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callsign-rogueone · 2 days

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reunification day - d.a.

Dain Aetos x reader part two of Dain and Love's story words: 2.6k 🏷: no book spoilers really, set pre-Fourth Wing, feminine reader but no pronouns used, this one is pretty tame and fluffy if you don't think too hard about the implications of literally every word, Col. Aetos makes an appearance and is a total jerk, as usual, delving into Dain's ~issues~ a bit, and hopefully showing a little more of Love's personality. I really like this one. a lot. I hope you do too. no other girlfriends mentioned this time, but can anyone guess who a certain someone was looking for before the speeches started?

It’s been over a year since you’ve spent this much time getting ready for anything. You’ve missed this feeling, sitting in front of your mirror humming a soft tune as you go through your routine, doing up your hair -- that part is made much easier with your signet, the strands curling and smoothing and pinning themselves to your liking while you darken your eyelashes and brush through your eyebrows, glossing your lips and making everything soft and shiny.

It’s a nice change of pace from your usual rushed mornings at the school, but it doesn’t feel the same, not how it used to, when you’d do all of this with a smile, genuinely excited for the occasion, for the opportunity to take a break from the training and the preparing-for-war to spend time with your family at their formal gatherings, with singing and dancing and food and all the trappings of Tyrrish culture -- because the occasion you’re preparing for right now is a holiday celebrating the anniversary of Navarre making those things illegal.

Either way, you look damn good, and you’re going to let everybody in attendance see it.

“Your friends are outside,” Cosa reports — you’d told them not to wait for you, and they know better than that, anyway, especially when you have a reason to take your time getting ready like this.

With one last adjustment to the skirt of your dress, and one more lingering glance at yourself in the mirror, you drape the long silk wrap over your shoulders and slip out your door, heading down the hall out to the courtyard, where the party — if one could call it that — is just getting started, cadets trickling in slowly and settling into their formations.

You spot Dain in his usual place in the block. Of course he’d be one of the first to get here.

“You clean up nicely,” you greet, brushing a piece of fluff from the collar of his uniform. You let your fingertips skim over the broad expanse of his shoulder, lingering perhaps a second too long before you pull your hand back.

He represses a shiver, his cheeks reddening. “You too,” he manages. “You’re… wow.”

You smile at how flustered he is, at the blush spreading across his cheeks and his difficulty forming complete sentences. “Thank you. I may have a shitty relationship with this holiday, but I’ll take the excuse to be pretty for an evening.”

“You’re always pretty,” he says quietly, still looking at you.

It’s a compliment you’ve gotten from dozens of men before, one you usually brush off, but your heart skips hearing it from the one man who hasn’t been falling at your feet all year.

“He thinks I’m pretty,” you whisper to Cosa, unable to keep the smile off your face.

She sounds amused. “Of course he does. Now, are you going to do something about it?”

That is the question; but she should know by now that you don’t chase after anything or anyone, especially not men.

“Thank you,” you reply warmly.

It’s obvious that he doesn’t know where to go from here, what to say next.

You’re standing at eye level with him, or close to it, for the first time ever, and he can’t look away; mesmerized by the color of your irises and the flutter of your eyelashes as you blink, the barely-there shimmer coating your eyelids.

“Are you wearing heels?” he asks, finally putting it together.

You nod, shifting the long skirt of your dress to show him the simple black stilettos underneath, thick silk ribbons wrapped around your ankles to keep them in place, tied with perfect bows.

He’s in over his head. Thankfully the next sentence that comes out of his mouth isn’t about how much he’d like to kneel down and tug at the ribbons until the bows came undone, to slide the shoes off and…

“Did you really cross the parapet with those in your bag?” he asks, still looking at them.

“I did,” you answer, smiling. “They’re my favorites — they were a gift from my favorite brother. And they’re black, so they’re codex-approved.”

Fair enough.

It stands to reason that you’d have a favorite pair of shoes, and a collection of them back home — in the year that he’s known you, he’s learned that you place a high value on your physical appearance, and you aren’t afraid to modify your uniform within the bounds of regulation, finding subtle ways of making it your own.

You settle into your usual spot between him and Sawyer, who looks to be searching for someone in the crowd, his shoulders sinking when he realizes they aren’t there. You offer him a soft smile that he returns silently, your attention returning to the dais just as the clock strikes seven.

“I should have asked Bodhi what his bet was on the length of the speeches,” you tell Cosa, preparing yourself for a very boring next thirty minutes. She doesn’t respond.

It's a bit unfair that her and her friends get the evening off while you’re forced to listen to these self-labeled war heroes prattle on about patriotism and the importance of this terrible holiday as if you and your compatriots aren’t even here.

“Twenty-eight minutes,” she relays after a few seconds.

You try not to laugh. “Tell him I say thirty-two, and the winner gets ten Krown.”

Another short pause. “He finds these terms acceptable.”

You subtly shift your weight back and forth between your feet throughout the speeches — which add up to thirty-one minutes, if you count the awkward transitions between them — having grown unused to the heeled shoes in the last year of wearing flat black boots every day.

You’re finally dismissed, the formations breaking as riders move around to find their friends for the rest of the evening. You turn toward third wing, looking for Imogen, who will be the easiest to spot with her unconventional hair color — you’re sure she absolutely despises this whole thing, but especially the required dress.

“Cadet Aetos,” someone calls, and he freezes at the voice for a split second before turning toward it.

The colonel insignia on the man’s collar and the shape of his jaw is enough for you to connect the dots — that’s Dain’s father, and he’s approaching with both General Sorrengail and King Tauri in tow.

You’ve just spotted Imogen and Bodhi, but you can’t leave now, not when three of the aforementioned war heroes are looking directly at you. You plaster a smile onto your face, adjusting your shawl. “Your Majesty, General, Colonel,” you greet in order of rank, extending a perfect curtsy to the king with a polite smile and a nod of the head to the others.

The monarch smiles back, but the officers don’t.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” the Colonel says, turning his gaze to you. Ice spreads through your veins, and for a moment you wonder if he possesses some physiological signet that he’s using on you, or if he’s just that cold and calculating because he knows exactly who you are.

But neither of those options explain why the quadrant’s poster boy is looking at this uniformed officer — his own father — like a wolf that’s about to bite.

You give him a slight dip of your chin in deference. “Cadet Callwell, sir. Second squad, flame section, fourth wing — the same as your son. I can see the family resemblance,” you add with a disarming smile.

Dain winces beside you.

Your graceful response doesn’t seem to have thawed things between you and Aetos Senior any further, but luckily, someone changes the subject of conversation; King Tauri himself. “Tell me, cadets, how are you finding your studies?”

“Very well, your Majesty,” you answer with a polite smile. “We are fortunate to have such experienced and knowledgeable professors.”

You nudge Dain’s foot with yours, silently prodding him to say something.

“Yes,” he agrees after a few seconds, “Fortunate indeed. The last year has been a challenge, but one that I know will prepare us to serve our country well.”

That is exactly what the King wants to hear. “And how fortunate am I, to have such valiant students with such bright futures ahead of them.”

“You flatter us, Your Majesty,” Dain responds, finally having found his voice.

General Sorregail still hasn’t said a word, watching the pair of you silently.

The Colonel gives you both a curt nod. “Thank you, Cadets. That will be all.”

Dain bows, and you drop another curtsy to the king, earning yourselves another fond smile before you turn away, but as you cross the courtyard, your blood is boiling on Dain’s behalf. Colonel Aetos hadn’t even spared him a smile. No loving touch, no real goodbye for his only son whom he may very well never see again, no use of his name, just Cadet?

Dain speaks first once you’re out of their earshot, sounding stunned. “I don’t think Tauri even realized you were marked. How did you…”

“It’s a party trick of mine,” you answer, stopping to sit on a small stone bench by one of the courtyard’s open archways. “One I learned very quickly after I got this.”

You let the silk drape drop from your shoulders, exposing the smoky relic trailing up your arm. Dain’s eyes catch on it immediately, like they do every time you’re not wearing long sleeves, studying the intricate swirls that don’t seem to follow any particular pattern, winding up and down your arm near-randomly.

“It’s the first thing anyone sees about me, or any of my friends. But I figured out that if I was perfect in every other regard, if I was charming enough and followed all the rules and did everything correctly, they wouldn’t notice it,” you say, gazing up at the stars.

It’s a remarkably clear night, several of the summer constellations visible, but he remains focused entirely on you as you continue.

“The thing people don’t realize is that we’re all from “good families”, or we were, before they killed our parents. The Laurents were one of the most successful families in Tyrrendor before their assets were seized. So were the Durrans. Xaden is technically a Duke, now that he’s of age, but his duchy was burnt to a crisp.

My point is, we all know how to stand on ceremony and lay a proper table and dance a waltz and speak to authority figures, but people see the relics, or the names on our flight jackets, or how we speak or braid our hair or anything that shows our culture, and they forget all that. They just see a pack of rabid dogs.

Navarre used to respect us, to look at us like we were valuable. And then once we asked for not just a seat at their table, but for a table of our own, they decided we weren’t worth the dirt our houses were built on, and that everything we touched was tainted. They torched my mother’s rose garden and shattered every window in the house the day they arrested my father, just because they could.

So I know it sounds pathetic, or bratty, or whatever other adjectives you want to use, but being able to wear high heels and makeup and a pretty dress once a year is important to me, even if it’s for a holiday celebrating the death of so many people I loved, because it’s the only time that I get to feel like the girl I used to be, who didn’t have to fight for her life every day, who had parents that loved her more than anything in the world, and who was looked at like a person, not a fugitive or a liability or a wild animal.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he says softly. “I know I will never truly understand, but I get it. And for whatever it’s worth, you look perfect.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He starts another sentence that’s interrupted by the crackle of fireworks exploding into the air, startling both of you. He laughs, a sound you’ve hardly ever heard over the last year, but you like it.

You drape the silk back around your shoulders to fight the chill of the night air and pat the cold stone next to you, inviting him to sit. He accepts, perching on the other end of the bench and looking up at the night sky, keeping a respectful distance between you as the show continues, a few minutes of comfortable quiet.

With one last fizzling red firework, the display ends, and you hear applause from the other side of the courtyard, where most of the quadrant is gathered.

“Dain,” you say quietly, throwing him off balance, “I wanted to apologize earlier, but…”

“What for?” he asks, that cute little confused look on his face, head tilted and brows pinched. It would make you smile if you weren’t about to rip the bandage clean off, to end whatever this is before it can even start.

You choose your words delicately. “Tauri may not have realized who I am, but your father certainly did, and judging by the way he left things with you, he was clearly upset by it. If that’s going to have consequences for you, that he found you talking to me…”

“Oh, he’s always been like that,” he dismisses. “He’s never been one for any kind of affection. I’ve learned not to take it personally.”

It all makes sense now, why Dain is… like that, why he never touches you, why you’re always just Cadet Callwell to him and never anything else, why he’s so strict and by the book; the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

But from the two minutes you’d spent with the Colonel, you can tell that Dain is twice the man he’ll ever be; not cold and uncaring, not prejudiced or cruel… he might even have room for someone like you in his heart.

You shouldn’t get your hopes up about that.

“Still… I’m sorry,” you say softly. “If he gets mad at you about it, say the word and I’ll keep my distance, or ask to be reassigned. I don’t want to make things tense between you.”

“It’s fine,” he reassures. “I’m sorry he made you uncomfortable. He tends to have that effect on people. It’s part of the reason I didn’t have many friends growing up— the other kids were scared of him.”

He smiles, but you can tell there’s a tender wound underneath. “And I wanted to say it earlier, too, but thank you. For helping me not look like a total idiot in front of the king, and for showing me a new perspective.”

You smile — not the fake one he’d seen you give Tauri, but a real smile, one that makes your eyes sparkle like the stars. “Of course.”

“Your friends are probably looking for you,” he says quietly, and you startle as you realize he’s right, that you’d completely forgotten about finding them, too focused on impressing the King, and then you hadn’t wanted to abandon Dain after that conversation… It’s not like you wanted to spend time with him or anything. You definitely wouldn’t choose him over your friends, right?

You rise from the bench, smoothing a hand over your skirt. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he replies, giving you one last look, soaking up the sight of you in that dress before you walk away and things go back to normal between you: regular uniforms tomorrow morning, and your usual rivalry and bickering at formation, with your friends constantly watching the pair of you and scrutinizing his every move.

If you hadn’t each inherited the wars of your fathers, maybe then this could work — but then you would never have met.

He doesn’t know if that would be better or worse.

#dain and love #dain aetos #dain aetos x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #mine

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grapejuicegay · 6 months

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Saw this and felt unhinged. remembered you and thought why not share and add to the unhinge-ness BYE

I'm also just going to put the blurb Mhok (twt can pry this spelling from my cold dead hands) read out here because I'm having a Time:

"Hello. My name in Mee. I'm about to fade away. According to the myth, only sunshine can break the curse. Or perhaps I'm just having a nightmare. Who knows? Tonight, when I close my eyes all of this will just vanish." Sweet dreams

I keep thinking about @casualavocados's post about how much importance is given to tiny details and even here there is so much attention on Mhok flipping open the book. You can see the moment he decides he's going to say sweet dreams. And he brushes it off as just being written in the book but he's spent the whole episode brushing things off while giving off the heartiest of eyes (styling day's hair, the changing room, the metro, everywhere) (and seriously, there's a very specific brand of P'Aof heart eyes that he gets out of people and I didn't even think Jimmy was capable of heart eyes of this calibre and YET HERE WE ARE)

I mentioned intentionality with that moment by the door but the intentionality of that scene began here. When he decided that he is going to risk it, he is going to wish Day sweet dreams. Because he wants Day, who is reading this book because Aon said it might suit him, to not relate to this. To not have nightmares or just fade away when he goes to sleep. He wants Day to have sweet dreams. Before dropping the pretense of the book for pure sincerity because he really does want that.

SO YEAH. I'M FEELING INCREDIBLY UNHINGED. THANKS

#even if the implications for them right now are good friends #that's such a massive implication #especially with the near run in with day's friends this episode #and day avoiding all his friends #even if all mhok is saying is that he still has a friend #it's SO big #no matter how you take it #last twilight #last twilight series #hsfavoriteworlds #always share things that make you feel unhinged i love it <33333

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wheeboo · 1 month

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mine | joshua hong

SYNOPSIS. in which joshua is the best thing that's ever been... yours. PAIRING. joshua hong x gn!reader (ft. cheol, jeonghan, soonyoung, mingyu, chan - they don't rlly have dialogue tho lol) GENRE. fluff, some angst, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, established relationship WARNINGS. a very very brief shirtless joshua moment LMAO, implications of reader having a toxic ex, mentions that reader's parents have a rocky relationship and separate, kissing, terms of endearment, reader and joshua have a lil argument WORD COUNT. 3.6k

requested from @staranghae: joshua + mine by taylor swift for the 2k followers event please 🩷🎀

notes: i am fluent in this song!!!! whenever my love playlist comes on and this plays i literally scream lungs out!!! and shua fits this vibe so much <3

join the 2k celebration!

ONE. "i was a flight risk, with a fear of falling / wondering why we bother with love, if it never lasts..."

Maybe you've always underestimated how the feeling of fresh air hitting your lungs makes you feel so replenished, free, like a single whiff blows away those gusts of worry in an instant.

Your fingers carry a tight, secure grip on Seungcheol's surfboard𑁋you volunteered to carry it for him so he could unload the other things from the van𑁋soft sand meeting your toes the second you step onto the beach for the first time of the summer season. Salty air tingles at your nose, the late afternoon sun baring down on your shoulders, and the expanse of the ocean opens up right before your eyes.

This place had basically watched you grow up. It carries a lot of memories that you hold dear to your heart.

You see Soonyoung already digging into the sand with an abnormally large stick, and Mingyu carrying a bunch of firewood in his arms before dropping them down onto the ground (and accidentally one on his foot, but you won't say anything about that).

However, your eyes drift and land on a figure running up from the beach shore. His dark hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, chest and arms revealed in all its glory before quickly covered up by a white, somewhat lacy button-down shirt that still doesn't do much in concealing the muscles underneath. For a moment, you nearly loose the grip on Seungcheol's surfboard.

Joshua Hong seems to spot you from even a mile away. He's running up to you before you even have the minute to breathe, a grin splitting his face that's as warm as the setting sun. Sand clings to his damp flip-flops and the hem of his black shorts as he nearly skids to a halt in front of you, chest heaving and out of breath. His shirt isn't even buttoned, dammit.

"Hey," he greets you breathlessly, letting his eyes take you in for a second. "Glad you could make it."

A soft smile of your own blooms on your face. "It's good to see you too, asshole."

A flicker of feigned hurt plays across Joshua's features. "Come on. That was so two years ago! I didn't want to push you in the water. You should know that by now."

"Wow, you care so much about me, don't you?" You nearly swing Seungcheol's surfboard playfully in his direction. "You listen to Jeonghan more than your own little brain."

"I swear, it's changed. Everything's changed since then," Joshua reasons lightly. "You have my ears for the entire night, I promise."

His words hang in the air for a moment, and there's perhaps a sliver of fondness in his eyes that you catch when your gazes meet. You feel a certain warmth spread through your chest that you try so hard to ignore each time he's around you.

You brush it off with a roll of your eyes before strolling past him, hoping that Seungcheol's surfboard was enough to cover up the slight flush creeping up your cheeks. The smile to your face still lingers as you walk towards to where Soonyoung and Mingyu are, whom dash up to you the moment they see you to engulf you in a welcoming hug.

Mingyu is almost done setting up the bonfire by the time you and Seungcheol bring all the food and supplies from the van. Jeonghan and Chan had arrived by the time the fire is lit up and crackling, casting a warm, inviting glow on the beach scene. And it isn't long when the yearly traditions of a group bonfire and beachside barbecue commence.

The smell of grilled food fills the air, mixing with the salty breeze and the crackle of the fire. And just for those moments, you forget these fuzzy feelings swirling around you as familiar laughter and camaraderie take over instead.

You've known all of your friends for different amounts of times, but being here with all of them makes it feel like time hasn't passed by at all. Inside jokes are exchanged, memories from as far as childhood resurface, and stories are told that leave you all doubled over with laughter (and Soonyoung nearly choking on a marshmallow).

It's almost natural in the way your eyes seem to search for Joshua's every single time that feeling of happiness threatens to overflow within you. The fire flickers upon his face, his eyes crinkled deeply when he smiles. Happiness looks good on him, you think. It always has.

...does his eyes search for yours too?

By the time the fire dies down, you find yourself sitting near the edge of the beach, with your legs stretched on the sand and the waves barely lapping against your feet. Seungcheol and Mingyu are already out on the ocean on their surfboards, then there's Chan and Soonyoung struggling to get their sandcastle to stay up, and Jeonghan is already knocked out on a beach towel. It's just you, and wherever the hell Joshua is.

"Something's bothering you, isn't it?"

The voice snaps you away from your thoughts, and you pick your head up to see Joshua walking up to you. A cool breeze flows through his strands of his hair as he approaches.

You blink at him. "What?"

He sits down beside you on the sand, close enough that the warmth of his body brushes against yours. "You were too quiet earlier."

You face back towards the water, cowering your head down as if guilty of some sorts.

"Oh," You murmur, somewhat to yourself. "Sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Joshua asks, nudging you lightly on the shoulder. "I told you earlier that I would be all ears for you."

You smile faintly at that. Would you still be all ears if I told you that I've been such a coward with my feelings for you?

"It's... just boy problems, I guess," You respond, though you feel a twinge of regret for wording it like that. It's more than just simply boy problems.

Joshua's jaw seems to tighten at that. "Did that jerk contact you again?"

You know who exactly he's talking about, and you let out a sigh. "No, not him. I... I blocked him a few months ago when he tried spam calling me again. Sort of gave me a good scare, to be honest."

At the corner of your eye, Joshua's hand digs aimlessly into the sand, clenching and unclenching a fistful before smoothing it out again.

"I'm glad you're okay," he says softly, gaze fixed on the grains of sand slipping through his fingers. "You deserve someone way better than him."

You chuckle at that, and a bittersweet pang shoots through your chest. It's true, you deserve better. But really, the problem isn't just jerks and bad relationships. It's the thought of falling for someone again and it all comes crashing down... again.

But it's not like you could hold back from falling when you've already fallen. The truth is undeniable at this point𑁋your heart already beats a little faster for the boy right next to you.

"Guys! Look at the sunset!" Chan's voice rings out into the cool, evening air, pointing an excited finger towards the horizon.

Simultaneously, you and Joshua bring your eyes up tot the sky together. The last rays of the sun are painting the sky in a breathtaking display of fiery oranges, pinks, and purples, like a fleeting masterpiece before nightfall takes hold.

"Wow," You mutter out in awe. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Joshua cocks his head to the side, a low hum leaving his lips. "Hmm, I could think of something more beautiful than that, honestly."

You scoff, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. "You ruined the sentimental moment, idiot."

Joshua lets out an amused laugh, a sound that sends those flutters blossoming in your stomach, one you haven't realised you've missed until this very moment. A small giggle of your own escapes your mouth as you bring your eyes back to the sunset together.

Then a low yawn stifles out of you. Maybe everything that has happened the past few hours are finally catching up to you. You let out another yawn, hoping Joshua doesn't notice. But of course, he does.

"Getting tired?" he asks you.

You give a small nod. "Just a little."

A few moment pass, before you feel an arm drape casually over your shoulders. The scent of Joshua and his warmth seeps within your bones. You almost want to protest, but the words get caught in your throat, and you lean your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

Perhaps you could spend a long time staying in this position and hope the silence is able to spill all the words you've been meaning to say for all this time, but you know it's easier said than done. Because what's the point of confessing anymore if you know it won't ever last? That you know it'll ruin everything you've built up to get this far?

You've seen it happen around you𑁋with you, your parents, hell even strangers online. It's taught you nothing but to run. That's what your mind tells you to do, but not your heart. And maybe you listen to your mind more often than not.

"Yo, Josh!" Mingyu's voice hollers out from the ocean, and you feel a certain pressure be lifted up from your head (when did he lay his head on yours?) as you catch the sight of Seungcheol and Mingyu motioning to their surfboards. "Wanna hop on?"

Joshua briefly glances down at you, and you meet his gaze, seeing the indecision in his features.

"I don't mind," You tell him. "I'll be fine here."

He hesitates. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me." You pick your head off from his shoulders. "Go have your boy-fun."

Joshua gives you a small smile, though there's a hint of reluctance in his expression. He shouts back to Mingyu and Seungcheol before standing up and brushing the sand off his shorts. You could hardly pull your eyes away from him as he does so.

He starts trotting away as you face back toward the ocean with a sigh, relinquishing the moments you get to have to gather up your thoughts.

"Hey, Y/N?"

You pick your eyes back up to Joshua marching back towards you. He stops in front of you, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You look beautiful today, by the way." Then he gives shoots you a wink before turning back around. "Just wanted you to know."

The kiss you leave to his cheek later on was really worth the risk.

TWO. "you learn my secrets and you figure out why i'm guarded / you say we'll never make my parents' mistakes..."

A picture frame of a four-year-old Joshua is staring back at you. He still has that same silly grin on his face, the one that has his own eyes smiling as well and makes your heart feel lighter every time you look at it. You reach out to touch the frame, tracing the outline of his little face with your fingertip.

Sometimes, you wish you could experience what he was like at this time𑁋to grow up with him, to know what exactly led him to meeting you. But then again, he's already here with you now, and maybe that's all that matters.

"All ready for bed?" Joshua's voice popping in makes you swiftly place back the picture frame back on his desk. You turn around to see him leaning against the doorway with a soft smile playing on his lips, clad with a simple white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants.

"Mhm," You hum out in response as you settle back under the covers of his bed.

It isn't the first night you've spent with him at his place, but you seem to seek the feeling of his comfort more often than sleeping in your own bed. Jeonghan has been kind of nagging you the two of you to move in together at this point, but that's a leap you're a bit hesitant to jump right now. But the drawer of your own clothes in his wardrobe is a bit of an argument that's hard to defend.

Joshua crawls his way into the spot right next to you, slipping under the duvet and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you more into his embrace. You feel his breath meet the nape of your neck, warm and soothing against your skin, and your eyes flutter to the feeling.

You shift your position so that you're facing him. His eyes are already closed, lips pursed up slightly, and even then he still looks absolutely stunning. But you know he isn't asleep. Not yet, at least.

"My parents had uh... another argument today," You confess lowly, hesitantly.

Joshua's eyes open up slightly, adjusting his head so he can look at you better. A faint crease of concern appears between his brows, the arm around you tightening imperceptibly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You bite at your bottom lip anxiously. There are times you feel as if the only thing that could get you talking is always something revolving your parents, and you wonder if Joshua ever gets tired hearing about all of it. The thought courses insecurity to crawl in your veins, tightening your throat.

But Joshua's patient gaze towards you cuts through the uncertainty bubbling in your chest.

"Just same old, same old, you know?" You attempt to explain. "It just feels like they can't see eye-to-eye anymore. There's like... I don't know... nothing left between them, I guess. And it scares me that... it'll happen to us."

The last sentence suspends thickly into the air. Even then, you know it's more than the truth𑁋you've grown up witnessing and overhearing arguments from your parents that laid down this pessimistic view on the world around you.

You could feel your heart racing from all the anticipation. There's a wave of emotions that washes over Joshua's face, then he takes a deep breath and squeezes you tighter in his hold.

"Hey," he mutters. "Look at me."

You hesitantly meet his eyes.

"We're not like them, okay?" he assures you simply, bringing his hand up to cup your face oh-so gently in his hold. "We may argue sometimes. But the difference is, we communicate. We listen to each other. And we may not have all the answers to everything, but we'll figure it out together, alright?"

You swear you can feel the way he's holding your face also on your heart, like he's protecting you in a way from any doubts that might creep in. A small sigh escapes you, the tension leaving your shoulders as his words wrap around you comfortingly. The faintest, appreciative curve appears to your lips as you feel Joshua's thumb brush against your cheek.

He dreamily smiles at you as well, despite his face being half-buried in the pillow. And the thought of being able to wake up to this sight every single day suddenly feels a lot less like a leap and a whole lot more like a promise.

Somehow, the gap between the two of you disappears as your lips meets his. He kisses you so tenderly, mouth moving against yours with a delicate urgency, and the tiny sound that leaves you brings that smirk you could feel forming on his face.

You feel almost dizzy when you pull away, nothing but a shy look gracing over your features.

"Feeling better?" Joshua asks softly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

You could only gaze at him, wondering to yourself how he's even in real, how someone like him could exist with his sleepy smile, messy hair, and perfect features carved by the angels above, yet cherish you so dearly.

"Can you..." Your eyes flicker from eyes to his lips. "Can you... keep kissing me?"

It feels really silly to ask that, however Joshua just chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest as he peers at you with nothing but adoration.

"Of course," he replies, leaning back in. "Whatever you want."

THREE. "braced myself for the goodbye, 'cause that's all I've ever known / then you took me by surprise / you said, 'I'll never leave you alone...'"

The tears streaming down your face burns through the concrete below like acid.

"Y/N, wait𑁋"

"I told you that I-I can't do this right now."

The leaves crunching at your feet echo in your ears as you walk away from Joshua, each step feeling heavier than the last. It's around two in the morning or something, and you can't remember the last time you felt this lost and broken ever since your parents' separation. It's like the ground beneath you has crumbled away, leaving you suspended in midair, grasping for something𑁋just anything𑁋to hold onto.

You've been here before, standing at the edge of this cliff of vulnerability. It's easier to leave before you get left, easier to build walls than to let someone in only to watch them walk away.

But you've come to understand that Joshua isn't one to give up easily. He catches up to you quickly, his hand gently grasping your arm to stop you in your tracks. You try to shrug him off, but his grip only tightens slightly as he turns you around to face him.

"Talk to me," he pleads insistently, and the subtle tremble to his voice has your chest clenching. "If you're just going to keep pushing me away, then𑁋"

"Then leave." The words leave you before you can stop them, fueled by the ache in your chest and the fear in your heart. "You don't have to stay with me when all I-I do is push you away. Don't you think you deserve someone better?"

Joshua's grip on your arm loosens at your words, but it doesn't fall. His eyes scan over your tear-stained face, the quiver to your lips, and all of it has you bracing yourself for the inevitable, final blow𑁋for him to turn and walk away like so many others before him.

But instead, he just steps closer to you.

"This isn't about me staying because I have to, Y/N," he explains. "It's about me wanting to stay because I love you. I knew what I was getting into the second I realised I was falling for you. So no, I'm not going to leave you. And I'll never leave you alone because I know you're worth fighting for."

Your breath catches in your throat, his words piercing through you like a bullet straight through the heart. Even Joshua appears out of breath himself, as if he's poured his own heart out to you in those few simple sentences. The silence stretches between the two of you.

With a quiet sigh and a faint smile, he lets the tension simmer down by trailing his eyes over you.

"When I look at you, I think... I think I fall in love with you all over again like the first time I saw you," Joshua admits shyly, followed by a sheepish chuckle to himself. "It's cheesy, I know. But I can't help it. It's hard not to look at you."

You feel the heat crawling up your face as you blink away your tears clumsily, peering up at him inquisitively. "Really?"

This just draws another laugh from him. Joshua steps closer to you, trailing a hand to cup your face and the other to slide to your back to shorten the gap between the two of you even more. He places a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulls back slightly to meet your gaze.

"Really," he confirms, voice gentle yet firm. "I meant every word I said, darling."

This brings a genuine smile to your face as if it was the first one that night. You instinctively lean more into Joshua's touch, letting your eyes close for a moment to the simple feeling of him holding you.

"I'm sorry," You mumble, voice barely above a whisper. "for pushing you away like that. It's just... I'm scared."

Joshua takes one of your hands into his own to bring up to his lips, pressing a reassuring kiss to your knuckles.

"It's okay," he assures you. "We can be scared together."

FOUR. "do you believe it? / we're gonna make it now / and i can see it / i can see it now."

A pair of arms snake around your waist from behind, the relaxing melody of a piano floating through the air of the kitchen. You take in a deep breath, leaning back into Joshua's embrace as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"Smells amazing, honey," Joshua murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

You smile contentedly, feeling the peace of the moment wash over the two of you. The enticing smells of the pasta you were cooking waft around the kitchen, mingling with the scent of fresh herbs, garlic, and Joshua's presence right behind you.

"It should be ready soon," You say, clutching the wooden spoon in your hands to give the sauce a final stir.

Joshua's eyes arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer as he sways gently to the music. You hear the sounds of his hums hit your ears as you turn to the heat off to the stove. And as you attempt to pull away from him to grab for some plates, Joshua's grip on your waist hardly budges.

You groan exaggeratedly. "Shua, I need to𑁋"

"Marry me."

You freeze immediately, and you swear time halted right at that moment. Turning around in his hold, you're met with the sight of Joshua's eyes on you. You try to pinpoint any doubt in them, any sign that this is some sort of joke, but his gaze remains unwavering, dark eyes serious yet painted with a shine of hope that tugs right at the strings of your heart and the walls of your hesitation.

There's always that fear gnawing at in the back of your mind. But beneath it all, a warmth spreads through your chest, a certainty that feels as natural as breathing.

And perhaps, you see nothing but forever in him.

You can see it in the way his eyes soften, in the way his hand trembles anxiously against your waist, in the way his lips part ever so slightly as he waits for your response. You can see it all in him. You've made it.

You kiss him just seconds later. It's a question your heart has already answered long before the words left Joshua's lips. You lean more into his touch, feeling your heart overflow past the brink of joy, and the feelings all melt together into the singular realisation that he's the best thing that's ever been yours.

When the two of you finally break away, a single word escapes your lips, "Yes."

another note: sorry this ending was slightly rushed T-T

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Text

Ch1: New Beginnings

teacher!reader x student's dad!Frankie Morales || W/C: 8.8k

Ch. Summary: Frankie gets introduced to a new opportunity for his daughter, Elena. You get introduced to your new job. In celebration of these new beginnings, you both set out to a night at the bar, completely unaware that your paths are about to cross.

Content/Warnings: F!reader (she/her), female sex anatomy, reader is able-bodied. No physical descriptions of reader. Slight description of reader’s outfit (no size descriptions). Tío Santi (& TF Miller boys) makes an appearance. Slight implication reader understands some Spanish. Going out to bar/consumption of alcohol. Flirting. POV switch, mainly Frankie this chapter. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Sexual activity while under the influence of alcohol (you've slowed down your alcohol intake by that point, though). “Author Chose Not to Apply Archive Warnings” because it may result in spoilers (but there’s smut here…).

A/N: thank you to @honeyedmiller for proof-reading this for me, and thank you to @javierpena-inatacvest for peer pressuring me into giving my little idea an actual chance. I love love love you both sm🩶 to everyone, I truly hope you enjoy!! All my love xx

series masterlist || main masterlist || updates blog

August 2024

“Thank you so much for coming in, Mr. Morales.”

“It’s no problem at all, Mrs. Adams, is- is, um, is everything okay? Is Elena doing alright?” Frankie asks the second grade teacher, concerned.

The school year hasn’t started yet, but from time to time, the school does accelerated summer sessions that last a few weeks up until the actual start date of the school year. Elena always attends these sessions, begging her dad every summer to sign her up for one because I need to learn more! she’d tell him. How could he deny her the chance to expand that beautiful mind of hers?

“Oh, yes, everything is good! Elena is wonderful, and that’s actually why I asked you to come in,” she states. “Are you aware of how smart that girl is?”

Frankie can’t help the cheesy grin that spreads across his face. “Yeah, she’s always too excited to show me her progress reports and report cards, always pulling them out before we even leave the parking lot at the end of her days,” he beams.

“Oh, I bet. She blows me away everyday, that girl,” Mrs. Adams says genuinely. “So much so that I actually think she shouldn’t be attending here anymore,” the teacher adds, softer than the rest of her previous statements.

Frankie’s eyebrows twist in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, don’t get me wrong, I love having Elena, and everyone in this school loves her, too. She’s one of our brightest. But,” she sighs. “She is so damn smart, Mr. Morales. I’d go as far as to say she’s a prodigy.”

“Oh,” Frankie says, pleasantly surprised and confused. He still doesn’t know where she’s getting at. He tells her as much.

“What I’m trying to say is- Elena isn’t getting the proper brain stimulation someone of her level needs. She needs to go somewhere that will increase her levels at the fast rate she’s moving and somewhere that will stimulate the creative parts of her brain. Traditional public school—at least here—cannot provide her with that.”

Frankie has always known his daughter’s natural intelligence. She often comes home either excited because they worked on a topic she’s really good at, or she comes home really bored and exhausted—because they worked on a topic she’s really good at. It’s too repetitive for her, but he wasn’t sure what other options he had.

Frankie takes a moment to think. “Even if I did move her to a school that has all this, it sounds like it would cost a lot of money. Money that I unfortunately don’t have right now,” he says with a heavy breath.

Mrs. Adams’ smile grows ten times bigger. “Mr. Morales-”

“Frankie, please,” he corrects.

“Frankie, there’s a school for the gifted connected to our local university just a few miles down the way. I used to work there, and I have friends there. Please forgive me if I’ve overstepped, but I’ve spoken to the Director of Admissions. There’s a waitlist, and barely any get admitted—and it’s by semester, so you’ll have to keep up with re-enrolling her—but I told them all about Elena. They want her, Frankie. No waitlist. No tuition. They want her for this new semester. And I really think you should go for it.”

Frankie sits in Mrs. Adams’ office, utterly stunned. He’s sure his jaw is on the floor right now, eyes bugged out like those squeezable stress toys. “I- I don’t know what to say…” Frankie trails off.

“I know it’s a big step,” the teacher comforts. “But think about it.” She pulls out a card from her desk and hands it to him. “Here’s the director’s card. I’ll reach out to them to make sure they know to expect your call.”

Frankie knows this is a good thing. He knows these are once in a lifetime opportunities, and he knows if he goes through with this now, those rare opportunities won’t be so rare for her as she gets older. That’s all he wants for his daughter; nothing but opportunity and the right kind of challenges meant to help her grow as a person.

So why does he feel so nervous? He’s dealt with change before, and he’s dealt with last-minute, under pressure change up in the sky where his life could’ve been on the line—but nothing compares to the anxiety when it involves Elena. Since she was born, she is all he’s ever known. It’s been him and her against the world, and although some days are more difficult than others doing this parenting thing alone, Frankie wouldn’t have it any other way.

He gives Mrs. Adams his thank yous and goodbyes, and makes his way to the front office. It’s 12 o’ clock right now—recess time—but he wouldn’t doubt she’s propped up against a pillar with her nose in a book. He decides to check Elena out early and take her to go get dessert.

“She’ll be escorted here in a few minutes,” the front desk lady tells him.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Frankie says, resting his back against the wall.

A few minutes pass and the office’s door bursts open with the heartwarming sounds of his daughter’s giggles, an excited aura filling the room. “¡Papi!” she squeals, immediately wrapping her arms around the parts of her father she can reach.

“¡Mija!” he says, matching her energy, pulling her in for a tight squeeze. He kneels down to reach her level, placing a kiss on her forehead before he speaks. “Wanna go get dessert?”

Her eyes light up like a million stars. “Please!!” she replies, her entire body shaking in Frankie’s grasp.

Frankie picks her up, and they make their way to the car. Buckling her into her car seat, Frankie settles himself to the driver’s seat and asks the burning question before he pulls off. “Brownie sundae spot or-”

“BROWNIE!” Elena replies immediately. Frankie has to slap his mouth to stop from the uncontrollable laughter bubbling out from his chest. He knew what her answer would be. “Okay, mija, brownie spot it is.”

Their usual brownie sundae spot is in a little diner up the street from their house. Frankie began this little tradition as a way to celebrate Elena’s wins and milestones. The first milestone they celebrated was for her first word: airplane. Frankie was ecstatic, practically jumping up and down with Elena in his arms until his best friend, Santiago, had to calm him down. “Ay, tranquilo, tranquilo,” relax, relax, he said, holding his hands softly around Elena’s little head.

Today’s milestone, however, is much bigger than any they’ve celebrated, and the notion is not lost on little Elena.

“Papi,” she calls. “Are we celebrating something?”

Frankie chuckles to himself, loving how easily she can put things together. “We might be, mi amorcito.”

“Hm?” She hums, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted to the side as she settles into the booth seat, sitting across from her dad.

Their usual waiter comes before they can continue their conversation. “Hey, guys! The usual?”

Elena answers first, very excitedly. “YES, YES, BROWNIE SUNDAE!!!” She squeals as she elongates every syllable. Frankie confirms with a head nod as he chuckles at her energy.

“What’s the occasion?” The waiter says softer, directing the question to Frankie.

“We’ll see after I talk with this little lady,” Frankie tells the waiter, extending his long arm out to pinch Elena’s little cheek.

The waiter smiles and walks off, putting the order in with the kitchen and asking for a little bit of a delay to give Frankie enough time to talk things through with his daughter.

“So,” Frankie states.

“So,” his daughter mirrors, putting on her best serious face while fighting the huge grin that wants to break free.

“Do you know how smart you are, mija?” Frankie asks, smiling because he knows what she’s gonna say. Duh, papi, he thinks in his head.

“Duh, papi!” She says, a troublemaking giggle she’s had since her babbling stages echoes their little corner of the diner.

“Alright, little smart ah-” Frankie coughs to stop his mouth. “You little smarty pants,” he corrects himself.

“Daddy, were you about to call me a smartass?” She scolds.

His cheeks flush a bright red. “You spend too much time with Tío Santi,” he deadpans.

She hums, nodding her head triumphantly.

“Anyway,” he says, noting in his mind to scold Santi for his mouth around his little girl. “You’re so smart, mija, I was wondering… well, I was wondering if you feel like you’re actually learning?”

“What do you mean, papi?”

“Well, everything you’ve been learning so far is super easy for you, isn’t it?”

She ponders for a moment. “Yeah, it’s easy,” she confirms.

“Does it ever make you bored, how easy some days are?”

“A little, yeah,” she says a little softer. “But it’s okay because I end up helping my friends, and Mrs. Adams tells me I’m her assistant,” she giggles with pride.

“You’re too good, amor,” he chuckles. “But what if I told you,” he starts. Immediately, her interest is piqued. “A really fancy, really smart school heard about how smart you are?”

Her chocolate brown eyes widen, and her little jaw drops. “Me?! Really?!”

“Yes, baby!” Frankie can feel his excitement rising alongside hers, his initial nervousness fading just as quick. “And what if I told you they want you to go to their school?” Elena’s hands fly to her mouth, suppressing her squeals of joy. Frankie can hear her legs kicking back and forth underneath the table. “Would you wanna go, mi niña inteligente (my smart girl)?”

“So… I’ll learn harder things?” She asks.

“Yes,” he swallows thickly. Frankie thinks she’s having anxiety.

It’s not. “Then…” She settles for her usual diva answer. “Duh, papi!” She giggles, positively radiating pure excitement on this new journey she’s about to embark on.

She wiggles out of her side of the booth to crash into her father’s arms, pulling him into the tightest hug ever. As she pulls away and settles next to Frankie, the waiter comes out with the sundae, Congratulations! written in cursive on the side of the plate. Elena reads the message with ease, scooping up the red icing with her finger and licking it up. “Thank you!!” She exclaims to the waiter who murmurs a sweet smartest person I know with a ruffle to her curly head of hair.

The waiter looks at Frankie with a genuine smile, and Frankie returns it. This diner really has been there for all the Morales’ family wins. Frankie wonders what other miracles just might happen in this little building.

For the first time in your teaching career, you are nervous.

You’ve dealt with gifted children before, and you had no problems juggling public school and the extra side lessons you’d give to the occasional gifted child. People tend to underestimate the amount of prodigal children in the world due to the constant brushing off these adults like to give to developing humans. These little children deserve as much respect and care that any other human deserves, maybe even more. The children are our future, after all.

So, now that you’re starting a new job, in a school dedicated to your life’s passion—yeah, you’re pretty nervous.

This school was created by the state’s local university; it was their attempt at providing children with an enriching, stimulating environment that the typical school system couldn’t care enough to provide, and their attempt was an absolute success. It will take a little while to get themselves off their feet, so tuition and enrolling students is expensive compared to what you would pay for your child in the public education system.

However, with time and careful planning, the program’s ultimate goal is to adequately provide to childrens of all needs—regardless of their prodigal status—for little to no cost. It’s definitely an ambitious goal, but it’s one you’re absolutely ready and willing to stick around for.

You were hired this summer, August 1st to be exact. The principal—Ms. Sabatino—caught wind of the powerhouse of a teacher who goes above and beyond for her students, and she just had to have you on her team. Your interview wasn’t even a real interview: it was exchanging logistical information and showing you to your new home base, your new classroom. She told you if you wanted to take the time before the year officially started to make your classroom feel more like you, you could.

It took you about a week to settle the vibe of your classroom, and during your preparations, you met a few other teachers, instantly hitting it off with each other that they invited you to their “semester pregame,” they called it.

“You have to come, Ms. Powerhouse!” Ms. Smith—Linda, she corrected you—exclaimed.

“Powerhouse?!” You repeated, a little frightened. You knew coming in that the culture here was very tight-knit, but how fast does word really spread around here?

“Yeah, you powerhouse, you!” Mr. White—Blake—chimes in. “You’re all anyone is talking about! Honestly, we’ve been dying to meet you.”

And lastly, Ms. Marshall—Leah—joins in. “You’re a real legend, ya know that, don’t you? Sticking to the Rebel theme we got going on here,” she smirks, referring to their school’s mascot, the Rebels.

You flush under all their praise. “I really don’t know what you guys are talking about,” you say softly. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for our kiddos, like any of us would.” A proud smile graces your face, and not for the things you’ve done, but for the amazing students you’ve had the honor of meeting and teaching. There truly isn’t a better feeling.

The three teachers share a knowing look, the one that tells you they think you’re just trying to be humble. Their hums of secret agreement don’t escape your super-teacher hearing.

Ms. Marshall is the one to speak again. “Are you going to come though? We really would love to have you. We’ve been trying to find someone who can hold their alcohol better than Mr. Lightweight here can,” she cackles, pointing over to Mr. White, who now has an offended look on his face.

“I’ll have you know-” he starts. “Oh, Blake, enough with the excuses already!” Ms. Smith cuts him off.

You giggle at their banter, your apprehensiveness about this little squad slowly melting away. “I’m afraid if you’re looking for someone who can hold their own, that person is not me…but I would absolutely love to join you guys. When and where is this pregame?”

“YAAASSSSSS!” Ms. Smith is quick to squeal. She’s definitely the life of the party with these three. “We have it the Saturday before the semester starts! So, the 17th I believe. It’s a bit risky depending on how plastered we end up getting, but it’s all a part of the fun,” she says with a wink.

You reach for your phone in your back pocket, unlocking and letting your three new friends put their phone numbers in. You group text them so they have your number, too. “Perfect! I can’t wait,” you say sheepishly, your excitement slowly rising as their smiles begin to mirror your own. It’s been a while since you let yourself go and get lost in something else other than work, and you think this little pregame is exactly what you’ve been needing.

“Oh, come on, Fish! You have to come out with us!” Santi tells you, giving Frankie’s shoulder a punch of encouragement.

Frankie hisses at the impact, swatting Santi’s hand away with a scowl. “No.”

“Fish,” Santi reasons. “The Millers haven’t seen you in a hot minute since my ‘Lena girl was born, man. They miss you. Especially Benny, you know how sensitive that man gets. And! We need to celebrate this new chapter for you and ‘Lena!”

“We already celebrated,” Frankie corrects. “At the diner.”

“An adult celebration, Fish. When was the last time you let yourself go?”

Frankie sighs. Santi’s right. “Who would watch Elena?”

“I already spoke with Yavonna last night,” Santi says, a tinge of hope laced in his voice.

“Let me talk to Elena-”

“Fish, she’ll be fine-”

Frankie holds his hand out to signal Santi to shut up. “Let me talk to Elena,” he repeats, “and let her know our plans for tomorrow night. You know I don’t do anything without running it through with her first.”

Santi’s face is happier than a toddler getting ice cream for breakfast. He claps him on his shoulder, “Fuck yeah, man! Frontier boys back at it again!”

Frankie grimaces. “Pope, cállate, por favor,” shut up, please, he says, pinching the bridge of his nose as he kicks Santi out for the night.

“Tell ‘Lena Tío Santi says buenas noches (good night) please since her daddy likes to kick me out so soon,” Santi taunts, a fake offended look on his face.

“No,” Frankie says. Then he shuts the door.

Frankie lets a few moments pass to make sure Santi was out of sight before he calls out to his daughter. “Baby, tío Santi wishes you good night!”

Elena comes running down the stairs. “He left already?!”

“Yeah, sorry kiddo,” Frankie frowns, meeting her at the end of the stairs to kiss her forehead.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You kicked him out again, didn’t you, daddy?”

“Y-yeah, yeah I did,” Frankie stutters. There’s no lying to this little Einstein.

“Hey, baby?” Frankie says again, crouching down to his knees to meet her level. “Do you remember Yavonna? Tío Santi’s girlfriend?”

Her gears turn before recognition sparks in her eyes. “Yeah!”

“Well, would you be okay if papi went out tomorrow? And you and Yavonna have a girls’ night?” He asks.

Elena’s smile turns mischievous as she pulls her dad in for a hug, whispering in his ear. “Are you going on a date?”

“Mmm, tío Santi is nice and all, but he’s too much a pain in my ass for me to wanna go on a date with him,” he retorts. “So, no, no date. Just spending some time with your annoying uncle and some of our other old friends.”

“Oh, okay,” Elena says as she giggles. “Have fun, papi!”

“I will, baby, thank you,” he says, pulling her into one last hug before they both venture off to bed.

It’s Monday morning, one week before the semester starts, and Frankie is buzzing. He’s nervous and excited for his daughter, but he can tell this new environment is one that gets heavily involved—in both the child and the guardian’s life.

He’ll do anything for Elena, of course, and it isn’t like he wasn’t involved at her old school. But this one makes it feel like he’s also attending this place. The thought terrifies his socially anxious heart.

He puts his car in park and practices a few breathing exercises before he gets out. He has a meeting with the principal today—Ms. Sabatino?, he tries to remember. This meeting is for her to finally get to know him, and for the paperwork to get finalized. And because they aren’t charging him for this semester, he also needs to fill out some waivers.

He makes his way to her office, checking in at the front desk and waiting to be pulled back. His hand fidgets at his side, the nerves getting to him again.

“Mr. Morales?” A voice calls out, pulling him from his nerves. “Ms. Sabatino is ready for you, first door to your left.”

“Thank you,” he replies. He softly knocks on the door before entering.

“Mr. Morales! Come in, come in!” Ms. Sabatino waves him over. “Sit, make yourself comfortable! It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well, ma’am, and please, just Frankie is good,” he tells her, a slight shyness in his voice and demeanor.

“Okay then, Frankie,” she smiles. “Let’s see here,” she says, squinting to her computer. “Do you have the enrollment forms?”

“Yes, right here,” Frankie sets the folder in front of her.

“Perfect, thank you,” she replies. “Here, you fill these waiver forms out that we talked about while I upload your forms in for Elena’s profile.”

Frankie mutters a quick okay, sounds good, before Ms. Sabatino speaks again. “While we get through these formalities though, did you have any questions for me? About the program, the teachers, literally anything at all besides what the meaning of life is?” she tries to joke, sensing Frankie’s anxiety.

Mrs. Adams already gave him the rundown of this place, but the financial conversation has been clouding his mind since he first found out about this place. “Well, actually, yes, I wanted to talk to you about the cost,” he starts.

“The cost is no issue, I promise you,” she reassures. But it’s not that. Although Frankie has major social anxiety, he’ll be damned if he comes off as a freeloader—even though absolutely no one here views him that way.

“No, I understand, but it’s more so that-” he pauses, taking a deep breath before he tries again. “I’m a single dad. I’m the one catering for both Elena and I. We’re not very well off, but we’re also not entirely poor. Just enough to…not really afford this place,” he shakes his head, he’s rambling. “Anyway- sorry. What I’m trying to say is, money isn’t an issue, but I can’t just sit here and not do anything to pay you guys back, even if it isn’t in a monetary sense.”

This piques the principal’s interest. She nods her head, taking a moment to measure her response. The computer pings as she thinks to herself, signaling that it’s done uploading the forms. She hands Frankie the folder back. He takes it, handing her the completed waiver. “I respect it,” she finally states. “A lot.”

“Y-yeah,” he says, not really sure how to respond to that.

Ms. Sabatino spins in her chair, pausing towards a drawer underneath her desk. She pulls out a little booklet of some sort.

“I have one idea,” she offers.

Frankie’s ears perch up. “Yeah? Anything,” he replies.

“It’s a lot to ask of a parent,” she says. “And I know you’re eager, but hear me out before you agree. And if you’d like to say no, then say no, that’s all I ask.”

“Deal,” Frankie tells her.

“So, last semester, the head of our PTA—the Parent-Teacher Association—quit on us. She quit and also unenrolled her child. Some weird drama, it was very unavoidable if she knew how to communicate properly… anyway, we are actually in need of a new head. I will admit, it’s a lot, but you’ll have me by your side, and I know a few of the parents would help show you the ropes and help you with anything you need.”

Out of everything, Frankie was not expecting this. It’s evident in the shocked look on his face.

“Like I said, I don’t need an answer right now-”

“What about the existing PTA parents?” Frankie blurts out. He may have not been PTA-level involved with his daughter, but he knows the seriousness in which parents take their roles when it comes to this.

“I appoint the head, and choosing one out of all of them would… to be frank… be a bloodbath. This PTA needs a fresh face. A new perspective. I can tell you’re nervous, but I can also tell you’re ambitious. I can tell you’d do anything for your daughter first and foremost. That is what my PTA needs. The rest of those parents- God- I love them, but they’re more worried about looking good and their brownie points with me than their kids’ experiences.”

If Frankie was unsure before, he definitely isn’t now. All he wants is the best for his daughter, and honestly, it makes him disappointed to hear where these parents’ priorities are. He’s absolutely scared shitless about doing this, but he can’t stop the next words that come out of his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Her eyebrows fly up. “Are you sure?”

He isn't, he thinks. “Yes,” he tells her.

“Oh- okay, then,” Ms. Sabatino smiles bigger than before. She picks up the booklet from earlier and hands it to Frankie. “Read this over- they’re just some little rules we’ve established to keep the environment thriving for our kids. We’ve never had any issues before…besides last semester… but yeah, it’s just a precautionary measure. Thank you so much again, Frankie, and please if it does get too much, do not hesitate to let me know if you’d like to quit.”

He looks down to the book in his hand. The Rebels Guide - PTA Addition. He’s definitely not cut out for this. “Thank you, Ms. Sabatino. I’ll let you know. And I really appreciate you considering me for this. You have a good rest of your day,” Frankie says as he exits.

What the fuck am I doing? He thinks to himself as he gets himself into his car.

The rule book stares at Frankie as he drives. Stopped at a red light, he decides to place it in the glove compartment of his car. He’ll grab it later. For now, he needs it out of his view before he spirals.

Saturday, August 17th. Semester Pregame Day.

You’re in the middle of picking out your outfit when a flood of texts come through your phone.

[5:47PM Linda] You bitches ready?!

[5:48PM Leah] I’ve been ready, just waiting on Mr. Lightweight to get here…

[5:48PM Blake] Yeah okay, I’m not giving you a ride anymore, good luck.

[5:49PM Leah] Blake, I’m kidding, get your ass over here.

[5:49PM Blake] I’ve been outside, smartass.

[5:53PM Leah] Linda, we’re on the way to you. Ms. Powerhouse, are you sure you don’t want a ride?

[5:55PM] Please do not call me that.. And yes, I’m sure! I’m still picking out what I’m gonna wear to be honest. I think I’m gonna be a few minutes late.

[5:56PM Linda] OOOOO GIRL ARE YOU TRYING TO GET LAID?

[5:57PM Leah] 👀

[5:57PM Leah] Blake is driving, but he also would like to say: 👀

[5:58PM] Umm. No. I can’t make myself look nice for my friends?

[5:58PM Linda] In this world? Not without a motif, no.

[5:59PM] Wow.

[5:59PM] Okay, I’ve gotta finish getting ready. See you guys in a bit.

You toss your phone on your bed, not wanting to make yourself any later than you already are. They are right, you don’t necessarily have to get all dressed up. And it’s not like you’re getting laid anytime soon, let alone tonight. Right? Gosh, it’s been a hot minute since you’ve had any action. Well, okay, if you count your trustee wand, then it’s been about an hour since you’ve got some… but human interaction? Yeah, no.

You shake away the deprived thoughts your new friends planted in your brain settling for a sage green tank top with a lace lining at your chest. Something casual yet not too casual, slightly flashy but not too flashy. And since it’s in the middle of August, you decide on some black jean shorts.

It’s 6:15 by the time you head in your car. They wanted to get there around 6:30, so you’re not too far behind after all. It definitely helps that the bar they chose was a seven minute drive.

When you enter the bar, you spot the trio immediately, huddled by a tall table, all already cheering with shots. Linda spots you with a squeal, sending Leah to grab another round with a fourth shot this time.

With the mischievous party glint in her eyes, already you can tell what kind of night you’re going to have. One that makes you think maybe you should’ve caught a ride.

The first shot goes down roughly, an immediate fiery burn sliding down your throat as Linda shoves a lime in your mouth afterwards. “Tequiiilllaaaa shootttsss!!” She sings, already on her fourth to your first.

The second and third round slides down much smoother, your entire body beginning to heat up from its effects. Tequila has always had a fast effect on you, making you buzzed after one shot and effectively fucking you up after the third. Maybe you were a lightweight. Nonetheless, you indulge in one more peer-pressured round from Linda before you settle on a sugary sweet mixed drink paired with a glass of ice cold water.

Linda disappears to the small dance floor while Blake convinces the people at the pool table to let him join. It’s just you and Leah at the table now, talking here and there, but mainly just watching the other two have their fun from afar.

“So how long have you guys been doing this?” You shout over the loud music. Once the clock hit 7pm, the music was definitely hitting the threshold for ear damage.

Leah looks at you with a genuine smile. She’s content watching her friends be social butterflies. She has them in her presence and that’s all that matters. “We’ve been doing this for a few years now, really. Linda was at the school first, then I got hired a semester after her. Then Blake got hired a semester after me. And because we were all relatively new, we all just sort of- gravitated towards each other,” she explains. “I don’t know what I’d do without them, honestly. In and outside of the school, those two are very important in my life,” she breathes in a sniffle, quiet enough to go unheard, but since you’re watching her, you catch it in combination with a tear she sneakily wipes away.

It’s your turn for your eyes to gloss up. “That’s really beautiful,” you tell her.

Leah laughs a little. “Yeah. But don’t tell them though. I’ll have to strangle you,” she says in a mock sternness. Weirdly enough, you think there’s truth behind that.

You pull your hands up in a surrendering motion, “Promise,” you respond with a smirk. “I’m gonna go get another drink. Want?”

“What are you getting?”

“Was honestly just gonna sip on beer and water the rest of the night. I’m tapped out.”

“Me too,” she grins. “I’ll get what you get.”

Making your way up to the bartender, you politely wait until she comes up to you. “What can I get you, doll?”

“Two beers, please, and also two waters, but can you give me the waters after I set the beers down at my table?” you ask a little shyly.

The bartender gives you a sweet smile. “I got you, honey.”

She hands you the beers, and you make your way to Leah. “I gotta grab the waters real fast, give me one second,” you say, already whipping around and making your way back.

In that short span of time, the bartender was met with a crowd of needy newly aged adults, swarming her with requests. She looks at you, but you give her a nod, signaling it’s okay.

Two minutes, she mouths.

You sit down on the stool in front of you while you wait, turning to check on Leah. Her eyes are back on her friends, a warmth radiating from her smile. Only now, you’re a part of her rotation, and the warmth is reciprocated to you, too. And to think you were hesitant with this bunch.

As you sit and wait for the bartender, a group of four rowdy men take up the bar space beside you. One of them even bumps into your side, and you’re quick to jump. “Hey, watch it!” You yell over the noise.

A large hand grabs onto the guy’s shoulder and pulls him away from you. The bar is loud, but it doesn’t stop his deep gruff from blessing your ears. “Benny, watch where you’re fucking going, man!”

“Oh, shit,” the tall, lean man turns to you. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention..” he starts. You can feel the man fight for his life to stay on your eyes. He darts to your lips for a millisecond before he brings them back up. “Can I… Let me buy you a drink? To apologize?” He smirks like he just pulled the smoothest flirt attempt ever. Your eyebrows furrow in annoyance, but before you can say anything, the large hand from earlier is pulling the man—Benny, apparently—away from you and to the other end where their other friends are. “Pendejo,” he mutters under his breath towards his friend.

You stifle a giggle. The man, your savior, finally actually looks at you, and at first he was going to ask if you understood what he said, but the moment your eyes meet, it’s like all the airflow was vacuumed clean out of his lungs, leaving him mentally gasping like a fish out of water. Physically, though, he keeps it cool. Or, at least, tries to.

“Hi- uh, I’m- I’m Frankie- look, I’m real sorry about my friend back there, he can be real stupid sometimes,” he mutters, his rosy cheeks bright on display, no alcohol to blame it on.

As he rambles, only then are you able to get a good look at this man—at Frankie, he calls himself. A baseball cap sits on his head, hiding what you can make out as curly hair. The dim light of the bar ruins your view slightly, but you are both near the warm light that emanates from the side of the bar, so your view is not completely obstructed. You can see beautiful brown, puppy dog eyes with a pretty scruff that grows haphazardly across his cheeks and jaw, and above his lip, too.

“Don’t worry about it, Frankie,” you manage as you look up at him. He’s still standing. You’re sitting on an elevated bar seat, and you still have to crane your neck. Good lord, he’s tall. You introduce yourself with a smile, holding your hand out for him to take. You have to fight your body not to shudder at the warmth of his hand.

Little do you know, he’s also fighting the same battle as you.

“Can I get you a drink, Frankie?” you ask. Usually you’d never do this, but there is just something about him. You need to know more.

“Uh,” you see him flush, an internal battle going on in his brain. Is it the battle of the so-called bro-code where he can’t hit on you because his friend did or because he should be offering you a drink?

He looks back to his friend. Yup, the bro-code. You quirk your brow at him.

“Yeah, okay,” he says with a grin as he perches himself to the bar seat beside you. “I’ll have a beer,” he tells you.

“Coming right up,” you smirk, winking at him before you try and regain the bartender’s attention.

You text Leah a quick I’m sorry, to which she replies with the eyes emoji again along with a winky face. Of course she saw everything.

The bartender comes to you and apologizes for earlier with the other group and then apologizes again when she admits she completely forgot to come back to you. She tells you this round of beers for you and Frankie are on the house. You try to tip her, but she doesn’t accept.

Frankie is really nice. Really handsome…and sexy…but you try to ignore the heat tingling between your legs because of the fact that Frankie is really nice.

As your two beers listen in on your conversation, untouched and sweaty, you’ve come to learn a good amount about Frankie. Like the fact that he’s a bashful boy, but you can tell he has no problem getting what he wants when the confidence strikes him. You’ve been witness to it a few times tonight—a hand on your knee there, a tucking of your hair behind your ear here, a long glance at your lips as you lick the residual drip of your drink—and it does nothing to calm your core’s ache.

The one that really sent you over the edge though was when he made you laugh particularly hard, your reaction was to lean into him. He took the opportunity to grab onto your seat and pull you against him, his thick highs entrapping both of yours.

“Oh-!” you gasp involuntarily, your eyes immediately searching for his. His gaze is dark, and so is yours.

Although quite nervous, Frankie’s confidence has spiked being in your presence. His thumb and forefinger come up to your chin, steadying and making your heartbeat erratic all in one. He leans closer in, the tips of each of your noses a hair’s width away. “You’re intoxicating,” he whispers.

“I could say the same thing about you,” you whisper back, feeling lightheaded and not from the alcohol coursing through your veins. “Been dying for you to touch me since you pulled your friend away,” you admit.

You see his Adam's apple bob in his throat. He looks past you, eyeing the single stall bathroom. You scanned the place earlier, you know where he’s looking. Tapping his thigh for him to look at you again, you give him a look of understanding before you break away from his grasp.

He faces the bar again, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. He catches Santi and the Millers staring at him from the pool table they took over. Santi shoots Frankie a wink while Benny looks like a puppy who’s been kicked to the curb. Frankie really couldn’t care less right now.

Satisfied with the little window of time he gave, he stands from his seat, taking one more swig of beer before he makes his way to you. He knocks on the door softly, and you open it right away, pulling him in and immediately shutting it again.

Like a calculated dance, his hand goes back to lock the door while your hand grasps onto the fabric of his shirt at his chest, pulling his body flush against yours. Your hands take their time in coasting the plain of his broad chest and shoulders. Your thighs clench at the sensation.

His lips meet yours for the first time tonight, and he can feel every nerve in his body spark with electricity. Your lingering taste of all the drinks you had this evening mixed with a flavor he thinks is distinctly you consumes each of his senses.

Oh, you have him wrapped around your pretty little finger and you don’t even know it yet.

He walks forward, backing you into the bathroom sink.

You hop up on your own, your legs spreading without any forethought for his broad form. His hands coast the expanse of your body, settling at your ass on the counter as he pulls you tighter into his body, your center coming into contact with this hardness. He practically growls into your mouth at the heat he feels radiating from you.

“Fuck, querida,” he moans, his teeth chasing your bottom lip.

“Frankie,” you beg. For what, you’re not entirely sure.

“Can I taste you?” He breathes heavily against your lips, fingers twitching to take action.

Fuck. “Ye- yeah- yeah, okay,” you stutter, eyes wide. Getting eaten out probably has to be one of your favorite things in the whole world, yet, with your dating history, it’s a rare occurrence. Your last boyfriend was disgusted by it, and your last girlfriend ended up cheating on you. So. Your experience of receiving oral was rare, and God did you miss it.

Frankie mistakes your surprise as fear. “Are- are you sure? I don’t have to, not if you’re not comfortable,” he says sincerely. He starts to pull away, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, but you’re quick to grab onto him.

“No, no, I’m sorry, that’s not what I-” you laugh a little breathlessly before looking into his soft eyes again. “Yes, Frankie, please. Please, I want your mouth on me,” you say, tone a little needy on the backend. “You just took me by surprise, is all,” you whisper.

“Surprise?” He can’t stop his curiosity.

“I- I don’t know, guys don’t usually like-”

You don’t get to finish your statement before Frankie’s face turns angry. He places a heady kiss to your lips before he brings his mouth down your jaw, your neck. “So what you’re saying is,” he starts, his breath tickling your neck. If you weren’t propped up on the counter, you’d be on the floor with how weak your legs feel. Making his way down, he places a soft kiss in between your breasts. “This pretty little thing hasn’t been treated properly in a long, long time?” He asks as he kneels down, his eyes looking up and devouring you in your entirety.

“How do you even know she’s pretty?” You quip back, matching his energy.

“Oh, I know she’s fucking gorgeous based on the rest of you,” he purrs, fingers working your button and zipper. He hooks his fingers at the waist, and you lift your hips to help him.

“You flatter me,” you shakily say as you try to tease, your resolve starting to break.

Frankie smirks up at you before his entire demeanor changes upon seeding your exposed lower half. His face falls into astonishment, as if he just won the damn lottery, as if his last fucking meal was just placed in front of him. “What’d I say?” He mutters to himself. “Fucking gorgeous,” he answers his own question before he gives you no time to respond as he dives right in, the flat of his tongue licking a slow wide stripe up your glistening went cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” a loud moan leaves you, your head falling back as you relish in the immediate pleasure that shoots up your spine.

Frankie reluctantly breaks away to look at you, to check up on you, but your body is still shocked from the pleasure, and he grins, cheeks full of mischief. He hums to himself before he goes back in. “Fucking delicious, too.”

“Jesus, shit-” you murmur, trying to brace yourself for what you know is going to utterly ruin you.

He licks through your folds once more, slow and steady, calculated, measuring every small twitch and whimper that your body produces. His tongue moves up to your clit, circling around the area reveling in the way your breathing speeds up and your hips buck. Even with your movements chasing for more, he remains steadfast in his ministrations.

He continues his tease until he hears you huff. You’re getting impatient. “Baby, please,” you whine. “Please don’t tease,” you pout at him then, and whether it’s real or a ploy to get him to give in, how can Frankie say no to that face?

Without lifting from your cunt, Frankie switches from slow passes around your bud to attaching directly on it, suckling and flicking the sharp tip of his tongue across you. Your legs writhe under his expert touch, your hand flying to the baseball cap to his head and flinging it off to rake your fingers through his wild curls. He groans into you the second he feels your grip, his pace faltering for just a moment before he finds his way again.

Frankie detaches from you, dragging his tongue downward to your folds to lap up your slick. The squelch your pussy makes when his tongue makes contact is sinful. He lets his mouth wrap as much as he can around you, his tongue prodding at your entrance, testing your limits.

“Oh, Frankie, yes-” you lament, your hand pulling his face tight against your core as your hips force his pink muscle inside. His cock is definitely at full mast now, especially with how reactive you are for him. Your eyes are entirely white as you repeat his name like a prayer, your hips frantically meeting the thrusts of his tongue.

You grip tighter into his locks, angling his head slightly down, and fuckfuckfuck you squeal loudly, this angle causes his nose to nudge at your sensitive nerves perfectly with each push of his tongue inside of you.

“I’m c-close, Frankie- fuck- I’m gonna cum, baby, I’m gonna fucking cum- oh my God-” you practically scream, your body losing all strength as you fall back into the counter behind you, Frankie licking everything up while he tries to fuck you through your orgasm.

The vibrations of his moaning sends you into overdrive, and you’re so spaced out you don’t even realize Frankie’s been desperately humping nothing, bringing himself to an orgasm the same time as you. He lifts off from you completely, his breathing labored as his chin threatens to drip your arousal to the ground. Frankie’s fingers reach for his face, collecting up the residue only for him to bring it back up to his mouth. The sound of him sucking his fingers up like he just ate the sauciest of wings brings you back to reality, pulling your body up weakly as your eyes go wide when you realize what Frankie’s doing.

Your cheeks heat up, but your ability to tease is back. “That good, huh?”

“Finger lickin’, baby,” he says lazily.

He rises from his knees only for you to then notice the wet spot at his crotch. “Frankie-” you start.

“Yes, yes I did,” he finishes, knowing the question you were going to ask.

He bends down to pick up his hat, swiftly placing it back on his head while he grabs your shorts, putting them gently back in place.

“You okay?” He checks in.

You melt under his sweet attention. “Never better,” you beam.

You two stand there in each other’s presence before you finally pipe up. “So how do you wanna…” you trail off.

“You wanna head out first? I got a bit of a… mess to clean up anyway,” he says, gesturing to himself.

“Oh! Right, yeah. Okay,” you say awkwardly, as if his tongue wasn’t just inside of you. “I’ll see you out there,” you add as you turn around, opening the door just enough to slip out.

You stand there for a moment, giving yourself a second to register what the fuck just happened. You did not let a man you just met go down on you? At a bar, no less?!

You make your way to the bartender, needing an ice cold glass of water to cool you off. Your head is spinning, and it’s really not because of the alcohol anymore. But you blame the substance anyway.

Hearing the bathroom door creak, you turn around to see a blushing Frankie, his hat off his head and his hand shielding the wet patch between his legs. He sees you at the bar and he smiles, walking in your direction. However, before he can reach you, Linda magically appears in your face, drunk as shit and louder than you’ve ever experienced.

“There you are, silly!! Where’d you run off to?? Been looking for you, I swear it’s been like an hour!!!”

You look at Frankie over her shoulder, and he pauses in his tracks. You give him an apologetic smile. Before he can say it’s okay, the friends he was with finds him and drags him into a game of pool.

“Hey, sorry!” You scream over the music. “Just needed some time, it got a bit too loud in here,” you lie. You’re too overstimulated—in many ways as your clit throbs against the fabric of your wet panties—to handle more ridicule from these three. “I think I’m gonna head home now, though, I’m kind of tired,” you tell her. “Where’s Blake and Leah?”

She drags you back to your guys’ table, urging one more round of shots. You go with her to the bar to order the round, mouthing to the bartender to make yours water. She winks at you, and hands you your glass directly while Leah impressively holds the other three with a drunken ease.

When Frankie finally spots you, happy and laughing with your friends, he smiles to himself and decides not to interrupt your time. He can find you later.

Except, he doesn’t.

Monday, August 19th.

Sunday was a blur. It was spent downing more water to flush out your body while surfing every account on every social media platform you have for a Frankie in your area.

No luck. Of course.

Frankie’s Sunday was spent the exact same way, too, although he is much less tech savvy and his attempt only lasted an hour before he gave up and spent the rest of his day moping.

“¿Qué pasa, papi?” What’s wrong, daddy? Elena had asked him as she scarfed down her eggs.

“Estoy bien, mi amorcito,” I’m okay, my love, Frankie responded with a kiss on her head.

Elena didn’t bug further, but he knew she would soon.

Monday morning, Elena was way too eager for her new school, forcing her father up and making breakfast an entire hour before they actually needed to get up. Somehow, Elena even convinced Frankie to leave the house half an hour before they needed to leave, forcing them to wait in the empty parking lot until any sign of life emerged.

Elena buries her nose in a book, while Frankie sat there, watching the minutes tick by. As he stared at the building, red accents and Home of the Rebels painted in big white letters, he’s suddenly reminded of what Ms. Sabatino asked him.

He reaches over and grabs the handbook out of the glove compartment. He flips open to the first page to the table of contents, and the first section, written in italicized, bold letters catches his eye:

Ground Rules

He flips to the page.

He scans through each bullet point, each one feeling more and more like common sense, but with the way the principal described these parents, he realizes how necessary these so-called rules are.

His eyes scan the last bullet point, and he can’t help but bite back a laugh.

No parent-teacher relations. Parent will be kicked off the PTA. Teacher will be reprimanded. NO exceptions.

He flips through several more pages when Elena lets out a piercing shriek. “AHH! DADDY, DADDY, LET’S GO,” she’s jumping up and down as much as she can while being belted in her car seat. Frankie looks up to see a bustling crowd of children and their guardian. He sees Ms. Sabatino in the mix.

“Alright, alright, mi vida (my life), I’m coming,” Frankie soothes, giving a softer tone of voice that hopefully she mirrors. He gets out of the car and opens the passenger door behind him, unbuckling Elena and setting her down to the ground, grabbing her backpack and shuffling it onto her back.

Ms. Sabatino catches sight of Frankie and Elena, and excitedly makes her way over. She bends down to Elena’s level. “Good morning!! You must be Elena Morales, yes?”

“YES-” she stops herself and clears her throat. “Yes! Yes, that’s me!” She says, a decibel calmer.

Ms. Sabatino warms at her eagerness. “It’s very lovely to meet you, Elena, I’m Ms. Sabatino, the principal here!” She holds out her hand for Elena to shake. She takes it eagerly.

“It’s very nice to meet you!” Elena emphasizes, putting on her best charm. Frankie chuckles.

Ms. Sabatino rises. “Mr. Morales, it’s great to see you again!” He nods his head with a smile and a soft likewise. “May I walk you both to her class? I’d like to introduce you to her new teacher,” she directs the question towards both of them.

Elena looks elated. She turns around to look her father in the eye, Frankie’s very own signature puppy dog eyes reflected back to him. He doesn’t even need to hear the question to know what her answer would be if she pulls this card. “Oh, papi, please will you come?”

“Of course, baby,” he says, caressing the apple of her cheeks before she cheers in victory.

“Great!” Ms. Sabatino says with a clap to her hands. “Right this way.”

On the way to Elena’s new class, Ms. Sabatino really praises her new teacher. Apparently, she’s the best of the best. One of their newest hires, but she’s practically a veteran when it comes to teaching prodigal children. She’s a powerhouse, Ms. Sabatino calls her. He gets the feeling that the teacher doesn’t really like that label much.

When Ms. Sabatino opens the door to his classroom, the teacher is immediately there to introduce herself and welcome in little Elena.

Frankie really doesn’t know what happens next besides the fact that his heart thoroughly stops and Elena’s voice is a muffled daddy, what’s wrong? throughout his panicked mind.

What’s wrong? He thinks.

What’s wrong is that Elena’s new teacher is you.

And he is absolutely, wholeheartedly, positively screwed.

Fuck.

I hope you liked the first chapter of my new series, New Beginnings!🥹🥹 I poured everything I have into this story, and I’ve been so eager to share it with the rest of you. I hope you are able to love it as much as I do.

Follow & turn on notifs for @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to know exactly when a new chapter comes out!🫶

Comments/reblogs or any kind of feedback to let me know what you think is my favorite part about putting out a story!! Please let me know your thoughts!!! I love you all so much, and thank you for the endless support you all show me. I wouldn’t be here without you.

Floral dividers on top & bottom courtesy of @saradika-graphics <3 section dividers in middle of fic made by me!

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spacedace · 3 months

Text

“Hey, I need to get married for bullshit Infinite Realms reasons, you two in?”

“Tt, of course.”

“Sure thing! Do we need to get going for that like, right now? Or later?”

“Eh, like in a couple of hours? The Observants are demanding some Royal Ball or something and they pulled out some stupid old laws out of their collective asses that if I’m not married by the time it starts they can assign me spouses of their choosing, can you fucking believe that shit?”

“Woah, what the hell? Can they even do that?”

“I was under the impression they were only permitted to observe.”

“Right? It’s total crap, but apparently there’s like this super old law on the books and they didn’t bring it up until now when there’s like no time left to try and force me to marry someone they pick.”

“They are training to gain influence over you?”

“Eh, more like they’re trying to get control of my Dad by way of me. But still fucked as hell.”

“So why do you need to marry both of us? Or do you just need to marry one of us and we should play rock paper scissor for it?”

“Technically I only need to marry one of you, but I don’t want them pulling out any loopholes or something. So, it’d be great if one of you could be my consort for my role as Queen of Mirrors, and one could be my consort for my role as Crown Princess. You two can figure who’s who on that all that, I’m good with whatever.”

“Oooh, can I be consort for the Mirror Court? I can annoy Kon more that way.”

“I am amenable to that. Grandfather will have a fit when he learns that I can cut his access to the Pits off at my discretion and there’s nothing he can do about it.”

“Awesome, okay are you two good for meeting up at like, three? We can pop over to my Lair and get everything sorted out there.”

“Works for me, my only class til this afternoon is at one and the professor already said we’re cutting out early because she has to go out of town this weekend.”

“Four would be more agreeable if possible, I have to take Titus to the vet for his checkup.”

“Okay let’s aim for four then. It’s just signing some paperwork, making some quick blood-slash-ectoplasm pacts and swearing a couple binding oaths… Should only take like five or ten minutes?”

“They’re not gonna make you have a huge royal wedding or anything?”

“Nah. Dad keeps things pretty chill so as long as the paperwork is all in order we’ll be good. Though once Auntie Dorathea finds out she’s absolutely gonna make us have one. She loves planning weddings. Swear its what she makes her hoard out of somehow.”

“So long as we have a say in some of the proceedings I have no issue with that eventuality.”

“Same, it sounds like it’d be a fun way to annoy the Observants even more.”

“Don’t for get all the weirdos trying to be my suitors and all that bullshit.”

“We have an accord then. We can reconvene at the usual place.”

“Awesome, you two are the best! I gotta jet and let everyone know and get the ball rolling on the paperwork stuff. See you guys at four!”

With that, Nomad - Stella Phantom, Crown Princess of the Infinite Realms, Queen of Mirrors, Core of the Speedforce and ghostly hero of the Titans and the Justice League - tore a rip in the fabric of space and time and darted out of the room the same way she came. Through the mind-bending tear in reality the eerie, eye-searing green of the Infinite Realms glowed in all its unsettling glory, Phantom Keep a glittering expanse of night sky made solid in the distance.

Jon waved at her cheerfully as Damian gave a nod of farewell before both silently turned their attention back to their respective tablets as the portal closed behind their friend and teammate and the glimpse of the Ghost Zone disappeared again. Completely unbothered by the conversation just held or the life changing implications that came with them.

Jon was humming as he tapped away at something on the screen before him, Damian propping his head up on his fist in vague boredom as he frowned down at the information he was reading.

The rest of the room Nomad had left behind was caught in a frozen, stunned silence in the wake of the baffling conversation they’d all just been witness to. All eyes in the room darted between Flamebird and Pheonix seated calmly at the end of the table, then to the space where Nomad had disappeared to, back to the young men, and then towards the head of the table where Superman and Batman sat looking bewildered and a bit on the verge of heart attacks.

The short status update meeting was about to become much, much longer it seemed.

Though a lot more entertaining.

#dpxdc #dani phantom #danielle phantom #elle phantom #jon kent #jon el kent #damian wayne #justice league #super serious chaos #possible platonic super serious chaos it's up to yall #clones are called mirrorborn in the infinite realms #elle is the ancient of the speedforce #Dani Phantom is the Ancient of the Speedforce #I will make this happen if it kills me please someone else write something for this I'm going feral #impulsively marrying your friends to fuck with some of the most powerful entities in existence is a fun pass time everyone should try #their friends and family are exactly as unhinged as these three - sometimes even *More* unhinged - and can't say shit about it #so many justice league members are torn between sobbing because 'This was going to be a short meeting for once!' 😭#and being SO EXCITED because the chaos that is about to break out in this meeting room is going to be SO GOOD #There is so much tea that is going to be spilled at the cafeteria after this

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deadsetobsessions · 3 months

Text

What’s in a cape, but the hopes and dreams of the one who bears it?

What’s in a cape, but shelter and warmth for those that receive its protection?

What’s in a hero suit, but a person that’s determined to die in it?

——

Long before Danny Phantom died in his hazmat suit, Bruce Wayne donned his cowl to dive between Gotham and the bullets with faces engraved on them. His cape began to signify fear, for those that harmed Gotham knowingly. But for the rest, it became a sign of protection, of promised vengeance against the crime committed.

And for a select few, the cape was a shelter during cold and rainy patrols. For Tim Drake, the third Robin, it was a warmth he’d never experience past those moments.

When Danny Fenton became Danny Phantom, he’d had wanted to have a cape like the crusader.

Danny wasn’t sure if he wanted to shelter or be sheltered.

But eventually, as things escalated and Danny found himself with less time for normal, personal things, that wish shuddered to an ember. After all, Danny had learned that he doesn’t get the luxury of protection. Not anymore. Which meant he had to be the one doing the protecting. A thousand miles away, as Danny came to terms with it on a clear Amity night, Robin was huddled beneath Batman’s cape to shelter from the pelting rain that came often with Gotham’s gloom.

When Danny got pulled along, invisible and attached to Robin’s side as the vigilante got thrown into a prison, he witnessed Robin talk to his evil older Batman self.

He’s visible again before he knew it, startling the two versions of Robins. Ice slammed into the Robin that became Batman as memories rung through Danny’s head. Where Robin was, stood himself. Where the Evil Robin Batman laid on the floor, covered in glowing ice, was Dan.

Danny died, and became a hero. He just had the unfortunate luck to live to see himself become the villain.

He would never allow Robin to go through it alone, not when Danny had his family and friends to fall back on. Robin, in this cage, ripped away from his team and in the midst of an argument with Batman, was painfully so.

“I’m Phantom.” Danny introduced himself. “Looked like you were in a bit of a spot. I’m sorry for butting in, if you wanted to take care of him yourself.”

“Robin.” Robin was wary. That’s okay. “How are you here?”

“That one’s on you, actually.” Danny glanced around. “Let’s get out of here before edgy future you wakes up. The ice won’t melt, and it’ll be hard to break, but I honestly don’t want to stick around for him to wake up.”

“Can you move him?” Robin eyed their cell contemplatively.

“Sure.”

——

“That seemed personal, earlier.”

Danny nodded. “Yeah. Had the displeasure of meeting an alternate evil version of myself that lost everyone I loved. Kind of hit a sore spot there.”

“…right.”

“No worries, you’re good. My friends and family promised to stay away from explosive sauce.”

“That’s good. So… where do you live?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” Danny somersaulted in space next to Robin’s jerryrigged space ship. “Anyways, we’re friends now, so I’ll make sure you don’t live to see yourself become a villain.”

“See, that sounded like a threat.”

“It’s not! I don’t kill! And besides, if you were dead, you’d probably be a ghost, and you’d kick my ass for killing you!”

“Are you implying you’re dead?”

“Not an implication. I’m dead. Kind of. Half. I’m still breathing even if I kind of don’t need to. So, where are your friends?”

Danny will be damned before he let his new friends die in their suits, even if they make the job incredibly hard for him. After all, there’s only room for one dead hero on the team, and that’s him.

#dc x dp crossover #young justice #Tim Drake #I made myself sad #danny phantom #bruce wayne #danny fenton #nasty burger and their explosive sauce #new business idea: jokerized fries and the explosive sauce #I’m poking fun at joker #and Jason #kind of

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fangswbenefits · 5 months

Text

The Arrangement (11) - First Light

Chapter summary: A much needed discussion takes place and it ends with Astarion coating his daggers with poison.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past trauma. Mentions of oral sex. Blood drinking,

Word count: 4.3k

Author's note: I am still unable to reply to comments (I'm waiting for tumblr support to fix this... I read all of the, I promise. You can also send and ask or head to ao3 so I can reply there. Thank you!

Series masterlist

Ao3

Wyll Ravengard was the picture-perfect of integrity.

Well, if you were to exclude his past dealings with the half-devil Mizora. But even then, he had been mostly justified in his assessment of the situation.

So it came as no surprise when you weren't able to find a single trace of judgement on his face.

Only evident concern.

Shadowheart had quickly filled him in on the Waterdeep situation as well as provided him with enough context when it came to Ava.

“Well, this is a… mess,” Wyll eventually drawled out.

Astarion, who was sitting to your right, immediately snickered. “Understatement of the year.”

Shadowheart, who was sitting to you left, promptly quipped, “I wonder whose fault that is.”

He leaned forward to glance at her. “Darling, all that pent-up frustration must–”

You heaved a deep sigh as you nudged him with your elbow, not in the mood to moderate their venomous exchange. “Enough!”

Wyll took a seat across from yours as a Fist stood by his side, hand clasping the handle of his sword in a silent warning.

“You should have told me about your arrangement with Ava,” he said, locking eyes with you. “I know all too well how some propositions are just rotten from the start and doomed to fail.”

Tension and guilt settled in the pit of your stomach.

Not even half an hour ago, you had been able to momentarily push aside the chaos that had been hurled at you in such short notice.

“It seemed like a fair exchange – if her words are to be believed, that is,” you said.

Wyll tensed up. “There is nothing fair about offering your blood to bloodthirsty fiends as an exchange.” He then glanced at Astarion. “No offense.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “None taken, darling.”

But Wyll did have a point even if your arrangement with Astarion was nothing akin to the one with Ava.

Yet…

“Nothing is set in stone. I don't have to go through with any of it.”

From beside you, Shadowheart managed an irritable look. “I cannot be the only one who finds all of this rather convenient. Even if there is someone connected to Cazador after you, why would she withhold that information? Doesn't she need you safe and sound, Astarion?”

“I suppose so, but who's to say? I would need to talk to her,” he said, eyes on Wyll. “I have to talk to her.”

Wyll immediately understood the implication in his words. “Now?”

“Well, obviously not now,” he said indignantly.

The sun was still up and dusk was hours away.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” you intervened, heart racing in your chest. “We need to find out first if there's something that links all of this to Ava.”

“Regardless of that, she still needs to answer for her deranged proposition,” Astarion replied.

Shadowheart scoffed. “You were the one who endangered her in the first place with that bizarre deal.”

He was on his feet faster than you could blink, scowling. “Do not make the idiotic mistake of thinking you are the only one here who cares for her.”

She rose from the sofa, matching his defyance. “Oh, I am sure you care for her – in your own twisted way.”

“Can you two stop it?” you half-shouted, coming to stand in between them before he could retort. “This is pointless!”

They glared at each other in silence for a moment before parting ways, with Astarion sinking down on a chair whilst Shadowheart began pacing around the room, evidently distressed.

“My friends, we need to think critically here,” Wyll spoke again. “Arguing with each other is the last thing we ought to do right now.”

Silence followed as tension dispersed.

“Now, as we wait for Lae'zel and Gale to return, I must ask a few questions, Astarion.”

He crossed his arms. “Oh, this should be fun.”

Wyll ignored his snarky remark, assuming a more serious demeanour. “Why would you resort to her in the first place? Was her promise more solid than the Wish spell?”

“There were no promises made,” he said acidly, a nerve clearly having been struck. “She’s merely experimenting and the prospect seemed too good to pass.”

“So, your blood for a way to lessen your vampiric hunger? That was the deal?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine and you watched as Astarion tensed up slightly.

He had never shared with them just how deep the horrors he endured under Cazador's command truly twisted inside him.

How all of it had taken a toll on his ability to be intimate with someone without feeling tainted.

How it had ultimately driven him into striking a deal with someone like Ava as despair took root.

And it wasn't your place to reveal any of it.

So you merely sat back and observed him in silence.

“It seemed good enough back then,” he said coolly. “Besides, it could also be helpful to the spawn in the Underdark.”

That had Wyll arch an eyebrow. “The spawn?”

“Petras has been sending letters to report back, and – well, let's just say that dealing with 7,000 hungry vampire spawn isn't an easy feat,” he said. “I figured that if her experiment were to be successful, then it'd be beneficial for them as well.”

Oh.

Shadowheart waggled her eyebrows as her feet came to a halt. “So you weren't merely thinking about yourself?”

“Initially, yes. Of course.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“However, I was the one who doomed them to eternal hunger, so it seemed fitting I'd help.”

“They were doomed either way,” you quickly pointed out. “And it was Cazador's doing.”

His head turned to you. “Be it as it may, their hunger isn't sated for long. I know that all too well.”

Astarion wasn't exactly the epitome of selflessness, but you knew he had come to change some of his ways in the past few weeks after all the events that had unfolded.

And when it came to his own hunger, you figured old habits did die hard.

His eyes then landed on your neck for a moment before looking away.

“I reckon I already know the answer to this, but did you even plan ahead?” Shadowheart said, crossing her arms. “How would you even make this feasible for thousands of spawn with just your own blood? Or were they really just an afterthought?”

Astarion narrowed his eyes. “Ava was handling the … logistics, shall we say. My blood would be the starting point, but not a requirement.”

She scoffed in utter disbelief. “And you took her word for it… blindly. You simply trusted some monster hunter with a blood fetish? This is ridiculous even for you.”

He was definitely a passionate admirer of the ‘laugh now, cry later’ school of thought, which also meant that when the consequences hit… they would hit hard.

“It's not like progress was being made with the Wish spell, sweetheart,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

A chill rushed through you like a knife. “Only a few weeks had passed, Astarion. All you had to do was wait–”

And then he snapped. His seemingly calm demeanour finally cracking open and revealing the hurt underneath.

“For centuries, all I did was wait! There were times I wished he would just destroy me once and for all to rid me of the burden of being ‘alive’ under such conditions,” he snarled, rising from the chair as he faced you. “I turned away from all that power I could have – the ritual… everything! I – I just…” His voice faltered and he heaved a sigh, reining back his outrage as his face softened into that expression that just broke you. “Is it such a crime that I want better for myself?”

You shook your head, feeling for him, but… “These things take time. Despair leads to rushed actions.”

He grimaced. “So you'd have me turn to hope?”

“Yes.”

He clicked his tongue. “There's nothing quite as cruel as hope, darling.”

You heard Wyll let out an exasperated sigh from across the room. “Astarion, I will not judge you for the decision you made to mingle with Ava – you had your reasons. But the consequences seem severe enough even if she isn't involved in either of the killings.”

He remained silent.

“It's not just about you anymore. She took an interest in her blood and is now using it as a bargaining chip,” he said. “That is unacceptable.”

“I fully agree with Wyll,” Shadowheart said as she came to sit next to you once again.

“And that is why you'll let me go to her,” Astarion said.

“You're still under house arrest. The Council of Four will–”

“To Hells with them all!” Astarion said through clenched teeth, fangs peeking through. “We're your friends, are we not? And since you're so adamant about my fault in this, allow me to set things right.”

“A good call,” Shadowheart chimed in with a nod.

Wyll seemed taken aback by his words and his frown deepened. “I may have the final word as the Grand Duke, but I cannot consciously go against a collective ruling.”

“The circumstances have changed,” Astarion retorted simply. “I will go to her and you're free to have your Fists point a thousand stakes at me along the way if it eases your mind.”

You could tell Wyll felt torn between duty and reasoning, and you didn't envy him in the slightest.

“You don't understand the consequences of–”

Astarion's face darkened and a devious smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, darling. I do understand. I simply do not care.”

Wyll took a deep breath, clearly realising he was fighting a losing battle.

He turned to face the Fist by his side. “Send word to the Council.”

The tall and broad man nodded before exiting through the front door.

“You can't be serious,” Astarion scoffed. “You should have kept this between us. They don't have to know.”

But Wyll merely shook his head. “We can do things your way and my way.”

Astarion pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan.

“I'm coming with you,” you said, fully determined..

Shadowheart immediately gripped your arm firmly. “No.”

Wyll rose from his seat. “He shall not go alone, but you don't need to get more involved in this than you already are.”

Astarion turned to face you and raised one hand. “Absolutely not. You stay.”

That made your blood boil almost instantly and a flash of anger crossed your face. “I can fend for myself. Just let me–”

But your words were muffled by a deafening swirling and pulsing sound that came from outside.

In no time, the door was slammed open as a visibly irritated Lae'zel stormed inside.

“Tsk'va! Mages and their nauseating portals,” she grumbled before closing the door shut and plunging the room in candlelight once again. “Almost spilled the contents of my stomach. Twice.”

Both you and Shadowheart flocked to her side and you spoke first, “Are you alright? Where’s Gale?”

She nodded dismissively, placing her esteemed greatsword on the long table. “He stayed behind to converse with a few of his acquaintances, trying to make sense of what happened.”

“Well? What happened, then?” Astarion asked as he approached the three with you with Wyll right behind him.

“The man succumbed to a multitude of slashing wounds.”

Your eyes widened as you gasped.

“Slashing wounds? Was it an animal? A monster?” Wyll immediately pressed.

“We do not know. It was a rather brutal sight even for someone like me,” Lae'zel said with a frown.

A shiver spread across your body and you felt nauseous all of a sudden.

“Was there anything odd about it?” Shadowheart asked.

“Because a man being brutally shredded to pieces isn't odd enough?” Astarion said with a scoff.

She ignored him. “Were there traces of necrotic magic?”

Lae'zel arched a brow. “No. What's with this interrogation?”

Shadowheart was definitely trying to find a common element between the two deaths… and Ava.

And it seemed that there was nothing there.

Yet.

“We are trying to figure out if Ava could have had a hand in this.”

Lae'zel didn't budge. “Who?”

“Ava.”

Lae'zel turned to Astarion. “Your hairdresser?”

This time, Shadowheart clicked her tongue impatiently, hands on her hips. “Astarion struck a deal with some monster hunter turned blood merchant and got her involved.” She extended one arm to at you. “This Ava woman now wants her blood for whatever nefarious reason and might also be the one to blame for the death that led to them getting arrest and – quite possibly – the one from today.”

Your eyes widened, quite astonished that she was able to spill all that information in one swift breath.

If the circumstances weren't quite so dire, you would also have chuckled from how she sounded like a child who was telling her strict parent on her misbehaving sibling.

Astarion was obviously offended. “Conveniently leaving out the part where I am entitled to mingling with whomever I want, and that I was completely oblivious to Ava's finding and her proposal.”

Lae'zel glanced at you. “What proposal?”

“It's fine. Don't worry. I won't go through with any of it,” you said reassuringly, placing your hand on her wrist, knowing fully well she was itching to swing her sword on him. “This is all one big mess, but he truly didn't know.”

Shadowheart growled. “You do not have to keep defending him!”

Wyll spoke before you could. “Shadowheart. I understand your indignation, but we need to move on from the constant pointless bickering. What is done is done.”

Astarion clapped thrice. “Ah! The voice of reason!”

She threw him a death glare before crossing her arms and tapping her foot irritably on the floor, but not uttering another word.

Lae'zel, on the other hand, had her narrowed eyes set on Astarion. “You are fortunate she adores that pretty head attached to your body.”

“Was that a compliment, Lae'zel?” he taunted.

“Your ability to turn any remark into an opportunity to feed your ego is truly astounding, Astarion.”

He smirked happily in response. “I do my best – or worst, depending on your taste.”

“Enough of this,” you interjected as you stared at Lae'zel. “When is Gale returning?”

She shrugged. “Unclear. He is also trying to find another contact who might help out with the Wish spell.”

“No.”

All heads turned to Astarion.

His brows knitted together. “No. No one else is getting involved until we figure out what is happening.”

Your eyes met his in mingled surprise and confusion.

Even Shadowheart was stunned silent as her face softened.

“I thought you wanted this more than anything,” Wyll asked.

“Well, yes. But not when people are turning up dead all around me.”

Lae'zel frowned. “So, all of this for nothing? Had a sudden change of heart about your inability to walk in the sun again?”

He rolled his eyes. “Heavens forbid I'm the one pointing the moral compass in the right direction. Don't act so surprised, darling. I still know what I want and what I need to do.”

You closed the distance between you and him, worry brewing in your heart.

“Astarion, the Wish spell isn't easy to come by. It's not easy to find someone willing to teach it and Gale is a powerful wizard and strong candidate,” you said, trying to reason with him as you placed a hand on his arm. “I understand your reluctance, but we might have to wait even longer if this opportunity is disregarded.”

He didn't even flinch. “This is ultimately my choice, and I choose to wait. I've had it with others dictating how I should feel and act. This is the sensible thing to do.”

For centuries, he had belonged to everyone – to anyone – but himself.

Both in body and mind.

So, if this was what he truly thought was best for him, who were you to deny him of it? Maybe you would have chosen differently, but this wasn't truly about you, was it?

He would tell you otherwise, of course. That you had been the stepping stone to his healing process since the nautiloid crash, but you couldn't and wouldn't take full credit for it.

This was a joint effort and you would empower him all the way through.

“I stand with you,” you said eventually said, breaking the silence.

He gradually relaxed under your touch.

Shadowheart spoke next, “I respect your decision, Astarion. We need to see if there is a link between the two deaths. I can go ahead through the portal and ask Gale to return.”

He nodded.

“Very well,” she said with a curt smile.

Wyll approached the door. “I will inform the guards to accompany you once dusk hits, Astarion.”

He nodded again. “Thank you.”

Lae'zel then cursed and left the room with a loud bang behind her as the door closed shut.

Your hand came to his shoulder and his crimson eyes were on you again. “Let me come with you.”

“No.”

You scowled. “I'm not some frail sorcerer. I can stand by your side and help.”

This time, he chuckled. “Sweetheart, you are more capable than most of us combined here. My reluctance doesn't stem from my lack of faith in your abilities,” he said, voice firm and collected. “If anything were to happen to you because of me, I'd never forgive myself. Allow me to handle this.”

Your heart was hammering fast in your chest from his words, and even though you wanted to argue with his decision, you held your tongue back.

In truth, you were mostly scared Ava would have something up her sleeve and hurt him. That was what was eating at your nerves.

But still, you nodded

It was settled then.

You made your way down the corridor, coming to a halt as the faint glow spilled from inside his room.

The door was open for a change.

A comforting smile curled your lips, knowing you'd find him inside.

As you approached the doorway, you spotted Astarion across the room, flicking through a few pieces of cloth placed on the round table.

You knocked twice on the wood “May I?”

He nodded. “It's your house.”

“Well, it's your room,” you retorted. “For now, at least,” you quickly added, not wanting to seem overbearing. After all, he wasn't ultimately here on his own volition.

“You don't have to keep asking,” he said with a faint smile.

Your eyes landed on his bed as you walked in, causing your heart to skip a beat.

A few hours ago, the two of you had been lost in each other's pleasure on that very same spot. Now, the bedclothes had been laid sprawled across it, no creases or any remaining proof of your earlier endeavour.

The two of you had been robbed of after care and a much needed talk about what had happened.

Even if he had seemed quite content during and after all of it, you found yourself always hung on the fear that you had rushed through it all.

So, you needed the affirmation. You needed to hear his thoughts on it and to ensure no boundaries had been crossed.

You approached the table and your gaze roamed cross the clear vials that he had placed by his twin daggers.

Odourless.

Colourless.

Poison.

“Lethal?”

He dabbed a selected piece of cloth on the clear liquid. “No.”

An uneasy feeling began to take root. “Do you think she'll try to hurt you?”

“It would be rather foolish of her,” he mused, dragging the damp fabric along each blade, coating them in a fine layer of poison. “But I've been wrong before about people, so – as they say – better safe than sorry.”

It wasn’t the reassurance you were seeking, but Astarion was more than capable when it came to self-defence.

“Besides, she needs me more than I need her,” he concluded, inspecting the glinting blade close to his eyes. “And if she fails to provide satisfactory answers, the Fists will deal with her.”

You nodded, but still failing to push your fear aside. “What if there is really someone after us? What if she's not connected to any of this?”

You had purposefully let out the faint implication that maybe there was a connection to Cazador. He didn't need to be troubled with that in case Ava was bluffing.

Astarion sheathed both daggers on either side of his waist before his eyes landed on you. “If that is the case, then she will tell me who it is. And she better have a godsdamned good justification for why she thought I would allow you to be involved.”

You absentmindedly bit your lip and he smiled warmly, coming to stand in front of you, wiping his hands clean from any trace of poison.

Silently, he leaned to press a lingering kiss on your forehead, his cool lips making you flinch slightly.

It was as if a surge of lightning had been cast throughout your body, setting you alight.

“About earlier…” you said, swallowing your nervousness.

He traced your jawline with his thumb before tipping your head back so you could properly meet his gaze.

“Darling, already back for another round?”

You broke into laughter. “No! No… that wasn't what I trying to say.”

He tapped your nose lovingly and it was as if the two of you were long-time lovers, used to each other's teases and mannerisms.

Your heart skipped yet another beat.

“I know. Just couldn't miss the opportunity to have you all flustered for me again,” he said with a devious grin. “But do go on.”

“I just want to make sure… it was alright… what we did, I mean,” you said in a whisper.

Astarion's brows furrowed together. “I thought that was pretty much evident…”

A lump swelled in your throat.

You truly didn't want to overstep any lines.

But you had to know. You had to hear it.

“I am talking about… up here,” you said, pressing a finger softly to his temple. “I… just want to make sure you're truly fine. That we're truly fine.”

You held your breath for a moment, dreading a worrisome reply.

He caught hold of your hand and pressed your finger to his lips. “I will always tell you if it's too much.”

A wave of relief washed over you and you allowed yourself to breathe normally.

Still…

You swallowed again. “Promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” he said, using your own finger to tap the tip of your nose, earning a heartfelt giggle from you.

“So… it wasn't too much?”

“No,” he said truthfully.

You nodded as he gripped your chin. “How did it feel?”

He paused for a while, pondering. “It felt… right.”

Your stomach turned and your heart sped up from how close he was to you.

How close he felt to you.

“I want to kiss you,” he said all of a sudden. “May I?”

You felt as though you would melt into a puddle from how desperate he sounded.

“You don't have to always ask,” you said truthfully.

He then pressed his cool lips to the corner of your mouth and you instinctively gasped. “I just adore the sound of your voice when you let me in.”

His lips moved to the opposite side, lingering there, and a rush of heat pooled in your cheeks.

“May I kiss you, darling?” he asked once more, pulling back just enough for his lips to barely touch yours. “May I taste you?”

Gods…

“Please do.”

He didn't need to be told twice.

The kiss started off slow at first as his lips molded into yours. But as soon as you made way for his tongue to slide inside, Astarion became the image of hunger.

He cradled your face in his hands and pressed both thumbs on your chin, so you'd open up wider for him.

A flash of memory filled your mind and you recalled how he used to do the same whenever you were on your knees, struggling to fit his thick cock in your mouth.

“You can take more of me, can't you, my sweet?” he'd say, voice dripping with lust.

You'd always struggle at first. Always. But he was such a caring lover and he would always ensure you took your time.

You quickly shuddered as your clit began throbbing evenly.

His tongue was as relentless against yours as his cock had once been, but his eagerness and hunger had his razor-like fang nip at your lower lip, drawing blood.

“Shit,” you groaned from the sharp sting.

Astarion immediately pulled back and you stared at him in confusion.

You felt a few drops dribbling down your chin.

Why wasn't he tasting you?

His eyes were fixed on your lips and his eyes narrowed with bloodlust.

“You're letting it go to waste?” you asked, swiping your finger across the bleeding wound.

He swallowed with a strained smile.

Oh, he was struggling to hold back…

“Well, darling… I don't intend on leaving the house with my cock hard with your blood.”

You clenched so hard you felt a gush of wetness being squeezed out.

But there was only so much Astarion could withstand, so you couldn't fight the moan that tore through your throat as he placed the softest kiss to your lip.

“Just before I go,” he whispered. “So I can take you with me.”

You clenched again and you could feel your clit swell up with each throb.

He eventually parted from you, licking his blood-stained lips as his eyes held that lustful gaze you adored.

“I'll be back soon.”

You were left petrified in place as he swiftly made his way out.

It wasn’t fair how soaked you were.

How soaked he had left you.

You glanced over your shoulder and realised the door had been left open all along and you rushed to the window, tugging on the curtain.

The sun had set as he appeared down below, followed closely by two Fists.

And the single mage slayer.

The three of them trailed after his steps and darted off into the distance.

And you realised that without a mage slayer around to keep your magic at bay, you could simply vanish.

You glanced at the vials of poison on the nearby table and smiled.

TBC

Series masterlist

Ao3

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #the arrangement #astarion smut

1K notes · View notes

soapybutt17 · 4 months

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Baby Mama

Summary: Downtime was rare and far in between, but with your maternity leave now done and over with, your husband thought it would be a good time as any to invite everyone to your shared home for a mini celebration. It should have also been a good idea to let everyone know about the small little fact that not everyone was made aware of your relationship or the fact that there was a sleeping baby upstairs that hated Soap’s boisterous laughter for some reason. Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Simon "Ghost" Riley. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. John "Soap" MacTavish. Farah Karim. Alex Keller. Kate Laswell. Word Count: 2,313 Chapter Warnings: None.

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“Sit down, Rookie. We’ve got it covered.”

You wanted to glare at your husband and the rest of the taskforce that had made it their mission to ensure you were not in-charge of handling meal preps for the upcoming party you and your husband had decided to start in celebration for both your return back to the base as well as the success of their previous mission.

“Why do I feel like a guest in my own home?” You playfully questioned as Gaz placed a cup of tea in front of you. A reassuring smile rested on his lips.

“You’ve been wide awake until the early morning taking care of the little girl sleeping upstairs. Quite frankly, we’d prefer you to sleep instead than deal with the rest of us here.” Gaz explained as he returned back to helping Soap with prepping for the marinade for the barbeque.

“I’ve dealt with worse.” You pouted, ignoring the pointed look on your husband knowing they were right.

“Just because you’ve dealt with it on missions doesn’t mean you should deal with it in our home, Darling.” John sighed wiping his hand to come sit beside you on backyard patio.

Since your maternity leave and your husband’s own paternity one, you’ve somehow gotten enough money and time to make some new renovations to the home. One that you were proud of the most was the patio that would not only be a place for you and your husband to enjoy for yourselves, but for the guest he was slowly but surely becoming welcome to inviting—especially now.

With Soap and Gaz prepping the marinate and vegetables and Simon dealing with most of the meat (surprised by the fact that he was once a butcher before joining the military), you and your husband were left to your own devices for a while.

“Little Katherine still asleep?” He inquired.

You turned your attention towards the baby monitor, seeing your daughter thankfully still asleep in her crib.

It still amazes you that this little human was a product of your love and devotion to your husband. Even with her arrival an unplanned surprise for the both of you, you’ve both taken it to stride and made the most out of the experience. Your husband hoping for another few along the way but you made him promise to wait until little Katherine was a little older first.

“Asleep for once.” You sighed resting your head against your husband’s shoulders as you two continued watching the boys helping out for the party. “Why are we letting them help us with our own party again?”

“They did this to themselves surprisingly. When they heard we’re having this party, they immediately worried about you and the baby and adding the mess of the party to the mix. You’ve got those boys wrapped around your fingers and it’s worrisome at times.”

You giggled nudging him slightly at this comment.

“Speaking of people wrapped around your fingers, Alejandro and Rudy will also be coming tonight.”

You smiled, happy to know more of the friends you’ve made during missions have also come to visit. Having missed your time on the base, having them here for a get together would be a treat. You would also be ignoring the implication of your husband’s words towards Las Almas’ Colonel and Sergeant Major.

Somehow, it had become a topic of discussion for the rest of the boys how the Colonel had a little crush on you which you thought was ridiculous. Alejandro Vargas was nothing but professional to you and to the rest of the team. As far as you know, the man was just a little appreciative of the help you had given to them during Grave’s takeover of his base all those months ago, nothing more.

“You think Kate, Farah, and Alex would be able to visit too?” You inquired.

“They’re already on their flight here.” He smiled arm wrapped around your shoulders. “Kate’s been bugging me about the house when I told him about the renovations.”

You shook your head already imagining how much teasing Kate probably needed to do for him to finally relent in having the party here instead of renting a place.

A sudden thought had popped into your head as you turned directly towards your husband.

“Hold on, aside from the three boys, who else knows about our relationship?” You inquired.

He blinked only realizing himself that he hasn’t gotten around and told anyone about the two of you. Everyone had become aware of him having a wife and the paternity leave he had to take meant everyone was also aware that he was a new father, but no one not even Kate was made aware that you were the wife and the mother of his six-month old daughter.

“John did you not tell them yet?” You questioned.

“I may or may not have forgotten to tell everyone.” He grinned sheepishly.

Before you could give him an earful, the sound of your daughter’s cries halted you from your actions. You’ve all but noticed the sigh of relief that escaped his lips. Oh you’re going to get back at him for this somehow. You just know it.

“Rookie, it’s good to finally see you. How’s the leave been?”

Captain John Price was a lot of things. He was a patient man. He could be a brash man. He was a man that commands respect and authority. But in this very moment as you wore his favorite sun dress on you, he knew he could not be all of those things.

He was being punished. It was a certain and each and every single men of his Taskforce knows about it as well. It had honestly and genuinely slipped his mind, with both the past mission and his need to finally be back at home, he never had the time to orient everyone and anyone involved at base about his relationship and marriage to you until now that is.

“Good to see you and the wife too.” You smiled turning your eyes towards your husband pointedly before beginning an animated conversation with Kate and her wife.

John and the rest of the boys were in charge of grilling and giving everyone refreshments. You had decided it was your job to be a good host to everyone as people were slowly but surely filling his home.

“Someone’s sleeping in the couch tonight then?” It was Simon that pointed it out and John could only glare at the man as he continued on with flipping the steaks.

All three of the boys had become aware of the pettiness you could dish out towards their Captain. It wasn’t so often that it happens but the paradigm shift of their Captain not truly being in charge as soon as he was in the confinements of his own home.

“Happy wife, happy life.” John found himself speaking as his attention was still set on the grill.

His own anxiety somehow spiked up the moment an all too familiar Spanish endearment had escapade from the Las Almas-native. Alejandro Vargas was fashionably late as ever.

He had ordered Simon to continue on with cooking as he made his way towards where Alejandro was now in a full discussion with you. It didn’t escape John’s eyes the smoldering look the Colonel was giving his wife. What annoyed him even more was how much you were unbothered—or rather, unaware of it on your own end. Giving the man a smile and those warm gaze that was somewhat always reserved for him and the rest of his men.

“Good to see you, Alejandro.” John had interrupted your little conversation.

“Price. It’s good to see you again, Hermano.” The man chuckled enveloping him into a hug for a moment.

Even with the conversation that now began between him and the Colonel, It didn’t miss his gaze how the both of them would glance right at you as you now stood beside John and joining in on the conversation. It also didn’t escape anyone’s notice how your hand held onto his arm, showcasing the often concealed engagement ring and wedding ring he had gifted you all those years ago when he proposed and made you his wife.

“I see you’ve gotten married while on break, it seems congratulations are in order.” Alejandro finally acknowledge the elephant in the room taking everyone’s notice as well.

“Actually,” You trailed off turning your head towards him, a playful smile on your lips almost waiting for him to make the acknowledgement instead.

“We—we just had a baby.” John finally admits at the same time the sound of the baby monitor going off.

Everyone was silent aside from Soap and Gaz’s cackles. With a relieved smile you excused yourself to get the baby for everyone to meet leaving John on the hotseat, especially at the hands of both Kate and Farah.

“Hold on, since when have you and Rookie been in a relationship?” Kate questioned, a big smile playing on her face. Oh he could already see the array of torment that was to come during missions with this tidbit about his personal life.

“Since I was a Sergeant and she was a newly appointed Lieutenant.” John sighed scratching his beard and knowing full well you were taking your sweet time with your daughter leaving him to the wolves. “Married for fourteen years.” He added, being all too reminded of the fact that as soon as he had finished up with the mission that saved both Farah and her brother all those years ago, he knew it in his heart that there would never be a perfect time for the two of you to marry but in that very moment in your humble apartment in the heart of London all those years ago.

“Fuck, I lost the bet then.” Alex interrupted the moment of shock still resting on everyone as he handed Farah a few quid which she happily took with a smug smile on her face.

“Well I appreciate the bets being thrown around about my personal life.” He muttered.

“I’ve always knew something was going on with the two of you, Old man.” Farah pointed out. “It was just a matter of determining what status the two of you were to each other at this point.”

So much for acting low key about his relationship.

The hot seat was now away from him as you walked back out with the prettiest little baby he had ever seen in his life (he was bias definitely as this was his child after all). Woken up from her nap, John could see his daughter still cranky as you continued to coo her.

“Just woke up from her nap.” You excuse immediately handing the baby to him. A smile resting on his lips now as how easy it was to calm his daughter in his hands. How quick it was for her own similar blue eyes to lock onto him for comfort and safety. It was all he could ever give and more to both of his girls.

“Looks just like you, Cap.” Alex pointed out earning a snort out of you and a proud chuckle out of John.

It was an ongoing banter between the two of you, how you complain about carrying your daughter for nine months only for her to look just like him. But his daughter has your eyes and he was all too certain would be used against him when she learns how to do the puppy dog eyes when she grows up.

“Cries like him too.” Simon quipped earning a pointed look from John and giggle from you and laughter from everyone else.

At the booming laughter of one Soap MacTavish, the first line of tears had burst out of his daughter and you and John had given the man a glare as he began to coo his daughter from her tears.

To say freely acting like a husband and wife in front of most of your coworkers was awkward but a little refreshing to say the least. With your daughter pawned off to her uncles for the next hour or two, it meant you and your husband could freely socialize with the rest of the team in attendance.

“Still can’t believe you two were able to keep it hidden for so long.” It was Kate that finally broke the ice.

“Less hassle for either of us.” John shrugged off, pulling you closer to him.

It was all the more refreshing to see this side of him that no one usually sees. With you sitting on his lap on the love seat as you continued on with your conversation with Kate. How he would do anything and everything in his power to have you close to him, touching any skin he gets his hands on—at this moment it was his hands on your thighs as he held onto them to support you.

“That the reason why you dragged her along with you the TF?” She inquired, playfully.

“One of the reasons, but not the top reason.” John assured.

It was still much of a surrealistic moment when you were called one day by Kate about the Taskforce your husband was forming. You, of all people knew that he wanted to make sure that your lines of work and personal life were separate. But somehow, your capabilities overrode those principles you both have made to each other.

You did your job, quiet well too, so it wasn’t much of a worry that your relationship and association to the man would be also place under scrutiny now when all was said and done. It wasn’t much of an issue when most, if not all of the people in the base had already been calling the both of you as work spouses to each other.

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celtic-crossbow · 1 month

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Blood Ties Chapter 27

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Poorly written smut; lots and lots of pregnancy stuff (kinda gross toward the last)

A/N: We are now exiting my area of expertise with pregnancy. Google will be my friend. If I made mistakes, please just pretend I didn’t. lol

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Opening your eyes, you had to immediately squint against the morning sun. It couldn’t be later than eight o’clock, give or take a few minutes. You were still in the same room Hershel had put you in two days ago, only allowed up to walk around, use the bathroom, and join for meals if you would like. Hershel had said you could still do light chores with no bending or reaching above your head, but Daryl had forbidden it without even saying a word. So, you mostly rested and focused on taking in enough water. Carl or Beth would bring each person’s bag so you could go through and inventory the contents, ensuring all the supplies were making it from each escape and taking note of any new supplies added.

Stretching your legs, you winced at the ache in your pelvis. “Christ, Thumps. Why do you have to sit right on my bladder first thing in the morning?”

“S’prolly like a pillow.”

You already wore a smirk when your head rolled toward the door, finding Daryl in the chair working on his crossbow. Did it really take that much upkeep? Or was he just that meticulous? Cradling your belly, you eased onto your side to face him, propping yourself on your elbow with your cheek on your palm.

“Most women would find it creepy to wake up with a man watching them while tinkering with a weapon.”

His hands kept moving but he looked up with a smirk of his own, a dark brow arched. “But not you?”

You shook your head against your hand, smiling gently. “Not me.” He laughed with a breath through his nose and refocused on what he was doing. You had to push yourself up on your arm and shimmy around a bit to get into an actual seated position. Your belly was warm and heavy against your upper thighs, a hand or foot pressing out next to your navel. You poked it and chuckled when it disappeared and popped right back out. “Good morning, baby.”

In your peripheral, you could see Daryl had stilled, felt his eyes on you. He was watching the interaction in silence, as he usually did. Just as you watched his interactions without a word. You started to invite him over, but the baby shifted, the weight on your full bladder doubling and the discomfort growing tenfold.

“Okay, time to pee. Like—yesterday.”

Your partner was already getting to his feet and standing next to the bed before you even maneuvered your way to the edge of the mattress. Daryl leaned forward for you to grab his biceps while his hands found purchase beneath your arms and pulled you the remainder of the way with what appeared to be little to no effort. Using the hold he still had on you, he lifted you straight up and let you find your footing. Your protruding stomach was pressed against him, immediately squashing any hope you had of stealing a kiss.

You looked up at him with a silly pout that instantly disappeared in the face of the tiny one-sided lift of his lips. He’d smiled at you before; hell, he’d even laughed at and with you. But this? This was the most peaceful, truest smile you had ever seen him wear.

And then it was gone, replaced with a scowl that was half hearted at best. “What’s with the face?”

“Nothing.” You brushed your fingers over his left temple at the same time that you felt his hands on either side of your belly. “As sweet as this moment is and as much as I love you, if we don’t get me somewhere to empty my bladder within the next two point three seconds—well, remember when I vomited on your boots?”

“Gross.” Daryl’s lip curled. He knew where you were taking that implication and urged you toward the door with a hand on the small of your back. “Just walk. Or—waddle.” When you snapped your head around to gape at him, he was utterly stoic.

“I swear I’m gonna strap a watermelon to your stomach and we’ll see how sexy you can strut.”

The archer snorted, following you out the door.

You were impressed that you could still move as fast as you were, dodging and ducking, with Carol’s hand tight in one of yours. Your bag was on your shoulder, bouncing against your back, and your other hand braced the swell of your belly. The other woman was watchful, taking out anything that she knew you couldn’t get around. Daryl was at your heels, stabbing walkers that stumbled out from the sides.

“Get ‘er outta here, Carol!” He roared from behind you, sounding further away than you were entirely comfortable with, but he always said run, don’t look back. You had promised to listen to him. It’s how you kept the peace when you were just as stubborn as him. Each of you gave a little.

“I’m trying!” Carol hissed out through gritted teeth, letting go of your hand to push back a walker while she stabbed another. Your knife sheath was unsecured, the weapon easily accessible, but you had promised to only use it when absolutely necessary. The walker that Carol had shoved turned in a stagger that led it straight toward you. In your book, that qualified as necessary. You took it down with ease, unable to admit how good it felt to protect yourself because another took its place. And another. And another. “Go! Get to the truck!”

You had the keys. Daryl always made sure you carried them now. You were perfectly capable of hot-wiring a vehicle but he didn’t want you wasting time. The two of you never discussed what would happen if he made it to the truck and you never did. He would never entertain the thought. Not for a moment.

You gave Carol a look, one that said you knew you had to listen to her, to Daryl but that it was definitely not what you wanted to do. And then you ran, stabbing if needed, dodging when you could. There were so fucking many. You could hear the yells of the others making their way to the van, sending up a silent prayer that they all made it. Your lungs were on fire by the time you saw the truck. It should have been a straight shot but someone—who had yet to come clean because you were all running for your lives—had left the gate open and allowed the dead to fill the driveway.

You caught yourself against the cold metal passenger door, fumbling for the handle before jerking it open. You had lifted one foot into the cab when the door was forced inward, slamming it against the side of your head. With a shout, you pushed back, scrambling to get inside the truck while your ears rang and your vision blurred. How many head injuries were you going to rack up within a year? Hands were grabbing at you, pulling at your bag, your clothes, your hair. Finally, you were on the seat, holding the door tight while two arms and several hands kept you from closing it.

“Fuck!”

Their snarls and moans were so loud that you couldn’t hear anything beyond them and the steady knell in your ears. Hands hit the driver’s side window. More walkers. Daryl wasn’t there. Carol wasn’t there. You’d never be able to get across the seat to start the truck before at least one was in the cab with you, maybe more.

But goddamnit, you had to try.

It was the only option left. You had to save Thumper and that meant saving yourself. It was what Daryl made you promise.

Holding the door with one hand, you leaned and fumbled with the key against the ignition. “Come on!” After a few more tries, a few more agonizing seconds, the key slid home. “Yes!” You let the bag slide from your shoulder and to the floorboard. Turning yourself to put your feet against the door while still holding the handle was some seriously uncomfortable gymnastics shit but you didn’t hold the position long. Pushing against the door with your feet, you both propelled yourself toward the steering wheel and knocked back the walkers that had been blocking you.

The seat was left between where it needed to be for you or Daryl to be able to drive. You could fix it later but you could fit well enough to get the fuck out of there. Turning the key, the engine barely started before you were throwing the shifter into drive. There were thumps that indicated a few had climbed into the bed but you could deal with that later.

Mowing down walker after walker, you nearly sobbed when you saw the taillights of the van. The others had made it. Had everyone made it? Maybe Daryl and Carol were with them. It took only a few moments to get far enough away to stop. You pulled off the road, just behind the van, your passenger door hanging open. The truck rocked, reminding you that there were still the walkers in the bed, but as people filed out of the van, there was no Carol. No Daryl.

And your world came to a screeching halt. “No.” You whispered against the hand you pressed to your mouth. Your other hand gripped the fabric of your coat over your stomach. Rick would never let the walkers get into the truck so you placed your head against the steering wheel and let the tears fall. How would you do this without Daryl? How could you live without him? The man you loved was gone and you knew in your heart of hearts that you needed to go back, face the herd, find him—along with Carol—and put them down. You wouldn’t leave them to walk. You couldn’t. You needed closure. A grave to visit if possible.

When the driver’s side door opened, you sobbed even harder, knowing Rick could never know how to comfort you. Your arms wrapped around your belly, your apologies to little Thumper for never being able to meet their father were choked down by each jerk of your shoulders, each wet breath. Distantly, inwardly, you hoped for a boy that you knew you would name DJ. You hoped he would be the spitting image of Daryl.

“Christ, ya drive like a maniac. Ya hurt? Baby okay?”

You straightened so quickly that your belly bumped the steering wheel and you felt a twinge of pain in your back. Daryl—a little worse for wear—was standing at the door, staring at you like nothing had happened.

“Dar—how—” You sobbed.

“Jumped in the back ‘fore ya could peel outta there. Carol too.” He tilted his head and studied you, his eyes raking over you before stopping on the right side of your head. “Ya alright?” You didn’t even register his arm lifting, but then his calloused fingertips were touching a tender spot just behind your right temple. You hissed but that pain meant nothing. “Hey, talk to me.”

As quickly as you could manage with your rounded middle, you launched yourself at him, falling into his chest with his arms instantly encircling you beneath your own. He walked forward and pushed you back onto the seat for support and held you tight, his cheek against the top of your head.

“I thought you were dead, you absolute fucking asshole!”

A hand pressed against the back of your head, pulling you to rest against his collarbone. “M’right here. M’fine. Carol’s fine.” When he tried to push you back, you held on, digging your fingers into his back, taking fistfuls of his vest. “Want Hershel to look ya over, butcha gotta let go first.”

“No.” You stated bluntly.

He didn’t say anything for the longest time, simply letting you cling to him until your sobs had quieted to whimpers and hiccups, his large hands rubbing your back and cradling your head. “Alright. Least scoot over so I can drive. An’ ya gotta let ‘im take a look atcha when we get to wherever the fuck we’re going.”

With a sniff, you conceded, nodding against his chest. When you moved back across the seat, you kept a hand fisted in the front of his shirt until he climbed in after you. He was talking with Rick but you didn’t hear a word of it. Your forehead was pressed against the round of his shoulder, thigh against his, hands gripping the hem of his vest below the arm he had outstretched to the wheel. Your body rocked with his as he closed the door. He went still for a moment, likely examining how he was going to drive with you clinging to him like a fungus but not a word was said. You had never killed the engine, so he just shifted the gear and drove while you held onto him like a lifeline.

“Ssh. Gotta be qui—fuckin’ christ.”

You had purposefully clenched your walls around him while continuing the steady rocking of your hips. “Ssh,” you pressed a finger to your lips, “gotta be quiet, Daryl.” The scowl he gave you was impressive for a man teetering right on the edge of orgasm. You traced a line through the sheen of sweat on his chest, only stopping when you reached where your belly loomed over him. His fingers were digging into your thighs, moving up to your thickened waist to both guide and urge you. “I’m so close.”

Daryl only grunted, running a hand over your prominent belly and up to your breast, squeezing gently. You were still so sensitive—and sore—but with one flick of his thumb over your wet nipple, you crested, your palm swiftly covering your mouth to muffle your shout. He quickly let go of the soft mound of your chest to grab a thigh, digging blunt nails into your flesh as he followed you up, up, up with a series of heightened breaths, desperately keeping himself quiet as well.

Still panting, Daryl caught you by your bicep and rolled with you to lay you onto your side, slipping out of you in the process. You must have looked as dazed as you felt because he was brushing your sweaty mess of hair out of your face and narrowing his eyes. “Ya okay?”

“Mhm.” With a content sigh, you caught his hand and kissed his palm, smiling when he gave you that look as if he had no idea what to do next. “I love you.” His mouth twitched into a tiny smile, a hum vibrating behind his lips. He turned his hand to hold yours, placing them on the bed between you. He didn’t say it back but he didn’t need to; you knew. You knew about his dissent with emotions but he had said he loved you and you believed him. And that was that. “Let’s get cleaned up and go face the people we probably kept awake.” You chuckled.

He scoffed, throwing the blankets back from the bedroll as he sat up. The room was cold. There were even goosebumps on his skin where the air touched it, and that man was always hot. The house was more of a shack, one large room with the kitchen and a family area, one bedroom, and a bathroom. It was the third temporary safehouse in a week and a half.

Daryl kept the truck close to the door now, as close as he could possibly get it. With you at around 38 weeks, he was taking no chances. Seriously. No chances. You had to pee? He was with you. He had to pee? You were with him. He was practically attached to your hip, but you were finding you didn’t feel crowded at all. You just couldn’t since the night you thought you’d lost him.

The archer stood, pulling up his pants and underwear together, staring at the window as he buckled his belt. God, he was beautiful. The moonlight was bathing him just right. He didn’t look real. Licking your lips, you thought about asking him to get right back under the blankets but that train of thought derailed with the tightening of your abdomen. You made a noise of discomfort, even though this contraction didn’t hurt. It still wasn’t the best feeling in the world.

“What?” Daryl sniffed, looking down at you.

“Stupid fake contractions.” You grimaced, holding out a hand for something with which to clean yourself up. He was already on it, digging through the bag for the bra pads for you anyway. He tossed you one of his shirts, huffing a laugh when you regarded him with bewilderment. “Are we really going to have Carol washing jizz off one of your shirts? Oh my god, or Beth?! No! Give me something else!”

“Ain’t much else to use, Sunshine.” He tossed the bra pads at you but continued rifling through the bag. A box landed next to your hip which you recognized as squares of gauze. If it weren't for the fact that you not only needed to clean up the mess between your legs but the bedroll and blankets as well, you would have just thrown on your underwear and left it.

Daryl was buttoning his shirt and not really paying attention when you wiped through the sticky mess at your core, ready to open another square but then your hand was brought to a sudden halt. Along with your heart.

“Daryl.” You knew there was fear in your voice, you couldn’t have hidden it if you tried. When you looked to him for reassurance, you found your expression mirrored.

“Hey, doc, get the fuck in here!” He bellowed, staring at the thick glob of red, white, and yellow on the white material. Everyone was asleep or had at least bedded down, so it would likely take a moment for anyone to appear in the doorway. Still, he moved fast, pulling the tank top he had tossed to you over your head. It had to be stretched over your belly and a portion of your breasts could be seen from the side but at least you were mostly covered since it was untelling how many would respond to his exclamation.

“Daryl, it’s blood. I’m bleeding. Is this normal? Is something wrong?” You rambled, the hand holding the gauze shaking so fiercely that he was forced to take hold of your wrist to steady it.

“I dunno. Hershel can—he’ll look. S’gonna be okay.” On his knees beside you, he pulled you against him with his free arm, holding you so tightly that you just knew it was so you didn’t shatter. “Hershel!”

“What’s wrong?” Carol was the first in, wrapping her cardigan tightly around her, but Hershel was just behind her, wiping at his eyes.

“What on earth, son?”

“She’s bleedin’, she ain’t s’posed to bleed is she?” Now, you could feel Daryl shaking, even with his voice as steady as it was.

The others were filing into the room but Carol was on top of things, ushering them all right back out while the old man rolled up his sleeves.

“Carol, could you bring a couple more candles, please?” He asked, his tone so light that even you wanted to kick him. It was likely Daryl wanted to throw him out the window. “Let’s see what we have here.” Hershel picked up the one candle you and Daryl had lit and knelt down next to the bedroll, his knees cracking and popping. When he held his palm flat, you curled your lip, wishing gloves were something any of you had thought of on the runs. Daryl guided your hand with his hold on your wrist, keeping the gauze from flipping or spilling onto the man’s palm. “Hmm. Can you tell me what happened before this?”

You and Daryl turned beet red. There was obviously cum on the gauze as well.

“‘Sides the obvious?” The archer murmured.

“Okay, so sex.” Hershel nodded. Daryl blanched. “Anything else?”

You were suddenly blank, the fear gripping your heart so tightly that it was cutting off the circulation to your brain. How could he seem so calm about this?

“She had one’a them fake contractions.” Daryl supplied. If you weren’t a trembling wreck, you would have kissed him.

Carol trotted back into the room with a candle in each hand, kneeling down next to the veterinarian. “Is that—?”

“I think so.”

You were looking back and forth between the two, still unable to find your voice. Once again, Daryl spoke for you. “Gonna make us guess?!” He snapped.

“Easy, Daryl.” Carol admonished, reaching a hand toward him but not touching.

“Don’t fuckin’ easy me! What the fuck is—”

“Calm down.” Hershel demanded in a no nonsense tone. You felt Daryl’s hold around your shoulders tighten. “I believe this is what is called the bloody show. Sometimes it just comes out on its own, but it can be triggered by intercourse. Now I have no way of knowing if the mucus plug has already passed and sadly, our woodland toilet would make it difficult to know anyway. It could actually be present in this. Regardless, that hardly matters.”

“M’gonna need some English an’ real fuckin’ quick, doc.”

“She’s fine, Daryl.” Carol soothed. “You know we wouldn’t say that if she weren’t.” The archer looked back and forth between the two again while you looked up at him. It took a long moment of uncomfortable silence but you felt the tension pressed against you loosen ever so slight. “Let him finish.”

Daryl gave a curt nod.

“This usually means the cervix is thinning and dilating; that the baby is nearly ready to be born. Now the contraction,” he continued while twisting to place the gauze somewhere behind him, “could have been Braxton Hicks, yes. It could have also been the real thing. Was it painful?”

You shook your head.

“They aren’t always in the beginning. According to my reading, some women are lucky enough to have very mild contractions all throughout labor and delivery.” He smiled, trying so hard to settle the unease eating its way through your sternum. “I’d like to examine you. Would you allow that?”

You nodded, feeling Daryl turn his head to see your permission with his own eyes.

“Okay, lie back please. Carol, I’ll need some water and soap please.” The woman was up and out the door before you could blink. “This will be just like the last one. Some mild discomfort but it shouldn’t be anything beyond that. Have you had any contractions since the last one?”

“No.” You sounded so small, even to your own ears.

“Okay, that’s good. We won’t rule anything out yet. Your water hasn’t broken, but I must warn you that it is possible I may accidentally cause that during the exam. If that happens, there’s no reason to be alarmed.”

You were nodding, you felt yourself doing it but it didn’t feel like you were really there at all. The fear had won and you were falling victim to the panic stirring up within you, its tendrils snaking around your lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

Then Daryl released your wrist and slipped his hand into yours.

He was listening carefully to Hershel, watching Carol return, but he was still attentive to what you needed at that moment as well. You felt the pressure in your chest recede, your lungs easily filling while your heartrate slowed. You were still scared. You still trembled, but so did he.

The vet had moved onto the bedroll but before he could do anything, Daryl was reaching down with a quick I got it and moving the blanket. His free hand was warm on your thigh, not removing it until you bent your knees and placed your feet flat. You watched the old man for a moment, suddenly self conscious when he stared impassively before his eyes flitted over to Daryl.

“Oh, uh—sorry for the—yeah.” The archer cleared his throat, his head ducking.

“Carol.” Hershel sighed. “If there are any runs to be made soon, please make sure gloves are mentioned as a necessity.” The other woman giggled behind her hand but quickly wiped it away and nodded. “Okay, here we go.”

It felt exactly as it had the first time, deeply uncomfortable and borderline painful at certain points, though this time you were able to remain still and silent. You chose to watch your partner as he eyed Hershel like a hawk, eyes squinted and focused. You squeezed his hand. Instantly, his attention was on you. His thumb swept back and forth over your knuckles, a grounding movement on which you could center yourself.

“Well.” Hershel had pulled his hand away and was washing up with the soap and water Carol had brought in for him. “You’re about 3cm, my dear. Now it’s anyone’s guess when your water will break or if it will at all. If not, I will likely need to intervene to speed things up but that’s down the road. Take it easy but walk around if you can. Drink lots of water, any extra that we can ration off for you. I’m sure others would be willing, myself included. Let me know of any contractions, even if they aren’t painful. We will need to start timing them. I can get Glenn to loan you the watch I gave to him, Daryl, but please don’t smash it.”

“Wait. That’s it?” You struggled to sit up until Daryl assisted you.

“That’s it. It’s a waiting game now.” Carol picked up what she could and promised to return for the rest, smiling at you before she left the room, likely to fill in the others. “But from the looks of things, your little Thumper will be making his or her debut in the very—and I mean very—near future.”

Both you and Daryl stared at the doorway long after it was empty. When you squeezed his hand, he squeezed back. And in unison, you both took a deep breath and uttered two words.

“Holy shit.”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon angst #pregnant!reader

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walliedarling · 1 year

Text

Vitamin C

You and Wally are the only inhabitants of Home who can eat. Wally, as is in his nature, is curious about anything he's unfamiliar with, including this. You decide to humour him, then humour him a little more... Hesitantly.

Notes: Human Reader AU (you were transported to Home and keep your human body) Hypnosis, Mild Horror Elements, Mild Body Horror, Non-Sxual Body Exploration. (you eat an apple. that’s all :)!)

“You’re not kidding, right? You really want to see?”

You don’t think that Wally would lie to you, or push a joke this far. Still, you fail to see the appeal in this. You hold the apple Wally has given you by its stem, and twirl it around.

“I’m not joking at all,” he responds. His eyes linger on the apple you’re holding, before his gaze drifts back to your face. “Do you mind? I wouldn’t want to make a friend do something they don’t want.”

Wally is the first one who has asked to see you eat right to your face, but you know that it’s yet another surprising aspect of your body to everyone living here. More surprising than the feeling of your skin, the number of your fingers, and the texture of your hair. Some are better at hiding their reactions than others. Some don’t try to hide them at all, like Wally. He’s here to have his curiosity sated, and you can’t deny that you have questions of your own.

“No, no, it’s fine. It doesn’t bother me,” you say, answering honestly. It’s a little weird, nothing more than that. You’re used to that by now. “So, hm… None of you really eat? The food’s just for show?”

Wally is quiet for a moment. He folds his hands over each other, and taps one of his fingers on the top of his hand, the rhythm even.

“The others don’t. They think their favourite foods are pretty, that’s all,” he says. “But I do. I eat. I get hungry. Like you do.”

“Oh, uh, really?” His answer catches you off-guard. You wrack your brain for memories of any instance of seeing Wally eat, yet turn up empty. You continue speaking before he has the chance to respond. “I’ve never seen you do it, though.”

Wally smiles wider, his eyes squinting a little. “Maybe you haven’t been looking well enough,” he says. Whatever that means. You sigh through your nose. Another skill that only you are capable of in this small town.

“I wanna see how you eat too then. You can’t say that and expect me not to be curious,” you tell him. You’re curious now, and it’s nice to have something substantial in common with one of your neighbours. It’s mostly your curiosity speaking . Where does he even leave it? “I-if you don’t mind.” You quickly add. Wally was considerate enough to ask as well, and you have no idea if there are any weird implications behind what you’re stating.

“It’s fine with me,” he says, looking at the apple once more, and back at you. “ You should go first, since I asked first. I’ll show you after, is that alright? Promise.” Wally is the type of person to keep his word, you know that.

“Fine by me. I’m kind of hungry, anyway.” You bring the apple to your mouth. It’s strange to eat with someone gazing so intently at you, his eyes practically boring holes into you. It makes you self-conscious of every single one of your movements. Something as simple as taking a bite no longer feels natural, and your nails press into the apple as you hold it in front of your mouth. You close your eyes.

Well, you might as well get started.

Your teeth sink into the apple’s flesh with a snap. When sap practically gushes out, your eyes shoot open and you let out a noise of surprise. A droplet or two run down your chin. Your face heats up, and Wally’s slow, stilted laughter doesn’t help your embarrassment. With the back of your hand, you wipe your chin clean. You hadn’t expected it to be this juicy. It tastes good, at least. The perfect mixture of sour and sweet, and soft enough to easily chew through. You keep your mouth firmly closed the whole time. After that embarrassing moment, you want to at least refrain from making too much noise.

Wally leans his chin on one of his hands as he stares up at you. The height difference between the two of you is noticeable, even when sitting down. “What a messy way of eating, neighbour. I wasn’t expecting that.”

You groan, and put your hand over your mouth. “It’s not usually like that,” you mumble. “I don’t know what I was doing there. It’s supposed to stay inside, and you just chew it up.” You lower your hand, and smile sheepishly. This is more silly than anything truly embarrassing, honestly. The whole situation is odd, and has you more on edge than you should be.

“Chew?” he repeats, tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah.” You open your mouth and point at your teeth. “That’s what these are for. My teeth. They grind it up, so it doesn’t get stuck anymore.”

“Ohhh,” he draws out the noise. His fingers tap on his cheek. “I was wondering about that. I thought they were filling up empty space, and that’s all.” The only times Wally looks away from your eyes is when he moves to stare at something else. This time, at your teeth. “Can you show me that, too?”

You frown. “What, the chewing?”

Wally simply nods in response. You hesitate.

“It’s… Impolite to chew with your mouth open,” you explain. It’s an unwritten rule that you don’t have any clear memory of, yet know to be true. A bit of knowledge so ingrained into your mind that it has left an impression on you deeper than a memory. (How stupid. You wish you could remember anything more about where you came from.) “And it looks gross. I don’t recommend it.”

“Why would it be impolite? I’m the one asking you to do it. I would like to see.” He blinks up at you multiple times, his smile softening around the edges. “Pretty please?” You laugh, and shrug your shoulders as Wally’s expression returns to its usual. It takes you some effort to wrestle your eyes away from the dark pools of his eyes, and look at the apple you bring to your mouth.

“Okay, whatever. Since you asked so nicely,” you tease lightly. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You take another bite out of the apple, larger than the last. Like Wally asked, you keep your mouth open, and try not to think too hard at what you’re doing. Instead of speeding through it, you chew slowly, to keep the amount of gross, smacking noises to a minimum. Wally hums as he watches. His pupils move up and down with the rising and falling of your teeth, his eyes even more lidded than usual.

“You really do crush it to bits. I see, I see… How different.” he mumbles to himself. If there’s anything he doesn’t seem to be, it’s disgusted. He doesn’t look fazed at all. You’re forced to close your mouth when swallowing, and Wally blinks when you show him it’s all gone. “Where does it go?”

“It goes down,” you respond. You press a finger to the outside of your throat, and trace it down to about where your stomach must be. It’s difficult to think of a way to explain this to him without causing more confusion. “There’s a kind of… Pipe? A hollow part. It leads down to another place, where the food gets burnt up.”

“Burned?” Wally’s eyes widen. “You have a fire inside of your body? Ah, is that why you are always so warm…? That seems very uncomfortable, friend. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! I’m completely fine!” That definitely wasn’t the right way to use, and you smile at your own silliness. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong… I– I don’t really know how to explain it to you. It’ll sound weird no matter what I say.”

Wally remains quiet for a few moments longer, as if waiting to hear if you will offer any further explanation. “That’s alright. I don’t mind. Some things are difficult to explain. I don’t think I could explain to you how I eat, either. Bodies can be a little silly.”

“That’s one way to put it.” you respond, smiling. Without thinking, your tongue darts out of your mouth and licks at your lips, licking up some of the sap you had failed to clean up earlier. It would’ve gone entirely unnoticed by you if Wally hadn’t brought attention to it.

“Your tongue is funny too. I can’t do that, only this.” He sticks his tongue out in a straight line, before pulling it back inside. It’s made out of felt like the rest of him, like your body is made out of flesh. “Yours looks squishy. Can I touch it?”

That’s where you draw the line. You’re fine with him watching you eat, find him asking you to do so with your mouth open a semi-acceptable level of strangeness, but you’re not going to let him pull at your tongue. Your face is burning up. Despite your reservations, you assume that Wally doesn’t think there’s anything strange about asking this. Hadn’t Julie asked you for a couple of strands of your hair to take a closer look at? Hadn’t Frank practically interrogated you on all kinds of subjects when you recently arrived, trying to figure out what kind of creature you were? Still… You don’t really want him to do this.

“Well, I…” You trail off. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, and you can’t look away from Wally’s eyes. When you shake your head, the movement is difficult and sluggish. It feels as if you were underwater, fighting against a membrane limiting your movements. The apple sits in your lap, forgotten. Wally’s eyes are so, so big.

Wally leans in closer, smiling as he looks at you. “You’ll be okay. I’ll be careful.”

This is weird. You don’t want this. However, thinking becomes too much effort as Wally hovers in front of your face. Your mouth hangs open the slightest bit, though whether through subconscious obedience, or because you’re so out of it that your facial muscles simply relaxed, you don’t know. Wally keeps your face still with one hand, using his other hand to coax your mouth open further.

He doesn’t immediately go for your tongue. Instead, he pokes at your front teeth, running his finger along the bottom. For a moment, he lingers on one of your canines, and laughs.

“Ha, ha, ha. I thought they would’ve been sharper.” He runs the pad of his pointer finger over your teeth, until he reaches your molars, and the back of your mouth. A shudder shoots through you, and you lurch backward.

“It’ll hurt if you go deeper.” With his finger still in your mouth, your voice sounds somewhat distorted.

Wally blinks slowly. “...Me, or you?”

It’s difficult to keep a solid train of thought going, and even harder to speak. Your eyes are nearly entirely slid shut. The world around you is hazy. Yet, you know that Wally is looking right at you.

“Both of us.” You can’t quite remember why it would be bad if he pushed down further. All you know is that it’ll be bad.

Wally pulls his hand back. He prods at your tongue instead, which twitches in response to his touch. You let out a noise of discomfort, and he shushes you. “It’s softer than I expected. What’s that on it?” Another finger enters your mouth. He pinches your tongue in between two of his fingers. As he rubs the bottom of it with one of them, more and more spit starts to accumulate in your mouth.

You try to answer his question, though a part of you knows very well it’s no use. What leaves your mouth is incomprehensible gibberish as your tongue wriggles in his grasp. Wally laughs harder than he has during your whole interaction so far.

“Oh, so it’s for speaking, too? How silly.” He retreats from your mouth. You let out a sigh, and the haze in your head clears a tad as he stares at the spit covering his fingers. With his clean hand, he reaches inside his own mouth and mirrors what he earlier did to you. You try not to stare too hard into his mouth. It’s a black expanse that seems to lead nowhere. “Another difference. I can still speak while doing this!” He laughs again, and repeats himself. “Another difference.”

He speaks as unobstructed as if there were nothing in his mouth at all. Your face scrunches up. This feels like missing the last step while going down the stairs, expecting something that isn’t there.

“Now, now,” Wally places both of his hands back in his lap, and smiles at you. “It’s not very nice to look at your friend like that.” Your head feels heavier. Though your eyes hurt, you can’t blink.

“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting that.” Your way of speaking is languid, and you don’t know what you’re saying until you’ve heard the words spoken out loud.

“Apology accepted. I’ll ask you one more question to make it up for that, though!” He winks at you. “Your voice… It comes from somewhere else other than your tongue, right? I still heard noise.”

Your arm moves. Your hand ends up at your throat. Your head leans to the side. “Here. It vibrates.”

Wally doesn’t ask you for permission before touching you this time. His hand, light and soft, rests on your throat. You feel the spit on his fingers rub against your skin. You hum a short tune. Your vocal cords vibrate accordingly.

Wally squeezes your throat tighter, though you can still breathe fine. One of his hands rests on your thigh. He taps two of his fingers on your skin in a rhythmic, repetitive pattern. It matches up perfectly with the beating of your heart.

“What’s that?” he asks, his voice going lower and lower as he speaks. “The pounding.” You swallow, and feel it slide down your throat.

“My heart,” you respond as quietly as he speaks. You’re not sure why, it merely feels like the natural thing to do. “It… Keeps everything moving, I guess. I think. All the parts moving.”

Wally laughs softly. “You have so many moving parts. Your body can do so many different things. So different from ours… Carrying so much inside. No wonder you have to eat.” You’re not sure whether it’s his proximity, or if the speeding up of his fingers on your thigh is what is making your heart race.

“It’s going faster.” The pressure around your throat increases. “What’s it saying? What does it tell you?”

“N… N-nothing.” you have to squeeze the words out of you. “It’s not alive.”

Wally slowly shakes his head. “It’s not another thing. It’s a part of you. It’s alive, and it’s trying to tell you something.” He hums. “Maybe you can’t understand it yet. I couldn’t understand Home at first, either. And you have so much inside you.” He loosens his grip on your throat. You suck in a deep breath, and lean forward.

The mist disappears from your brain. When you look up at him, Wally is smiling at you. “Thanks for the meal!”

You glance down at your lap. The apple that had been resting there the whole time, with only two bites taken out of it, has disappeared.

#wally darling x reader #welcome home x reader #welcome home arg x reader #wally darling #welcome home #welcome home arg #human reader au

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frostironfudge · 1 year

Text

I Need You To Listen - Steve Rogers

Summary: For @the-slumberparty 's Week 3 Something New Challenge, I went with the medium mode - sex pollen but with exes to lovers. This took alot of work I ended up rewriting it entirely, I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 7.4k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, angst, smut, fluff, sex pollen, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, love bites, steve rogers dirty talking (this man), swearing, nipple play, past is in italics, sort of a post civil war rewrite so we're going completely off canon

Main Masterlist || AO3

Fate works in the most hilarious of ways, a stubbed toe over here and a broken heart still being nursed over there.

Tony Stark stands in front of your cell, staring at you through the glass. You don’t hold back your tears from him. Disappointment colours his features.

Broken pieces of trust lay scattered on the floor. The damage by him was done. Leaving you to bear the brunt. Leaving you to walk on the jagged edges of the broken family.

A family that shared jokes, laughed, drank and protected each other.

Won together.

Lost together.

In the past few days died together.

“How are you holding up?” His arc reactor gleams as he takes a seat on the stool. Unzipping the jacket he wears his arm in a sling. You close your eyes, more tears fall at the memory of the fight. An involuntary shiver as the chiling bite of the cold manifests itself from your memory.

The cell isn’t uncomfortable. There is a cot in the corner, the bathroom has a door. The sterile scent of the cleaning agent stopped giving you a headache hours ago.

“Why are you asking me?” You look at him, he should be mad, he should yell, call you a traitor.

“Contrary to what you all think and did to me, I trust you.” He shrugs, left eye twitching, he rolls his shoulder.

“How is the arm?” Your gaze falls to it.

“Seen better days. You know, heart troubles.” He looks at Wanda’s cell, “Kid, Vis is asking about you.”

She looks up at him, “Is Rhodes alright?”

Tony presses his lips into a thin line, shaking his head.

Wanda looks down at her hands.

“He tore us apart. That Baron Zemo. I know you have a lot to learn, alot to grieve. The accords may be dissolved. I’m working on it. At SI we’re preparing the bail documents.” He informs you all.

Sam scoffs, “What about Cap and Barnes?”

“James is in recovery as per my last conversation with T’Challa. Where Cap and Nat are I do not know nor does he.” Tony gazes back at you.

“I trusted him.” Is all you can say to him. You stare at your palms, you couldn’t get the blood off.

“I know, I did too.”

“Tony.” Your lips quiver another sob at the heartbreak Steve left you with to deal. All alone.

Bucky fights Tony, you don’t want to see your best friend hurt. The man who took you under his wing when you joined in, your steps halted by the blonde haired man who harbours your heart.

“Sign the accords.” Steve orders, you gape at him.

“Steve, do you fucking realise? We’re here because I didn’t sign them because I am siding with you?” You almost yell. The tempreture drops as the snow cascades into the facility from the now broken windows.

Bucky lands on the floor, a pained groan, his arm blasted off. He kneels, eyes widened at the implication. At the man he hurt irreparablely being the one to take away one of the curses HYDRA bestowed upon him.

“Shit!” Your eyes move to Tony, slowly he rises from the floor. The suit broken in several places.

“Y/N, you need to listen. You cannot go rogue with me.”

“Steve,” You push his arm away you had to intervene.

“It was good while it lasted.” He says and everything turns to static.

“Wh-what?”

“Look, I, we had a good run but I know your stance on the accords you’re just with me for the sole reason we’re together.” Steve says to you.

“Are you serious right now?” Anger courses through you, your grip on your pistol tightens.

“It's not even the accords. I, I didn’t think we would make it beyond this month. Look, I have to think about Bucky. Its all of this, it doesn’t, priorities.” He lunges over to defend Bucky leaving you defenceless. Your ears ringing, you watch as they fight, you can’t hear any of the clangs the groans.

You stand there dumbfounded.

As Steve throws Tony down the beam reflects off of his shield and hits you on the shoulder you’re thrown against the wall. Bucky meets your eyes, at least he seems apologetic.

Tony tries to get up to help you, “Rogers, she’s hurt—,” The shield slams against the arc reactor.

“I don’t care.” He says so easily.

You pant as the pain increases, both the burn and sting of his words as well as the physical injuries manifesting across you.

Steve helps Bucky up, you try to push yourself to your knees, crawling to Tony while keeping your arm close to your body.

Bucky looks back at you, his eyes convey his remorse. Tony breathes hard, you blink back tears at the glance Steve doesn’t spare towards you.

Eight months down the drain.

The morning kisses, cuddles, the random sketches of you he left as gifts all lose their importance. Remembrance only causes pain.

“Mr. Stark, you need to leave.”

Tony sighs, “I’ll visit, or I’ll have you guys out before that. Work some arrangement.”

“I’m so sorry, Tony.” You look at his arm and back at his face.

He gives you one of those sad smiles of his, the one where he pretends it's just another day, another common thing.

“Aren’t you foolish to trust us again?” Sam questions him as Tony passes by his cell.

“I just have to do my job. It’s the people who have to trust us.” Tony turns to face Sam.

“So the people trust the missile maker millionaire Stark?” Sam knows the jab is stinging, Tony hated

that about the company’s past.

The rift was ever present, your friend looks towards you.

“Y/N, let him know not to insult me, I’m a billionaire.” He grabs his glasses and moves away.

You resist the urge to laugh, everyone would resort to their coping mechanisms. You’d have to bide your time here. Usually getting black out drunk was how you solved your own problems.

True to his word Tony has you all released on various conditions. You, Scott and Wanda are released together.

When you reach the tower it isn’t surprising that there was a break in, you’d scoff that Steve didn’t come to break you out but he made his decision in Siberia.

The faint scent of his cologne lingers in your room. Hints of Patchouli and Bergamot. You stare at the box on your bed.

Opening it reveals a burner phone.

“I got a burner too, one number loaded upon it.” Tony stands at the door holding a glass of scotch for himself and your favourite Vodka in a bottle.

“Surprised he bothered.” You open the phone and it chimes an unread text upon it.

“I didn’t get that.” He observes, you take the bottle from him.

Opening the text.

SGR: I want to talk to you. Please let me explain.

You laugh bitterly, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip. At least you can blame these tears on the alcohol.

“Are you going to? Call him I mean.” Tony settles on your desk chair.

“Nope.” You set your bottle down after three more sips, grabbing the edges of the opened flip phone you press. The phone snaps from its hinges and you place it back down in the box, “Did you track it?”

“Fake return address.” He twirls the ice in his drink.

The two of you bask in the silence. Drinking in tandem and out of sync.

“Were you going to sign the Accords?” You ask after a while staring at the setting sun.

“Nope,” He reaches for your bottle, pouring himself a peg, “I was having them redrafted. Steve only had to agree for them to shut up. My draft would have gotten approved.”

“So confident.” You raise your brows.

“Comes with the job title.” He rolls his eyes.

“Do you think anyone will trust anyone?” You tap the bottle neck.

Steve’s laughter reverberates against your chest. He reaches up to cup your face.

“Why is it so amusing?” You ask, not meeting his eyes.

“Because it is, Poppet. I wouldn’t break your heart.” He assures yet again.

You gnaw at your bottom lip trust was difficult to come by for you.

“You want to know why?” He whispers, making you meet his gaze. His nose brushing against your own.

“Because I have your heart and it's what is keeping me alive.”

You lean closer, pressing your lips to his, Steve kisses you back. Hands pulling you closer. You feel his smile between the kisses and you begin to retract knowing what he was upto but it’s too late.

Steve tickles your sides and laughter blubbers from your chest. He grins, cheeks flushed as you press against him. The thin sheet hides nothing from the way you feel.

“I love you.” He says, you stroke his cheek with your thumb.

“I loved him with everything in me.” You blubber out, tears falling down.

Tony sits next to you, your head rests on his good shoulder, “I know you did. It's a hard road ahead, kid. Not an undoable one.”

“I hate him.” You declare, “I hate him, he just, how could he be so selfish?”

“Sometimes we all are, he is in the wrong. He didn’t exactly reciprocate the trust.” Tony sighs, you look up at him.

“I’m sorry about your parents.” You watch him give you those sad smiles, he flexes and extends the fingers of his left hand.

“He could have told me, I trusted him enough that he could.” He whispers then shakes his head.

“Steve Rogers is an asshole.” You declare raising your bottle to his assholery. Then you giggle.

“You just thought of the word assholery didn’t you?” Tony giggles as well.

Both of you burst out laughing.

“Hey Tone?” You ask mid laughter.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for being here, also can I get a box?”

“Sure.” He stands, FRIDAY has the box led by one of his tinkered bots to the room.

“I need to check on Rhodey.” He says, “I’m a call away okay?”

You nod, he leaves. The box stays on your bed and then you stare at the sketches hung around your room. With a delicateness that Steve didn’t spare towards you, you pack up the papers. Sealing the box with plastic wrap and head down to the safety deposit lockers.

Your steps are misjudged and you drop your box of trinkets several times. The stupid ceramic mug from that couples pottery class probably shattered.

You giggle thinking how it resembles your heart.

Locking the box leaves you in silence. Your room is void of all things Steve except the one shirt he gave you on your first mission together where the two of you fell into the muddled waters that left the two of you in need to change out of clothes.

The shirt smells like him, you curl up with it on your pillow.

“This is the last time you gave your heart away.” You tell yourself.

“This is the last time you cry over him.” You promise yourself.

Eight months pass and you all sit in the conference room. The accords are abolished. They reinstate Natasha, Sharon, James, Sam and him. Tony holds his flip phone. Resorting to texting rather than speaking to him.

A reply comes when you all are back at the tower. They’d be there tomorrow. Rooms are prepared with favourite foods stocked up. You had requested your room be shifted away to another level.

Heart ache didn’t manifest beyond those few nights.

Your walls that Steve Rogers broke down were built back stronger. Impenetrable. His shirt was placed in his room by you a month into getting over him.

You don’t pass by the floor, you’re a level above. Thankfully the elevators divide the levels they service and you won’t ever be on the same floor as him.

The night is restless despite your indifference to all of them. They were the family you chose and yet you were abandoned by them.

Dreams are but a loop of memories you have buried.

After your morning laps you head to Tony’s lab.

“They will be dropping in at SHIELD first. Fury wants to discuss some things and then they come back here.” He stifles a yawn.

“You need caffeine my friend.” You hold up the coffees, “Luckily I come bearing gifts.”

“I love you.” He whispers gingerly while taking the cup.

“Are you talking to the coffee or me?” You ask, taking a sip of your own.

“I can love both.” He defends, whispering to the coffee he loves it more.

You throw one of his discarded paper balls on him. It doesn’t phase him.

“Are you sure you want to come along?” He asks for the umpteenth time on the drive to SHIELD.

“Tony, I will leave you behind if you ask me again.” You glare at him.

“I think you will be fine.” Vision assures a gentle smile on his face and he laces his fingers with Wanda. She smiles at him, her own mind filled with thoughts.

“See we’ll be okay.” You declare.

Minutes later you’re seated on one side of the conference room. Tony on the first seat, you on the second. Vision opts to stand behind Wanda as she sits.

Fury sits at the head of the table. The door opens and Natasha, Sam and Steve step into the room. A thick silence settles over. You look at each of them and then back at Fury.

Natasha’s hair is shorter and blond, Sam seems to have gotten leaner. Steve was sporting a beard and longer hair.

You wondered if the post break up look was something you should have gone for, maybe dyed your hair blue.

“Well, as you know you all have been reinstated. The Avengers operate without any Accords binding them but they must be mindful of their poweress and the possible damage they may cause. A country has full discretion to forbid the Avengers from subduing threats that may lead them there and you must honour that no matter the cost.” Fury gazes at you all.

“What if they need help?” Steve questions, you scoff.

Cold blues flash to you. You roll your eyes.

“The dissolution of the Accords was done keeping this one rule in mind. I suggest you make peace with it. You will not be able to save everyone from damage and hurt, it is better than causing it.” Tony adds.

Steve’s jaw tightens. He nods.

“Now since this is done and dusted. Official missions may resume.” Fury places down a manila folder.

“Official?” Sam questions, raising a brow.

“Agent Y/L/N here was liasoning with us for recon purposes. Kept under wraps. We have identified HYRA bases. Once the plans are sanctioned you all will be back on duty.” Nick sighs, “I suggest you all train together to get a sense of your skill sets and moves again.”

No one nods.

Nick shakes his head leaving the room.

“Your old rooms have been cleaned at the tower. Access is via FRIDAY, food is stocked. Layout’s almost the same. Few changes here and there. Oh and there are new succulents in the living room.” Tony fiddles with the folder.

“We can conduct a meeting about these missions tonight or tomorrow. You all settle in, there is a car outside and your vehicles are in pristine condition at the garage.” He informs them further.

“No welcome back party?” Nat muses, you laugh.

“I drank all the liquor so unfortunately no parties.” You deadpan.

Nat and Sam stare at you.

“It has been a difficult few months. I understand everyone will take time to return to a semblance of previous normalcy.” Vision’s words are both reassuring but also farfetched.

Wanda grasps his hand and gives it a squeeze.

Steve’s brows furrow in worry. He observes you trying to find any hints but you give him none. You learned to school yourself. An agent well versed in hiding her intent, emotions and aim. Your skillset is what brought you to the team and it is what you have. It's what you could trust.

Sam nods, “Well best we head back.”

“Yes we could use some sleep.” Natasha says, you flash her a smile.

“Yep, well I have a few things to discuss with Fury.” You push away from the table first. Tony follows your lead.

“Should you not include us in the conversation?” Steve says in his authoritative baritone.

“Unfortunately, Captain, it isn’t an Avengers matter but a personal one. Which you aren’t entitled to know.” You spit back.

His mouth opens again to speak.

Tony beats him to it, “Where’s our Manchurian candidate?”

“Bucky’s in the UK for a bit, after Wakanda we were there for a while. He stayed back for personal reasons.” Steve explains and you slip out.

Steve stares at your room door, knocking on it yet again. Two weeks since his return and you had avoided him in every capacity.

He had worked up the courage to knock on your door today. But there was no response as it was over the past fifteen minutes. He requests FRIDAY to check in and all the AI says is that you’re fine.

You had gotten back from a mission yesterday morning. You had to have been resting.

“Why won’t she open her door then?” He mutters, pressing his forehead to your door, “Poppet, I just want to speak to you. Please.”

“Captain.” Vision greets floating out of Wanda’s room.

“Vision.” He acknowledges.

“Why are you knocking on an empty room’s door?” Vision tilts his head.

Steve blinks at him, “This is Y/N’s room.” he states as if obvious.

“It isn’t, she switched rooms about three months ago.” Vision says

Before Steve can ask anything further, Wanda opens her door, “Vis.” She gestures with her hand for him to return.

“Wanda.” He walks to her this time.

“FRIDAY, where is Y/N’s new room?” Steve questions walking to the elevators.

“She’s on the twenty-fifth floor.” The AI responds, he switches to the other elevator.

“Captain, you will have to go to the ground floor to switch elevators.” FRIDAY informs him.

Steve sighs moving back in front of the original elevator. It stops at every single floor; he almost misses the elevator as you’re getting on, luckily a Stark Industries employee holds the door for him.

You bite the inside of your cheek. Looking away.

“I want to talk.” He says over the all too silent but crowded elevator.

Everyone looks at him except you. They follow his gaze to you.

“I don’t.” You answer while staring at the numbers.

“Poppet.” He says and you shoot him a glare before looking away again.

People trickle in and out.

Steve’s gaze is trained upon you. He nods politely at those greeting him but his gaze nerver strays from you.

You look into your phone pulling up a forgotten game loaded into the device. Anything. Any stupid thing to avoid him.

Finally it's just the two of you.

The automated air freshener hisses filling the space with the scent of lavender.

“Poppet I just want to explain—,” Steve steps closer, his hand outstretched.

“No. I don’t fucking want to hear a word.” You seethe, you move forward pressing the button to your floor if it makes you reach quicker.

“Poppet.” He grabs your hand, turning you towards him.

“Y/N. Use my damn name.” You spit out, finally meeting his eyes.

There is a tick in his jaw, he nods, “Y/N. Just five minutes. I know I don’t deserve it—,”

“You don’t deserve to even ask for a minute of my time. You never saw us work beyond that month correct? Well guess what? We don’t.” You push at his chest, he doesn’t budge.

“I lied. I said those things so you wouldn’t follow. I could not have you living rogue with me.” Steve admits, you stare at him.

“You lied?” You repeat.

“I didn’t want to break things off but that was the only way I could ensure you wouldn’t follow behind me. It was dangerous. Poppet—Y/N,” he corrects, “I told you your heart kept me alive, I love you—,”

Steve’s head snaps to the side, cheek turning red at the impact of your slap. You breathe hard, eyes tearing up.

“That was not for you to fucking decide, you do not get to come back here and make your sorry excuses for being a horrible human being. Betraying my trust. Leaving me and your friend injured. You picked Bucky over us. You picked Bucky over me and I understand I would pick him too if I were you. But I would not fucking lie or leave my girlfriend and best friend behind injured horribly. You’re welcome back to the compound Steve. Even back to your glorious Captain America title. However,”

The doors open to your floor, you step out.

“I don’t know how you say you’re alive because I took my fucking heart back from your undeserving self. I don’t care if you lied, I don’t care if it was all fun and games. I don't care about you. I don’t want to care about you. You are a teammate because I am forced to consider you one. I don’t need to listen to you to provide you closure or a second chance. You fucking liar!”

“Poppet,” Steve reaches for you again, you take off running to your door.

“FRIDAY, deny access. Override only with Tony.” You order, the locks on your doors bolt and Steve keeps knocking and pleading.

He sinks to his knees outside your door apologising over and over.

Natasha is pinned to the floor by Wanda as the latter grins triumphantly. Natasha praises her and they break apart. You take Wanda’s place and Sam takes Natasha’s place.

Mixed training was now mandatory.

You had almost burned Nick Fury with your glare. Steve hadn’t shown up to any, in fact he hardly was in the same room as you.

Sam goes full offence, you block the blows. Defending yourself you had worked hard over the time away from official duties.

Minutes pass by, neither of you yields. Panting you stare at Sam waiting for an opening to take him down.

“Come on, that's all you got, little spy?” Sam teases, you laugh.

“You wish birdy.” You stick your tongue out childishly. Wanda and Nat laugh.

“Come on Wilson.” Nat prompts, “We’re bored here.”

“Alright,” Sam moves, pulling a fake. You catch it a moment too late, as he’s about to tackle you to the ground you turn. Tugging on his arm as Sam’s eyes widen.

The momentum thrown off both of you land on your sides, recovering swiftly he’s pinned to the ground by you.

You grin at him.

“How's that birdy?” You laugh at his irritation. Sam rolls his eyes.

“Y/N.”

Everyone’s heads snap to the door, Steve and Tony stand there.

You help Sam up. Sam keeps an arm around your shoulder. Steve’s eyes linger and his fists clench.

Sam takes his arm away.

You roll your eyes, they land on Tony as he bites his cheek, oh this can’t be good you deem.

“Wheels up in an hour for Rogers and you.” He delivers the news.

“Sam, Nat, Vis and Wanda are needed to take on a bigger base with Tony.” Steve looks at you, “Fury’s orders before you try to whine your way out if it.”

You glare at him, “Alright.”

An hour later you’re on the jet with Steve. He doesn’t talk. The last conversation between the two of you was enough.

“We won’t be splitting up.” Steve informs you. You nod, studying the layout.

You frown in recognition.

“I was here on recon. This is supposed to be a dead base.” You look up at him.

“Fury said they detected activity.” He looks back ahead.

“Hopefully it's just random people looking for shelter.” You look back at the plans.

Steve hums, observing you again. Wishing it would be like before where the two of you would be holding hands.

Cobwebs litter the walls, plaster cracked. The scent of something decaying permeates through the space.

Walking into the HYDRA base is carefully crafted, Steve leads with his shield. You keep a double check on the back trail. Something was not sitting right with you.

The hallway diverges, you stand next to Steve, “Left side first then we can go right.” You whisper.

He nods, “Stay close, I don’t know why something feels wrong.”

You don’t verbalise your own feelings, following in his footsteps.

The hallway leads to an abandoned lab, the computers torn down and broken apart. Steve relaxes his defensive stance looking around the area.

You move carefully through the edge of the room, “Something should be of value here.”

“I don’t think there is anything.” Steve declares, “Let's clear the other pathway.”

You give another once over and then follow him back down the path.

Your boot catches on the uneven flooring, “Shit!” You whisper yell as you fall forward.

Steve turns, breaking your fall. You land against his chest and his arm encircles your waist. For a moment that echoes a broken promise of eternity he holds you close to him.

Steve sneaks a moment he lost over a stupid decision. He takes what crumbs he’s given by fate.

Your palm is against his chest, your head tucked against the crook of his neck.

Why can't you move away?

Why do you want more of him?

Why do you miss him?

He hurt you.

He lied.

He hurt you.

You break the eternity Steve was living as you pull away, silence stretches between the two of you as you head down the other hallway.

It's empty yet again, you shake your head at the waste of time. Steve steps closer to the vials on the shelf. The liquid in them gleams a certain way.

You hear a pneumatic hiss from your left. You turn quietly making your way to the wall.

Steve studies the shelf again. There was no dust on it. No pattern on it. These were fresh vials. Then his eyes widened, “Y/N don’t!”

You turn to face him when the hiss is louder and the slits of the vent open. A dust like substance pours over floating around you.

A coughing fit grips you, you place your hand against the wall to steady yourself the gun falls as you clutch your chest wheezing.

Steve pads over to you, trying to rub your back to ease the coughing fit. He asks FRIDAY to scan the micro dust to see if it is anything dangerous.

The coughing fit subsides over a few minutes, your breathing shallow. You look up at Steve blinking away the tears. He cups your cheek.

“Are you okay? Do you feel anything?” He questions, gaze running over every aspect of you. Glove clad large palms moving over your form. You nod, but then your stomach cramps.

“What is it?” Steve takes not of your discomfort.

“I, it's my stomach—,” Your words are cut off by a whimper as the cramp gains severity. You lean more against the wall as the cramp travels across.

Steve rummages through his mind to know what this substance could be, he had been to HYDRA bases before. He spoke to Bucky all about them, their experiments which he knew.

He watches as your skin flushes, you squirm in his grasp. He steps closer to support you.

“Poppet?” Steve makes you look up at him, your eyes have a dazed look almost glazed over. You feel his warmth through your tactical suit. His thigh between your legs and the ache the needy ache is all you know and you need to get rid of it.

“Please,” You plead to him gazing at his slightly blurred blue eyes, your hips moving out of their own accord against his thigh you moan as your core makes contact with him.

Steve pushes your hips away, “Poppet what—,”

“Steve, it hurts so badly. Please,” You cry out wiggling against his hold. His fingers dig into your hips to keep you in place.

Your palms cover his, you look up at him.

You lean up, he shifts back. You use the distraction to guide his palm to grind down on it. Your choked moan has his cock harden further. He can’t help but watch as you use him.

Logic hits him then when he feels just how wet you’ve gotten, before he can pull away there is a prick in the side of his neck. You begin to blur from his view.

“Poppet, something is wrong.”

You look up at him, why did his words sound garbled?

Why was he falling to his knees?

You look behind him, people standing and watching.

The need clouding your mind clears in the slightest, “Steve,” you kneel next to him.

“It’s okay,” he assures you, reaching for the shield.

The cramp hits you again harder; you cry out in pain, doubling over and sinking against the wall to curl up.

“FRIDAY, dis-distress signal.” Steve orders as his vision begins to blacken, he reaches for you with the last of his strength covering your curled up form with his body.

Steve keeps his eyes closed.

Enhanced hearing picking up the dripping pipes from the left. To his right he hears your pained whimpers.

How long was he out?

Chains bind his arms above him, the uneven concrete digs into his knees and shins. He would search for the shield in the aftermath.

He counts four people by their rhythmic footfall. They were in the same facility. It couldn’t have been easy to move them.

Lolling his head to right he watches you through hooded eyes, chained like him kept on your knees but you’re struggling. Squirming on the ground trying to find respite and crying out of frustration.

“Sex pollen.” Bucky spoke, with a shake of his head in disgust.

“Sex pollen?” Steve repeated as if to confirm.

Bucky gives him a look, Steve’s eyebrows shot up higher.

“What does that do? Did they use it on you?” Steve questioned his best friend.

Bucky shook his head, “It basically sets the libido up to the maximum, forces the person in contact to orgasm but basically they need to have sex, self pleasure seldom works. The intensity is higher to combat the inevitable effect.”

A dark expression crossed Bucky’s features, he sighed sadly. Looking out at the view from his home in Wakanda. The house, though borrowed, was Bucky’s own.

Steve had placed a few sketches of Brooklyn around. The place he used to consider home now changed. Steve stares at the more recent sketch of his home city.

Two men out of time in a place decades ahead of the world outside.

“How long?” Steve clutches his charcoal tighter as he forms the curve of soft lips on the paper. A stray tendril of hair.

Bucky looks down at the half done sketch of your face. His heart aches for Steve and you.

“Two hours, it gets progressively maddening. At first one can try to speak or answer what is asked. After that it is variable how long it takes for the need to become the sole focus. If nothing is done in two hours then its too far gone and well...”

He had limited time, he could not gamble any further. Steve opens his eyes, tugging at the restraints to catch the attention of the captors.

You hear the rattling, you look up at Steve another pang through your core.

“Steve—,”

“Ah, Captain. Welcome to the land of the waking, you were out for just under an hour. Now who is this sweet little needy thing with you?” The man asks, stepping closer to you.

Steve growls, “Stay away from her.” he warns.

The man raises his hands in defence, “She’s a little needy Captain,” he walks back toward Steve away from you, “Why so possessive?”

Steve bites his tongue, “She’s mine.” he grits out.

“I see and why is she yours?”

He can’t tell them, they would exploit you but his will is crumbling swiftly and his mind is compelling him to speak, “I love her.”

“Hm, it seems she needs you, Captain.” The man grins, walking back to you. His palm touches your scalp as he pulls your hair back. You want to recoil but the touch is soothing some of the ache. You look at Steve, pleading.

“I could fill in.” He says suggestively.

You try to shuffle away but the grip on your hair tightens.

“Don’t you fucking dare touch her!” Steve bellows as his thumb approaches your lips, “What the fuck do you want?” He pulls against the restraints, almost snarling.

“I want to know where my Soldat is, tell me.” The man demands, leaving you. The words register as does the scent of cigarettes you recoil. You feel your mind working again, clearing the need to be fucked.

“Steve don’t,” you warn him, he couldn’t sell out Bucky whatever this was, it wasn't worth ruining his life again, “I’ll deal with this…” you bite back the pained whimper.

Steve stares at you, eyes wide and with an emotion you can’t place.

“Oh but you know what is wrong with her don’t you Captain?” The man demands and you look to Steve, “Tell her the truth that burns your veins, Captain.”

Steve wants to lie, wants to cushion you, “Truth serum?” He looks at the man who nods.

“Brilliant isn’t it? You’re compelled to tell me whether or not she chooses to be saved. You’re on a time limit.” The man taps his watch.

“It’s a sex pollen.” Steve informs you, you stare at him.

“That, that's why I need?” Your insides churn and your clit pulses as you watch Steve lick his dry lips before he continues to speak. The small insignificant action has your body wanting to be devoured.

“Yes, and if you don’t get release, it’s fatal.”

Silence stretches on the footfall of the three others has stopped, they watch the show play out. The consequences and the outcomes weighed.

“Fight it, don’t tell them. It's not worth it.” You whisper.

“Poppet you cannot say that. I am not risking your life!” Steve yells, pulling at the restraints again.

“You can’t have him at risk again!”

“I won’t let you die!”

“You already left me for the dead once! You chose him once. Just fucking do it again!” You seethe, your skin clammy and you just want this suit gone. The material irritates you.

Steve gapes at you, “I, I didn’t—,”

“Save it.”

“As much as I enjoy a lover’s quarrel. Where is Soldat?” The man interrupts.

“Gone.” Steve answers, “Poppet, please,”

“Don’t fucking tell them!” You demand, “Consider it my last wish! Fight the damn truth serum.”

“You are not dying.” Steve grits out.

“Where is he, where is Bucky Barnes?” The man lands a punch to Steve’s face. His hair falls forward, slowly Steve looks up at the man. Rage colouring all his features.

“I will let you help her. Just tell me where Bucky is, Captain.” The man promises. Steve considers, you begin to yell no at him.

“He’s in the United Kingdom.”

“Are you insane?!” You slump to the ground, “Do you have any fucking idea what have you done?”

The man walks over and slaps you, “Shut the fuck up! You want a cock so fucking bad you fucking bitch in heat, I’ll give you one!”

Steve snarls, wrapping the chain around his own palm and tugging hard until it breaks away from the wall. The man turns, gun cocked and ready, it's grabbed out of his hand by Steve. He looks at the man dead in his eyes before delivering the fatal shot.

You look up at Steve, as the man drops to the floor between the two of you.

Steve watches the other three scramble about, he quickly fires the shots, he keeps one person alive.

He grabs the other chain, yanking it with all his strength. It gives way.

“Where is the shield?” He walks over to the man on the ground, pleading in pain.

A shaking hand rises, pointing to the vault.

“Access code?” Steve picks him up and takes him to the keypad.

The man enters it crying when Steve presses on the open wound, “Don’t fucking pull any stunts.”

You watch as the doors part and the shield stays there as a momento.

You blink when everything goes out of focus. You blink again. Heat spreads over your body goosebumps raise across.

Your thighs clench and you squirm trying to get some friction to release the ache. Tugging at the restraints is maddening. They don’t relent when you try to manoeuvre but no position provides any respite and you sob out as the frustration grows.

“Poppet.” A warm voice calls out, you whimper. The hold on your right arm loosens and your hand reaches for the tactical suit. You had to get it off. You needed to get it off.

You blink and watch as Steve’s hand stops yours, you push at him.

“Please,” you whimper as another cramp takes over.

“You smell so sweet baby.” He groans, the sound urges you on, you guide his hand to where you need him.

His warm palm cups you the fabric of your suit soaked Steve hears your sigh of relief.

“Going to take care of you Poppet, but you need to hold on for me okay?” Steve assures, breaking out your left arm as well.

“Steve please,” you beg again, your mind screaming at your body, your hips move making you grind onto his palm. Your smaller palm wrapped around his wrist not letting him pull away.

“Fuck,” He groans, pushing you against the corner and undoing your suit’s zipper, you don’t face him palms braced against the wall. Steve’s warm calloused palm is as though cold respite to your heated skin.

He doesn’t waste time, fingers running over your folds, palm pressing against your clit. Your head tilts back resting against his shoulder, mouth parted moans leaving you.

Steve presses his fingers into you, two thick digits and your walls clench around him he almost wishes he’d fuck you right there.

“Fuck this pussy remembers who she belongs to doesn’t she?” Fingers curve finding the spot he very well could have placed. Stars line your vision as he hits the spot over and over, fingers curving.

“Right there Steve!” You cry out your ass rocking against him, pressing onto his cock. He keeps his thrusts hard and fast, palm rubbing your clit in the most delicious of ways. His grunts fill your senses.

Pleasure thrums from his touch to your body, your back arching as his fingers drive deeper and deeper into you. Your walls are gripping them back in not wanting him to stop.

“I know sweet Poppet. I know what makes her weep for me. I’m going to taste you. But first you’re going to make a mess on my hand alright?” He instructs filthy words offset by the sweet kisses placed against your forehead and cheek.

His other hand cups your breast playing with your nipple. Your hands fall from the wall, gripping onto his nails leaving indents on his skin. Steve watches your chest constrict, your voice choke off, eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashes into you.

His fingers keep moving, riding your orgasm out, your walls quivering around him the sensitivity of your clit as it pulses. Some of the haze clears but the need just returns tenfold.

“Steve, please, I can’t, can’t wait—,”

His lips are on yours, cutting you off, your suit pushed down further without breaking away from the kiss.

The shield clatters to the floor, his suit haphazardly discarded. Steve’s hands explore your body, remembering the planes he explored before. The love he whispered across your skin. Marking you with his touch, his lips, his seed.

“Wanna see you,” You want to turn, he grabs your hands pinning them to the wall.

“No one gets to see you this way but me.” He growls, you feel his hard cock move between your thighs. His larger body covers yours, shielding you, watching over you.

When your thighs clench around him, Steve hisses, “Going to fill you up, sweet girl.” he coos.

Inch by inch Steve’s length stretches you, your back arches. The relief the stretch of his cock brings is unlike anything else you’ve felt before.

“You can take it, made for my cock aren't you?” He stills inside you, throbbing as your walls clench around him. He moans biting down on your shoulder the feel of you decadent, unable to be given justice by his mind.

“Heaven. Pussy feels so good, baby. Missed you so much.” He grunts, you push back against him needing him to move, “hands around my neck.” He orders, leaving your hands.

You wrap them around him, holding onto his now longer hair, soft between your fingers. Your mind remains you of the soft moments when he laid in your lap and your fingers combed through these locks.

Steve pulls you out of your thoughts with the snap of his hips. His palms gripping your waist anchoring you to him. Skin slapping against skin, his cock feels so good you could sob, the need turns into embers, your thirst being quenched.

Each delicious, deep stroke moves you towards sweet bliss. You hear your name in an echo of his name. Steve watches the wall you mould against him, as countless times before. Your heart may have put up walls but your body left no space.

The way he sees the telltale signs of your orgasm he brings his right hand towards your apex, timing his rough circles on your clit to his thrusts. The sensations blooming become too much, your body alit with flames of pleasure, Steve moans as your walls begin to milk him just as your orgasm shatters through you.

He keeps his thrusts going, pumping into you. The arousal that spills onto your thighs, the mix of you and him.

“One more.” He demands, fingers coated with the mix of the two of you, his marked fingers brought back to your clit, you cry out in ecstasy.

The blissful haze clears, everything returning to you. The mission, the power, you can’t, you can’t, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve–,

“Right here my sweet poppet, you will give me one more. You know I'm greedy.” He reasons, only increasing his pace, you thrash in his hold. Lips find the sweet spot of your neck.

It’s your undoing, you cum around him yet again. Crying out his name, tugging on his hair. Aftershocks moving through you. He holds you up, pressing kisses to your forehead, temple, cheek, jaw and shoulders.

Grounding you, palms moving over you after he brings his coated fingers to taste them. Your head lols against his shoulder, you reach for his jaw, placing a soft kiss. Steve smiles at the familiar gesture.

Helping you get dressed he follows as well. You’re lifted into his arms and carried to the quinjet.

As it had turned out Bucky wasn’t in UK it was a precautionary measure they came up with to secure Bucky from any life threatening attempts. The guilt you had harboured lessened.

Steve had stayed away from you, once Tony and Bruce cleared you of any remnant pollen he took his leave. Avoiding you as he had after the elevator confrontation. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

As much as you felt as if you were an emotional fool for considering the thought of wanting to approach him, you missed him. Terribly.

You knew your walls were useless against the one man who you had given your jagged heart to, the blue eyes you had drowned yourself in multiple times. Whether it was when he found your gaze across the room or when you were pressed against him.

Your feet carried you after three days to his door. Your hand shook when you knocked. Thoughts swirling through your mind insecurities gaining fleet.

The door opens, Steve’s eyes widen then his brows furrowed with worry, then fall to the still fading love bite that he placed on your collarbone. You shift your weight to either side. Hands fiddling with the hem of your top.

You look down at your feet, Steve’s palm cups your cheek.

Your eyes meet their old home of blue.

“I want to listen.” You manage to say, his pink lips stretch into a familiar smile.

He steps to the side inviting you further into his room.

-x-x-x-x-

3K notes · View notes

apomaro-mellow · 11 months

Text

Steve’s parents are in a cult and sacrifice him for their own gains. Yall can thank @whoevenknowsdude for giving me the motivation not to give up on this version.

The party was going on as usual. Steve had been to many of them before. The earliest he remembered was being five and led around by his mother’s hand, then eventually being handed off to a nanny for the rest of the evening. It was always some sort of parade. As a young child, he was the cute baby version of his father. Something for the women to coo at.

Around 11 he was a growing lad who was expected to cause a little trouble. Then at 14 he was a young man with a promising future.

Growing up, there was one part he was always dreading. The point where people tried to set him up with their daughters, or granddaughters, or nieces. He heard pieces of such transactions all the time.

‘Oh you must meet my daughter.’

‘You know Celia is about your age...’

‘So have you got a girlfriend?’

Steve caught glimpses of the older boys either politely rebuffing or ending up engaged with someone. This was a very insular crowd, he knew that. Still, he hoped he’d have something resembling a choice when the time came.

And yet, as he got older, no one rushed to introduce him to anyone. It confused him to no end. He had no trouble attracting girls at school and all of his parents’ friends thought he was charming. He came from good stock. Why did no one want him to marry their daughter?

He tried not to feel so offended by it. But it was just so bizarre.

But back to tonight. It was going like it always did. Steve spent most of it by his parents’ sides, only occasionally going off on his own. He made nice conversation, had a drink or two, despite being nineteen, and kept the Harrington name good and golden.

As the hour got late though, it got to the point where most of the men split off to have cigars. Steve was usually excused at this point but this time his father put a hand on his shoulder and led him to the next room. He took part in more conversation about his prospects (not going to school but who needed to when he was planning on succeeding his father) and drank some brandy.

“Steve, it’s time we discussed your future”, his father said, letting out a puff of cigar smoke.

“What about it...exactly?”, Steve asked.

“That sometimes we must defer to a higher power.”

“....Right...”

“Steven”, one of the other men started. “You ever take one for the team?”

“Yeah, plenty of times. But what are you guys talking about what’s going on?”, Steve asked.

“Come with me, son.”

Steve got up and followed his father. The other men came along down the stairs into the basement of the clubhouse. But then it went deeper.

“History is filled with ambitious figures, Steve. People who did whatever it took to reach their goals. Tonight it’s up to you to take us even higher.”

“Up to me? What do you want me to do?”

They came to the bottom of the stairs. His mother was already waiting, along with the other women. There was a large stone slab with restraints on it and Steve felt his stomach drop at the implication. But he didn’t want to believe it. It was too crazy.

“Mom, Dad...what are we doing here?”

“The higher power we worship will give us fortune beyond what we could dream of”, his father said. “But everything has its price.”

Before Steve could utter another question, he felt hands on him, gripping and pushing him towards the slab. He struggled and screamed for both of his parents. For some kind of explanation. For something that made sense. But he could feel his sanity slipping as they got him on the altar and tied his limbs down.

Lawrence, 50, with an unconvincing hairpiece stood over him. Steve never liked Lawrence. He always looked at him weird and his touches lingered like he was inspecting a piece of meat.

He was doing it now, trailing a hand up his tied up arm.

“I can’t thank you enough for your sacrifice, Steven. And your parents for bringing up such good stock. I have no doubt he will be pleased with you.”

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on but there’s no way you’re going to kill me for-for what? More money?”

His mother came into view, her expression mournful and Steve wanted to vomit.

“Steve, my love, we won’t be killing you. We could never do that. We just need a bit of your blood. After that....well after that....”

“Our lord will do what he wants with you. And with their lot I can only imagine he will want to devour your soul”, his father finished.

“So you are killing me.”

“We won’t be dealing the killing blow”, his father said. “And who is to say you won’t survive?”

Steve took a deep breath through his nose. This was insane. But it seemed like they at least didn’t plan to put a stake through his heart. He’d lose a bit of blood, they’d probably chant, and then when their demon lord didn’t show up, he could get a shower and then maybe disown his parents.

That didn’t make this situation any less shitty though.

Then someone ripped open his jacket and shirt, exposing his chest. Both of his parents were given knives. The knowledge that they didn’t intend to kill him quell that instinctual fear. Steve had always been a good kid. But sometimes good wasn’t enough. Sometimes he wondered if his parents regretted having him. So his current view wasn’t helping at all in that regard.

They both cut a slit right in the center of his palms and he hissed. They then took his blood and drew a symbol on his stomach.

There was indeed chanting but between the alcohol, his bleeding hands, and the general delirium, Steve couldn’t make it out. God, he just wanted this to be over. He just wanted normal parents who didn’t sacrifice their own son to the devil. He wanted a lot of things but it seemed like life would disappoint him one last time.

“Whoa! You’ve got a real party going on here”, a voice said, coming down the stairs.

“Who the hell are you?”, one of the chanters demanded.

Steve craned his neck to see....some guy. It was just some guy, in a black tank top and ripped jeans.

“Who? Me?”, he came to the bottom of the steps and looked around. “Was I not summoned? I thought I heard my name.”

“Someone get this fool out of here!”

“Oh, I see what the issue is. I’m not in the proper attire. My bad.” He took a few more steps forward, right into the range of the men who had advanced on him. Then flames erupted from his body, burning them in an instant. When the fire dissipated, Steve let out a gasp and started to actually pull against his restraints.

This was real! Fuck this was real! A real demon with horns and claws and fangs and shit-were those wings?! He had to get out of here, even if that meant ripping his hands and feet off to escape.

Turned out that was the wrong move. In seconds, the demon crossed the room on all fours and climbed atop the slab to hover over Steve.

“My lord”, Steve’s father said in an impressively even tone. “We offer you our greatest sacrifice-” He was cut off with a deep growl, one that Steve felt in his bones, being this close.

“You...haven’t...sacrificed....anything.” The demon turned its gaze to Steve, lying under him. “But you still have so much to give.” He touched a clawed hand to Steve’s stomach where the bloody symbol was. “Will you give it to me?”

Steve let out a breath. He was going to die. He was going to die and what did he have to show for it? Actually....what did he have to show for it if he lived tonight? Maybe it would be painless, this soul sucking. He just wanted to be done.

“Just take it”, Steve said. “Take whatever you want.”

The demon laughed darkly. “I always do.” He smeared a clawed hand against Steve’s torso, messing up what was drawn there. He sniffed his hand and let out a sigh.

“Steve!”, his mother shrieked and he wondered if she had just realized what she was giving him up for.

“They spilt your blood for their own gains. Now to me, that doesn’t seem fair”, the demon said. “Don’t you think they should have to give something up? Don’t you want them dead?”

Steve dared to look the demon in his face. The eyes betrayed nothing. Just a blank, red void. But there was something about his expression anyway. Something in the quirk of his lip, the tilt of his head. Steve wondered if he actually would kill everyone in this room if he asked. As for himself, well, despite everything Steve couldn’t ask that of him. He really only wanted one thing and this might be his single chance to voice it out loud.

“I just want to be free.”

“Now see here”, Lawrence said, wagging a finger. “We have been your loyal servants. Our wishes-cckhk!”

He was cut off when the demon’s tail wrapped around his neck, dragging him closer. The demon brought him over until they were eye to eye.

“I would go ahead and count the blessings I already have. You all get to live another day.” He dropped Lawrence, ignoring his gasps for breath as he looked back down at Steve. “And you’re coming with me.”

Flames swirled around them but Steve didn’t feel any heat. Just a rush of warm wind as his restraints disappeared. The light got too bright though and he closed his eyes. When he no longer felt the light behind them, he opened them up, expecting the fires of hell, or a dark abyss of a pit. Maybe even some combination of the two.

Instead he found that he was in a….cramped apartment. The demon was back to the tank top and jeans and Steve wondered if someone had slipped something into a drink.

“You live here?”

The demon stuck his hands in his back pockets. “Whenever I come topside, yeah. And for the time being, so do you.”

“Me?”

“Don’t tell me you wanna go back to those assholes. Not after they-” He stopped speaking and his nostrils flared. Then he looked down.

Steve followed his gaze and saw that his hands were dripping blood onto the floor. “Ah, shit, sorry I-” He was about to wipe it on his ruined shirt when the demon grabbed a wrist, freezing him in place. His words were caught in his throat when the demon took a long sniff at the blood still slowly dripping out of his palm. He looked Steve in the eye as he slowly licked it clean. When the blood was gone, Steve saw his hand was completely healed.

The demon took his other hand and did the same, but somehow went even slower. The licks were punctuated with what could have been open mouth kisses but Steve wasn’t sure. Either the demon was making out with his hand or trying to eat him with little success.

When that one was finished, the demon looked at him and Steve was taken with how blown his eyes were. Like Steve’s blood was top shelf.

“B-buy a guy dinner first, huh?”

The demon came back into himself and took a step back, releasing Steve’s hand. “Yeah, sorry it’s just-yeah…” He cleared his throat and then turned, going deeper into the apartment. “So my home is your home, until you figure out exactly what you wanna do. Um, bathroom’s over there I’m sure you wanna get the rest of that blood off.”

He looked almost nervous to have Steve here. And the absurdity of that made Steve let out a chuckle. And then everything came crashing down on him and he started to laugh in earnest. The demon’s anxious stance just made more laughter bubble forth. What the fuck had his life become?

“Are you okay?”

“I just realized why none of them wanted me to date their daughters.” Steve pushed his hair out of his face. “They knew they’d be giving me to you.” As he laughed the tears started to fall. The demon looked even more shocked but then he came over and wrapped his arms around Steve.

“I don’t know why I’m laughing. Or why I’m crying.”

“Because it’s fucked up man. Like hilariously fucked up. And sometimes you gotta laugh about that crap.” The demon pulled away just enough to look Steve in the eye. “But you’re better than what you just left behind. You proved that by letting them live.”

Steve wiped at his eyes. “Well you already burned a couple of them. Wait, you killed them!”

“Collateral damage when I let my flames loose. I don’t like being touched.” He seemed to realize he was doing just that and raised his hands in the air before taking two steps away from Steve.

“I don’t even know your name. And you would’ve actually killed them for me?”

“Oh I go by Eddie nowadays.” He turned and looked like he was trying to make himself busy by picking things up and putting them down.

“Eddie? Just Eddie?”

“Short for Edifice. Um, did you want that shower?”

“I….” Steve still had questions. But he felt barely functioning right now. Like if he got one more bit of information his brain would explode.

“Steve….You’re free now. That was what you asked for.” The demon, no, Eddie, his name was Eddie, was smiling at him.

“I want….to go to sleep.”

Eddie started to walk away and Steve followed. He led him to a room where the bed took up most of the space.

“It’s yours for tonight. And tomorrow, well it’s all up to you now.”

Steve collapsed against the bed. He vaguely registered his shoes being taken off but soon fell into oblivion.

Part 2

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #i have a whole lore in the back of my head #about how eddie is essentially 911 for summoning #but we'll get into that in part 2

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stylesispunk · 5 months

Text

"The not so invisible string" | part 2

Not outbreak! Joel Miller x f! Reader

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

summary: you and Joel were made right for each other at the wrong time. Now, thirteen years later your paths crossed when both of your daughters get in trouble at school. Would be the right time for you now?

chapter summary: You and Joel had a "lunch" together and some things were said, and the past between you both is meeting the present.

word count: 5k.

warnings: angst, implications of cheating (emotional). I probably made some grammar mistakes because I write things fast. Not proofreading, ups. Italics are flashbacks <3

a/n: Chapter two is here!! Thank you so much for your nice comments and appreciation for the previous chapter, I didn't think it would be good enough but thanks for appreciating. This one is less intense than the first one, but we still have a story to develop. I'm on my summer break from work, so I hope to have time to keep writing. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading 💌 p.s if you wann be taglisted, please I'm so shy so I feel asshamed of tagging people if you don't tell me 😳 and if I forgot someone, sorry 😭

dividers by @/saradika

"Are you waiting to see her again?" Sarah asked when Joel was parking outside school before driving to his job.

"Who?" He asked, trying to dismiss the nagging feeling settled in his stomach at the minimum possibility of seeing you again.

"Tara's mom?" She said, leaning toward his dad, "What's the issue with her, by the way? Was she your ex or something?”

"No,” he said immediately.

“So why did you get so nervous?"

"She is the love of my life," he confessed, not turning his face to Sarah in shame of being seen in such a vulnerable state.

When you were a parent, you never showed yourself vulnerable in front of your children; you never allowed them to see that part of you that’s beneath what they knew. But when they grow up, they understand you would never be a hero, but a human living life for the first time too.

Sarah's eyes widened at Joel's unexpected confession. The revelation hung in the air, leaving a palpable tension inside the car.

"The love of your life?" Sarah echoed, her voice a mix of surprise and curiosity. "But you never mentioned her before."

Joel sighed, his eyes fixed on the steering wheel as if it held the answers to a long-buried history. "It's complicated," he finally admitted. "We were each other's first love, but things didn't work out. We went our separate ways, and I thought I had moved on."

"But seeing her again..." he continued, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability. "I never expected her to be here again."

Sarah studied Joel's profile, recognizing the struggle in his eyes. "And what about Tara's mom? Does she feel the same way?"

"I don't know," Joel confessed, a heaviness settling in his chest. "It's been thirteen years, and a lot has changed. She has a daughter now, and I have my own life."

Sarah reached out, placing a comforting hand on her dad’s shoulder. "Well, life is surprising," she said. "Maybe it's a chance for both of you to find closure, or maybe even something more. Who knows?"

Joel nodded, the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future swirling around him.

“Perhaps” He said, “Okay, now go to class before you get late.” He hurried Sarah, but before she closed the door, a bolt of thought invaded his mind before he could even think.

“Can I ask you for a favor?”

She nodded.

“Ask Tara for her mother’s number, please.”

Sarah grinned, nodding her head and blowing a kiss to his father.

The days had passed, and life had settled into a new routine for you, unemployed and doing house chores, feeling just as the same twenty-two-year-old you once were.

But that wasn’t your only thought in the back of your mind. Since the day you had seen Joel, you hadn’t been able to take him off your mind, and as if it weren’t already difficult, Tara and Sarah were slowly becoming best friends, just as you and Joel were someday back when you had anything to lose.

For Joel, things weren’t different. There wasn’t a second of the day since he had seen you that he hadn’t thought about you. About how gorgeous you still looked and how much he had missed you for the past years. Despite the investable passing of time, the past seemed to cast a long shadow over the present; he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that had resurfaced since he saw you.

Late one night, he found himself staring at his phone. Since Sarah got your number from Tara, he has been doing the same, contemplating whether to send a message. The words formed in his mind, but typing them out was a whole different thing for him. Trapped between the enormous desire to know about you or to let go of the best thing that had ever happened to him.

But before he could even formulate the thought, he pressed send.

Unknown number

"Hi, it’s me, Joel"

Your phone vibrated on your side of the bed.

"Honey?" Dwight called out,

“Yes?" you asked from the bathroom.

“Why is a Joel messaging you at this hour?”

You paused, the sensation of cold cream on your fingertips suddenly forgotten. The name "Joel" seemed too foreign on Dwight's lips; you even felt guilty.

"It's probably just something about Tara," you replied, forcing nonchalance into your tone. But the unease crept into your voice, betraying the facade.

Dwight's curiosity lingered in the room as you picked up your phone. The screen illuminated with a new message, and the familiar ache resurfaced in your heart.

Unknown number

Sorry for sending this at this time, but I've been thinking a lot about you since our unexpected meeting, and I was wondering if we could talk. No pressure, just a conversation.

You felt a mix of emotions—surprise, apprehension, and a tinge of curiosity. The late-night timing added an unexpected layer of intensity to the message.

"Honey, is everything okay?" Dwight's voice carried a note of concern.

"Yeah, it's probably about Tara or something. I'll go better call him,” you replied, forcing a smile. But deep down, you knew that hearing his voice through a phone would do enough damage to you.

“Hello sunshine! How it’s my best girl doing?” he exclaimed, his sleepy voice from this time in the morning melted you.

“I’m better now that you called”

“Remember I’m always just a call away from you, doe”

The hallway felt colder as you left the room, and the phone gripped tightly in your hand. Your heart raced against your chest, its rhythm echoing the uncertainty of the moment. As you pressed the button to call Joel, each second felt like an eternity.

The phone rang once, twice, and on the third ring, Joel's voice filled the air. "Hello?"

"How did you get my number?” you asked

"I... "I... uh, well," Joel stammered on the other end of the line, a hint of unease in his voice. "Sarah got it from Tara.”

Your mind raced with a mix of emotions—surprise, frustration, and a touch of understanding due to your daughters’ becoming friends.

"You could have asked," you replied, the tension evident in your voice. "But fine, what did you want to talk about?"

There was a pause, and you could almost hear Joel gathering his thoughts on the other end. "I've been thinking a lot about the past, about us," he admitted. "I never got the chance to properly apologize for how things ended. I just want to talk, to understand, and maybe find closure."

Closure. The word hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the years gone by.

You didn’t want to have closure with him; you didn’t want to forget.

"Joel, it's been thirteen years," you said, a mix of weariness and frustration coloring your words. "We've both moved on. What's the point of digging up the past now?"

"I know, and I respect that," Joel responded, his tone earnest. "But I've carried the weight of what happened between us for a long time. Maybe talking about it will help both of us. Besides Sarah and Tara, we could talk about them."

You sighed, the complexity of the situation settling around you. "Fine, let's meet. But just this once. I have a life, Joel, and I can't afford to let the past disrupt it."

"Thank you," Joel said, a note of gratitude in his voice. "I appreciate this, truly. Let's find a time.

"Tomorrow,” you said, interrupting his rambling.

Tomorrow? It seemed like too soon you were conflicted between the desire to see him again and the guilt of not being able to erase that part of your life.

“Okay, tomorrow at lunch” he spoke after what it seemed like minutes “I’ll send you the address.”

“Okay.” You whispered, “Have a goodnight, Joel”

“Good night, doe” he replied, before realizing how he had called you, he ended the call leaving you with no chance to answer back.

You were speechless, and the hallway felt emptier than before. Nobody had called you “Doe” since you parted ways with Joel, as if the nickname was forbidden from the lips of any person who wasn’t him, carrying a reminder of a time when the two of you shared your own language.

“From now on I’m calling you, Doe”

“Why?” you asked, tilting your head

“Because you looked so innocent with those bright eyes of you and you remind me of Bambi but I don’t want to call you that”

“What’s wrong with Bambi?”

“Nothing” he replied, “We could actually be like Bambi and Thumper”

As you walked back into the bedroom, Dwight looked up from his book, sensing the turmoil in your expression. "Everything okay?"

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Yes, just Joel wants to meet tomorrow to talk."

Dwight raised an eyebrow, concern etched on his face. "Are you sure about this? You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. I can go."

"No, I know," you replied, sinking onto the bed. "But it’s nothing bad... I actually know Joel from before. "You confessed without looking at Dwight.”

Dwight's expression softened as he processed your confession. "Before we met?"

You nodded, finally meeting his gaze. "Yeah, Joel and I have history. We were close—really close. We were actually best friends,” you said, omitting the “he is the love of my life” part.

Understanding flickered in Dwight's eyes, and he reached out, gently cupping your face. "You don't have to go through with this if it makes you uncomfortable. I trust you, and I trust whatever decision you make."

A mix of gratitude and guilt welled up within you. "I appreciate that, Dwight.”

He nodded, offering a supportive smile. "I'll be here for you, no matter what."

After that, Dwight closed his book and said goodnight to you, falling asleep a few minutes later. It seemed odd for you, but you couldn’t help but feel weird because of his attitude, as if he didn’t care about you meeting with another guy.

Dwight's seemingly indifferent response to your revelation about Joel left you feeling conflicted. Was it a sign of trust and confidence in your commitment to the present, or was there an undercurrent of something else?

As you drove to the restaurant Joel had suggested, your mind buzzed with memories of your shared past. The streets seemed to echo with the laughter and conversations of your younger selves. Navigating through familiar lanes, you couldn't escape the gravitational pull of nostalgia.

The restaurant's entrance loomed ahead, and you found yourself hesitating. The realization struck—this wasn't just a casual meeting; it was a reunion with someone who had once been the center of your world.

Once you stepped inside the restaurant Joel told you about, you were faced with reality. You were a married woman, going to have lunch not with another man who was your ex-boyfriend but with the love of your life. Your heart was beating so hard against your ribcage that you almost felt how your bones crashed at the impact.

You stopped at the entrance; your face was heating up. You wanted to leave, but before you could even make up your mind, those brown eyes found you, and you couldn't turn away.

Breathe in, breathe out.

One step, then another step.

It seemed like hours, but there you were, in front of the boy with brown eyes who put a bandage on your knee when you fell on the pavement at 5 years old. You were there in front of the teenager who kissed you at seventeen on a random night after doing homework in your bedroom.

You had decided to conquer the world—or at least the little corner of it that belonged to your shared imagination. As you ran through the streets, giggles and laughter echoing, it happened—the inevitable collision with the ground. Your knees met the pavement, and the sting of scraped skin sent tears streaming down your cheeks.

That's when Joel appeared, like a knight in a tiny superhero cape. His mom, hearing the commotion, had rushed him outside to play. In his hand, he held a box of colorful, cartoon-themed band-aids. With the unwavering confidence of a five-year-old, he approached you.

"Don't cry, okay? I've got something to fix you up," Joel declared, his eyes wide with sincerity.

As he carefully placed a band-aid on your scraped knee, something shifted. It was more than just a simple act of putting on a band-aid; it was the beginning of a connection that would thread through the fabric of your lives for years to come.

"See, all is better!" Joel announced, grinning proudly as if he had just mended the universe. “I’m Joel,” he said happily. “What’s your name?”

You were surprised and speechless; you felt enamored by the kid in front of you, but in your brain, the boy was still gross.

Joel's expression mirrored a mix of surprise and recognition. For a moment, the world seemed to pause as you both stood there, caught in the gravity of your intertwined past.

But it seemed to be the night you were back in the house he had bought with the help of his parents, where you were supposed to grow old together. It looked like that night you came back, hoping to begin again.

But it wasn't, and time didn't stop because two lovers couldn't survive in the currents of the sea.

"Hi, doe," he greeted you, standing up from his seat.

Doe.

"Joel," you greeted back, gracing a small smile.

"Lovie" is forbidden now.

"Please, take a seat," he said, signaling at the seat in front of him.

You didn't know how to react, what to do, or what to say, so you sat on the chair, trying to ease your heart's beating.

Joel's gaze never left your form; instead, it traveled down your figure, but the golden band on your finger stopped his curious gaze, and somehow he felt the urge to cry.

He had always pictured the shiny rock he had bought for you back those years ago, wrapped around your finger.

If he had told you he spent those late nights doing extra work only to buy that piece of jewelry for you, perhaps you would be the one wearing it now, and in this situation, it would be one of those moments you share lunch between your work schedules.

But that shiny ring wrapped echoes of missed opportunities, and the haunting what-ifs painted a poignant portrait of a love that had slipped through his fingers.

You had been waiting, the anticipation mingling with worry as the hands of the clock inched forward. The scent of a hastily prepared dinner lingered in the air, growing colder with each passing minute. Joel's absence, became a palpable presence in the room.

As the door finally creaked open, revealing Joel's figure in the dim light, a wave of emotions crashed over you. The relief of his arrival was quickly overshadowed by the frustration that had been building within.

"Joel, do you have any idea what time it is?" you snapped, the words escaping before you could temper the edge in your voice.

Joel's expression shifted, caught off guard by the sudden confrontation. "I lost track of time at work. I'm sorry," he offered, attempting to diffuse the tension.

The apology, however, fell on ears numbed by the repetition of similar excuses. The words that followed, laden with accusations and frustrations, transformed the night into a battleground of emotions. The promises made in the glow of love were replaced by the harsh reality of unmet expectations.

"I can't do this, Joel. I can't keep waiting for you every night," you uttered your voice a mix of exhaustion and hurt.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. "I'm doing all of this for us. I'm working hard to provide for our future."

He had never sold the ring; he couldn't do it, thinking you would have come back to your home and built your story from the cracked fragments.

But he had made a mistake; however, that mistake that made you slip through his fingers brought his daughter to him, and he couldn’t find the strength to blame that night anymore.

And he thought that for you, it may have been the same; you have had a daughter too, and he knows that you love her more than life itself.

It was almost poetic; the mistakes that had separated you had, in a strange twist of fate, become the catalyst for a reunion. The bond between Joel and his daughter, the same bond you had with Tara, seemed to mirror the intricate threads that wove your lives together once again.

“So, how have you been?” he began asking.

“I thought you wanted to talk about our daughters,” you replied, deflecting the conversation to the common ground that had brought you back together.

Joel's eyes held a glimmer of nostalgia. "Come on, Doe, you know I care about you."

“Please don’t call me that,” you pleaded in almost a whisper.

Joel's expression shifted, a mix of realization and regret flickering across his features. "I'm sorry," he apologized, the sincerity in his voice evident. "I didn't mean to.”

“But I’ve been fine.” You finally said that, looking at him.

“I’m glad,” he said. “I can’t help but be surprised about you being Tara’s mother."

“Why? Is it too hard to believe I’m a mother?”

Joel's eyes softened, and he shook his head. "No, it's not that. It's just... it's surreal, you know? Seeing you as a mother, I mean, Tara is the same age as Sarah.”

“I got pregnant a few months after we..."

“We broke up,” he said, ending the sentence for you.

“Yes. I met Dwight one night, and I got pregnant.”

“You got over things soon, then,” he added in an undertone.

“What does that mean?” You asked in a defensive tone.

Joel sighed, a mixture of emotions playing across his face. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just... seeing you move on so quickly, it's

"No, tell me!” you exclaimed. “Do you think it was going to be easy for me to stay with you while you take care of another woman who was carrying your baby? 2

“Yet, you still had a daughter with another man.”

“So what? It was forbidden for me to hook up with a guy because I was fucking broke. Yes, I ended up pregnant, but...

“But what?” he inquired.

“It should have been you!" You cried, not knowing why you were acting so childish. "It was always supposed to be you." You repeated, calmer, "Since we were seventeen, I picture you being the father of my child."

Joel's gaze held a mix of surprise and remorse, realizing the depth of your emotions. "Doe, I never meant to hurt you. I had my own struggles, and I made mistakes."

"It's not about the mistakes, Joel," you said, wiping away a tear. "It's about the dreams we had and how they shattered. I loved you, and I imagined a future with you.

The silence that followed was suffocating, filled with the weight of unsaid words and the echoes of a shared past. The restaurant seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of unresolved emotions.

“You know this is repeating again,” you chuckled between tears. “I’m here with you while I’m crying all over again. I had to leave my job and move back to the city that throws the past in my face, and I can’t find a job."You covered your face with your hands.

Joel's eyes held a mixture of empathy and regret as he listened to your words. The ache of the past lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of the dreams that had slipped through your fingers.

"I wish I could change it all," Joel confessed, his voice heavy with the weight of shared regrets. "I never wanted you to leave, and seeing you hurt now... it hurts me too."

"But we can't go back," you replied with a resigned tone in your voice. "We're both different people now, living different lives. Maybe it's time to accept that some wounds don't fully heal."

“But we can be civil to each other, at least for our daughter’s sake,” he said, his voice soft.

You looked at him, your tear-streaked face reflecting a mixture of pain and acceptance. For a moment, you considered his words, acknowledging the shared responsibility of raising daughters who were connected by a blossoming friendship.

"Yeah," you agreed, a weary smile on your face. "We owe it to them to be civil, to show them that even when things don't work out, people can still be respectful and caring."

Joel nodded, a somber understanding passing between you. At that moment, you both recognized the importance of setting aside personal grievances for the sake of your daughters.

“You know? About the job, Tommy and I need an assistant.”

Your eyes widened at Joel's unexpected offer; the surprise was evident on your face. The mention of a job opportunity brought a glimmer of hope amid the emotional turbulence. It was as if a door, long thought closed, cracked open with the possibility of a new beginning.

"An assistant?" you repeated, the idea taking a moment to sink in. "Are you serious?"

Joel nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I am. We're expanding, and having you would be nice.”

"I appreciate the offer," you finally said, your voice cautious. "But-

“Just think about it; if you want the job, you can call me tomorrow or go to our office," Joel added, his tone sincere.

“You know what? He asked after your silence, leaning into the table, "You are still looking at me with the same eyes you did before.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his observation. There was a moment of vulnerability in his eyes—a flicker of the past that hadn't entirely dissipated. The connection between you, despite the years and the changes, lingered in the unspoken words that floated in the air.

"I don't know what you mean," you replied, attempting to mask the emotions that swirled within.

Joel chuckled softly, a nostalgic warmth in his gaze. "Doe, you always had this way of seeing through me. Even now, those eyes of yours... they haven't changed."

"I'm married."

“So what? Can’t you have friends? He asked.

“What about Sarah’s mother? Wouldn’t she get mad at you for being with your ex-girlfriend?"

“That’s funny because we’re not together,” he confessed with a weird smile on his face. “We never were together. After Sarah was born, she left us.”

The revelation hung in the air, a mix of surprise and confusion settling between you. The complexity of his past mirrored your own, and in that shared vulnerability, there was an unspoken understanding.

"I'm sorry to hear that," you offered, genuine sympathy in your voice.

"It's okay," Joel replied, a shrug accompanying his words. "She is married to another man, and she had a son, but I won because I had Sarah.”

“It’s fun how our daughters brought us together,” you said calmly.

"It's true," Joel acknowledged, a wistful smile playing on his lips. Our daughters seem to be the common thread weaving through our lives now."

You smiled, feeling butterflies dancing inside your stomach. The closeness to Joel felt foreign yet so familiar, and all the sentiments making your way through your heart were there again, suffocating you.

“I should get going,” you said, out of the blue.

“But you haven't eaten yet.”

“I know, but it’s getting late, and I have to go back to my house.”

"Okay,” he said, knowing you were making a lie to run away again, yet he didn’t pressure you.

"I appreciate you taking the time to talk," Joel said, breaking the silence. "And about the job, just think it over. No pressure. Whatever you decide, I'm here for you, even if it's just as a friend."

“Thank you, Joel,” you smiled.

And when you walked away to leave the restaurant, you stopped by the door just to have a second look at him, and when you turned, he was looking at you just as you knew he would.

You smiled at him, and he smiled back at you, mouthing a quiet "take care" in a language only your interlocked gazes understood.

And once you stepped outside, he was left in the restaurant, following you with his eyes.

You weren't the mother of his friend's daughter, but the girl in two ponytails was crying because of a scratch on her knee.

You were once his best friend,

You were once his lover, but that word was a small portion of what you were to him. No, you weren't his lover, but his twin flame that painted every single day of his life blue—the flame that never allowed him to dream about anybody else but you.

And you were the love of his life.

But Joel would do anything to get back on the first step, just to keep you close. He would rather have you back as his best friend than not have you anymore, even if his heart hurts in the process.

You were never his, but he felt the string pulling you together, just like the unbreakable chain you had hanging around your neck since he had memories of you, and he was going to do things right this time because he wasn't able to play pretend knowing there was no gap between you anymore.

You drove around the city for an hour straight, navigating through the streets. Joel used to drive you around when trying to ease your mood after fights with your parents.

You had taken your love and packed it in a tiny little box to protect your heart from breaking.

And when you stopped outside your house, you cried. You sobbed like a little girl waking up from a nightmare. Joel still echoed in your mind, and you accepted that you would never be able to let that part of your life go, so you sobbed, and in that moment of vulnerability, you allowed yourself to grieve for what was lost.

“Pretty girls shouldn’t cry,” Joel said when you didn’t say your name after his introduction.

As the tears subsided, you took a deep breath, the weight in your chest easing slightly, and you stepped out of your car and walked to your house.

The key turned in the lock, the door creaked open, and you stepped into the coldness of your home. You thought about the offer Joel talked to you about, but accepting would be a suicide, and as tempting as the invitation seemed at the edge of your consciousness. However, spending more hours of the day seeing him seemed like being unfaithful to your husband.

As you walked into the living room, Tara glanced up from her phone, and you noticed the concern in her eyes.

"Hi, mom," Tara said, greeting you with a smile on her face.

"Hey, sweets," you said, smiling back at her.

"How was it with Joel?" she asked, setting aside her phone.

"It was... complicated," you admitted, sinking onto the couch beside her.

Tara placed a supportive hand on your shoulder. "Complicated how?"

"He offered me a job," you explained, "and it's not an easy decision to make."

"A job? Why?" Tara asked, her curiosity piqued.

"He thought it could be a good opportunity for us," you replied, choosing your words carefully.

Tara's eyes widened in realization.

“To rekindle our friendship,” you said, before she thought badly of you.

"Are you considering it?"

You sighed, grateful for your daughter's understanding. "I don't know, sweetheart. It's a lot to think about. It's not just a job; it's a connection to our past, to him."

Tara nodded thoughtfully. "Well, whatever you decide, I'm here for you. Just make sure it's what you want.”

“And what about your dad?” you asked

“He is not your boss."

Tara's straightforward response made you chuckle. "No, he's not. But he's my husband, and I should consider his feelings too."

Tara rolled her eyes. "Mom, you're allowed to have a life outside of being a wife.”

You admired Tara's maturity, appreciating the clarity in her perspective. "You've grown into a wise young woman, you know that?"

A hint of a smile touched Tara's lips. "Well, I've had a good teacher." She leaned in for a hug, and you embraced her, thankful for the bond you shared.

You found yourself alone with your thoughts. The house was quiet, and the decision about Joel's job offer lingered in the air like a delicate whisper. You knew it wasn't just about work; it was about revisiting a past that had shaped you in ways you couldn't deny.

Later, after Tara had gone to do her homework, you found yourself alone with your thoughts. The house was quiet, still not in sight of Dwight coming home, and the decision about Joel's job offer lingered in the air like a delicate whisper. You knew it wasn't just about work; it was about revisiting a past that had shaped you in ways you couldn't deny.

Taking a deep breath, you picked up your phone and dialed Joel's number. The call rang for a few moments, and then his voice filled the silence. "Hello?"

"Hi, Joel. It's me," you said, the hesitation evident in your voice.

"Doe?" he responded, surprised.

"What did I say about calling me that?" you asked, with a tiny smile on your face.

“Right. I’m sorry”

"I've been thinking about your job offer. Can we meet tomorrow at your workplace to talk about it?"

A brief pause followed, and then Joel replied, "Of course, I'll text you the address.”

"Okay,” you said. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow,” he replied. “Take care.”

The call ended, leaving you with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty about what was coming into your life again.

Towards the end of the conversation, Tommy glanced at Joel with a skeptical smile on his face. "Do we really need an assistant?" he inquired, unaware of his brother's hidden intentions.

"No," Joel replied, a smile playing on his lips. "But we're going to have one."

tags 💌: @joeldjarin @missladym1981

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diamondsunbursts-and-marblehalls · 7 months

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Coriolanus Snow's character is so fascinating to me.

At the movie's beginning, he is just this sweet boy, just trying to protect his family, keep them alive, and protect his tribute and keep her alive. And you adore him, and you're rooting for him; by the time you get to the end of the movie, he's slowly twisted everything around, until suddenly, he's not the person you thought he was, and even though you saw glimpses of that person, he's gone now, and you don't like what's left.

The thing I love is that you can see the inner fight that was there all along, the darker side is represented a lot by how Coriolanus is similar to his father and connects back to his past. He gives up pieces of that person throughout the games where Lucy Grey is his tribute, sacrificing them in the form of a handkerchief (a piece of his dad) that has the potential to implicate him in a crime that would cost him his life, but also the potential to grant Lucy Grey hers. You can see it in the way he gives her his dead mother's compact full of rat poison. In the way he cheats to save her, even with the knowledge that he won't gain anything from it. You can see it in the way that he lets her in on secrets he's guarded so fiercely from his capital friends. Living in a world where he has almost no control.

He also has close zero regard for the people in the arena with whom he has no connection. He convinces a classmate to help kill her tribute to save his, and he tells Tigress he felt powerful killing a little boy (a feeling she connected back to his dad). Things that grow smaller in comparison to his love for Lucy Grey, the affection he shows for Sejanus, the way he cares for his family, and the relationship he has with Tigress.

It's in the second part of the movie that things start to go awry. he gets his father's handkerchief and his mother's compact back. along with those pieces of himself. His hair is buzzed, and he's shipped away from his family, who were the original motivation for everything, most importantly the motivation behind befriending Lucy Grey. He has nothing. Seajanus ends up joining him and they go together to District 12, where he has even less control than he did before.

Coriolanus stands by while an innocent man hangs. He holds Sejanus back from stopping it to keep him safe. He gets in a fight with Lucy Grey's cheating ex. His best friend gets him out. He gives Lucy Grey the last piece of his parents he has with him. He gives the girl he loves all of his trust. He betrays Sejanus to the capital. He tries to protect his best friend. He kills a woman, putting them all in danger. He killed her to keep them safe. It's his fault Sejanus hangs for treason. His best friend cries for him right before he dies. He runs away with Lucy Grey to keep himself safe. He runs away with his lover so they can be together. He lies about Sejanus's death, so Lucy Grey leaves him. He lies about his best friend's death, to keep his love with him.

He abandons his friend and is abandoned by his lover because of it. He breaks trust, and so his trust is broken.

He gets all the pieces of himself back with his mother's shawl Lucy Grey leaves for him to find.

He had so many opportunities to be good, and you could see that he was fighting against the worst part of himself. And yet, you can also see him fighting less and less as time goes on, eventually, once he gets all of the pieces back he stops fighting. He goes back to the capitol, prepared to do whatever it takes to gain control. He's not a victim of circumstances or his childhood, Tigress proves that. But he is a victim of the choices he had to make.

Coriolanus Snow is such a complex character, who is shaped by his own choices, and the people in his life, who he can never really escape, the echoes of which will follow him throughout his whole life.

#I have so many thoughts banging around in my head right now #coriolanus snow #The ballad of songbirds and snakes #lucy gray baird #sejanus plinth #tbosas #president snow #sejanus deserved better #the hunger games #tigress

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roosterforme · 1 year

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The Younger Kind Part 5 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley continues to struggle through his dates when he knows you're at his house. When you meet Natasha, you get the wrong impression of her from the start. But after a night out at the bar with his best friend, Bradley makes a move.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, and age gap (eventually 18+)

Length: 5400 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

When you arrived on Friday, Bradley was in the kitchen eating a bowl of the cereal and milk that you got for him, and Noah was playing with blocks in the hallway.

"Hi, Noah! You'll never guess what kind of coloring book I found this time."

"More dinosaurs?" he asked, handing you an orange block.

"Even better. Outer space," you told him, setting the block on the top of his tower.

Bradley was already smiling at you when you made your way into the kitchen. "That's for you. Your bonus," he said nodding toward a coffee cup with Bradley scrawled across it.

You gasped in mock surprise. "Do I wanna know what you had to do to get it?"

He shook his head solemnly between cereal bites. "I'm taking it to the grave."

Your laughter seemed to make his smile grow bigger. "Got it. I'll never bring it up again. Thank you." You took a sip and moaned softly; it was just that good. You might have to switch coffee shops.

Bradley grunted and set his bowl in the sink before slipping past you as he muttered something about needing to get changed. You watched him squat down and kiss Noah before stepping over the mess of blocks with his long legs and heading toward his bedroom.

You wondered if your paper crown was still in there.

"Are you hungry?" you asked Noah. "You want me to make you macaroni and cheese with a side of ants?"

"Yeah," Noah agreed, handing you some more blocks to play with first. You built three towers in a row with him before you set up the coloring books at the kitchen table so he could sit there while you made his dinner.

When you started playing some music on your phone, you selected that band that you knew Bradley liked, and sure enough when he emerged from his room, he was shaking his head at you.

"I still can't believe you know their songs," he said, finishing the buttons on his colorful shirt.

"I already told you, you're not that old." You were happy to see that he seemed to be more comfortable in his clothing now compared to the date where he wore the dress shirt. "Where are you going tonight?"

"Just dinner. Maybe a movie after that if things seem promising," he said, meeting your eyes.

"Any excuse for popcorn. Are you taking your pajamas with you?" you asked, but then you realized that implied there might be a sleepover. Your heart clenched in your chest. Oh God. One of these nights, there might be a sleepover involved. What would you do then?

Of course you wanted him to find someone he was compatible with so he could be happy, but when you really started to consider the implications, you felt a little queasy.

"I can't go to the movie theater without a shirt on, so I'll be leaving my pajama pants here."

"Good," you whispered, stirring the pasta in the boiling water, thinking about him in just a pair of low slung gray sweatpants.

"See you in a few hours." He kissed Noah, and then he was gone.

When you brought a bowl of mac and cheese over to Noah, he looked up and told you, "I like you. And Daddy said you're his favorite."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Well, I like you too, Noah. And don't tell anyone, but your Daddy is kinda my favorite, too."

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

Bradley finally figured it out; meeting new women over and over again was tedious. Almost none of them got his humor right off the bat, resulting in awkward laughter and a few strange looks.

"So what do you do for the Navy?" Carolyn asked him as she sipped her drink.

Bradley smiled and said, "Waste millions of dollars in taxpayer money annually. What do you do?"

She just looked at him blankly. When he told you essentially the same thing last week, you had immediately told him that Uncle Sam could suck it.

"Uh," Carolyn said with a forced laugh. "I do online data entry."

God, had there ever been a single profession that Bradley wanted to discuss less than that? Twenty more minutes of talking about essentially nothing, and then luckily dinner had arrived. There was no way a movie was getting tacked on to this date.

What the hell was wrong with him? All of these women had been attractive, seemingly normal, and smart. It must be Bradley. He must be the problem. He thought he knew now what it was, of course. Nat had even called him out on it: he kept thinking about you. How you looked like you fit in at his house. How you and Noah had already bonded. How you kept doing little things to take care of both of them, acting like it was no big deal.

It was a big deal. Bradley was eating hot food again at home. Spaghetti, fajitas, and eggs. Noah was eating healthy snacks, and you kept cleaning things up. He left two hundred dollars behind the TV this time and told you to spend it on anything you wanted.

And that was the other thing. For some reason, he trusted you. With Noah, with his money, and in his house.

Bradley took out his wallet to pay for dinner and checked the time on his phone. You had sent him a text a while ago.

Babysitter: Your son is going to be an architect.

Attached was a picture of Noah building an elaborate castle with his blocks, and your bare legs were stretched out alongside him. He couldn't look away. You had bright purple toenail polish, the same color as the fucking crown that was back on his bedpost. Your hand was in the picture too, and all he could imagine was how you used it to pop one colorful Skittle at a time between your glossy lips.

Bradley looked up at Carolyn before he signed the check. "Hey, this was fun, but I'm going to head home for the night." He watched her face fall, surprised that she might have actually been enjoying herself.

"Oh, okay."

Well, if this had been a good date for her, maybe Bradley really was a lost cause who was way too picky for his own good. Because it had been painful enough for him that he just wanted to be at home on his couch. And if you were there too, then all the better.

He tried not to think about you on the drive home, but as soon as he caught sight of your car, he couldn't stop himself. Your legs and your face and the way you talked to him. Fuck, he needed to get inside.

When Bradley noisily let himself in, you weren't on the couch. The disappointed feeling of not seeing you right away filled him up as his eyes settled on the paper crowns on the side table. "Hey, I'm home," he called out softly, and then you were poking your head into the living room.

"Hi," you whispered, heading toward him, and he had the urge to open up his arms for you. "Noah had a bad dream. I was just making sure he's okay."

Bradley ran his hand through his hair. "I'll go check on him," he mumbled, inhaling your wildflower scent as he passed you.

As he bent down to kiss his son, Bradley noticed his pinched face and restless movements. "It's okay, bub," he whispered, smoothing his fingers along the tiny cheeks and forehead. Noah took a deep breath in his sleep and rolled onto this side, and hopefully that was a good sign that he was going to fall into a deeper sleep.

Bradley walked down the hallway and glanced into his pristine kitchen before making his way back to the living room where you were stacking up your textbooks on the table. If you kept cleaning his house and cooking for him, he was going to have to pay you more. And not just in French vanilla coffee.

"You're home pretty early," you remarked, looking up at him over your shoulder. "No movie?"

"Nah," he said, wishing you'd stop packing up your tote bag.

You smirked. "And what exactly was wrong with this one?"

He chuckled and grinned at you. "Well, where do I begin? Her hair was like an inch longer than I can possibly tolerate. And her car was burgundy. I hate burgundy cars. And she doesn't like popcorn."

"Okay," you said with a laugh. "You're just making this shit up."

"I'm not!" he insisted while trying to fight his grin. "She ordered a salad with no dressing! That's not normal! And her nails were painted pink. So boring!"

You were laughing in earnest now. "I'll bet her entire house is beige!"

"Terrifying!" he gasped, gripping his heart. "You're heading out, Princess?"

He watched you carefully look at his empty hands and inspect him all over. "I don't see any wine or beer tonight. No more coffee cups either. Nothing to keep me here," you said with a shrug, but you were smiling.

"I could make some coffee. Or I have some of that beer left." He didn't know why it felt so important to keep you here longer, but he really wanted to take your bag out of your hand.

"No, that's okay. You still want me tomorrow night?" you asked, shrugging your tote bag onto your shoulder.

"Every night," he mumbled, and he watched your lips part slowly as his eyes went wide. "I mean, yeah, tomorrow night, yes. I do still need you tomorrow night."

"Right."

Your gaze dropped down to his lips, and Bradley was slowly moving before he could stop himself. At first you were frozen in place, and he knew he should be slamming on the brakes, but your tongue darted out to glide across your glossy lips.

Then you closed the distance between his body and yours with one decisive step, and Bradley was reaching for your pretty face. The skim of his thumb along your cheek as he grazed your neck with his fingertips had your eyes fluttering closed.

You were perfect. He wanted you. He considered the fact that if he let himself, he could grow to need you. As the tip of his nose brushed your face and his lips barely met yours, he heard Noah call out from his room. "Daddy!"

And with that one word, you were jerking out of his soft grasp like you had been burned.

"Noah needs you," you said quickly, hoisting your bag higher onto your shoulder as you looked at the couch.

"Yeah," Bradley whispered, wishing you would still meet his eyes.

But you turned toward the door and waved over your shoulder. "See you tomorrow at 6."

And you were gone. And Bradley was making his way into Noah's room. But Noah was already asleep again.

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

Your heart was pounding as you drove home. You and Bradley had kissed. Just barely, but still. You moaned at the memory of his mustache brushing your upper lip. "Oh my God," you whispered, running your fingers along your lips. Your crush on him was hopeless. Ridiculous. But was it unrequited?

If his date hadn't gone well tonight, why did he need you there again tomorrow? He hadn't even taken that woman to the movie theater after dinner. Was he really going to take her out again?

What if... what if he wanted to hang out with you? He had mentioned making you some coffee or getting the beers out. You were an idiot. You could be sitting on his couch with him right now, sipping a microbrew IPA and sharing a bag of Skittles. He could be kissing you senseless into the couch cushions. You wouldn't have been stopping him.

"Shit," you gasped, almost turning your car around. But you were already turning onto your block, your little rental house coming into view.

What if. There were too many what ifs. You really liked Bradley. Noah was so sweet, you loved being around him. Their house already felt cozier than your rental. You whined helplessly as you parked and hauled your books inside.

You spent most of Saturday morning and afternoon blasting music and making snacks while you tried to study. Every time you thought about Bradley, you made yourself run up your stairs to your bedroom and back down, getting a really nice workout in.

When you checked the time on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor.

Bradley Bradshaw: I wish we hadn't been interrupted last night, Princess.

"Oh, fuck." The text was from nearly an hour ago. You scrambled with clumsy fingers to write back as quickly as you could.

Same. But I hope Noah was okay?

But he didn't write back. So you got yourself ready to go, taking extra care with your hair and makeup. And an hour later, you were on your way to his house with homemade snacks and so much hope in your heart. Maybe he wanted to spend the evening watching a movie with you and Noah.

But when you pulled up, there was an SUV in his driveway next to his Bronco, and you had to park on the street. You grabbed your bag that contained just one of your textbooks and a bunch of snacks and eyed the SUV warily as you opened the front door.

And there stood such a stunningly beautiful woman, you froze halfway through the door. She had dark hair and perfect skin, and her brown eyes were searching you like you were a science experiment or something to examine under a microscope. Just as a smile curled along her lips, you heard Bradley call from the kitchen. "Hey Nat, get in here and help me! You know I need you."

Your heart sank at the sound of his voice beckoning to her. And now she was smiling at you fully as you shut the door behind you and set your bag down.

"Nat!" Bradley called with laughter in his voice. "Don't make me come get you!"

But this woman was paying him no attention. Rather, she was making her way closer to you and holding out her hand. "Hi, I'm Natasha. You must be the babysitter," she said, a teasing, singsong tone to her voice. You instantly felt like this beautiful woman was making fun of you. Putting you in your place.

"Yeah. That's me," you said with as much courage as you could manage. Was this the woman Bradley went out with last night? Was this someone else he was seeing? Maybe a fling he was giving a second chance? God, they would look perfect together. You could honestly picture it.

"Well, I've heard a lot about you, sweetheart." Her eyes were positively twinkling with mirth at your expense now. "It's nice to meet you."

You were just about to ask exactly who she was and why she seemed to know so much about you, but then Bradley appeared in the living room. "Natasha!" his voice boomed, but then he paused when he saw you. "Oh, you're here." His voice softened considerably when he looked at you. He was wearing well worn jeans that clung to his perfect body and a plain, white undershirt. He was so sexy, you could barely think straight.

But why had he texted you that he wished you hadn't been interrupted by Noah if he had this other woman here now? You watched this Natasha walk past him, patting his flat belly as she went into the kitchen.

You felt like crying. You could feel your brow creasing as you tried to hold back the stinging sensation behind your eyes as Bradley made his way over to you.

"Princess." His voice was so soft and he was smirking down at you.

"Bradley?" But his name fell from your tongue like a question.

"Come on into the kitchen."

You didn't want to go into the kitchen. You wanted to leave. But he pressed his hand to the small of your back and guided you along.

"Who is that woman?" you blurted just before you reached the kitchen doorway.

You felt Bradley's huge hand grip you a little tighter as he laughed. "She's truly horrible, isn't she?"

"What?" you gasped as he guided you into the kitchen. Noah was sitting at the table, making a huge mess with cut up construction paper and a glue stick. And Natasha was fiddling around with Bradley's fancy coffee maker like she freaking lived here.

"It worked last time I tried to make a latte. What did you do to it?" she asked Bradley, bending over the counter and showcasing her perfect body.

You thought you might actually hate her.

"It was supposed to be her treat," Bradley said at the same time that Natasha finally got the machine to do what she wanted, because she stood up and clapped.

And then Noah spotted you and jumped out of the chair, wrapping his arms around your leg and saying he missed you, even though you'd seen him last night. You almost dropped your tote bag on the floor in all the commotion and emotions, but Bradley caught it and set it on one of the chairs.

"I was trying to make you a vanilla latte, but I needed Nat to figure it out. Always saving the day, huh?" Bradley said, sharing a high five with Natasha.

"You're terrible at everything," she told him. "I can't believe they let you fly a Super Hornet."

"I can't believe I've been putting up with you for nearly fifteen years," Bradley told her, running his fingers along your back briefly before he handed you the latte when it finished brewing in a mug that said Noah's Dad.

You held onto it with both hands and whispered, "Thank you." Then you watched Natasha clean up some of Noah's construction paper mess and pat him on the head.

"Aunt Natasha promises to take you for ice cream next week if you're really good for you dad and your babysitter. Sounds fun, kiddo?" Noah lit up at her words.

"You ready to go?" Bradley asked Natasha, and she just nodded and said she would meet him outside.

"See you around," she told you with a wink.

You just nodded like an idiot and tried to sip the blazing hot latte. Then you looked up at Bradley's handsome face.

"I might be kind of late tonight. I'll be at Nat's mercy for a ride home."

"Oh," you whispered. "Okay."

But now he was looking at you like he had been last night, as if he wanted to stay here with you instead of going out.

He sighed deeply. "She's kind of making me go out and socialize with our friends. I guess that's what best friends are good for? Making sure you don't fall off the grid?"

Your heart perked up immediately. "She's your best friend?" you asked softly. He had told you his best friend was a woman. She referred to herself as Noah's aunt. She must be the one who had installed the dating app on his phone. She's the reason you met Bradley in the first place.

"Yeah," he said with a laugh. "And unfortunately I think it's too late to try to trade her for a better one."

You took a sip of the latte. Suddenly it wasn't too hot. It was perfect. Bradley was perfect, and so was Noah. Even Natasha was truly a delight. You couldn't wait to see her again.

"Bye, bub," Bradley said, accepting a kiss on his cheek from Noah who was now holding approximately nine colored pencils in each hand. "See you later," he told you with a soft smile, brushing past you on his way out of the kitchen.

"It's a beautiful day, Noah. Let's go for a hike."

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

Bradley was five beers deep at the Hard Deck when Jake handed him a sixth. "Thanks," he mumbled, kind of hating that Hangman was being nice to him. He wasn't used to this. But Nat must have been telling Bradley the truth when she said everyone missed him. Even Penny had paused for a minute to ask him how he was, and also to make sure things were going well with you babysitting Noah.

"Tell me, Rooster," Jake drawled, "how is your foray into online dating treating you?"

Bradley glared at Nat. "Have you told everyone about the dating app?"

"Not everyone. Javy doesn't know," she replied.

"What don't I know?" Coyote asked her as he paused on his way to the pool table.

"That Rooster is on a dating app. Oops," Nat said with a grin toward Bradley. "Now everyone knows."

He just shook his head and tried to search out someone else to talk to while he sipped his beer. But Penny was slammed at the bar, and Bradley didn't want to chat up any of the women here. He wanted to chat with you. He wanted a second chance at kissing you, too.

It was late, and Noah would have to be in bed by now. He wondered if you were curled up at the end of his couch reading one of your textbooks. He could picture you placing a single Skittle in your mouth, watching it drag across your bottom lip. He wanted to taste it in your mouth.

"Fuck," he mumbled. He wished he had an excuse to text you. Without giving it too much thought, Bradley took a selfie of him with Nat and Jake. He looked okay in it, so he sent it to you.

"Who are you texting that to?" Jake asked.

"Nobody," Bradley replied, and after another sip of his beer, he had a text back from you.

Babysitter: Who's that other guy?

Bradley's shoulders slumped. He should have known better. All women loved Jake.

His name is Jake. But trust me, Princess, he wouldn't be good for you.

Bradley realized too late that Nat was reading over his shoulder. "Oh my goodness, she's asking about Jake. Poor Bradley," she said, teasingly.

"Who's asking about me?" Jake drawled.

"Nobody," Bradley said at the same time Nat said, "The babysitter."

Bradley really didn't need that last beer. He was pretty drunk now, and quite frankly his friends were pissing him off.

"What's she look like?" Jake asked. "And if she's cute, my next question is going to be is she over eighteen?"

Bradley rolled his eyes at Jake. "She wouldn't like you. She's smart."

Jake just laughed. "Oh, Rooster. All women like me." Bradley hated that grin.

"Rooster has a photo of her saved on his phone," Nat sang, and Bradley wished he could tape her mouth shut.

"Show me," Jake said, and Bradley felt cornered. He pulled up that photo of you in the crown that he already loved so much and held it up for Jake and Nat to look at.

Nat was smirking, but Jake looked like someone had placed a juicy steak in front of him.

"Holy shit. So how old is she exactly?" he asked, trying to take Bradley's phone. But luckily he wasn't too drunk to pull it away in time.

"It doesn't matter," Bradley told him, trying to find a way to change the subject.

"What the fuck are you doing on a dating app when that's waiting at your house? I would be tapping that nonstop," Jake said, shaking his head at Bradley. "In fact, tell her your good buddy Jake is on his way over. Tell her I want her number."

"Absolutely not," Bradley growled. And then there was another text from you.

Babysitter: He's kind of cute. For a blond.

Bradley sighed and shook his head. He would not allow this to happen.

I can assure you he is not. He has a burgundy car, Princess. And his entire condo is beige. And he hates salad dressing.

Bradley's heart was pounding, and his head was starting to swim. He never drank this much anymore since he had to be attentive to Noah all day long. He was really regretting that last beer when you texted him a photo. Bradley's breath caught in his throat as he looked at a selfie of you laying on his living room area rug and laughing. You looked so young and sweet and perfect.

Babysitter: Nevermind. He doesn't sound like my type at all.

"Atta girl," Bradley said to nobody in particular. Everyone had wandered away from him at this point as he typed out a response.

He's definitely not your type.

Babysitter: You think you know my type?

He watched as Nat paid the tab and waved him toward the door.

I hope so, Princess. I'm on my way home. We can talk about it then.

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

Okay. These texts were getting a little flirty. That Jake guy was cute, but Bradley was definitely more attractive. Jake looked like an older version of Greyson, like the kind of guy you would usually go for: clean cut with an attitude.

But Bradley. Well. He was definitely something different. He was older, sexier, and you were pretty sure he'd never give you an attitude. Unless you wanted him to.

And now you were rolling around on his living room carpet, biting your lip to keep from screaming. Then you heard someone pull into his driveway, and you rocketed to your feet.

When you peeked out the window, you saw Bradley being led up the sidewalk by Natasha, which was hilarious, because he was roughly twice her size.

"Bradley," she said, pausing to scold him. "You need to stop laughing and focus on walking."

"I'm fine, Nat," he said, chuckling.

"You did not need that last beer, did you?" she asked, fumbling to get his keys from him. You could have opened the door for them, but you were frozen, looking at the way his face was bathed in moonlight.

"Nat, she's inside," he mumbled.

"Yeah, she is. And you better be sweet so she doesn't ask for Jake's number."

"Fuck Jake," Bradley grumbled, and you covered your mouth to keep from laughing as Nat opened the door.

"Hi," you said, greeting both of them with a smile.

"Hey, Princess," Bradley said, a crooked grin on his lips.

Nat shoved him into the house. "Want me to help you get to bed?" she asked, but you held your hand up as Bradley inched closer to you.

"It's okay. I can stay and make sure he gets there."

"Excellent," Nat said with a grin that reminded you of the Cheshire cat. "He's all yours, babe."

And then she was gone, and you had Bradley towering over you, looking at you like he wanted to touch you.

"Did you have fun?" you asked softly.

He nodded at you, his eyes half lidded as he chuckled. "Yeah. Was Noah good?"

"An angel," you promised, taking him by the hand. "Let's get you to bed, Bradley." Your heart pounded as you tried to pull him to his bedroom, but he wasn't budging. His hand was huge and warm, and he used it to pull you a little closer.

"Do you like Jake? You think he's cute. He said he wanted your number, and it pissed me off."

You looked up at him wide eyed. He must have had a lot to drink since he was rambling a bit. "It pissed you off that I think he's cute? Or that he wanted my number?"

Bradley scoffed and pulled you against him. "Both. He's not good enough for you."

"Oh," you gasped, running your palms along his torso where you were suddenly touching him. He was so solid. Substantial. You wondered if he had started to regret that almost kiss last night. You wanted to know what he was thinking about you. "Bradley?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't like Jake. He looks like Greyson, my ex boyfriend."

He just shook his head a few times, running his big palm along your back again. You could feel yourself melting into him. "You can do better than either of them. You're so pretty."

"Bradley," you whispered as your entire body clenched in need. You couldn't remember ever feeling like this before.

"You are," he told you, his brown eyes so steady and honest. "You're so funny and smart and pretty." And now he was looking at your lips.

"Of course. I'm a princess," you told him with a small smile. And then his lips were on yours. His mouth was warm, and he tasted like beer. But you liked it. You really liked it when both of his hands wrapped around your waist, dragging your shirt up a little bit in the process.

Your lips parted on a gasp as his fingers grazed the bare skin below your ribs. And then he was tasting you, groaning softly as your tongue met his. He was surprisingly soft and sweet, never demanding more than you were giving. Every experimental nibble on his lips led to him reciprocating the actions, making you a little crazier for him.

When you ran your fingers up along his neck and his cheek, he groaned, "Princess," against your lips. You pushed your fingers into his hair, tugging a bit, and then he was backing you up against the TV stand.

"Bradley," you whined when his lips found your neck. "Oh, God. You're drunk."

"Not that drunk," he mumbled against your skin, his breath hot, his lips dragging against your earlobe.

You did not want him to stop. That was literally the last thing on your mind right now. But you'd die next time you saw him if he said he regretted this.

"Bradley," you said a little louder, planting both palms against his chest and pushing him firmly away.

He released you completely and just stood there looking at you like he couldn't figure out what was going on.

"You're drunk, Bradley," you said softly. "Oh, God, I'm sorry I didn't stop you sooner." You took a few steps away from him, and he followed you like a puppy with sad eyes.

"I wanted that. Since last night. Since last week."

You just shook your head. "But you're drunk. You're the epitome of an unreliable narrator."

He just looked at you like he couldn't get enough and laughed. "How are you so funny?" he asked softly, brushing his fingers along your cheek. You were terrified that you'd follow him to his bedroom if he asked, but he wasn't in the right mind to be voicing any sorts of opinions concerning you or your lips or how funny he found you.

"Just, go sit on the couch, okay?" you instructed, guiding him that way with a hand on his massive bicep. He dropped down onto the couch, all rosy cheeks and long, splayed legs, looking up at you like he expected you to join him. "I'll get you some water."

You dashed into the kitchen without another thought, gripping the edge of the hard granite counter with your shaky fingers.

You wanted him. You wanted Bradley. And he was on a quest to find the right woman while you were simply here to watch Noah for him. You needed to get a grip on things. You needed to straighten this out.

After a few deep breaths, you filled a cup with cold water and reached down the bottle of Advil you noticed on the top self next to the mugs. If Bradley was able to hold a conversation when you went back into the living room, you'd try to get him to explain what was going on. You squared your shoulders, but when you saw him, he was sprawled across the entire couch, sound asleep.

With a deep sigh, you set the water and the Advil on the small table next to him. You watched his chest rise and fall with each breath he took, his face calm and smooth. His lips were parted slightly, and you could see the perfect white of his teeth. Gently, you pushed his wavy hair back from his forehead, letting your fingers linger in the soft strands.

He might not even remember kissing you tomorrow.

You took a sheet of paper and a pen out of your bag and left him a note next to his water. Then you checked that the back door was locked before giving Noah a kiss on his forehead. And with one last look at Bradley dozing peacefully, you left, locking his front door behind you.

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

Wow, Bradley. Do it when you're sober, bro. I hope you enjoy your babysitter fic @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 6

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