#i’m still gonna get seven but that’s like. if i fall asleep immediately | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oliviajdjarin · 1 year

Text

Joel Miller: Stripped to the Bone

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Excerpt: He tucked a hand into your hair and pulled you close, massaging your scalp. You exhaled in relief and breathed him in, not for the last time. He then lifted your head to look up at him and pulled your face closer, and closer, and closer.

“I dreamed of you,” he whispered, “all the time.”

Warnings: ANGSTTTT, TLOU 1 spoiler (ish), heavy description of blood loss, injury, impalement, and all that fun stuff. Reader has a breakdown and also kills people, with some kissing at the end.

A/N: I could tell you how many times I have used this exact case scenario to fall asleep over the last two years...but I won’t. Happy Last of Us HBO show days. I hope you enjoy some Joel.

If you’d like to leave a like, reblog, ask, or comment, it would be really appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

For as long as you had known the greying, brick wall that was Joel Miller, he had always been almost...impenetrable to pain. You always wondered if it was because he seemed to constantly be gritting his teeth and bearing some steady kind pain, like a heartbeat or twitching muscle. He always seemed ready for it, thus allowing him not to be one for any sort of reactions when he did take damage.

You had gotten used to it, too used to it, because the howl he released when he hit the floor of that disgusting University told you one thing--he had finally, finally, found something worse than his constant beat.

You only stopped shooting the culprit when your ammunition finally ran out. Seven rounds. You didn’t blink once.

“Y/N,” Ellie yelled, her small voice echoing around the vacant building. She had gotten to him first. You immediately broke into a sprint, practically leaping off the same ledge Joel had fallen off of, and you finally reached him.

It was bad. Really, really bad.

The rebars were poking from his stomach like a tree from the ground, his blood spread on the floor from his back all the way to your boots, and his body was already beginning to go static.

“Holy fuck,” you said, and knelt down beside him. “Joel, can you hear me?”

He coughed and choked out a faint “yes”, and you placed your hand on his arm to calm him, already forming droplets in your eyes as the panic and shock set in.

You couldn’t lose him. Not like this. Not now. Not after everything.

“What do you want me to do?” Ellie asked, but both you and Joel heard the steps of the hunters behind her.

“Move,” you said simultaneously.

“What?”

“Move,” you both said fiercely, and Joel pushed her body out of the way right as the hunters forced their way in. The both of you took them down with your bullets within a number of seconds. Their bodies littered the floor.

Not an atom in you cared. The infamous, heartless woman you had become was in full force.

You took a deep breath, calming your brain, and turned back to him, focused on the fact that yes, his chest was still moving in a steady rhythm. Up, down, up, down. It was up to you to keep it moving. The universe wasn’t going to take him away from you. You’d grip him until he ripped himself in half.

“Alright Joel,” you whispered, sniffling. That new flick of rage lit you back on fire. “We’ve gotta get you up.”

He nodded, the brown of his eyes already beginning to fade, and wrapped his hand around Ellie’s wrist. You went around and supported his back, grateful for any press of him you could get. Just like you always had been.

“Ellie,” Joel croaked, “I’m gonna need you to pull.”

“Pull, alright,” Ellie gripped his hand in hers, “I can do that. Okay, one.--”

Joel gripped her hand tighter.

“--two--”

You rubbed his back just so.

“--three.”

You pressed the faintest kiss to the back of Joel’s neck--right on the mole you had always been desperate to press to your mouth when he wasn’t looking--and lifted him from the floor.

His scream echoed through the University once again as he yelled “pull,” still somehow managing to keep control of his body. The rebar made a quick shing as it exited his body, and with one final tug from Ellie, he was free, effectively spraying blood all over the floor and your face.

You couldn’t feel your face anyway.

“Alright,” he said, gathering his breath, and started making his way forward. He walked like an infected-- crouched, slow, holding his middle. You immediately slid beside him, asking him permission with your eyes, and he scoffed.

That was Joel talk for “go on.”

You looped his left arm over your shoulder, immediately drenching your back in his sticky blood. When the warmth of it hit you, as well as its metallic smell, your vision blurred with tears of pure frustration and agony, and that’s when your memory began to blur.

You could barely remember making your way through the University, effectively mowing down hunters as you went, or making it back to Callus, or helping Joel mount him only for him to tip, landing hard on his bad side, and you remembered nothing from the horse ride back. Your recognition was only the burning in your throat, the panic in Ellie’s voice, and the stickiness of his blood still dripping down your face.

~*~

Ellie had been gone a long time, enough time for you to sit in the cabin and just...think. Think about the what ifs, the almosts, and how fucking rock bottom you were.

The only thing keeping you going was Joel’s pulse under the skin of your fingers.

The season had changed dramatically, changing from a decent fall to a gnarly winter, and the three of you had found a semi-livable arrangement. One of you would stay home and watch Joel for the day, while the other went out and hunted, simple as that. You tended to prefer the hunt. Your brain never really did well with “downtime.” Especially with the man you loved slowly bleeding to death beside you.

Today was Ellie’s day to hunt, meaning the rope of tension you felt curled in your stomach whenever you and Joel were in a room together tightened for at least five hours, and you were exhausted. Exhausted with worrying about Ellie, worrying about Joel, and worrying that, with everything that the two of you had been through even before Ellie was in the picture, you were still too chickenshit to tell Joel the truth.

You wrapped your blankets around you tighter than they were before, blowing into your frigid hands as you did, and just looked at him. That was the sole advantage of this arrangement, no more sly glances at the back of his head or quick double-takes when the sun hit his eyes just right. You got a chance to study him and commit every part of him to memory--every mole, every wrinkle, every scar. They were yours now.

With the way he was positioned—laying on the floor, eyes closed in a constant daze of pain and sleep—he was so real, so vulnerable. For a man who had only shown glimpses of vulnerability and weakness to you, he might as well have been stripped to the bone.

The best was when he dreamed, mumbling gibberish and cursive under his breath, because at least his brain was still functioning. At least he could still feel fear or exhaustion or cold, rather than nothing at all.

And, God forbid he mumble your name, because you would be effectively distracted for the entire rest of the day.

You sighed, rubbing your fingers against your temples, and watched his chest. He was still alive, still living to see another day.

But what about tomorrow?

For once, in that moment, you let yourself fall down that rabbit hole while staring at him underneath all those blankets. The thoughts of what you would do without him coated your mind like a black paint, drenching all the good times you had with black. The day you met him, stranded in a river that he, by either fate or chance, was walking by that day. He pulled you out and immediately stuck a knife to your throat, grilling you through your chattering teeth. He still could not give a reason why he brought you in.

When the two of you first started taking jobs, usually covered in somebody’s blood when it was all said and done, and you would take turns using the shower. You would only manage to steal quick glances at his naked back when he exited, and you cemented them in your brain, storing them only for you to take to your grave and dream about in the afterlife.

When once, in the hottest month of a Boston summer, a hunter got you good, nicking the side of your neck just right to make it bleed, and bleed, and bleed. You had to press cloth against it for hours to stop the bleeding, and the mix of the loss of blood with the feeling of your own pulse against your hand successfully blurring your vision and passing you out. You woke to the press of cloth on your neck once again, but this time your back was against something…solid, as well as warm puffs of air against your ear.

“She wakes,” Joel said teasingly, country accent thick as ever.

You groaned at your pounding head. “What happened?”

“You scared the living shit out of me, that’s what happened,” Joel said, bringing you in closer—making his mouth that much closer to your earlobe—and wiping at the wound on your neck. “Never pull that shit again.”

He held you like that for the rest of the evening. Neither of you spoke a word. And now, your places have switched.

You didn’t notice when tears started streaming down your cheeks, but they hit the floor heavily and small sounds of your sobs echoed around the cabin.

You scooted closer to Joel laying on the ground and pressed your hand delicately against his wound—just like he did you—and held your face close to his.

“You’ve gotta get up from this one Joel. Ellie needs you, I—”

You swallowed.

“I need you. And I—I’m so fucking stupid. It’s my fault you’re here, I could have gotten the guy if I’d just moved faster, and it’s my fault that I’m losing my fucking mind with you like this.”

His wound was hot, healing, his heart was still beating, but he was only getting worse. You weren’t that delusional, and the weeks of it eating you up inside had led to this.

Would you ever see the expanse of his shoulders again? Feel him follow you as you led the way? Look at you in awe as you did what you did best: destroy? Would you ever get to hear him sing, watch him dance, touch his skin, or fall deep into a life of domesticity with him that you had always wanted? You didn’t know if he would ever be able to do that, hell you weren’t sure if you could either, but he couldn’t try if he was rotting six feet in the ground.

You had known him for years, and yet you didn’t at all, and maybe now, you never would.

“God Joel,” you whispered as you cried, bowing your head near his chin, “Please don’t leave me here.”

You let yourself cry in what had to have been the first time in months, and you allowed your tears to drip on his blankets. You wanted to rub your face into them, into the smell of him that always seemed to poke through even after days of work and grime and killing-- cinnamon and woods, perfectly symbolic.

After a few moments you let yourself catch your breath and looked back up at his face, still open mouthed and clenched in pain, and rubbed at your nose. With one last press of your forehead to his chest you began to back away, swallowing hard, but just before your hand on his wrappings pulled away, a hand both soft and callused held it in place.

“That’s all? I was enjoying that.”

You gasped and looked to him, still in pain and yet, smiling, and began to laugh so joyously that you practically wept.

“Oh Joel,” you laughed out, feeling blood rush into your cheeks, “you heard all that?”

He nodded with a smirk. “Was almost as good as a kiss on the back of my neck.”

You rolled your eyes and tucked your face into his chest, completely mortified, yet the happiest you had been in weeks. More of your tears and snot rubbed into his blankets, but neither of you seemed to care. You felt alive, like you were the one being drained of life in the last weeks, and you had finally clogged the leakage.

He tucked a hand into your hair and pulled you close, massaging your scalp. You exhaled in relief and breathed him in, not for the last time. He then lifted your head to look up at him and pulled your face closer, and closer, and closer.

“I dreamed of you,” he whispered, “all the time.”

You smiled, love, gratitude, and disbelief flooding your eyes. “You mumble in your sleep. I heard my name a couple times.”

“I’m sure ya did,” he said. His voice was extra husked from sleep and pain, as well as from moving his own muscles. Still, he continued to pull you close, close enough that your faces were now inches apart. “Most of the time, I was doin’ this.”

And he kissed you, so slowly, so gently, that you whined.

His lips molded to yours expertly, parting your lips enough to make you begin to sweat, and you reciprocated the pressure. His hands framed your face and your hands worked their way up to his own, scratching your fingertips across his glorious, salted beard. It was just as soft as you had envisioned. His lips were slightly chapped and his breath was filled with sleep, which you got even more of a taste of when he slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you immediately became his zealot, and he became yours.

With one last slip of his tongue, he pulled away. You reached in for more but he shook his head, brushing your hair away from your face.

“I can’t lead you where I want this to end, darlin’, not like this,” he whispered, “but I will.”

You smiled at him and pecked his lips one last time. “I know you will.”

He smiled and nodded, the pain of his stomach obviously starting to get to him, and you laid his head back to rest. “Sleep. Ellie will be back soon, she’s tracked down some medicine.”

He nodded once more and calmed his breathing, obviously beginning to fade into a sleep that he could no longer fight, and you brushed his hair back as you watched.

“Sleep Joel.”

He smiled, nice and wide, and whispered one thing before he was out cold. “I’ll dream of you.”

You hummed. “So will I.”

Tag List: (if you’d like to be added to my Joel taglist or any of my taglists, please feel free to ask!)

@leahkenobi

#joel #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #thelastofus #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #the mandalorian #hbo #naughty dog

1K notes · View notes

roosterbruiser · 9 months

Text

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐘. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟕.𝟗𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟑𝐑𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

There are five bodies lying in the mess hall at Camp Arcadia, which is nestled in the desolate woods of Great Oakes, Maine. It is a long, long hike to town and there is a partially burnt dead tree lying in the middle of the path out still.

Standing here in the mess hall, the heat nibbling on your ears and clouding your lungs, you keep counting the corpses as if the number is going to change. As if you aren’t the one that brought all of them in here with Coyote. It is elementary to count--one of the first skills you learned, unfurling your lumbering fingers to form crooked three’s and seven’s. But you’re just not sure what else to do but look down at them and count.

It was your idea to have all of them in here together.

Fear is what woke you up--early in the morning, before the sun rose, when Jake had just nodded off after assuring himself that you were out. He’d watched you for as long as he could, his back pulsing dully and his eyes drooping. He’d even pushed through Coyote’s snoring, which he didn’t realize he’d missed until he heard the first distinct grumble.

You suddenly tore out of your slumber with a gasp, sitting up on your elbows, heart beating erratically out of your chest. And, really, you couldn’t discern what was wrong for a moment. You were safe in your cabin. Coyote was snoring and Jake was breathing. The kids were with Phoenix, safely tucked into their beds. There was no more maniac to worry about. You were finally sleeping.

Then you pictured it: Bob alone on the bus in the dark underneath the jackets and without his arm. Bradley alone in the nurse’s office with his face turned away from the window. Reuben and Mickey in the woods a few feet apart from each other in the dark. Paul’s body face-down in the middle of the desolate woods.

Never mind the rot and the bugs and the wild animals. Never mind everything that is cerebral, sensible. You were worried--agonized, really--about the people you love being alone.

So, not a moment after you woke up, you were slinking out of the cot with your heart in your throat and gently shaking Javy’s shoulder until he was blinking himself awake.

“Javy,” you whispered. He squinted in the dark, yawning, just barely able to make out your familiar silhouette. “We have to go get them.”

“Who?” Javy had asked, still half-asleep. “The kids?”

“Bob, Mickey, Reuben, Bradley, and Paul,” you whispered.

Saying their names felt like swishing a mouthful of tacks and biting down hard. You swallowed with difficulty your throat still numb with grief, and wondered if your gums were bleeding.

Javy sat up a little straighter, eyebrows coming together.

“Right now?” He asked. “What’s the matter?”

Immediately, his mind pulsed with sulfur. Maybe you’d heard coyotes crying in the distance--or a bear rummaging around in the bus barn. He couldn’t bear the thought of something else happening to his friends, even if he knew they wouldn’t be able to feel it.

“I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep if we don’t,” you told him.

He slumped in his chair slightly, sighing.

“Why are you so amped? The sun hasn’t even come up yet. Can’t you chill? Besides…” Coyote sighed, pressing his palms to his eyes. “Aren’t you worn out?”

A moment flitted by--quiet as ever before.

You sucked in a deep breath and shook your head.

“They’re on their own,” you whispered, shaking your head in the dark again. “I can’t…I can’t bear the thought.”

Once you said it--they’re on their own--Javy suddenly had an identical fear. Forget bears and coyotes. Yes, they’re alone. Your friends are dead--but more than dead, they’re all by themselves. They can’t be out there by themselves.

“Shit,” Coyote whispered, shaking his head. “Anyone ever told you that you’re pretty convincing?”

“No,” you said back quietly.

Bob was first. The sun was beginning to rise and it was already hot--mosquitoes were swarming, biting your shoulders. But all the same, you climbed onto the bus before Coyote and stood at Bob’s body. And he was there, under all the jackets, waiting for you.

“Let’s move ‘im before Nix gets up and at ‘em,” Coyote insisted, shaking his head softly. “He would’ve…I mean, he really would’ve hated how badly this hurts her.”

You nodded. You were almost glad for a moment that he was dead, because he would rather be dead than watch her suffer.

“That would’ve killed him,” you whispered.

Then it was Bradley.

Lying in the nurse’s office, all his blood and your blood dried, his head turned away from the sun. What struck you as so peculiar when you saw him was that his eyes were slipped shut as if he was only basking in the warmth for a moment. The soles of your shoes were sticking to the dried blood on the floor, but that wasn’t what stopped you dead in your tracks. What stopped you dead in your tracks, stuck still and staring at him, was the thought of him opening his eyes and turning towards you with a sultry grin.

“Christ, didn’t even hear you coming, birdie! Trying to give an old man a heart attack?” He’d have said. He would’ve really beamed at you, holding his finger with the tiniest of splinters up to you. “I’ll give you the download--I’m hurt real bad. I need you in a bad way. ”

He didn’t move though. He stayed where he was, still and silent.

“You okay?” Coyote asked. He debated resting his hand on your shoulder, watching your dull eyes as they gazed upon Bradley’s body for the first time since yesterday. “Do you want me to do this one?”

“No,” you’d answered quickly, not looking away from Bradley. “I told him I’d say until he was gone.”

“He is gone,” Coyote whispered to you, brows knit.

That was the first time he was scared that you--you who had almost single-handedly ended the horror at camp, you who had been nearly choked to death and still had the strength and gall to be chased through the woods, you who had somehow saved all the campers and him and Jake and Phoenix--were beginning to fold.

You swallowed hard, eyes twitching as you blinked at Bradley. There was a vague incredulousness to your gaze.

“But he’s right here,” you whispered. “I had him…right here.”

How could he be gone if he was right there within the reach of your fingertips? How were those ears, the ones he always teased piercing, un-hearing? Couldn’t he hear the swallows crying and the mourning dove singing? How could he be gone when he was only just there?

Coyote laid his palm on your shoulder. You were rigid beneath his touch.

“Do you wanna leave him here?” He asked quietly.

He glanced at Bradley and his belly turned. Part of him was mourning him--one of his closest friends suddenly dead right before him. And the other part of him, a small and strange part, was relieved. Not because Bradley was dead--but because it was over. He would not go to prison. He would not kill anymore. He would stay wherever the two of you put him.

“No,” you whispered, rubbing your face. “He can’t be alone forever.”

Coyote followed you through the woods, stepping over gnarled tree roots and ducking beneath the low limbs of American beech trees, to Paul’s body. The sun was shining brightly then, the clock racing towards mid-morning, and Paul’s body was crumpled and blood-soaked.

“Poor old man,” Coyote whispered.

You had nothing to say.

“He knew about the original massacre,” you whispered to Coyote, sniffling. You were watching the sun beat down on Paul’s gray skin. “Why do you think he stuck around?”

“Beats the Hell outta me,” Coyote responded. “Maybe he was one of them true crime fanatics.”

“Or he had a death wish,” you said softly.

Coyote recoiled at your words.

“We should’ve…maybe we should’ve come and gotten him when things first got ugly,” Coyote said. “Maybe he could’ve…”

Another should’ve. Another could’ve. You’re up to your ears in should’ve’s and could’ve’s.

“Fat chance,” you whispered.

And you sounded heartless when you said it, but you weren’t. Paul wouldn’t have survived. He was too old, too slow. There was no more room on the bus. You couldn’t have saved him.

Then the two of you walked tentatively down the trail where you knew you would find Reuben and Mickey, no longer afraid that someone was just further down the road, ducked behind a tree and lying in wait.

And you found them there, just as Damien had told you, not even two miles down the trail. They were only a few feet away from each other, strewn across the gravel like sacks of flour.

“They didn’t leave each other,” you quietly said to Javy.

It was just as he’d told you. They never left each other’s sides.

Sweat dripped down your face. You wiped your brow.

“Does that make you feel better?” Javy whispered to you.

“No,” you said.

“Ditto,” Coyote whispered back.

Leaning down, you picked up the walkie that was lying only an inch from Mickey’s hand. Within an inch of his life. And when you saw Mickey’s face, frozen in its final expression of terror, you could almost hear your name falling off his lips and puncturing the air.

When you walked back, Mickey’s weight heavy in your arms, fragments of skull crunched beneath your feet. They were almost indistinguishable from the gravel. You pretended not to notice Coyote’s tears.

Once the bodies were all in the hall, nestled in beside each other, you left Javy alone to gaze at them. He was still wiping beneath his eyes, shaking his head, unable to let his gaze linger on any one person for too long.

“Gale! Where you going?” He called out, but you were already crossing the courtyard and heading towards the cabins. “Gale!”

He figured that you were going to check on Jake. Maybe you were finally going to shower. Or maybe you were just going to be by yourself for a minute. He had yet to see you cry--he wasn’t sure what to gather from that yet.

But then you returned a few minutes later with a heap of flannel sheets in your arms.

The two of you covered each of the bodies carefully. Neither of you made light of the fact that it would be the last time either of you would see the faces of the people you loved. It would’ve been impossible to slide the sheets over their eyes, even if they were stained with blood. How could the two of you say goodbye to these people you didn’t even know were leaving?

You covered Bradley last, on your knees and dressed with an indiscernible expression. It dawned on you, just as you pulled the sheet to his chin, that it was the closest to a funeral he’d ever get. No parents. No siblings. No girlfriend. Only you. You and whoever else was left.

So, you paused. You looked down at his face, which was more bruised now. Violet and gray. His face was still unmistakably his face, though. It made your belly turn to think of never seeing it again this close to yours.

Bradley hadn’t ever told you his religion. You weren’t sure if he had one. Religion made you too dizzy to think about now, anyway. But you felt that there must be something--something close to an utterance of a prayer or a hymn--that you could say to him. Even if his ears weren’t hearing anymore.

It was only a moment until the memory of the bonfire graced the forefront of your memory. Warm and bright, when you were a little drunk and a lot high, when everyone was eating s’mores and the campers were sleeping and you were dancing. When Bradley was strumming his guitar and singing Joni Mitchell and watching you, his eyes alight with joy.

Maybe it was one of the last moments he was himself.

“I could drink a case of you, darling,” you whispered to him very seriously. You paused, choked up, and slid your hand through his curls. Still so soft, so thick. You could still smell the sweat on his scalp. “And still I’d be on my feet.”

Then you covered his face. And you never saw that face again--not with your naked eyes close to his. Only in dreams and photographs and murky memories.

Coyote was already gone by then, clenching his jaw tightly and walking across the courtyard to be with Jake and breathe in the fresh air. He was tired of being around death. He was tired of being soiled with blood. He was tired of watching you hurt.

You left, too.

Walking quietly and silently out of the mess hall and into the sunshine, you swallowed all the thick saliva coating your tongue and teeth and wished that it wasn’t so hot already. If not because of the sweat already gathering on your neck then because it would speed up the decomposition--

You had to rub your eyes until black and purple and pink spotted your vision to chase the thought away. Stop thinking about rot. Stop thinking about rot. Stop thinking about rot.

A few of the campers were beginning to crowd the courtyard, playing meagerly as Phoenix sat off to the side with her legs drawn to her chest, her cheeks resting atop her knees. She had woken up in her bunk, well-rested for the first night in a long time, and had almost felt peaceful as she listened to the sweet snoring of the campers and the swallows calling.

Then, as if someone had thrown a wet sheet over her face, she remembered that Bob Floyd was dead. And with wet, wet grief blanketing her and water in her lungs, she sunk back into her pillows and wept as quietly as she could. She did not wake any of the campers.

Phoenix watched you as you rubbed your eyes. You were swaying in your step, looking about ready to fall over if a gust of wind blew you too hard. And she watched you suddenly stop, blink yourself back into reality, then start towards the showers.

Good, she thought. You deserved a shower after everything.

She watched the children for a few more minutes, making sure no one wandered. But then she thought of you--all alone in the shower stalls, finally getting out of your soiled clothing, scraping the blood off you like a second skin. There would be places on your body that you would not be able to reach--like the back of your neck, between your shoulder blades, behind your ears. You wouldn’t be able to get clean on your own.

And with that thought, Phoenix walked over to your cabin. Jake was in bed, looking pinker in the cheeks and brighter in the eyes, eating a piece of toast. Javy was sitting in the chair beside him, listlessly looking down at his hands, trying to blink the image of Bradley’s body out of his vision.

“Hey,” she greeted--her voice was soft.

Javy glanced up at her, eyes glassy. He was taken aback that she was up and around. Earlier, he’d seen her positively mopey as she watched the children play. He understood. Of course he did.

“Hey,” Jake said back with a mouthful of toast. He coughed softly and managed a small smile. “How’re things?”

“Dandy,” Phoenix said back without smiling, glancing at Coyote. “Can you watch the ankle-biters? I’m gonna help Gale.”

“She alright?” Jake asked. His heart was suddenly in his throat as he adjusted himself, sitting up straighter on the bed, wincing. “Where is she--?”

“Cool it, Clydesdale,” Coyote said to Jake, sighing as he sat up and stretched. “I just saw her headed for the bathroom. You gonna shower, too, Nix?”

Phoenix just swallowed.

“Yeah,” she answered.

She didn’t knock on the door of the bathroom--she just walked in. And you were there, still dressed, standing just outside of the stream of the shower. Steam plumed around you like a thick fog.

You didn’t turn around to see who was there. You didn’t care to. It didn’t matter.

What mattered is that you were finally standing in the bathroom, ready to wash yourself clean of your blood and Bradley’s and Bob’s and Paul’s and Jake’s, and you couldn’t make your feet move. Your sneakers were suddenly made of solid silver--glued to the tiles.

“Hey,” Phoenix said softly. She adjusted uncomfortably, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “I figured you might need…”

“My clothes are beyond help, I think,” you said softly to Phoenix, glancing down at your dungarees and button-up. And you were right--no amount of laundry detergent, no amount of elbow grease could restore them to what they once were. The blue will always be tinted red. “I don’t know if I should take them off.”

“You should,” Phoenix said softly. “It would feel better.”

Feel better. That strikes you as funny. Your father’s chicken soup used to make you feel better. Wool socks. Orchid-scented candles. A new bottle of perfume. Fresh scrubs. Brushing your teeth. Kevin Bacon in Footloose.

But now, in the after, you weren’t sure there was anything that would ever dull the ache in your bones. You weren’t sure there was anything on this green earth that would ever make you forget Bradley closing his eyes and slipping away as you held him close to your body.

All the same, though, you didn’t fight Phoenix when she set a hand on your shoulder.

“I’ll help you,” she said.

And all you could say, with tears brimming your waterline, was okay.

Carefully, you unhooked your dungarees and Phoenix pulled the straps off your shoulders. When you let them fall--finally fall--they puddled in a red and blue heap at your feet.

“I’ve got them,” Phoenix insisted. “Step out.”

You unbuttoned your shirt with quivering fingers as she pushed your soiled overalls aside, straightening her posture and holding her hand out to take your shirt from you.

But you hesitated for a moment before slipping out of the shirt. It had been on you for days. It had been on your body since the night you had given yourself to Bradley, when Bob lost his arm, when everything started to go wrong.

“It’s alright,” Phoenix insisted. She swallowed hard herself, nodding at you like you’re some sort of creature she had to convince. “I’ll take it.”

Quivering, you took it off. And for the first time in days, your bare skin touched warm and wet air. Something tickled your spine, something between a tingle and a shiver. Phoenix took the crumpled shirt and you hesitantly walked towards the water.

Wanting to give you privacy, Phoenix glanced down at your shirt. It used to be powder blue and flowy. And when she was holding it then, as you very gingerly dipped your fingers beneath the boiling stream, it was red and stiff.

“Merry-Go-Round,” Phoenix said, reading the tag. You turned to her, eyebrows knit, arms beneath the stream finally. Phoenix swallowed, softly smiling at you. “You’re bougie. I’m more of a Debs girl.”

At first, you just stared at her. Bloody water was beginning to circle the drain as it melted off your forearms and hands. Phoenix was still smiling, unsure of herself and her words, but determined to give you a kind face to look at.

“It was on clearance,” you told her.

And then the both of you laughed. First it was you--a crack in the delicate porcelain, a throaty thing that bubbled up from your belly. Then it was Phoenix--sweet relief, breathy, quiet. It echoed off the tiles, hid beneath the stream, mingled in the steam, circled the drain dressed in pink and dark red.

But then as you stepped forward into the water, biting your quivering lip, your throaty laughter faded. Suddenly your eyes were prickling with tears and your cheeks were burning and the water wasn’t hot enough to wash away all the filth you felt caking your being and you were tired and your lips were stinging.

Phoenix stopped laughing when she noticed that you were weeping. And instead of bringing light to the matter, instead of asking you what was wrong--which she decided was fruitless--she picked up the bar of soap and lathered it in her hands.

She didn’t mind that her clothes were wet as she stood close to you and your jerking shoulders and swollen face. She didn’t mind that spit was leaking from your cracked lips as you cried.

She just washed the places you couldn’t reach.

Now, you’re alone in the mess hall again, counting and recounting all these bodies. You’re clean finally, hair still dripping cold water down the back of your neck, dressed in a pair of ringer shorts and your STAFF shirt from a few summers ago.

Five. That’s more bodies than there were Beatles. That’s every single finger on one hand. It’s the number of all human senses. It’s the number of years you have to live before you’re allowed to pack a paper bag lunch and finger paint all day. Five.

“Miss Nightingale?”

Turning, pausing on three--Paul--and biting the inside of your cheek, you meet Mable’s weary gaze. She’s backlit by sunlight, which is vivid and unholy, stooping softly because she’s unsure if you’re going to chastise her for coming into the canteen. In her hands, which are trembling, she has a bundle of delicate plum-colored irises.

Moving off your hands and knees and into a crouching position, you shake your head softly at her. Your face is still kind, though. Looking at Mable now, that little lost girl who everyone mocked, your heart aches.

“You don’t wanna be in here, honey,” you say quietly. “It’s not for kids.”

You’re the only counselor who can stomach this.

But Mable can, too.

“I brought some flowers,” she says after a moment, glancing down at the quivering petals. She sniffles and then looks back at you. Your eyes are wide and your face is finally clean. You’re beautiful--a fact that exists always, even when you’re covered in blood. She glances down at your throat and looks at the bruises that lay there like a necklace. They’re the same color as the flowers. “They’re irises.”

Now you glance at the irises. They're still wet with morning dew.

“Oh,” you whisper. You sniffle, biting your lip hard enough to taste blood. “They sure are pretty.”

Hesitantly, she steps forward. You don’t tell her to stop. You don’t shake your head at her. You don’t so much as narrow your eyes at her. And for Mable, that’s as good as an invitation for her to come forward.

The air in the mess hall is muggy and musty--a scent she recognizes from her dog’s fur when he rolls in something rotten in the backyard. Yes, that is what it smells like. Rot. Something rotten. But she keeps coming towards you.

“There’s flowers at funerals, right?” She asks you, glancing at the sheet-covered bodies. THe hairs on the back of her neck are raised, but she continues marching forward. “That’s why I…brought them.”

“That’s nice,” you whisper. When she’s close enough, you stand up and go to her so she doesn’t have to get any closer to the bodies. Taking the flowers, you inspect them a bit closer. There’s a few ants crawling on the stem and petals, erratic. You don’t flick them away. “But this isn’t a funeral, sweetheart. They’re not gonna…stay here.”

“I know,” Mable says, looking down at her shoes. She scuffs the wide-plank floors and shrugs. “We aren’t staying here, right?”

“No,” you quickly say to her. You sigh, closing your eyes. “Mister Coyote and Miss Phoenix are going to Mister Paul’s cabin to see if he has an old radio.”

“A HAM radio?” Mable asks. You nod, mouth dry. “My Papa had a HAM radio. We used to gab on it, like, all the time in the shed.”

Twisting the flowers in your fingers, ears ringing, you nod. Everyone’s grandpa has a HAM radio, you’re sure.

“We’ll call for help if we can find one,” you tell her.

She nods with another little shrug.

The other campers are playing outside, laughing with their mouths wide open and their hair stinking of grass and lake water. The sun is high in the sky and the wind is blowing in the trees and the ground is hot. It is a perfect day.

“My Papa died,” Mable says, bringing her eyebrows together. She plays with the skin around her fingernails, unable to meet your soft gaze. “He liked irises a lot. It’s what he…well, it’s what him and Meemaw named my mama when she was born. Iris. We put them on his grave every year.”

You just watch her, eyebrows blanched and heart steadily pounding. She looks so small right now--so much smaller than she looked when she said Mister Jake would die, when she was carried away from the mess hall. Her arm is still wrapped where Rooster sliced her--the bandage is clean. No more blood oozes from the wound.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you whisper. “Iris is a pretty name.”

“He always told us about the Greek goddess Iris. Do you know her?” She briefly glances up at you and you shake your head softly. “She was a messenger between Heaven and earth. She would…take people that died up to Heaven. Be their friend on the way. That’s why Meemaw planted all of ‘em around his grave. She said it would…oh. What’s the word when you call something?”

And suddenly, Mable has reminded you who the camper is and who the counselor is.

“Summon,” you tell her.

She nods.

“Yes. Summon. The flowers summon her and she takes them with her,” Mable says. She glances at the bodies. “There’s enough for us to give them all one.”

With your tongue thick with tears, you glance at the bodies. Right where you left them.

“Oh,” you whisper, looking down at the flowers in your hands.

“Flowers can feel like talking to God sometimes,” she says.

She can picture her mother, clear as day, bending over the thick stems of her father’s grave and saying hi, daddy. And with a sudden and horrible ache in her chest, she realizes just how bad she wants to go home.

With the sound of children playing and birds singing and leaves rustling flooding the air you occupy, you pad across the wooden floors and carefully lay one plum-colored iris on each of the bodies.

And then you stand back, heat in your cheeks, and look at them all. Flowers on plaid sheets. Bodies lying on the floor. It is enough to turn your stomach.

“Miss Nightingale?” She whispers. You hum, but don’t look over at Mable. “Is this gonna happen again?”

“No,” you tell her. You’re determined as you wipe beneath your eyes and dry your hands of dew on your cloth shorts. “I won’t let it.”

“How?” Mable asks you.

“I don’t know yet,” you whisper. “But I’ll figure it out.”

♀

When Phoenix and Coyote come back, they’re empty-handed and hollow-chested.

Not every grandpa has a HAM radio.

They find you standing just outside the mess hall, watching the children play. Your eyes are drooping but shining beneath the glittering sun, and your jaw is flexed as you bite down hard on your own molars. The bruises around your throat are wildly apparent now that there is no blood to shroud it.

“Nothing,” Phoenix says to you as soon as you’re in earshot.

You turn to her, eyebrows drawn. You glance at Coyote, who shakes his head, then look down at your feet.

“Not even a walkie? A landline?”

“Nope,” Coyote sighs, heaving himself onto the ground. He fingers the gravel below him and watches a game of Tag unfold before him. “That was pointless.”

You chew the inside of your cheek.

“What are we gonna do?” Phoenix whispers.

“Mav and Penny--!” Coyote starts.

He’s interrupted by the immediate shaking of your head.

“We’re gonna run out of food by then,” you whisper. You glance at the mess hall. “And the bodies are gonna start to…”

They can fill in the blanks themselves. Smell. Rot. Decompose.

“Gnarly,” Coyote whispers, rubbing his face. “So…we’re fucked.”

“This is just…so our luck, isn’t it?” Phoenix says with a pitiful and strained laugh. You and Coyote look at her as a few tears flood ehr waterline. Just being so close to Bob makes her emotional--that and the crippling fear of being found when it’s too late. “We…we fight our way out, tooth and goddamn nail, and still! Still we’re…screwed. Totally screwed.”

“We’re not…” you start. But you don’t know how to finish the sentence. “There must be another way for us to get a message out.”

“Well, the phones are still out. There’s no HAM radio. None of us are in any condition to make the hike out. We’re in the middle fo nowhere. Nowhere!” Coyote groans. “I’d say that’s as close to fucked as fucked gets.”

Saying nothing, you swallow hard. There’s a lump in your throat.

It’s hard to even imagine a world outside of this one right now. A world without a mess hall, a nurse’s cabin, a cluster of camper cabins, a latrine. No canoes and no lake. A world without five bodies covered in sheets with a single flower on their chests.

“What if someone took a canoe across the lake?” Phoenix asks, biting her lip. “Where would that take us?”

“To woods and more woods,” Coyote answers. He points towards the mouth of the trail. “That is the way to civilization.”

Phoenix follows his finger and sighs.

“Civilization,” she repeats, shaking her head. “We’re gonna have to be reintegrated into society like a bunch of wild animals.”

A smile tugs on Coyote’s lips. He glances at Phoenix and she is smiling, too--a soft and meager thing, one that is ready to flee at the first sign of protest. But he just nudges her with his shoulder.

“What will we tell the cops?” You ask. They both look at you. “Now that he’s…I mean, they can’t…”

“We should just tell them that Bradley did it,” Phoenix says. She’s not bitter, but mournful. Her chest is wounded so tight that she feels like she’s about to spin out of control. “I mean, you’re right. He’s gone. He’s not gonna suffer the consequences.”

“He kinda already did,” Coyote says softly, sadly. “Won’t that be staining his memory if we…?”

Looking off into the distance, you swallow hard.

“He said he was sorry,” you tell them. They keep their gazes fixed on you. “When he came to…I mean, it was only for a little while. But he said he was sorry. Said he wouldn’t have been able to live with what…”

When Phoenix realizes that you’re choked up, she presses her arm against yours. You just clear your throat and try to unfurrow your brows.

“So, we’ll tell them he did it,” Coyote says after a moment. He waves away a few mosquitoes. “And then he couldn’t live with the guilt. You know…offed himself.”

Phoenix watches your face for any sort of fight--but there’s nothing there. You just nod, steely. Your lip is tucked between your teeth.

“But this is if we get out,” you whisper.

No one says anything for a long while. You just watch the children play.

♀

When Jake wakes up, he immediately feels the warmth of your body pressed against him. There’s sweat dotting his forehead and his back hurts and his throat is dry, but he can feel all of your skin and heat against his body. So, he’s alright. He’s alright where he is.

You’re tucked up against his side, cheek resting on his shoulder, open hand splayed across his chest to feel his heartbeat beneath your palm. You’re awake--heavy-lidded eyes drooping and breathing slow and even but awake--just blinking at all the green outside your window screens.

“Sleeping?” Jake whispers, half-expecting you to not answer.

“No,” you whisper, glancing up at him. He’s already looking down at you, cheeks pink and forehead shining in the afternoon sunlight. Your chest is tight as you reach up and very softly press your fingers against the scruff on his chin, his cheeks. “We might never get outta here.”

When you say this, Jake knows that it isn’t to frighten him. It isn’t that you’re trying to be bleak. It is not for the sake of doom and gloom. You’re saying it honestly, earnestly. You have to tell him the same way you had to tell Bob that you were sorry, the same way you told Bradley you wouldn’t leave until he was gone.

“Chipper,” Jake says, a weak smile gracing his lips. He reaches up and carefully grazes your throat, face twisted in utter despair. “He got you, huh?” Nodding, you say nothing. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You were a bit preoccupied yourself,” you whisper, not smiling. “Coyote had me.”

A sudden and fleeting burst of joyful pride floods Jake’s chest. His best friend saving his girl. But then his brows knit as your eyes flit across his face, lips flat.

“They didn’t find a HAM radio, huh?” He whispers.

“No,” you whisper. “I thought every geezer had one.”

“Me too,” he sighs. “And the phones are still…?”

“Out,” you confirm. “Food’s dwindling, too. Shouldn’t have feasted the way we did.”

“We deserved it,” Jake says. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Maybe he means if they’re all gonna die out here, at least their bellies were full one last time. Frozen apple pies and bologna sandwiches and apricots and trail mix. He’s not sure he’s ever seen the children as happy as they were, finally eating after the harrowing few days they endured.

“I think I would, too,” you tell Jake. “I just wish things were different.”

He sighs softly, really taking in your appearance now that you’re clean of blood and gore.

The bruises are deep--he can make out the bend of Bradley’s fingers. He can imagine, clear as day, your lips turning blue and your eyes bulging as the air left your lungs and sat stunted just outside your mouth.

There are other cuts and bruises littering your body--a few on your neck, your arms, your legs, your face. Little things that will heal one day. One day, when this is all over and if all of you make it out, those bloody seams will close. Your skin will come back together, stitch itself. The blood that rose to the surface of your skin will settle and, just like that, the bruises will be gone. You will have nothing to show for them.

But the cut on the outside of your arm, the one that looks as gnarly as Jake bets it feels, will scar. He looks at it now, touching the delicate skin around it, inspecting it with his lip tucked between his teeth.

You’re watching him with your brows pulled together.

“Isn’t that a bit bloody for your taste?” You ask weakly.

Jake glances up at you, worry staining his twisted lips and pink cheeks.

“I think I’m a big boy now,” he says and it sounds more like an apology than anything else. “Blood doesn’t make me wanna Ralph all over your jellies.”

Spine prickling with something resembling love, you nod.

“Who would’ve thought?” You whisper. A stray tear rolls down your cheek. “Exposure therapy really works.”

“I’m the poster boy, baby,” he whispers, thumbing the tear away from your cheek.

Poster.

Glancing up and around, you take in your walls. All the crayon and watercolor pictures made for you by campers billowing in the wind, thumbtacks just barely hanging on. The sticky notes from your fellow nurses at the hospital, scribbled on blue paper with curly letters. One reads come back to us! Another reads If you see Kevin Bacon in a banana hammock when you get there--RUN! The photograph of you and your father in the kitchen of your old house, when you were no older than little Susie, when he was no older than Jake is now. And your trusty Smokey Bear poster, the one you’ve brought with you every--

The skin on your scalp prickles as you suddenly jolt up, still staring at the Smokey poster.

“What?” Jake asks, eyes wide with bewilderment. He tries to follow your gaze but hisses as his wound presses against the wall wrong. “What is it--?”

“Forest fires,” you say. You look down at him, eyes wide and mouth ajar.

“Only we can prevent them?” Jake tries.

“Smoke,” you say. “Smoke!”

And then it dawns on him--smoke signals.

He sits up straighter, ignoring the searing of his flesh and the sting of pain crawling up his spine.

“Holy fuck,” he says. His hands are trembling as he reaches for you. You let him pull your body against his, still in awe of your idea and the poster and fire, and bask in his tight grip for a minute. “Baby, you’re a genius!”

Glancing over at the taper candle, you spot the matches. Right where you left them. Waiting for you to light the candle and finish Carrie. You never got to do that. You reckon you never will.

♀.

Everything is in place.

Everyone is a few miles down the trail--far enough away that the campers will not see the explosion and it will not burst their eardrums. The fire will not touch them. Even Jake is with Coyote and Phoenix and everyone else, his arms slung over their shoulders.

He didn’t want to leave you, face screwed up with defeat and anger and helplessness, as he argued.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said, shaking his head.

Phoenix and Coyote had only watched the two of you, still digesting your plan. You were rapidly throwing what belongings that mattered to you into your duffel, heart racing.

“I have to be,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

“You know,” Jake started, sitting up with a bit of a struggle. “You always say that and it’s just--it’s just never true.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. He was staring at you, brows furrowed.

“I am sorry,” you said softly.

Coyote was staring at his feet, his own breaths coming in sharp puffs.

“I didn’t mean that part,” Jake said, shaking his head.

But still--you’re alone now.

The cabins are empty of belongings. Even everyone that is gone--their items are thrown into duffles and were lugged away from older campers. The only thing you nabbed, the only thing of Bradley’s you could stomach seeing, was the can of hairspray. That is not to say that it is for you to keep and cherish--the can is sitting on top of the gas oven in the kitchen, the dials turned all the way up.

You walked everyone of the mouth of the trail, just as you had walked Mickey and Reuben. There was more urgency this time, everyone racing away from the loudspeaker and courtyard and flagpole. But Natasha, Javy, and Jake lingered by you.

“I don’t like this,” Coyote said. “What if it gets out of control?”

“The mess hall is right on the water,” Phoenix had said, glancing at you.

You nodded at her, grateful. She nodded back.

“You shouldn’t be doing this by yourself.”

That was when you reached the point of no return. That was when you reached the point of gravel where they would go forward and you would go back--all the way back to the camp.

They all turned, eyebrows drawn together. Jake’s jaw was clenched still.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” you told them. You were holding the shotgun again. “I swear.”

“I’ll kill you if you die,” Javy said seriously.

You saluted him.

“We’ll wait for you,” Phoenix said seriously.

“I’ll come,” you told her.

Jake looked at you hard--the woman he loved, cut and bruised, holding the shotgun he taught her to shoot. His heart was in his throat and his eyebrows were knit and his back was pulsing, but when he spoke his tone was even and gentler than before.

“Really. You come just as soon as--!”

“--Just as soon as I know they’ve seen us. I know. I will.”

Everything is prepared in the kitchen of the mess hall. All three gas stoves are on and turned all the way up, the stench of the fumes flooding into your nostrils and singeing the delicate skin there. Every aerosol can you could find, you set atop the stoves.

The bodies, the ones that were resting in the mess hall, are now lined up in the courtyard. Blots of dark plaid on the white rocks, little bits of purple peeking out of the bleak colors.

And now you’re standing in the middle of the courtyard, waiting for the inevitable to happen. The ovens will explode--if they do not explode in tandem, then the first explosion will trigger the second. The ax, the one marked by D.G., will burst into a million pieces from its spot inside the oven. And every other ax at Camp Arcadia will burn just as brightly as the old wooden building. The blood that seeped into the floors will curdle in the heat. The buckshot doors will catch fire, too. Black smoke will rise. Help will come.

“C’mon,” you whisper softly, fingers trembling as you hold the gun. The sun is beginning to set, the sky a soft blue and bright purple. “C’mon.”

Adjusting, you plant your feet in the gravel. You know the initial explosion will be strong--maybe strong enough to make your ears bleed, strong enough to throw you flat on your back. But you’ll be ready. All this grief, this rage, this agony--you’re sure it will keep you on your feet.

Staring at the completely intact building sitting against the tall, tall oak trees and the fading sky, your fingers begin to tremble. Maybe it won’t work. Maybe they won’t get hot enough. Maybe there’s a safety mechanism in place that will assure they don’t explode.

“C’mon,” you say, louder now, staring hard. “Just--just c’mon already! You coward!”

Really, it isn’t the building you’re talking to. And, as if he knows, as if he hears you loud and clear, the hair on the back of your neck prickles. Your stomach turns. Your fingers ache. The scent of sulfur tickles your upper lip. Dread drips down on you like fat raindrops.

“You’re not real,” you whisper, not tearing your gaze away from the building.

You can’t even blink, can’t look away even for a millisecond. There are tears streaming down your face, fat and hot, and you can do nothing but let them fall into your open mouth and dissolve on your tongue in puddles of salt.

Distantly, you hear pops and cracks. They sound like the figure that contorted in your nightmares, the one who stood before you and let you gaze upon its figure. The one that was Damien all along, the one that would take everything away from you.

Screwing your eyes shut, you try to breathe through the sudden fear that is sitting so heavy on the column of your throat, pressing its thumbs against your delicate skin.

“You’re not fucking real--!”

That is when it happens.

The ovens do not explode in tandem. The first one goes and then the second. And it is enough to make your ears bleed, it is enough to knock you away from the building and flat on your back. Gravel digs into your skin and black clouds your vision as you close your eyes during the blow.

The unmistakable scent of fire overwhelms you--just like it did the night the tree fell. Something is burning.

Pain marks your body as you scramble to your elbows, legs flung out below you like a ragdoll. Your ears are ringing, muffled. You can’t hear the fire that is suddenly roaring before you and eating the mess hall--but you can feel it against your skin.

Slowly blinking, shellshocked, you watch the azure flames lick at the sky. Red and orange and yellow against the muted colors of the nature that surrounds you.

It is so hot, so overwhelming, that you feel like you’re on fire yourself. Heat blankets you, suffocates you. Vaguely, you know you’re coughing. But you can’t feel it in your chest or hear it.

Thick, black smoke billows into the blue sky. They will be coming soon.

Scrambling to your feet, leaning on the shotgun to support your weight, you stand.

You stand and watch.

Camp Arcadia is burning.

And with it, your cruel summer is burning, too. Soon it will be dust like the ax and the wood and the dinner plates and the silverware and the food. The blood must be congealed now, well on its way to curdling then crumbling away.

“Jesus,” Jake mutters to Coyote. They’re standing a few miles down the trail, all huddled up together, watching the fire with their hearts in their throats. “Fucking shit.”

Coyote glances at Jake, who’s holding his face in his hands now. He claps Jake on the back.

“I know you missed it, man,” he starts, swallowing hard. His ears are ringing. “But it was her. It was all her.”

“What do you--what are you saying?” Jake asks, glancing up at Coyote.

Coyote meets his gaze, his brows pulled together.

“We’re here because of her,” Phoenix says before Coyote can. “Some fire, some explosives…it won’t stop her.”

“The Devil couldn’t keep her down,” Coyote finishes. “She’s alright. She’ll make it.”

Jake looks back and sees the flames licking the sky. Fuck.

Stumbling forward, you stand near the bodies, still coughing and trying to blink through your tears. The roaring fire falls silent upon your ears.

As if standing guard over them, you look up to the sky and wait. You wait for help to come, even if that didn’t work before. It will work now. You know it will.

The fire is beginning to spread--it’s eating the grass around the cabin, inching closer to you and the bodies. You won’t let it get to you. You can’t.

“C’mon,” you say again. Your throat vibrates with it--but you don’t hear it. “C’mon!”

And suddenly, like a bubble has burst, your hearing comes screaming back to you.

The fire is louder than you imagined it to be--screaming, eating, burning.

You watch it with quivering lips, feet firmly planted on the earth below you, finger resting on the trigger. You watch the sky, too, waiting for something.

And then you don’t have to wait any longer. You hear it in the distance--at first no louder than the buzz of a fly as it darts past your ear. But then louder, more distinguished. Louder than the flames eating the oak tree’s leaves. Yes, there it is. It’s coming closer now--the distinct churning, chopping sound of a helicopter’s blades.

Just as soon as you see it, see its black peeking through the thick smoke and hovering over you, your body goes slack.

Help is here. You are getting out. It’s over. It’s really, actually over.

Your finger is steady when you pull the trigger. The final bullet bursts into the air, punctures heat, flashes like the bulb of a camera and draws the attention of the pilot in the helicopter.

Eyes slipping shut as the gun falls from your grip, the heat of relief hugs you close. It feels like being in the arms of death--perfumed with familiarity, rubbing its nose against yours. Except you know in the marrow of your bones that it is okay.

It’s passing.

Everything always does.

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: THE WAY I CRIED WHEN I WROTE THIS FINAL LINE WTF!!!! SPECIAL THANKS TO @laracrofted FOR BETA READING!!!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

@thedroneranger

@fandom-life-12

@avaleineandafryingpan

@popsycles

@guacala

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@oliviah-25

@zalmael

@chicomonks

@aboutelijahhh

@angelbabyange

@zbeez-outlet

@dempy

@awkwardgiraffe726

@awesomebooklover17

@ofxinnocence

@nyx2021

@callsign-joyride

@flashyourgreeneyesatme

@one-sweet-gubler

@olliepig

@beyondthesefourwalls

@cherrycola27

@hangmans-wingman

@malindacath

@thenewdaysalreadyhere

@shehulkracing

@vemonbby

@ohemgeewhat

@emi-flaces

@mishala005

@headinthecloudssblog

@anony1080

@bellaireland1981

@djs8891

@xoxabs88xox

@stiles-banshees

@birdy-bat-writes

@bananas1234

@shotgunhallelujah

@pono-pura-vida

@agentminnesota187

@onethirstyunicorn

@furiousladyking

@fandomxpreferences

@untoldshortsofthefandoms

@rintheemolion

@daggerspare-standingby

@harper1666

@princess76179

@roosters-girl

@jstarr86

@blahblechblah

@aemondssiut

@twsssmlmaa

@shawnsblue

@wolfiealina

@gothidecorem

@the-philthepill13

@hangmanscoming

@whoeverineedtobe

@lostinheavensworld

@laneyspaulding19

@averyhotchner

@peakascum

@jjlevin

@endofdays56

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@hypatia93

@sunlightmurdock

@tvjunkie08

@okyeeaaahhhh

@ijustwantedplums

@darkheartcherry

@sometimesanalice

@angelbabyyy99

@bradshawseresinbabe

@unhinged-btch

@bradshawbabe

@topguncult

@kmc1989

@callsign-magnolia

@ohgodnotagainn

178 notes · View notes

lovelytsunoda · 2 years

Text

if you like pina coladas // pierre gasly

summary: after a brilliant weekend away, pierre and y/n find themselves stuck in the middle of a rainstorm, debating the best way to run from the porsche to the front door

pairing: pierre gasly x female reader

warnings: mention of pregnancy

authors note: I should have said it earlier but thank you guys so much for 410 followers!! was gonna announce it at 400 but didn’t and now I’m at 412 so like, thank you guys soooo much <3

the headlights on the porsche shone through the droplets falling heavy on the pavement, rain obscuring the street signs as he nervously tapped on the steering wheel. the couple had spent the previous weekend basking in the st. tropez sun, while pierre attempted to get away from all the rumours about him being replaced by colton herta if he were to take on an alpine contract. the couple needed some peace.

his girlfriend was next to him, half asleep as she fought to keep her half lidded eyes open as she rested her head against the window, pierres hand on her upper thigh.

“mon amour, get some sleep. it’s not good for the baby.”

“the baby will be fine, mon cher. It’s still early days, I doubt baby gasly can even feel how tired my body is.”

not even four weeks earlier, pierre had come home from a race weekend, and something about y/n had been off. she seemed paler, and she seemed to be really tired all the time.

after about a week, pierre had insisted that she go see a doctor, and that’s when they found out that in nine months, pierre gasly and y/n y/l/n would be parents.

“forgive me for worrying, amour, I just want the best for you and the little one.”

“so get us home in one piece.”

the frenchman chuckled to himself, straining to see the next turn through the windscreen as he shifted gears, hoping he was now going down the correct street. he’s lived in that house for seven years, five and a half of them with y/n at his side, and now it was the house where he was starting his family, raising baby gasly.

pierre wasn’t sure when he had gotten so lucky: dieser the girl of his dreams, then an increase in race performance plus the opportunity to race at alpine, and then a baby.

he pulled into the driveway, headlights illumating the garage door, before slumping back in his seat, abba’s does your mother know playing softly in the background as the driver pondered just exactly how on earth he was going to get inside his house.

“I bet you wish you’d waited a few more weeks to move all the gym equipment into the garage.”

almost as soon as it was confirmed that pierre would in fact be a father, he had immediately cleared out his home gym and workout room to make it available for the baby, parking his porsche in the driveway and claiming the garage as his new workout space, claiming that he needed the bigger room anyways, wink wink.

“In retrospect…” pierre paused, watching the rain. “yeah.”

“so how are we getting from the car,” y/n nodded in the direction of the front walkway. “to the front door?”

“undecided.”

the rain was coming down heavy, to the point where it looked like it was actually going to hurt when the droplets made contact with skin.

“the best way to find out is to try, ma cherie.” pierre grinned before throwing the car door open and leaping into the rain.

with the open door came a gust of cold air through the front seat of the car as pierre slammed the door and attempted to make a run for it, a giggle escaping from y/ns lips as she saw pierre turn around when he was halfway across the driveway, hair matted to his face from the water and button down shirt soaked through. the driver pulled the door open, sliding back into the sport car before wiping the rain from his face.

“babe, you’re soaked.” y/n laughed. “you look like a drowned rat.”

“don’t go out there. it’s bad, mon amour.”

“well, I’m not sleeping in the car.”

y/ns eyes searched the porsche for the umbrella she could have sworn she packed before they left a few days prior, almost certain that it was in the very small backseat somewhere.

“what are you looking for?”

“the umbrella.”

“I thought you left it in the renault?”

“I’m busy trying to baby proof the renault because I’m not driving our kid around in a porsche.”

pierre turned around in the drivers seat, attempting to switch on the cars interior lights, hoping his girlfriend would be able to properly look for the umbrella, that way they could both get out of the car before the night was over.

“found it!” y/n shouted, unbuckling her seatbelt and claiming into the backseat to grab the small ikea umbrella hidden underneath the passenger seat.

“on the count of three, we both go outside, open the umbrella and run for our lives?” pierre suggested meekly, not thrilled about running into the cold rain again, the chill fall beginning to seep into his bones.

he was going to need a hot shower and a change of clothes after this.

“on your count.” y/n agreed, reaching for the door.

“one…two…three!”

they both got out on the same side of the car, one from the front seat and one from the back. y/n forced the plum-coloured umbrella open, holding it at an angle so it protected their faces and the tops of their heads as she and Pierre took off at a run, giggling as they held hands over the umbrella handle in the direction of the front door.

when they managed to get inside, they were both only marginally soaked to the bone, still laughing as they shut the front door, pierre pulling y/n in for a kiss.

“warm shower?” y/n suggested

“is there space for two?”

“last I checked, that’s how I got pregnant in the first place.”

“so…yes?”

“of course there’s room for you in the shower, idiot.”

#the cozy collection 2022 #pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #mini fic

551 notes · View notes

stealingyourbones · 2 years

Note

*hands you an emu skull* an idea

Small au? Promt? Idk, but brain dead + Dami at rich kid summer camp. The absolute chaos these three would rain down soon the camp, especially if Danny couldn't have his legal name changed yet and so he was forced to be in a girls cabin.

Some things I have worked out already are that the Waynes are important enough to give the boys private 'cabins' that are made for two people normally so Danny would probably be invited by Tim to bunk with him.

After a week or so Danny is probably head over heals for Tim and absolutely goes full on flirt mode, Tim is very flustered and had no idea what to think about the cute boy who sleeps in the same cabin as him that flirts with him constantly.

Dami rocks the shit out of anyone who deadnames/misgenders Danny, Danny has no idea.

Eventually Danny sneaks out to stargaze and Tim sees and they end up falling asleep on the cabin roof.

Also there was a canoeing trip and the three got paired together and they kept tipping over constantly.

- Icarus

Ty for the skull Homie. Icarus this is just wonderful.

I’m a very big camping person myself. I love the outdoors and going to overnight summer camps was a big part of my childhood. I’m gonna go on a lil ramble for a tad but I promise there’s a point to it.

One of my favorite camping trips ever was when we had to canoe roughly… It was either two or seven miles of river. Genuinely can’t remember which. Either way it was meant to take four and a half hours total to canoe. It took us two. Reason being was because it started raining a half hour into our canoeing. Fifteen minutes later it started thundering. Lightning could be seen in the distance. What you’re SUPPOSED to do is immediately get to the shoreline and wait for the rain to stop. Yeah that didn’t happen. The rain was forecasted to last the entire rest of the day and there nearest camping site was our current destination.

And so we paddled. We laughed and sang Disney and Christmas songs in the middle of summer at the top of our lungs. We all were soaked to the bone and yet we were having the time of our lives as thunder boomed overhead. We paddled our asses off but we eventually got to the camping site. Like at the moment being cold and wet and staying in a tin boat while lightning flashed across the sky wasn’t very fun, but in hindsight? That was the most memorable experience I’ve ever had during an overnight summer camp.

———

I need there to be a similar situation for Tim and Danny. Just something that’s like “oh this fucking sucks.” But they make the best out of their situation. They go sailing on a 420 and suddenly the wind dies directly in the middle of the river they’re on/really far away from shore? They just sit and wait and happily chat until their Camp Councelor tows them back with their motorboat.

The girl cabin issue is honestly a pretty big problem. A lot of girls will go immediately “yeah. Fuck that.” And immediately find a different solution for Danny. Tim offering his cabin cause there are extra bunks would have the camp staff would no question put Danny in there if they’re still part of the same camping group.

Idk those are my two cents from going to camps a lot as a kid

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc comics #writing prompts #dp x dc prompt #bones replies #anon

169 notes · View notes

thesokovianaccords · 2 years

Text

like thread through a needle - a preview

#steggyweek22 - day six (very belated) - multiverse/what if?

it’s the return of the peggy!cap fic...sort of...a preview of it, anyway

will I ever finish this? somewhere in the multiverse probably

I found this snippet as I was organising my files and had to add it back in immediately - there are so many little bits and pieces floating around of this fic that will be turned into a cohesive narrative. someday.

“I think it’s my turn to get some answers, don’t you?”

“You’ve been asleep, Agent Carter. For almost seventy years.”

“I worked that out for myself, thank you very much. I do still know how to read a newspaper. How about you tell me who you are, how I got here, and what—”

“Ma’am, are you gonna be okay?”

“Sorry, yes. It’s just, the last time I was here, this was a dance hall. I, uh—I had a date.”

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

“They used to hold concerts here, you know.”

Peggy’s phone slips through her fingers at the unexpected voice over her shoulder, clattering down six or seven concrete steps before coming to a stop. She swears, shifting to retrieve it, but before she can move, a tall, blond blur skids past her.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Steve grins up at her. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I figured you heard me coming.”

“That’s a terrible excuse, darling. Especially if you broke my phone.”

He bounds up the steps and slides in next to her, pressing a kiss to her temple as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Nope. Still good as new.”

“Good.” Peggy relaxes into his side, her head falling to his collarbone. “Tony would never let me hear the end of it if I broke another one.”

Steve snorts and slips the phone into her pocket. “What’s your tally?”

“Seven. I threw my last one at a senator--who completely deserved it, mind you—but Tony threatened to cut me off phone access. And I’ve finally gotten used to this bloody thing. I still don’t understand how on Earth you get anything done with yours.”

“It’s very user-intuitive,” Steve retorts without much energy, the old argument familiar between them. “Are you okay? I think this is the first time I’ve snuck up on you. Ever. Like, even before the serum.”

“Avenger business, yet again,” Peggy says, wincing at the reminder. “We made very little progress with the Security Council, and there are rumors of a shake-up at State. Everyone is on edge. No one was in a conciliatory mood, so Tony and I basically sat there to be yelled at while everyone else tried and failed to work their contacts for support and information. Plus, I really hate being in New York. Tony and Pepper always try to make us feel welcome at the Tower when we’re there, and it was good to see everyone, but it’s—well, it’s not my city. I’m not sure how else to explain it.”

“Well, you spent the whole time in Manhattan. Of course you were miserable.”

Peggy turns in his arms to catch Steve’s adorably disgruntled expression. “You haven’t lived in Brooklyn for over fifty years.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

“Brooklyn was never invaded by aliens, so I suppose you have a point in your favor there.”

“But it’s still New York.”

“But it’s still New York.” Peggy threads her fingers through his free hand with a slight smile. “I’ve lived a lot of places, Steve. And some of them have been better than others, but I still feel like I haven’t found home yet.”

“I know you’ll figure it out, Peggy,” Steve says, brushing his lips across her knuckles. “We’ll figure it out.”

Peggy bites her lip at the conviction in his tone, the absolute confidence he has in her. It has been a long time since someone has had unshakeable, unconditional faith in her—not because she carries the shield or wears the star-spangled uniform, but because she is Peggy Carter. It is exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure, and she has missed it more than she knows how to express to him.

She squeezes his hand and, as the murky waters of the Potomac meander along in front of them, she blurts out, “I like the Capitol.” She winces as soon as the words left her mouth. Not at all what she has meant to say.

“What?” Peggy looks over to see him staring at her, bewildered at her non-sequitur.

She clears her throat and glares at the river, as if it can give her the words she is looking for if she can only bend it to her will. “I—I like the Capitol, is what I said. I like all of it, actually. The Capitol, the White House, the Lincoln Memorial. These steps we’re sitting on. You know, I actually attended one of those Sunset Symphonies here when we came to Washington for meetings. I sat two steps down, right on the edge over there, as the orchestra played. This was the original Watergate, as a matter of fact - the complex is named after these steps.”

“The better Watergate, too,” he sighs. “Sorry, Peg, but I don’t get it.”

Peggy purses her lips in thought. “When I was catching up on the world—on everything I missed—they told me about the Watergate affair, of course. And my first thought at seeing the name was not President Nixon, or the scandal, or the cover up, or everything that came after. Instead, I saw the National Symphony Orchestra playing Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. It was comforting, in a way. I was learning about a particularly dark period in American history and yet there it was—something familiar, something I knew. And a good memory, even.” She clings tighter to his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers twice. “I don’t have many of those touchstones these days, my darling. I can’t help but hold them close when I find them.”

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

@captaincarter: I have been reliably informed that many of you would be interested in more information about my experiences with the Howling Commandos.

@captaincarter: So I’m excited to announce that I’m partnering with the @Smithsonian and @HBO to live-tweet their upcoming docuseries “Howling Commandos”

@captaincarter: You can tune in beginning this Friday at 9:00pm and follow along using the hashtag #HowlingCommandosHBO - join me, won’t you?

#steggy #steggyweek22 #steggy fic #steggy au #steggyfanevents #yes this is a week late and what about it #remember when I thought I could have this whole fic done by steggy week? EL OHEL how naive past livia was #I will write a catws!era peggycap fic if it kills me goddammit #it's maybe like half-written but we'll get there #maybe in time for steggy week next year 😭😅

22 notes · View notes

ilasknives · 1 year

Text

COLLARBONES: A Future Piece.

Hello! It’s been, like, six? Seven? months since the last Collarbones update. I still don’t have the next part. I’ve been attempting to write it that entire time, but it evades me - however! I do have this little piece about a Future Nico that isn’t whump (it’s horribly sweet and he deserves it), but it’s a glance into his future and where he gets to, one day. (Not the end of his story, though. There’s more to go for him beyond this). I’m gonna give you this and I’ll let you guess where Callum is and what Nico’s injuries he’s still healing from were caused by as a fun little ‘what’s in store for him’ lmao. Enjoy!

The music isn't made for swaying, not really.

It's the loud, electronic kind, the kind you're meant to jump to, no thought or finesse required, just good feelings and the thud of your feet against the floor. It pulses through the speakers and across the club, so loud Nico can barely hear himself think, but he doesn't mind. It's all part of the experience, even as overwhelming as it has been, and he's come to love it.

(He's come to love everything like this, everything that feels impolite and reckless and such a far cry from what Vaughn wanted him to be.)

Nico's cane rests against the wall not too far from him, still in his line of sight but not immediately necessary. His knee's been good today, and anyway, he has something else to hold on to right now.

There's something he can't quite name in the way the music is so harsh, but he's being held so gently in someone's arms. They're tucked into a corner, he and Sebastian, and they're swaying. Nico's arms rest over his shoulders, one hand in the fabric of his sweater and the other buried in the soft curls of his hair. It's sweet, the way Seb's hands tighten on his waist every now and then, like he's worried he might fall, or leave him. (Neither could happen here. Here, Nico is safe, he is held.) They've both been silent for a while, just holding each other. Being close.

Nico taps his shoulder gently, and Seb's chin lifts from his shoulder.

"Mm?"

He laughs softly. "Just making sure you weren't falling asleep on me."

"With music like this? Never." Seb's voice is soft, so different from the rough, painful rasp of Nico's own now, and he loves it. Would listen to him speak forever. Seb moves his hands, gripping the fabric of Nico's shirt gently, then drawing back. "How's your knee? Need a break?"

"I'm fine. It's not bad today."

There's a hum, and Seb's chin drops back down onto his shoulder. He's taller than Nico, and he has to hunch over to do it, but he never seems to mind. The contact, the weight of it, is nice. Reassuring. Nico threads his fingers further into his hair, shifting his weight back onto his good leg. Leaning one way, then the other. Swaying.

"We look ridiculous," Seb mumbles into his shoulder, and Nico hums.

"I know. I'm glad."

The music changes, into something just as atrocious as the last song, and Seb pulls away again. Nico chases his touch, a hand on his shoulder, his cheek, but Seb only smiles and reaches up to entwine their fingers. "Dance with me."

"We are dancing."

Seb shakes his head, laughs. "No we're not. We're… rocking."

"Swaying," he corrects softly.

"Mm. Swaying. Dance with me properly." He grins, a flash of teeth, eyes bright. "Let me twirl you around."

He pulls Nico's arm and he goes, laughing. He lets himself get twirled around and falls right back into Seb's chest. Arms wrap around his middle. He reaches up behind his head to rest his palm on Seb's cheek, and Seb presses a soft kiss to his palm.

He laughs and turns himself, buries his face in Seb's shoulder to resume their swaying as Seb hugs him tighter.

"That dancing didn't last long."

"I prefer swaying."

"Nicer on the knee?"

Yes, Nico thinks, but that's not entirely it. It's much nicer on his knee, doesn't cause him the all aches and struggles that dancing on it does, no grinding of the never-properly-healed bones together. But he would have preferred this anyway. Nico's always been desperate for touch, and he's closer to Seb this way, held against him, able to hold on.

"Yes," he says simply anyway, and he knows that Seb understands.

Soft lips press against his hairline one, two, three times. "Do you want a drink, Neeks?"

Nico presses his face further into the fabric of his sweater and mumbles a muffled yes, but he doesn't let go.

Seb tries and fails to pull away, and lets out an amused huff on top of Nico's head. "Alright, you've gotta let me go if you want it. We can't go up to the bar like this."

"Sure we can."

"Nico."

"Sebastian."

He laughs again, they both laugh, and it's the best Nico's felt in a long time. When they pull away, he reaches for his cane, the rings on his fingers clacking against it. Seb's left hand slips into Nico's right, and they go up to the bar together.

Later, they try dancing again, and they mostly get it right.

But Nico likes the first part better, anyway.

Taglist: @insatiablewhump, @rainbows-and-whumperflies @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @hold-him-down @whumpinthepot @magic-is-something-we-create

#Collarbones #writing: collarbones #not whump #but it IS part of a whump series #comfort #comfort writing #i guess #i hate tagging things actually #this piece is actually like. as old as the 3rd collarbones chapter i just never posted it #oops #anyway i swear i'm still writing it #the fifth chapter just refuses to cooperate with me and i struggle to write out of order if i'm not writing WAY out of order #yknow?#i just needed to post SOMETHING

7 notes · View notes

lovelybarnes · 2 years

Text

protector- shangqi

pairings: xu shangqi x reader warnings: bruises, physical assault, asshole boss about: requested! (DA32) “are those bruises?” + (DA19) “touch her, and i’ll murder you.” a/n: my darling requester i am SO sorry. it doesn’t usually take me this long to finish a request, but i have been exhausted this week fro some reason, and i couldn’t figure out how to end this. i hope you enjoy anyway!

you can barely gather enough strength to push the door of your shared apartment open, weighed down by the bags under your eyes and the fact that you were supposed to leave work over two hours ago. your forehead knocks against the cool entrance of your home, eyes shut in emotional exhaustion as the key in your hand blindly tries to find the lock. you groan softly when you continuously miss it, hitting your head a few times in frustration. you’re barely lifting yourself off of the door, eyeing the lock, and aiming the key when the door swings open, your boyfriend standing in the frame with furrowed brows. “y/n?”

at the sight of him, you step into your apartment and press your face against his chest, loosely wrapping your arms around his waist as he returns the favor with a tighter grip, still a little confused as he shuts the door behind you. “shangqi,” you mumble out, words muffled by his chest, “i missed you,” you continue, nuzzling your nose against the soft material of his shirt.

he’d been gone the past few days for a mission, and while you would usually make a bigger deal out of his return--meaning balloons and some poorly made dessert that he’ll eat anyways and definitely not you, exhausted, and on the verge of frustrated tears--you had been so tired lately, and you were back home too late for anything, anyways.

“i missed you too,” shangqi trails off, pressing his lips to your head as a comfort that works. “are you okay?” he asks.

“i’m better now,” you shrug, completely honest considering the way you can feel the energy you’d lost at your job rushing back into you with the smell of shangqi. “‘don’t even think i need the nap i was gonna take when i came home.”

“are you sure? i don’t think it’ll hurt,” shangqi debates, his worries utterly clear in his tone.

you force a breathy laugh from your throat, nodding, “you trying to get rid of me?”

“never,” shangqi replies immediately. “but, i am trying to get you to maybe watch a movie with me?” he baits, knowing full well that there’s no point in arguing with you when you’re so stubborn, instead planning to put on one of the movies that never fails to make you fall asleep, if not only for you to rest a little.

“that,” you begin, lifting your head from his chest but not moving from your place in his arms. “sounds like a great idea,” you smile, pecking his lips before letting him pull you to the couch, where you sink into him again.

shangqi puts on the movie he remembers katie raving about, dramatically groaning at you each time you fell asleep. none of you had any idea what it was about it, but you were always knocked out cold by the first twenty minutes, less if you were as tired as you seemed to be.

you glance at him when you notice the movie he’s choosing, poking him, “shangqi…” you warn, catching onto his plan.

“what?” he feigns innocence, throwing his arm around you to pull you even closer, “‘felt like watching it. you know how great the ending is.”

you don’t. which is why the lie is so damning.

you only grumble and settle in beside him, basking in his warmth and pressing stray kisses to whichever place you can reach, happy to have him back. you’re asleep seven minutes in.

an hour later, you’re shimmying your shoulders in the kitchen, moving your hips to a song you hadn’t been able to get out of your head for a while before shangqi left. you’re making something for both you and him to eat--nothing too hard, of course; shangqi has made sure to assign you something you can’t burn, something you appreciate after the last time you’d almost burnt down the apartment.

shangqi is eyeing you from the hallway where he’d just come out of the bathroom, a small smile crinkling his eyes as he enjoys seeing you in your element, a welcomed difference to who you had been when you walked through the door. he walks up behind you, placing a gentle hand on your hip and another one on your stomach to turn you around, meeting the brightness of your smile once you meet his eye. you continue dancing distractedly, a wider grin taking up your face when he begins to dance, too.

you turn a little too fast and bump into a counter, wincing when your hip comes in contact with the marble and letting a small sound of pain slip out. shangqi frowns, watching your hand as it rubs at the covered wound. “what’s wrong?”

you lift up your shirt, scrunching your nose when you catch the colored skin underneath. rolling your eyes, you wave him off as you drop your shirt, “it’s nothing. accident at work, my boss accidentally pushed me when we were in the kitchen.”

the frown never completely leaves shangqi’s face, eyes drifting to the place where your bruise was throughout the rest of the night.

the next morning, you’re out of the bed and nearly at the door before shangqi is even waking up, the brunt of the mission hitting like a train by the time he’d let his head hit the pillow. you’re rushing inside the bedroom, scurrying around to look for something and say goodbye to your boyfriend when he wakes up. he’s barely awake, the world blurry around him when he catches handprint-shaped darkened skin around your wrist as you reach for something. you don’t note his distress as he sits up, examining the skin that had been fine before he’d left as you mumble an aha, getting ready to leave your boyfriend.

“okay, found it. i love you and i will see yo--”

“is that a bruise?” shangqi interrupts, voice serious and completely awake as he moves towards you, gently grabbing your arm to examine the injury closer.

you look down at your wrist, laughing dismissively way as you try to take your wrist back. “it’s nothing--”

“that’s not nothing, y/n. who did that to you?” shangqi demands, tone still kind but pleading.

you swallow, scoffing lightly with a playful smile, “it’s just an accident at work yesterday,” you begin, the excuse something he’d heard before, “he just grabbed me a little too hard--”

“who?” shangqi insists.

finally giving in, you sigh, “my boss. he was just in a bad mood, i’m honestly fine.”

“was he the same one who pushed you and gave you that?” shangqi asks, pointing at the place on your hip where another bruise resided.

“yes,” you admit after a second of stubborn silence, crossing your arms protectively over your chest.

“did you tell someone--”

“i’m fine.” you cut him off, “it was just a one-time thing, he was in a bad mood and he apologized right after.”

“y/n,” shangqi starts, grabbing the hand belonging to the unscathed arm, “please tell me if it happens again. i think you should go to someone higher-up than him with this anyways--” at the look on your face, he stops himself, “but, i know that you love your job and you're not going to do that, so i’m not going to force you to, but if this happens again--”

“i will.” you promise, “i’ll tell you or i’ll tell his boss. she’s really good about that kind of thing. but i need to go now.”

“okay,” shangqi sighs, not happy with the way you were going about it, but not wanting to force you into something you didn’t want. “i love you, have a good day.”

“i love you, too,” you say, kissing his forehead, “i’ll be back soon.” you wave at him before you leave, giving him a view of the bruise outlining your wrist.

it leaves him with an ugly taste in his mouth that he can’t seem to shake.

it’s almost your lunchtime when he notices you’d forgotten your wallet at the kitchen island, the memory of you bustling about in the morning as you looked for what he assumed was this. poking his tongue against his cheek, he decides to visit you at work to bring it to you, knowing you’ll probably need it to buy food, and if your asshole boss happens to be there… then why not take advantage of the opportunity to introduce himself?

he’s at your workplace in ten minutes, swinging around your sugar mommy wallet as he walks inside the building. he greets hans, the receptionist that already knows him by how many times he’s come in to eat with you, and makes small talk while he signs in before he’s able to go see you, face already brightening when he sees you in your element, practically glowing.

the smile that’s beginning to grow on his face disappears completely once your boss comes into the picture, harsh words he’s probably spewing at you making your face drop. shangqi speeds up, trying to listen to what your boss is saying when he suddenly grabs your injured wrist with an angry hand, pulling you closer and spitting words in your face.

shangqi isn’t sure how he got in the middle of both of you so quickly, hands already extended to shove him away from you and standing in front of you as a protective barrier, features contorted into a dangerous snarl.

“who are you? what the fuck are you doing in my building?” he barks, coming closer to the both of you. shangqi can feel your fingers tangling themselves in his shirt, but you don’t move away from him.

“no, what are you doing putting your hands on her?”

“i don’t think any of this concerns you--”

“i can assure you it does when you’re leaving bruises on my girlfriend.”

your boss’ eyes flit to you, settling on your still figure, “you went and complained? you pathetic---” he begins to lunge at you, an arm outstretched when shangqi suddenly pushes him against a wall before he can even touch you.

“touch her, and i’ll murder you.” shangqi growls, a promise laced in the cold tone you’d never even thought he had. his grip is tight around your boss’ neck, ironed shirt wrinkling with each passing second of shangqi’s tightening grip. you stand behind your boyfriend in shock, only used to the sweet man who would prefer trapping spiders to take them outside. you pull at his shirt, softly saying his name as a way of asking him to calm down.

with a final jostle, shangqi complies, putting your boss down and only glaring at him as he slinks away, proclaiming he’ll sue. he turns to you once your boss is gone, gentle hands reaching for the wrist that had just been in your boss’ grip. his fingers trace gently over the bruise, worried eyes replacing the angry ones he’d had just before. “are you okay?” shangqi asks, scanning your face and pulling you into his embrace. you nod, tightening your arms around him. “i swear, i’ll kill him. who does he think he is? if they don’t fire him, i swear i’ll bring it up to wong or banner or i’ll take care of it myself--”

“i’ve never seen you that mad,” you interrupt in a daze, slowly pulling away and searching the eyes that had been so furious seconds before, now soft and comforting as they observed you.

“i’ve never needed to be,” shangqi tells you, the hands that had been wrapped around your boss’ neck now curling around your waist to pull you closer again, “but when i saw him hurting you--”

“i’m okay,” you assure weakly. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you about it,” you murmur into his chest, “i just didn’t want you to worry. i was trying to avoid all this.”

“worrying about you is my job, i’m supposed to make sure you’re okay, y/n.”

“okay,” you give in. “i’m sorry. i promise i’ll tell you if anything happens again--”

“oh, no, this isn’t going to happen again.” shangqi promises, pulling back to meet your eyes, “i’ll make sure of it. i’ll stay with you every day if i need to.”

“you won’t need to, i promise,” you vow, “but thank you for protecting me.”

shangqi swears it’s his honor.

1K notes · View notes

quindolyn · 3 years

Note

subby Jamie fluffy (Smut?) where he wakes up in the middle of the night and sucks on the readers titties to drink from her tits because she's lactating after giving birth to their daughter. I don't know if this makes sense but I hope it does!

Lactation Kink || James Potter

A/N: I'm not even sure if I should include "kink" but I will admit that there are some very smutty overtones so read at your own discretion. I tweaked the request a little bit in terms of the circumstances but the bones are still there. I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: lactation kink, light sub!James and Dom!reader, not much I don't think, all acts are completely consensual and if they needed a safe word they'd have one

Word Count: 1851

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were life savers. They could only watch their two closest friends creep closer and closer to death for so long before doing something about it.

After giving birth to a beautiful baby boy seven months ago you and James had come to understand a new definition of the word exhaustion. You were absolutely enamoured with your baby boy, James the same way if not worse, always keeping him cradled in his arms, Harry’s little head nestled into the crook of James’ arm.

Regardless, there is no amount of parental love to counteract the complete lack of sleep the two of you have endured. “Sleep when the baby sleeps” they all say, it's excellent in theory if only the baby would actually sleep.

No, instead you and James were subject to months of newborn induced insomnia,

You’d barely understood what Remus and Sirius were saying when they offered to watch your son for a few days, give you and James some time alone. Even though every part of your being screamed for you to take them up on their offer there was that small, annoyingly persistent, voice in the back of your head. The voice of maternal guilt.

Your friends wouldn’t hear any of your arguments, listening as you insisted that Harry was still far too young for you to leave him, you could barely stand a few hours, how were you supposed to survive days?

Despite your insistence that it was far too early to leave Harry with his godfathers for an extended weekend when the following Thursday rolled around you and James were rather unceremoniously kicked out of your own house, told that reservations had been made for you at an expensive spa and resort and that you were not to return home until the following Monday.

They’d even packed your bags for you.

You and James had successfully made it through the first night away from your baby, your quality of your sleep however was not up to par as you tossed and turned, worrying about the little boy you’d left at home.

Even cuddled up to Jamie’s chest your sleep was more like a light sheet over your consciousness giving you a shallow, unsatisfactory, reprieve.

What you needed was for sleep to hit you over the head with a baseball bat, knock you unconscious for hours and give your body time to recover.

After a long, exhausting day of taking advantage of the resort's numerous spa treatments, your wish of deep, meaningful sleep seemed as though it might actually just come true.

Minutes after laying your head down on the pillow, James slipping into bed behind you, you were out cold. Pulling you closer so that he could bury his face in the crook of your neck James was close behind you.

Finally, sleep.

-----

Your tits hurt, they fucking hurt. You were finally getting some quality sleep but the discomfort in your chest became intolerable and you were lulled back into a dreaded state of consciousness.

You’d been so ready for sleep and the peace that it would bring that you’d forgotten to pump your milk before getting into bed. You find yourself regretting that decision now, you shift slightly in James’ hold, just as tight as it had been when you’d fallen asleep. The clock on the bedside table reads three in the morning.

Fuck me, you think, your thoughts still blurry from sleep, carrying a weight in your temples that lures your head back down to the pillow as you fall back into your spot in James’ arms. You’re going to have to get up eventually, that much you understand, but the prospect of getting up and finding the pump, hooking it up, then actually sitting there while you pump sounds nothing short of absolutely dreadful.

You can only lay there for so long, on your back so as not to apply any pressure to your breasts, staring up at the ceiling before your tits go from hurting to feeling like they’re about to explode.

Eventually you’re forced to begin to fuss in James’ arms, trying to find the seal that will let you get up hopefully without waking your husband.

Even asleep James’ grip is insistent, he’s like quick sand, the more you try to maneuver your way out of his arms the tighter his hold gets, the closer he pulls you to him.

“Jamie, you gotta let go,” You murmur, hoping to appeal to the half asleep man.

“Where you going, angel?” His voice is the crashing of a wave against the shore in your ears, low, rumbling, calming. That voice alone is enough to have you considering just climbing back into bed with him, exploding tits be damned.

“Forgot to pump Jamie, m’tits feel like they’re ready to explode.”

He flickers his eyes open, worry etched into his irises, already blanketed in sleep, “Hurting?” Raising his head his eyes drop to your tits, like maybe he’ll be able to see your affliction.

“A little bit,” You nod, your hands combing through his unruly curls before making another attempt to rise from the mattress, “Gonna pump and then I’ll feel all better. I’ll be quick.”

“No,” He whines, god you miss the sound of his whine. His arms are like steel as he pulls you firmly back onto the bed, “M’thirsty anyways.”

Confusion heightens in you before James turns you so you’re fully on your back before slipping under your arm, resting his head on your chest.

Nimble fingers find the neckline of the silk camisole you’d found in the luggage Remus and Sirius had packed for you, sons of bitches also packed every single pair of lacy panties you own.

With little difficulty he slips the thin strap down your shoulder allowing him to tuck the soft material of the top under your breast.

“Miss my girls,” He whispers as he bares your breasts, they’re swollen with milk but the way he’s looking at you you’d think they were something far more precious.

“I’ll be gentle,” His promise comes just as he latches onto your pert nipple, carefully guarding his teeth with his lips, the last thing he would wanna do is hurt you.

It bears little resemblance to the way he used to suck your tits, fervently like they were the only things keeping him grounded, sometimes they had been. Now he proceeds with a new sense of caution but that doesn’t mean it’s any less pleasurable.

“Jamesie, ‘s for Harry, you can’t drink the baby’s milk,” You regrettably push him off your tit, he looks anything but pleased.

“They were mine first,” He whines, throwing you a dirty glance that falls completely flat given the immense adoration that lies just behind it, “And I told you (Y/N), ‘m thirsty, want your milk. Wanna make you feel good.”

Giving you his most convincing puppy dog eyes he leans back in, he latches on efficiently and sucking with an increased vigor you feel a feeling of fullness swell in your breast as your nipple tingles. It’s a feeling you’ve gotten used to but so rarely has it ever turned you on as when James is the cause of it.

He hums in satisfaction as the warm milk seeps into his mouth, it encourages him in his efforts causing him to latch on tighter. A little too tight.

“Easy there baby,” You hiss, “M’tits are sensitive.”’

He complies immediately, loosening his lips around your nipple the sensation becomes pleasurable once more. The pleasure helps distract from the discomfort which, at least in the tit James it latched onto, seems to be dwindling. The other breast is left aching until you feel a similar sensation coming from your nipple.

“You’re leaking.”

Casting your eyes downward you see that he’s right, you’re leaking slightly out of your unattended nipple. It's not unusual for it to happen but usually you just brush it away with a warm washcloth, not wanting to have a sticky mess on your chest.

Carefully, he brushes the pad of his thumb over the over sensitive bud.

“Can’t let it go to waste,” He brings his thumb to his mouth to suck it clean, the visual is almost enough to make your head spin.

You can’t remember the last time you saw James subby, ever since you’ve had Harry it's been sleepy handjobs and once you fully recovered, him pushing you up anywhere he could and taking you right there. It’s like parenthood awoke something far more dominant inside of him but as he latches back onto your tit you’re reminded how beautiful he is when he submits to you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, letting your fingers dance along the nape of his neck as you feel yourself unwinding with every second he sucks at your tit, bringing you relief.

“You full yet?”

He gently lets your tit slide from his mouth before responding, “Does it still hurt?”

The genuine concern in his voice has butterflies erupting in your stomach, you learned a long time ago just how sweet and caring James is but sometimes it hits you harder than you were expecting and you’re left feeling just as giddy as you did in the beginning of your relationship.

James seems to have sucked you dry, or at least to a point where your tit no longer burns with the feeling of an impending explosion.

“No s’all better baby, did such a good job,” You guide his face up towards yours, “Got a little milk on your lips,” You lean in, kissing the milk off his swollen lips.

It’s sweeter than you expected but maybe everything was sweeter coming off his lips.

You take your time admiring his face, hazel eyes that look a little more brown than they did yesterday, lips an impossible pink. Thick, long lashes you remember envying for as long as you’ve known each other cast their shadows along his cheekbones. He’s perfect.

You run the pad of your thumb along his bottom lip before letting him suck it into his mouth, when he couldn’t get to your tits sucking on your fingers always used to help James calm down. For the life of you you can’t remember the last time he’d sucked on your fingers. If it’d been in the last seven months you’d probably just been too tired to remember.

Letting your digit slide from his mouth James hauls himself over you, careful not to brush against your breasts, to lay on your other side. He moves with a surprising grace considering just minutes ago he’d been in the throws of sleep, you’d forgotten how well he moved.

“Other one now,” He murmurs, eyes glued to your tit as his hands move to cup it, giving him better access to your nipple.

“You sure baby? I can just pump this one and you can go back to bed, s’okay.”

“No,” His brows furrow with his empathic response, if he wasn’t already on top of you you’re sure he’d pull you closer in fear that you might escape, “Mine.”

taglist: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @amourtentiaa @kittykylax @superbturtlemakerathlete @oliviashea05 @pinkandblueblurbs @thatvenusbabe @itsmentalillness @zzzfour @Greenlyblue @emmaev @temporaryissue @gubleryum @msmb @marauderswhore07 @st0nesnglitter @miraclesoflove @shadesofvelma @drachoesimp @ashlovesthemarauders @artemis1orion @skaratjung @ava-brooke-blog1 @fairyprettygirly @Ohwowimlonley @padfootswife @roonilwazlibswhore @swearingsolemnly @Teenwolfbitches28 @lilypad-55449 @jamespotterslover @lilytheally @mo-jean @jeannelupinblack @wh0reforthemarauders @myalupinblack @ashesandstars @daisyyy2516 @siriusmydeer @remugoodgirl @itzstacie @planet-wolfstar @steveharringtonswhore @saintlike78 @thatdummymarie @cedricisnotdead @pretty-pop-princess-hs @saggyb1lls

3K notes · View notes

softieteez · 2 years

Note

Hii, can i request a super fluff reaction of ateez taking care of their s/o while she's pregnant, pls?

ateez taking care of pregnant s/o

note: OMG YES. these are always so cute. thank you for the req🥺

pairing: dad!ateez x fem!reader

warning: pregnancy, swearing, body image

tags : @skzfairies @hyuncore

hongjoong

omg omg omg

he’s lowkey kinda nervous, but he doesn’t want you to feel nervous so he hides it.

if you need literally anything ANYTHING he will give it to you

he would have the boys come over and help set up the nursery

he 100% talks to the baby when you’re asleep

buys you so much food, even if you refuse

if anything is hurting, he. will. massage. it.

he’s so excited to meet his little one🥺

“baby, you feeling alright?”

“you shouldn’t be up! go lay back down!”

scenario

you were exhausted, you were seven months pregnant and you didn’t know how tiring this would be. sure, you liked being pregnant, it had its perks. but god did you hate it sometimes. constantly hungry, hurting, and cranky.

you honestly felt a little bad for hongjoong, knowing he’s been hard at work trying to make sure you’re comfortable 24/7. he’s been on hiatus since you were 4 month’s pregnant, things were starting to get even harder around there. you didn’t want him to honesty, because if he did so did the whole group. but he and the other members insisted.

“you alright, love?” he came up to, hands automatically going to your belly, like they held some magnetic force. he kiss your forehead before looking back into your eyes. hongjoong can be really romantic sometimes, but he’s even more romantic and sweet now than he was when you weren’t pregnant. it’s kind of a cute little thing you caught onto.

“mhm, just tired” you said, sending him a soft smile and placing your hands on his.

“why don’t you go lie down?” he tilted his head, returning the smile that you had given him.

you put on a pout and tilted your head back “come lay with me”

he chuckles and nods, leading you to your shared bed. you cuddle up as best as you can and very quickly fall asleep. hongjoong hand running through your hair helped with that.

once he notices you’re asleep, he sees the opportunity to talk to your unborn baby and snatches it. he scoots down just a bit closer to your belly, placing a small kiss on it.

“hi, beautiful. i’m sorry we don’t have a name ready for you just yet, but we will soon, okay?” he whispers “you’re mommy is such a hard worker, i can’t wait for you to meet her, little one”

seonghwa

definitely excited, definitely nervous.

he’s also anxious about not having a name

everyday he makes sure you’re right beside him at all costs

he helps you with EVERYTHING

your lucky even you get to feed yourself✋🏼

he’s just so cautious, at times it’s amusing but sometimes you have to assure him that nothing bad is gonna happen.

although, you do love when he prepares a bath for you 🥺

“my love, do you want me to start up a bath for you?”

“ah! don’t carry that”

scenario

you’re so excited to meet your little girl. you and seonghwa have been looking through every website and baby book you could lay your hands on for the perfect name. you still have plenty of time, you’re five months pregnant now.

your mom had told you countless time that you will know the babies name once she’s born. it’s just a natural thing. so you and seonghwa are trying to not let it get to you.

“hey baby, how are you feeling?” your husband flashes his million-dollar-smile as he sits next to you. he kisses your cheek, then your belly.

“could be better, everything’s really achy today” you pout and lay your head on his shoulder. you can’t see, but you just know he’s pouting as well.

“do you want me to start you a bath?” he chuckles when you shoot up and smile widely. you immediately nod before he gets up off the couch telling you to ‘c’mon’

you two walk to the bathroom, hand in hand, and he starts the bath water while you get undressed and tie your hair up. you have no intention on washing it today. once the tub is filled with perfectly warm water, seonghwa helps you carefully step in and sit down.

he sits on the outside of the tub, watching as your body relaxes. “good?” he laughs a little, seeing you literally sigh out of pure bliss.

“perfect” you hum.

after a little while he washes you body for you, even though you already had a shower in the morning. he makes sure to give you baby bump some extra love while talking to you about something hongjoong has planned for when you give birth.

once you’re out of the tub, he’ll dry you, put lotion on you, cloth you. everything. he even cooks some food for you both before watching a movie.

“i love you” he whispers, putting his hand on your bump “both of you”

yunho

holy fuck is he excited

ever day, he has a smile on his face, even on the super hard days.

he just can’t wait to meet his little babies :(((

yes. twins. one boy, one girl. congrats :)

anyway. he’s just so loving toward you. especially because it’s your first pregnancy and you’re having FUCKING TWINS.

just imagine alllll the belly rubs.

and back massages 😫

he’s really good with keeping up with your cravings

he’s constantly looking at names, even taking suggestions from atiny, the members, his family, he’s wants the name to be PERFECT.

“what about this name for the boy! don’t you think that’s pretty?”

“seonghwa hyung is on his way to help with the cribs, you sit down!”

scenario

you get absolutely humongous, but you were fine with it, knowing your two little babies would be here in four months. you were so excited, and so was yunho.

he and mingi have been painting the nursery all day while seonghwa was building the cribs and helping keep you company. everyone was really happy when they heard you were pregnant, they were thrilled when they heard it was twins.

“see ya guys, thank you for the help” you smile and hug mingi and then seonghwa

“it’s no problem, now go get rest!” seonghwa scolded, making you roll your eyes but laugh nonetheless.

the two leave and yunho comes out of the bedroom covered in paint. you laugh out a little, grabbing his attention “they leave?” he smiles

“yeah they just left. did you paint the room or yourself, yun”

“yes” he nodded, making you laugh hard before you send him off to shower. you kept yourself content by scrolling through comments on your recent instagram picture of you. so many nice comments about how good pregnancy makes you look. ‘omg you’re glowing!’ and ‘i wish i looked like that when i was pregnant’

“you wanna go lay down with me?” yunho asked, walking into the living room where you were. you shook your head no however, which isn’t usually something you do.

“i’m hungry” you pout, causing him to smile, again.

“okay baby, i’ll be right back” he says, pecking your lips and then running into the kitchen

“i want chips!” you yell

“okay!” and within seconds he comes into the living room with every chip you guys have. “i didn’t know what flavor. so i brought them all. you usually change your mind half way through eating anyway”

by the time you were full, you ate five different chips flavors, and yunho read through maybe 500 names.

“i’m so excited for you guys to get here” he speaks to your belly and kisses it. “i hope you’re both tall”

yeosang

ohhhhhh my gooodddddd

100% a nervous wreck.

i’m sorry yeo😭

but he handles your pregnancy fairly well, even though he’s always on his toes.

he’s really good at comforting you when you feel ‘fat’ or ‘too big to be pretty’ because kang yeosang does not stand for that !!!!

takes advice from his members

he definitely sings to your baby girl

like, once it’s big enough, he’ll cuddle your bump and just sing.

it’s the sweetest thing in the world

“hongjoong hyung said we should get one of those pregnancy balls soon”

“Looking for star Looking for love 그대는 나만의 별 언제나 그댈 빛나게 해줄게요 Forever you're my heart”

scenarios

this baby will not stop kicking your stomach. usually you would be thrilled to have her be so active in there, but she kept kicking your bladder. and when she wasn’t kicking the literal piss out of you, she was just straight up hurting you.

“your child is a fucking bully” you groan and lay next to him on the bed. she already had similarities to yeosang, example one, taunting you.

“why do you say that?” he chuckles, turning to facing you, allow on pillow and his head resting on his hand as his other hair moves strands of hair out of your face.

“she won’t stop kicking. it’s starting to hurt” you pout, making him frown a little. he rubs you belly, hoping to relieve a little pain. “can you try singing to her? maybe it’ll calm her down”

he instantly nods and moves positions so that he’s cuddling you bump. he places a kiss on it before singing star 1117, so softly that you could probably fall asleep just from listening to him.

you smile when you realize that it’s working, her movements were becoming less harsh, and barely even there. you run your hand through his hair as he finishes the song. he chuckles a little in disbelief. he’s never sung to calm her down like that before, he honestly didn’t think it would work.

“i think she likes your voice” you tease. but it honestly makes sense as to why she would, his voice is deep and soothing. it could probably put anyone to sleep.

“i’m glad” he smiles “you think she’ll be a singer in the future?” he looks up at you with sparkling eyes

san

sooooo protective

no one touches the belly unless it’s family or the members.

he’s over the moon excited, you should’ve seen him when he found out it was a boy.

he talks about all the things he’s gonna teach him when he’s old enough

he brags about how his son is going to be so amazing allll the time

and also brags about how strong you are and how much of an amazing mom you are even before you give birth.

takes tips from both of your guys’ parents.

“you’re such a good mommy, my love”

“did someone try to touch my baby?”

scenario

being pregnant made things like shopping so difficult, you could barely be in the store for 20 minutes before getting tired anymore. so that meant san had to go by himself. which he was NOT doing. so he sent seonghwa to.

“baby, i can go shopping with you if you want” you pout, feeling bad that seonghwa had to run and do your errands.

“it’s fine really, pregnancy is hard. i’ll go” seonghwa insisted and left with the grocery list before you could even respond. you pout even more, with a huff this time, before san walks up from behind and wraps his arms around you, placing his hands on the bump.

“it’s okay, he wants to help. i promise” san kisses your cheek and sat you down on the couch. “your mom said it’s good to elevate your feet” he swore and raised your feet onto the coffee table, putting a throw pillow under them.

you laugh, knowing damn well he probably texts you mom daily for tips on pregnancy. you really got so lucky with san. everything about him is just so perfect, you couldn’t wait to see how he is around your son.

“how often do you talk to my mom sannie?” you question

“i don’t know, once a day maybe” he says casually, making you laugh more, which makes him laugh too. the two of you laugh and giggle when suddenly, you feel movement.

“oh my god…” you say, shocked. which only scares your husband

“what? what? is everything okay”

“yes, give me your hand” he does as you say, and you place the hand on your bump “talk”

“about?”

“i don’t know, tips my mom gave you” you tease just a little, knowing it’ll get him to rant

“we’ll she told me that certain foods should be avoided, even if your doctor didn’t mention them. so li-“ he pauses when the baby begins to move around. “oh my god” he repeats

you smile, looking into his eyes. your babies first movement. “oh my god” he whispers this time, crouching down by your legs and holding your belly. “hi, hi baby” he whispers.

the baby moves as you two talk to him, he seems to really like it when you guys have a conversation. “i can’t wait you see you little guy”

mingi

oh he can’t fucking waitttttt

though he gets more nervous as time passes. he also get impatient.

he’s so ready to meet his baby girl

like with yeosang, he’s very reassuring about your appearance, and also how well you’re doing.

he always feels bad when it’s a bad pain day, or mental day for you

you work so hard and he hates to see you hurting 🥺

the baby lovesssss his voice

“she’s gonna be so beautiful, i mean, you are her mother obviously”

“you think she’ll like the color yellow? maybe green?”

scenario

today was absolutely horrible. your cravings and emotions were everywhere today, not to mention the baby’s kicking was beginning to get exhausting. mingi was at the store, you forced him to leave the house but now you were regretting that.

you step into your shared bedroom, looking at yourself in the body length mirror. you liked huge in your mind. but in mingi’s mind, you’re gorgeous.

“baby, i got your fruit you wanted” he announced as he walked into the bedroom. you didn’t even notice that he got home, usually you would hear the car pull up of the door shutting. all you do is nod and continue looking at yourself “what’s wrong?” he asks

“don’t you think i look huge?” you say, making him frown.

“what?” he asked, coming up to you slowly. he raps his arms around you from behind, forcing his hands to rest on you baby bump.

“i feel ginormous. i’m into five months in, i shouldn’t be this big” you insisted, but mingi wanting having it. he spun you away from the mirror so that you’re looking at him.

“my love, you’re caring a person inside of you. you’re caring our daughter. the person that we will love together for the rest of our lives. so yes, pregnancy obviously makes you gain weight, but you look absolutely gorgeous” he looks into your eyes the whole time he speaks, and by the time he’s done talking you’re sitting there getting emotional.

you let a couple tears fall before wiping them away. mingi coos a little and kisses your cheeks “you’re perfect, baby” he promises, though it doesn’t help with your emotions any

“stop or i’m gonna keep crying” you scold your husband, who only chuckles and gives you more kisses.

“okay, c’mon on got you fruit” he says, pulling you out of the bedroom

“i don’t want fruit anymore, i’m kind of craving your moms dip” you think out loud, though his smile doesn’t alter any as he takes you to the kitchen and takes his moms oh-so-famous chip dip from the fridge “i love you” you say as he hands you to you

mingi laughs once again “i love you too” he says before leaning down and uncovering your belly from your shirt “and i love you as well princess”

wooyoung

ohh boyyy

woo is so pumped to meet his son

wooyoung is kinda known to be a bit of a tease, but he kind of halts that during your pregnancy

he doesn’t wanna accidentally hurt your feelings :(((

he likes to kiss your baby bump every morning and every night

he started clearing space for the nursery the second you told him you were pregnant

always cooking for you

he’s the goofy type. he’s the type to dance with you in the middle of the living room with his hands on your belly and waist

“c’mon dance with me, baby”

“if we’re having a baby the nursery will not be gendered.”

scenario

you were sitting in the middle of your unfinished nursery as wooyoung finished up painting one of the walls. he didn’t want the baby to have a gendered bedroom. so walls are painted a soft gray and will later have wall stickers of little clouds and animals plastered on them.

you were looking through baby websites, searching for things like clothes, dressers, basically everything. because as of right now the only thing you have is a crib and a baby carrier. then again, you’re still only four months or pregnant, you just found out the gender. so you don’t feel any rush yet.

“kiss” wooyoung demands, crouching dow beside you, being careful not to touch you with his paint covered hands and clothes. you giggle as he puckers his lips, waiting for yours to meet his. and why on earth would you say no to a wooyoung kiss?

you peck his lips before he runs off to shower. you stay in the nursery, scrolling through your laptop. you want to get a rocking chair early on so that you can sit in the nursery comfortably while doing things like this.

you were at that stage where it was getting hard to do anything. standing up, tying your shoes, everything. you weren’t even gonna attempt to get off the floor until wooyoung can help you up.

“why are you still in here, baby?” you hear your husband ask as he enters the room. you sigh and close your laptop

“i need help” you pout and lift your arms toward him, he chuckles slight and walks over to help you up. “my butt’s numb” you sigh, rubbing your butt and wooyoung figures it would help to rub the other cheek, because he’s wooyoung.

“come on, my lovely, i’ll make you food and you can watch that show you like” he holds out his hand, waiting for you to put your own hand in his. you smile and collide your hands together. he grabs your laptop from the floor and walks out of there with you following. “craving?”

“chicken, mac and cheese, pickles” you sigh, listing only a couple of your cravings, the one that seemed most logical for a lunch.

“yes ma’am” he chirps and runs to the kitchen to make some food. you smile to yourself, sitting on the couch and turning on your favorite show.

he came in and out of the kitchen a few times to check on you until he finally came out with food. you sat up a bit straighter and held your hands out for one of the plates “here you are, beautiful” he smiles

“thank you”

“you’re welcome, now eat up you two” he kisses your cheek and rubs your belly

jongho

okay, he’s a nervous wreck. like he tries to hide it, but sometimes it just…

anyway.

definitely sings to you both

he will do anything for you and your unborn son

after some time he starts getting my easy going and playful

he often talks to your belly

does everything for you

he gets so excited when the baby boy starts kicking 🥺

“awe, hi little guy” *baby kicking*

“no, babe, seriously i got it, go sit down”

scenario

you aren’t really a morning person, and it doesn’t help when you were up and down all night because the baby kept kicking your bladder. but waking up to jongho softly humming a tune and rubbing your baby bump made it easier.

as your eyes flutter open, you see jongho facing you but his eyes remain on the bump. that is, until he notices you’re awake. “good morning” he smiles sweetly, speaking in a hushed voice.

“mornin” you grumble and close your eyes again, making your husband giggle a little. he kisses your forehead and continues singing.

“do you think he’ll like sports?” jongho mumbled. you can’t help but chuckle and place your hand on his jaw.

“if he’s anything like, most likely” you answer with your eyes still shut. he hums contently, pondering about what his baby boy will be like in the future. maybe playing basketball? or wrestling? what if he decides to be a singer too?

“i hope he has your eyes” your husband said, making you scoff and open your eyes.

“you have such pretty eyes, what’re you talking about” you giggle lightly as he gives you a disapproving glance. he looks back down at your belly, just admiring it “two more months to go” you remind him

“i can’t wait to meet him” he says before singing again. this time, he’s actually singing, and dear god did this baby love his dads singing. he gets all excited and starts kicking your belly “good morning little one” he laughs

“mmh, he kept me up all night” you grumble, feeling the familiar kicking praying he doesn’t hit your bladder.

“tell your momma your just ready to get out of there, huh?”

you laugh at jongho’s baby voice, though you find it quite endearing and sweet. definitely your favorite thing “i can’t wait to see what your like when he’s actually here”

“hmm, i’m gonna spoil the heck out of him” he promises that. and you know he’s not bluffing “you’re gonna be a spoiled little thing” he leans down, kissing your belly

758 notes · View notes

baroquebucky · 3 years

Text

fool for you

bucky just wants to be with you forever

word count: 1.9k

masterlist

a/n: hi bffs !! hope u are all well <33 pls enjoy this v fluffy one shot inspired by own post :’ ) let me know what u all think !!

You were tired, your eyelids felt heavy and you struggled to pay attention to the tv. Your head falling to the side as you drifted off, eyes shooting open when you realized you were falling asleep. You got up quickly, splashing your face with water and settling back on the couch, rubbing your eyes and focusing on the tv again.

1:57 a.m.

You checked your phone in hopes of a “five minutes away :)” text from bucky, but there was none. You yawned again and changed the channel, flipping through some channels to try to wake you up before deciding to just switch to netflix instead.

You smiled as your favorite show played, nuzzling into the blanket bucky had given you and focusing on the show. The sound of keys rattling woke you up, you hadn’t even realize you had fallen asleep.

“shit” bucky whispered as the door slammed into the wall. “sorry” bucky spoke, apologizing to the wall before dragging his suitcase as quietly as he could. He kicked off his boots and his eyes landed on you asleep on the couch.

“buck?” you mumbled, willing your eyes open. Your vision was fuzzy and you could hear the tv still playing, you moved a little, forgetting you were on the couch and slipped off the edge. You couldn’t even process that you had fallen by the time bucky caught you in his arms, smiling at you.

“hi doll” bucky smiled at you, kissing your forehead gently and easily lifting you in his arm. He turned the tv off and carried you into your shared room, gently placing you on the bed.

“what time ‘s it?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes and yawning, finally waking up.

“almost 3” he smiled at you softly, rummaging through his drawer and taking out a change of clothes. You nodded as he pulled out a black t shirt and some boxers, walking towards you and kissing your temple.

“I’m gonna shower doll, you can go to sleep” he assured you and you nodded, knowing full well you’d end up waiting up for him anyway.

“don’t slip” you smiled and he rolled his eyes, waving you off with a small smile on his face.

“it was one time!” He groaned before closing the door to the restroom.

You smiled to yourself as you heard the shower turn on, rolling over to your side and closing your eyes. The sleep that had been taking over you earlier was nowhere to be found. You kicked the covers off you and groaned, frowning as you stared at the ceiling. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand and scrolled through Twitter for a while, waiting for bucky to finish showering so you could cuddle up to him and fall asleep.

You could feel yourself growing hungry, glancing at the time on your phone you frowned a bit, it was already 3:07 am. you drank some water and tried to fall back asleep, cuddling into your pillow and letting out a soft sigh when you finally got comfortable. Right as you were finally going to sleep bucky opened the restroom door, the sound making your eyes shoot open and heart race.

“did I wake you?” bucky whispered, a frown on his face as he heard your heart rate quicker than usual. You shook your head with a small smile. He knew you were lying but he didn't say anything, he just threw his dirty clothes in the laundry basket and settled next to you under the covers. He threw his right arm around you, pulling you closer to him and kissing the top of your head.

“g’night doll” he mumbled and closed his eyes, already falling asleep from how exhausted he was.

“goodnight buck” you replied softly, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of his arm around you. It was silent, with only the sounds of the city flowing through the Brooklyn apartment.

Then your stomach growled, causing bucky to looked at you with wide eyes and you stifled a giggle. You mumbled a ‘sorry’ before closing your eyes again, hoping it wouldn't keep growling.

You were wrong. Your stomach was relentless, and finally you got up, slipping from Bucky grasp and scurrying into the kitchen to find something to eat. Bucky felt your absence almost immediately, he opened his eyes and frowned, getting up and making his way into the kitchen.

“didnt mean to wake you angel” you apologized as he walked towards you. He shook his head and wrapping his arms around you, letting his chin rest onto of your head. His eyes fluttered closed as you relaxed into him, your arms snaking around his waist and leaning your head against his chest. The sound of the microwave made you pull away from him, grabbing the hot cup of Mac and cheese and setting it on the dining table, Bucky soon following you and sitting next to you.

“now im hungry” he frowned and you laughed, giving him some of your Mac and cheese which he gratefully ate. Within minutes the small bowl of Mac and cheese was empty, the two of you still hungry. You stared at bucky, a small smile creeping onto both of your faces. You were both thinking the same thing.

“no we shouldn't” you shook your head and bucky agreed.

“yeah no its almost 4 we should get to bed” he replied, you both got up, making eye contact before bursting into a fit of giggles and smiles, heading straight towards the kitchen and definitely not bed. You pulled your phone out and put on some music.

“you were thinking about French toast right?” you asked and bucky smiled, already opening the fridge for the ingredients, you grinned and you opened the pantry to get the other things you needed. You both sang along to the music softly, swaying to the beat.

As bucky made the mix you grabbed the bread and two plates, heating up the pan and putting some butter on it, letting it melt. You moved easily in the kitchen with bucky, ever since you had moved in together everything just seemed to work for you guys.

As you dipped the bread into the batter before putting it in the pan. Turning to bucky and using the spatula as a microphone, singing along to some 40s song you had added for bucky. You smiled as he took the spatula from your hand, setting it down and grabbing your hands, dancing along to the song.

Bucky had the brightest smile on his face as you followed his lead, letting him twirl you around as the song played. You looked up at him as he danced with you, meeting his light blue eyes. Your eyes met and bucky couldn't stop himself.

“I can't wait any longer oh my god” he rushed out, letting go of you and rushing back into the bedroom, leaving you along in the kitchen.

You frowned, did you do something wrong? You focused back on the French toast, flipping the slice so it wouldn't burn before placing it on Buckys plate. You frowned as you looked for the powdered sugar. Realizing you hadn't taken it out you turned around to get it, your back to the bedroom door. As you searched for it your mind raced, was he breaking up with you? Was he just really tired?

Meanwhile Bucky was rummaging through all his drawers, wondering where the hell he put the ring he picked out with Steve seven months ago. His heart was racing as he heard you cooking the french toast, confused as to why he left you. Finally he found the black velvet box in the back of his sock drawer, smiling as he ran back out to meet you in the kitchen.

Bucky saw you facing the drawer, so he wasted no time sneaking up behind you and getting down on one knee silently, opening the small box to reveal the ring.

You finally found the powdered sugar, opening it and turning around. You turned quickly, eyes immediately landing on bucky, right in front of you.

On one knee. With a ring.

You dropped the powdered sugar, causing it to land all over you, bucky and the ring. Your hands flew to your mouth as he smiled at you brightly.

“are you joking? this is a joke right?” you questioned and bucky shook his head, still on one knee despite having powdered sugar all over his shirt.

“y/n I love you so much, I wanna spend forever with you. Everything feels so right with you I just- its like we’re just meant to be, I can't imagine a life without you. I wanna make you happy, I wanna travel the world with you, I wanna dance in the kitchen at 3 am and make French toast at ungodly hours with you for the rest of my life” he rambled, you felt your ears burning as he continued, your mind still processing that he was actually proposing.

“-I love how competitive you are and how excited you get over anything and everything, I just love you so much-” he cut himself off when he looked at you for the first time since he started rambling, smiling softly up at you as you looked at him, fondness in your eyes and a tear rolling down your cheek.

“will you marry me?” he spoke, breathless.

Never in your life have you nodded so quickly.

“yes, of course yes” you whispered and bucky smiled, jumping to his feet as you cupped his face, crashing your lips onto his, smiling into the kiss. You pulled away with a sniffle, smiling as he took your hand and slid the ring on, he blushed at the sight of it.

You looked at each other with a smile, kissing once more before you realizing the french toast was cold by now. You pulled away quickly, grabbing the powdered sugar bag from the floor and sprinkling some lightly on your plates.

“sorry about all that” you laughed, motioning to the powdered sugar all over the two of you and the floor. Bucky just grinned, waving it off as the two of you ate the French toast, a smile never leaving either of your faces. Both pf you giggling as the sun came up and birds began to sing.

Not long after you finished Bucky cleaned up your mess, you changed into one of his t shirts and slipped into bed, a smile on your face as he walked into the room, taking his shirt off and slipping out of his sweats before moving into bed next to you.

You wasted no time as he laid on his back, moving his arm so you could rest your head on his chest. He cradled you gently as you got comfortable, kissing the top of your head once you settled in.

“love you so much angel, can't wait until we get to spend forever together” you mumbled with a smile on your face, already drifting off to sleep. Bucky smiled at your words, letting his fingers run through your hair.

“and I love you more than yesterday” he whispered, “but less than tomorrow.”

Bucky meant his words. He meant them with everything he was. He fell in love with you everyday. He always found himself falling deeper and deeper, but he never complained. Now could fall in love with you for the rest of his life.

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fanfic

1K notes · View notes

watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

Text

Grammy Winner Husband - Harry Styles

a/n: okay, yall know im a suckr for dad content and i just needed to write this little fluffy thing. also MY BABY IS A GRAMMY WINNER IM SO PROUD OF HIM and also, Sarah and Mitch are gonna be parents???? my heart can’t take all this *sigh*

pairing: Husband!Harry / Dad!Harry x Pregnant!Reader

word count: 1.3k

masterlist

“Congratulations once again, Harry. This Grammy looks great on you,” the interviewer compliments the grinning man who still very much feels like he is in a dream and his phone could start ringing anytime, ending this ethereal feeling of becoming what was only a dream when he was just a boy.

“Thank you,” he cracks a humbled smile.

“How are you gonna celebrate? Popping all the champagnes?”

“Honestly?” he sighs. “I just really want to kiss my wife, that’s gonna be my celebration,” he chuckles shyly, making every woman close to him swoon at his sweetness.

He accepts all the congratulations, the little shiny golden award weighing in his hands, not letting it out of his sight as he makes his way to the back to change his outfit back to something casual instead of the bold statements he has been making all night with his boas.

“Good night, Harry. Tell Y/N I said hi!” Sarah runs a hand down his back, grabbing his attention immediately. She’s gotten rid of her leather bodysuit as well, wearing just jeans and an oversized t-shirt, but her bump is making an appearance in it regardless. Mitch is holding his girlfriend’s other hand, their bags occupying his other as he smiles back at Harry with proud, shining eyes.

“Good night, you guys. Drive safe and thank you for tonight.” Harry pulls her into yet another hug, careful not to hold her too tight.

“Good night, see you soon,” him and Mitch share a quick hug as well, patting each other on the back before stepping back. Sarah’s hand runs down her belly, an instinctive motion Harry has seen quite often lately and not just from her and it reminds him how badly he just wants to get home to you finally.

While most performers and winners are probably out for some celebrations, champagnes must flow all directions, Harry quickly loads his things in his car and heads home to the one person he would ever want to celebrate with. It’s late, way past midnight by the time he arrives home and he has a guess where to find you.

Being the angel that you are, you left the lights on for him so he doesn’t have to blindly make his way to the bedroom. He kicks off his boots, drops his bag to the couch in the living room, placing the award on the dining table before padding down the hallway, the muffled sound of the TV and the strobbing lights of the screen still on in there, illuminating the doorway. He pushes the door that’s ajar open more, his smile immediately widening as he sees you curled up under the sheets, the TV remote still in your hands, your phone lying on the pillow next to your head while you’re fast asleep.

You swore you wouldn’t have problem staying up this late, but Harry knew it was not gonna happen, especially because ever since you’ve reached your third trimester bedtime was moved to seven o’clock, no exceptions.

Harry takes a second to adorn the beauty he has the luck to call his wife, before he quietly tiptoes into the bathroom connected to the bedroom to quickly wash up and get ready to his way of celebration: holding his pregnant wife in bed, falling asleep smelling your shampoo and maybe feeling a few tiny kicks under his palms.

Following a speedy shower he brushes his teeth, washing away the taste of that one glass of champagne he allowed for himself, he has been very restricted when it comes to alcohol ever since you found out you’re pregnant. Partially because he wants to take solidarity with you, having to say no to a good wine whenever you’re out for dinner, or a beer you occasionally drank with him while watching a movie. But he also feels like alcohol would just take away memories from his brain he wants to cherish forever.

Lifting the covers he tries to slip into bed next to you as gently and quietly as possible so you don’t wake up, but the moment the mattress sinks in under his weight, your eyes flutter open, blinking up at him sleepily as you register what’s really happening.

“Oh shit, you’re back! I really wanted to be awake when you arrive!” you pout at him as his arms curl around you, pulling you to him gently, his smiling lips pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s alright, baby. I know how tired you always are.”

“Yeah, but my man won a fucking Grammy! I wanted to jump at you the moment you walk in,” you giggle, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. “I’m so proud of you, baby. Congrats!”

“Thank you,” he smirks blushing softly. He is still not used to the title he has earned today.

“You looked so hot on stage, that leather suit was awesome,” you grin, cupping his face, turning it towards you so you can see his bright, shining eyes.

“Yeah? You liked it?” he shyly asks, his finger grazing on your belly, tickling you a little in hopes the little one inside is still up, or went to sleep just like his mommy. “Mm, loved it,” you grin, pulling him down for a sweet kiss, one he was waiting all night to finally get. “And I love you.”

“Love you too, baby,” he hums against your lips, his palm coming to connect with your bump. “How are you feeling?” he asks, nuzzling his nose against yours.

He knows how this third trimester has been on you, the swelling and back pains killing you but you never complained as much as he knew you could have. He admired your strength all through this pregnancy, from the way you handled morning sickness, all the mood swings and changes in your body to the point where you are now carrying a literal watermelon at this point, having left only three more weeks until the baby arrives.

“I’m good, a little hungry maybe, but what’s new,” you chuckle.

“You want me to make you something?” he asks right away, ready to get out of bed to make you a sandwich or bake you cookies even if that’s what you wanted. But you push him down back shaking your head at him.

“It’s fine, I can wait until the morning. I just want to kiss my Grammy winner husband stupid right now,” you grin before leaving a sloppy kiss on his chest, chin, nose and finally, his lips. Pecking your lips a few times he makes you lie on your back as he slides down and pushing your shirt up, his adorning eyes fall to your belly, hands coming to gently cup it.

“Hey there, little one,” he murmurs as he leans closer and kisses your stretched out skin just above your belly button.

“He hasn’t moved in a while, think he’s asleep,” you smile, fingers running through his curls as you watch him pepper your belly with more feather-like kisses. Harry has been ecstatic since you found out you’re having a boy, though he would have been just the same if it was a girl.

“S’alright, I’m just gonna wish him goodnight,” he smiles, pressing his cheek against your bump before he kisses it one last time, pulling the shirt back down over it. Climbing up he pulls you back into his arms, knowing how much you like being held normally, but since you’ve fallen pregnant, you’ve become especially cuddly, which he doesn’t mind a bit.

“I love you, H. So proud of you,” you huff, feeling your eyes closing. Harry grabs the remote and turns the TV off, placing it to his nightstand along with your phone before kissing the top of your head.

“Love you too. Thank you for being here for me,” he huffs, the smile never leaving his lips. He has never felt happier and more complete ever in his life.

“Always,” you whisper before drifting back to sleep.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #husband!harry #dad!harry #harry styles blurb

3K notes · View notes

dadsbongos · 3 years

Text

trashy dad

Movie/Game/Show: My Hero Academia Dynamic: Shota Aizawa/Reader (Platonic) Warnings: references (2) to un*s ann*s, one (1) use of (y/n), fem pronouns Summary: Shota trying to support his YouTuber daughter :) cuz social media aus own me Word Count: 2.1K ~~~

"Hey, gamers," you grin at the camera before tossing an arm over your father's shoulders, "My dad's in town and as you can see," you hesitated slightly before turning to face your father, "Dad's not super into taking care of himself. So, I figured what's better than doing a Q&A together while I do his makeup?"

"Hitoshi just did a 'what I eat in a day', didn't he?" Shota quirked a brow, already reaching back to tie up his messy, tangled hair.

"Spoilers!" you quietly whine as you open your phone, "He still has to edit it, silly man. We're gonna have to brush out your hair later, by the way."

Shota's eyes widened, "We? I thought this was your idea and video, (Y/n)."

"No," you huff, scrolling through a few of the questions from fans, "I mean it was but your hair is so… Okay, first question is from - oh my God the names - shrekslongtoe, what was my first word?"

"Are you gonna start putting makeup on me or just sit there?" Shota scratched at his nose before snickering, "That wasn't your first word. Your first word was 'Dada' and it drove Hizashi insane."

"Hizashi is my other dad, by the way," you lean over to grab your makeup bag, "'Toshi and I call him papa. Oooh, oh no," you looked up to Shota, "I don't have your shade, you're gonna look weird."

"I don't really care," the man shrugged, watching as you took out a pink beauty blender, "That looks like a buttplug."

"Don't say that!" your eyes were wide at his words while you got out your foundation, "Youtube doesn't like that."

"Whoops," he deadpanned, "Next question."

"Shit, right."

"Language."

"Japanese," you murmur, going to the next reply, "yoonbumskneecap asks, 'Did you believe in me-’ they said my name but you know, ‘and Hitoshi when they decided to become Youtubers?' And 'in 'Toshi's case - drop out of college to become a professional clout man.'"

"To be honest," Shota closed his eyes, only in slight fear, as you began pressing the foundation into his skin, "I was really worried about Hitoshi, I didn't know if he'd stay as big as he was because he's a lot like me, in the sense that people tend to not like us for our bluntness. So I was worried he'd be a meme for like a month and then people would drop him, but thankfully I was proved wrong," he opened his eyes when he felt you pull away and begin rooting through your bag once again, "With you, I was less worried because you're more like 'Zashi, i.e extremely likable, and you were kind of getting a boost from appearances on Hitoshi's channel. I still worry because the internet is a fickle mistress but I'm not staying up at night about it."

Pulling out a dark eyebrow pencil, you grin at your father, "Aww, that was kinda sweet. Not really but kind of."

"What I'm here for," Shota's eyes followed your hand as you uncapped the pencil and reached up, beginning to mark at his eyebrows, "I'm gonna read the next question while you kill my eyebrows."

"I'm not killing them!" you giggled, "But unlike Papa, you already have pretty thick, full eyebrows so I won't be here long."

"Good," he muttered before furrowing his brows in confusion, ignoring your frustrated groan, "who is daddysero and why is he asking if you pissed today?"

"What?!" you pull your dad's hand back to see what he was looking at, instantly calming down when you saw he was still on Twitter, "Oh, that's just Sero, he asks me that every time I tweet. I thought you went to my Instagram DMs," at Shota's questioning stare you grinned, "Mama's got simps in her DMs."

"Don't ever call yourself 'Mama' in my presence ever again," Shota shook his head, once again ignoring your annoyance, "papichulo46290 wants to know my favorite memory of you."

"If you mix me up with 'Toshi, I'll be so pissed," you return the eyebrow pencil to your bag as Shota speaks.

"I won't... probably," he shrugs while you root through your bag, "So, Hizashi had taken Hitoshi out for ice cream because of - has he mentioned his middle school trauma?" at your nod, he continues, "Hitoshi was having a bad day from middle school, shocking, so you and I were left home alone together. You were probably seven and you really wanted to paint my nails and I let you. You..." he shook his head, snickering, "you fucked them up. So bad. But you were so happy to just be spending time with me- "

"Keep talking, but I'm gonna do your eyeshadow," you lean back in, swishing your brush over a navy blue, almost black shade, "Just so you guys know, Dad wanted to look like shit, don't unsubscribe cuz this is gonna come out bad."

"It won't be too bad, you're talented," Shota did his best to remain still, "But overall, you were just so adorable and it didn't even matter that the smudged nails got me teased in the teacher's lounge the next day. It all came off after like a week because it was shitty polish but you get the idea."

"Aww, I didn't know you kept it on, that's so sweet," you fall back briefly to inspect your work, "It's not awful but I'm only posting this because you're my dad."

"Of course, I did," Shota continued scrolling through the questions, "A lot of people are asking if you mean Dad or Daddy, and a lot more people are asking for pictures of your feet, you should block them all."

"Yeah, I got sickos in my replies too, just gotta scroll past em'."

"Disgusting..." Shota grumbled as you moved to his other eye, "Is 'electrodick' Kaminari, perchance?"

"Unfortunately."

"Gross, he asks if you had an 'I'm not like other girls' phase," Shota hummed quietly in thought, "Maybe when you were eight for like a month, but that's probably because except for Nemuri you didn't have any women in your life. Thankfully you moved on from that pretty quickly."

"Oh yeah, that was a gross, weird time. You and Papa also weren’t shitty people so I didn’t have a lot of misogynist influence."

"I like to think we did a good job," Shota sighed, finally moving back into his slouching position when you pulled away completely, "Is 'explosionmurder' Bakugou?"

"You know it."

"Okay well, he's asking if you plan on fucking up your bronzing again?" he thinks for a moment, “Was that from when you looked kinda copper-ish in a video?

"Oh my God, that was one time, Bakugou!" you shout and shake your brush at the camera, "One time!"

"I don't even know what blending is so you're doing better than I am."

"God, how are we related?"

Without hesitation, Shota replied, "Surrogate. Which answers summerlongsock's question."

"Nice," you chuckle, setting the brush back in your bag, "You probably won't need too much bronze or countour since you're going for bad," you immediately turn to the camera, "And Bakugou isn't gonna say a fucking word about it!"

"Is eyeliner next? And if so, I would enjoy a nice wing," Shota muttered, looking through the remaining questions, "Hitoshi asks why I haven't done a video with him yet."

You nod along while uncapping the liner, "I'm curious about that too. I thought my first video with a parent would be with Papa. I was gonna say family but..." you shrug, "Hitoshi was my first video and then Eri came on."

"He never asked," Shota closed both of his eyes, allowing you to move his head around as you pleased, "You just texted me the video idea and we set it up while I was in town. If Hitoshi wants a video so bad he should come up with an idea."

"Jeez, don't bully the poor boy," you laughed quietly, carefully applying more eyeliner to your father's left lid, "We should all do a video together. I think it'd be fun."

"Come up with an idea," he replied flatly before opening his eyes, "davinky wants to know when you got into makeup. Probably after thirteen, sometime."

"Yeah, I got my first real eyeshadow at like fourteen and then you guys just enabled my love of makeup after that."

"Well, the thing with that was, Hizashi and I didn't want you growing up thinking you had to wear makeup for any reason," Shota opened his eyes once he felt you back away, blinking a few times, "So we waited till you were more mature because giving makeup to a six-year-old is weird."

Capping your eyeliner, you traded it out for mascara, "Yeah, even little play kits are a bit ehhh. Don't close your eyes, but look down."

Following instruction, Shota took the opportunity to read off another question, "I can't see the name but someone's asking what we did together for fun. While you were a kid."

Humming quietly in thought, you move from one eye to the other, "We used to go to diners a lot. Those late-night diner trips, remember?"

"Oh yeah, you were such a little demon about bedtime. I had to take you to this little place for scrambled eggs or some shit and you'd fall asleep on the way back home."

Putting away your mascara, you reach out for your hairbrush before beginning to pull out the hair tie in Shota's hair, "Mina wanted me to ask what videos you show people when they ask what your kids do for a living."

"For Hitoshi, the one where he and Kaminari made Bakugou breakfast with sex toys. For you, the one where you turn yourself into Mina's little character - with the pink skin," Shota winced slightly at the tug of your hairbrush, "And Eri's a teacher so that information comes first since it's the least strange."

As you fussed with his tangled nest of hair, you read another question over Shota's shoulder, "When did you know you loved me? Like after adopting me."

"Not too long after the adoption was finalized actually," Shota grumbled as the brush made its final courses through his hair, "You've always been a really great kid. I don't know when I 'realized' but it was definitely around the time you were born, maybe like the day after."

"That's pretty good considering I was a stranger," you giggled, brushing out the final knots in his dark hair, "A baby stranger."

"Hmm," Shota hummed in response, "You almost done?"

Refraining from rolling your eyes, you fluffed Shota's now smooth and detangled hair around his shoulders with a small smile, "I'm done. Your hair is so pretty when it's brushed out."

"I know," the man muttered, handing your phone back, "Wanna do one more question and then sign off?"

"Yeah," you scroll through some of the questions, "I want it to be the best question that's ever been asked."

"Ask your own, you're great at that."

You shook your head with furrowed brows at his comment, "Is that a compliment?"

"It was meant to be."

"Thanks, but no need, I've found one. Midoriya wants to know if raising two attention whores was hard. He didn't say ‘attention whores’ because he doesn't swear but that's the vibe."

"What's Midoriya's at?" Shota asked.

"SmallMight."

"Of course," the man grumbled, closing his eyes to think, "You two were honestly pretty easy to raise. Not a whole lot of fits compared to what I've heard other parents talk about. You both liked to talk a lot to each other, and, of course, to Hizashi and me. Not terribly difficult at all."

"Aww, I'm glad we didn't make you pull your hair out," you grin.

"Oh, you still did. Absolutely."

"Nice," you giggle before turning off your phone and facing the camera, "Okay guys, well, I hope you don't clown on me as much as usual because if you do, my dad will... I don't know… kick your ass."

"Exactly," Shota nodded, a horrific smile on his face, "I'll beam right into your living room."

"Hopefully you guys come back next week where I'll..." floundering for an answer, you turn to your dad as if he’d give you ideas, "Create wings to do it better than Icarus ever could."

Giving a singular stiff nod, Shota looked dead at the camera, "I'd watch it."

"You heard it from the main man himself, peeps," you waved to the camera, Shota copying the motion, “Bye!”

"If there's one comment about my eyebags, I'm never coming on your channel again," Shota lied as you leaned over to stop recording.

"They're gonna love you, I'm sure," you assure your father, "Wanna see how I edit?"

"God no, Hitoshi showed me how long it takes to edit his videos, it looks like hell."

#bnha x reader #bnha x reader platonic #shota aizawa x reader #shota x reader #aizawa x reader #shota aizawa x daughter reader #aizawa x daughter reader #shota x daughter reader #shota x reader platonic

328 notes · View notes