me

request: ur writing is so good i love ur fics :’) can u do a confessing feelings kiss with jj

summary: jj tries to watch Toy Story with you and takes you on a walk down to one of the old playgrounds in the outer banks

pairings: jj maybank x reader

word count: 2k

warnings: healthy family dynamics. i'm ur dad now.

a/n: this is super fluffy and i love swings ;) big loveeee

“This is worse than I remember it being,” you comment, and JJ stares down at you in his lap.

“What? The cinematic masterpiece that is Toy Story one isn’t good enough for you?” He says, and you turn your attention back to the screen.

“It’s just Toy Story, and sorry to burst your bubble, but… It’s… ugly,” you comment with a chuckle, and he gasps.

“How dare you. Get out of my house, I’m kicking you out,” he says, and stands, ejecting you from his lap onto the floor.

“Ow!” You cry playfully, staring up at him in disbelief.

“This is my fuckin’ house,” you say to him.

A loud, “Language!” comes from the kitchen, courtesy of your father. JJ stares at you with wide eyes, and you both break out into giggles. You sit down next to him on your couch, resting your head on his shoulder, him resting his head on yours. The movie plays on. You feel JJ sigh softly. You’re both comfortable with each other there.

Your dad pokes his head into the doorway.

“Hey! No touching! Ten feet apart. You on that end, you on that end,” he chides, pointing a spoon covered in red sauce at the two of you. You shake your head and sigh, scooting away from JJ.

“I don’t want you even looking at each other. Move over more,” he says to you, and you do, moving to the edge of the couch. He’s still not satisfied.

“More.” He says, and you glare at him.

“Do you want me to just go to my room, and JJ can stay here, and we can just text each other about the movie?” You say. He ponders it and you roll your eyes.

“It’s not like that, dad,” you say. You can practically hear the disbelief on his face. JJ readjusts himself in his seat.

“It’s not like that dad,” your father mocks.

“Yeah, it wasn’t like that with your mother and I. Look what happened. A baby. A house. A dog.”

“We don’t have a dog.” You say, wondering if he’s lost his mind already. At such an age, too.

“What’s on the couch over there?” He says, pointing the spoon at JJ, and you gasp.

“Dad!” You cry, but JJ seems to find it a lot funnier than you do.

“That’s cruel sir. That’s cruel,” He comments playfully, and your dad smiles at him.

“He’s kidding JJ,” your mom says, smacking your father on the shoulder and poking her head into the living room now too. No privacy in this house.

“Are you staying for dinner?” She questions. JJ puts his hand on his heart and looks at her with love in his eyes.

“Ma’am. It would be my pleasure to eat your cooking.”

“I’m the one doing all the cooking!” Your father exasperates, gesturing to his apron.

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s doing any cooking,” you mutter under your breath for JJ to hear, and he smiles at you, all round cheeks and tight lips.

“The attitude is unreal,” your dad jokes, going back into the kitchen, leaving the two of you to the movie once more.

It takes you a few minutes and some comments that go unnoticed to realize JJ isn’t watching the movie. He’s staring at the screen, but he’s thinking. Hard.

You scoot closer, tossing a cautionary glance over your shoulder. Your dad is at the stove, out of sight, tending to some pasta.

“What’s up?” You ask, and he puts on a fake smile for you.

“Nothing,” he replies. He goes to stare at the screen again.

“Really? What just happened?” you question, and he looks at you quizzically. You cover his eyes with your hands.

“What just happened in the movie?” You quizz, and his shoulders fall.

“Buzz and Woody just did that thing. They got kidnapped.”

You remove your hands from his face and tuck your feet up under you.

“You’re not even watching it. What’s the point of keeping it on,” you say, reaching for the remote on the coffee table.

“No, I wanna finish it!” He whines, racing to grab the remote before you do. He gets there first, and tucks the remote underneath him, effectively changing the channel to some home renovation show.

You smile and throw your hands in the air. He rolls his eyes, taking out the remote and turning off the TV.

“What do you want to do then?” He says, putting the controller back on the coffee table, next to the centerpiece your mother loved oh so dearly, no matter how ugly it was.

“I want you to tell me what’s up with you,” you say, resting your arm on the side of the couch.

JJ glances toward the kitchen, where your parents worked away, cooking and washing dishes for that night’s dinner.

“Let’s go on a walk,” he suggests, popping off the couch, bounding over to your door.

“Okay?” You question, and getting up, you pop your head into the kitchen.

“We’re gonna go on a walk,” you say, and your parents stare at you with accusations written all over their faces.

“Okay,” your father starts, “But no hand holding. You’re both old enough to know how to cross the street by yourselves—actually, stay on opposite sides of the street, you on one side, him on the other—” as your dad rambles on, your mother smiles at you, waving you off. You grin, practically running out the door. You meet JJ outside, and as you both turn to go, your dad pops his head out the window.

“Don’t talk to strangers! Stranger danger!” He cries, and is pulled back into your house, presumably by your mom.

You push JJ off and you both start running nowhere, in no particular direction toward no particular place, JJ leading.

You both stop on a side street, panting, small pogue houses surrounding you, covered in greenery, the setting sun painting the empty street a golden orange.

JJ smiles at you, then stands and keeps walking. You follow behind him until you can catch up.

‘Where are we going?” You ask, but JJ doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look back at you. He’s walking into the sun.

“JJ, where are we—”

You get cut off, by JJ taking off again, and you sigh, before you yourself take off into a run, then realize that JJ is sprinting.

“JJ!” You cry, breathless.

“Slow down, asshole!”

He stops at the end of a street, waiting for you, breathing heavily, bent over, hands on his knees.

“Language,” he says, as soon as you’re next to him, “we’re near a school,”

He gestures to the mother and child on the crosswalk sign, then crosses the street without looking. On this side of the island, it’s darker, the sun obscured by trees and the school, eclipsing the playground JJ was hopping the fence of. You cross the street more carefully to join him.

You find him on the swingset, waiting for you. Once he was small enough for it, but now, his knees are bent and he’s crouched down into it, swinging slow and low with his feet planted on the ground. You smile as you take a seat next to him.

“The fuck is wrong with you,” you question, and he leans his head against the chainlink metal holding his seat up.

“Do you really want to ask that,” he says, before launching himself into a full swing.

You watch him push himself back and forth getting higher and higher up into the air with each kick.

“JJ,” you say, but he ignores you. He’s trying to go as high as the swing will let him. You’re afraid it’s going to snap, or he’s going to go too high and fall right out of it. Your feet stay on the ground as you swing yourself leisurely back and forth.

“JJ,” you say more sternly, and he laughs up in the air, high on adrenaline. He takes one look at your cautious face and catapults himself off the swing at the highest point, jumping into the wood chips that would most definitely find their way into both of your shoes for the walk home. The sun is even lower now.

He sits in the chips, knees pulled tightly into his chest, staring at you, a hyena grin on his face that you’ve grown accustomed to.

“You should try that,” JJ comments, but you keep swinging. You used to do that too, when you were younger. It makes your heart hurt to think you’ve outgrown it, so you push yourself just a little bit higher.

JJ sits next to you again, still in his seat. He grabs the chains on either side of him, twisting back and forth.

“Your family is really nice,” he says, out of the blue.

“Yeah,” you say, “I’m… I’m lucky to have them—”

“I don’t want to be…” JJ cuts you off, trails off.

“I want it to be like that,” he says, and you’re confused. The sky is blue. Mosquitos will start to come out soon, but you’ve only been out for a little bit.

“What?” You ask, and he stares at you. You drag your feet in the wood chips, a little divot under both your swings. There’s only two of them. You remember racing to them after school with your best friend, hoping to get one before the other kids got there.

“I want us to be like that,” he says, and you’re dumbfounded.

“Not like your family, or your parents… well, kind of, but like… ah, I’m stupid, don’t listen to me.”

“What do you want us to be like, JJ,” you say, and you’re surprised at how low your voice is. You stare at your sneakers and one of your shoes is untied.

“You said…” he starts, and you can feel him looking at you, “You said it wasn’t like that. When your dad was like…” he trails. He traces nonsense patterns into the ground with the tips of his sneaker.

You take the opportunity to look at him. His eyelashes are long, and you lick your lips looking at his.

“And you want us to be like that,” you finish. JJ shakes his head.

“I’m fucking stupid, don’t even listen to me,” he says.

“I just thought your family was nice and…” he cuts himself off, and you place your hand over his, which is still holding the chain link metal keeping him off the floor.

He looks at you. His eyes are unsure.

You realize the ball is in your court.

You reach over him, grabbing the other chain from the swing, and it takes more effort than you realize to face him, so you get up and stand in front of him.

You’re taller than he is when in the swing. The sky is a dark blue now, and it paints JJ’s face, his sculpted sharp features. The edge of his nose and the cut of his jawline and the way he looks like he’s about to cry.

So you can’t help it when you place your hands on his again, and you lean down, and he leans up, and you smile, before you kiss him for the first time.

He slides his hands out from under yours, and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

When he pulls away, he places his forehead on your chest, his head moving with your breathing.

“I wanna be like that too,” you murmur into his hair. He holds you tighter for a second, and you rub his back.

He jerks back when he gets bit by a mosquito, pulling his arms away from you to slap his forearm.

“We’re gonna get eaten alive,” he says, and you back up.

“You ready to go home?” You ask, and he extends his hand for you to take. You pull him out of the swing, and the two of you walk back to your house, hands intertwined underneath a twilight sky. You don’t let go until you reach the front door.

In his seat, JJ’s foot brushed yours, and you smiled at him. He was scoffing down pasta like nobody’s business, your mom gleaming at how he loved her cooking, your dad’s concentration on his own food, almost as vivacious as JJ.

You rub your foot back over JJ’s. He knows what it means, because he stops eating to smile at you, for a brief, almost imperceptible second.

For now, you could be his family.

Do u take requests?

hello! i do take requests! most of my fics are requests, so please feel free to send in any you have. i feel like most of you follow me for obx, but i also write for marvel haha. im particularly fond of frank castle and the avengers. i’d also like to dabble in apex legends, the witcher, and star wars :)