#and my dad does this shoulder shimmy thing but only every few days as far as i remember

[jewish-space-laser]

not me texting the family chat to let them know that there’s a medical reason for me randomly yelling “HUH” throughout the day, after they’ve teased me about it my whole life, only for them to make jokes… like EXCUSE ME my brother and my father also one hundo percent have it LMAO

[maitaitiu]

Above It All OCxCanon week 2024 Day 1: Play Fighting Pairing type: platonic Canon Character: Johanna Mason OC: Marsh Belltide Fandom: THG Wordcount: 1633

AO3 link CWS: underage drinking, mentions of/implied death and injury, swearing, heights

Synopsis: The evening after the 70th annual Reaping, Marsh Belltide and Johanna Mason sit out in the woods to chat, as they do every year.

“You got it?” Johanna asked her friend as they shut the door to their house behind them.

Her friend rolled their eyes, “Obviously. What do you take me for?”

“An idiot,” she smiled, and took the glass bottle her friend was hiding under their sweater and stuffed it into her messenger bag, “Nice. Let’s go.”

And the pair set off, only occasionally glancing over their shoulders to make sure that nobody had spotted them.

In truth, neither of them felt particularly great about sneaking out on the evening after the Reaping; not while they knew there was two families weeping with their shutters closed; not while the both of them had such personal ties to the Games. And yet, it had always been a tradition. Sneak out into the woods after the Reaping, when their families were asleep, and go and chat and sing and laugh in the woods until daybreak.

After a good few miles of walking at a decent pace, the pair found themselves far into the woods, in the same clearing they always used for this night, after finding it the eve of their first Reaping.

It was technically still within the confines of Seven, so it was perfectly legal to be here, but neither was particularly eager to get caught.  

They shimmied their way up on separate sides of an impossibly tall giant sequoia with practiced ease; the general lack of knots or branches barely a passing thought to them- as was the way with most lumberjack kids in Seven.

“Only two more of these things to go. Then we’re home free.” Johanna sighed as she stretched out on one of the branches, some fifty feet off the ground, “Can’t wait.”

“Same,” said her friend, hauling their way onto a branch just below hers and leaning back on the trunk as they sat, “The Games are so stupid.”

“Cheers to that,” Johanna said, pulling the bottle out of her bag, “Aw. Just red wine? Couldn’t have gotten something a bit stronger?”

“We’re higher than the Justice Building, Jo. I think wine is strong enough,” her friend cautioned, and then, after a pause, added, “Gotta make sure my dad still has one son left in the morning.”

“I guess,” Johanna grumbled, and started stabbing at the cork with the switchblade she carried everywhere. She managed to get it hooked in somehow and started to pull. And then stopped.

She glanced down at her friend.

“Son?”

She watched as he picked at a loose thread on his trousers for a moment.

“Yeah.” He replied quietly.

“Cool,” Johanna shrugged, and finally popped the cork from the wine bottle, and with a triumphant laugh, exclaimed, “There we go!”

She took a massive swig, and gagged on it. Too much at once, and it just wasn’t very good. Bitter. But… not in a nice way. She managed to choke down the wine, and then spluttered out, “That tastes like shit!”

Her friend laughed, and he pulled himself up onto the same branch as her, “Sure does.” He paused. “Aren’t you gonna say anything?”

Johanna took another sip of the wine, and let it sit in her mouth for a bit, attempting to get used to it. She swallowed. It wasn’t any better the second time around. In fact, it might have even been worse.

“Like what?” she asked, dramatically wiping her tongue on her sleeve in a poor attempt to rid herself of the bitter taste, “Oh. You got a different name? Is it just as stupid as-”

“It’s Marsh,” he replied, and swiped the bottle right from her hands.

“So that’s a yes.” Johanna smirked, and watched as his face scrunched up as he took a sip of the wine, too.

Marsh cringed, and bent his head all the way down into his chest at the taste, “That is foul.”

She whacked his arm and took the bottle back for herself. He reached over to snatch it, but she held it as far away from him as she could, and even with his absurdly long arms, Marsh was unable to reach it.

“Bitch, I brought it!” he whined, and Johanna used her free hand to push him back, “Joeeeee…”

“Aw, okay…” she snorted, and passed it back to him unceremoniously, “Baby Marshy needs his bottle.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he said as he took it from her and knocked back a swig. And then coughed. A lot, “Ugh.”

“It’s bad.” Johanna laughed, “Can’t believe adults big this stuff up so much.”

“I can’t believe this shit tastes worse than tesserae mush.” Marsh shoved the bottle back at her, “And don’t say nothing about my name being stupid. That is the point.”

“What?” She stared at him, on the verge of laughing again, “Why?!”

He shrugged.

She took another swig of the wine.

“Did your dad make this or something?” she asked, “He’s hardly a great chef. Maybe that’s why it’s so bad.”

“Nah, he bought it. I think it’s generally just… not good. I don’t even think he likes it. It’s just cheaper than hard cider for some fuckin’ reason.”

“Considering we’re the fuckers who grew the apples and make the cider, I’d have thought it’d be cheaper for us. Then again…” Johanna scowled, “Timber’s at a bit of a premium again.”

“So’s firewood. It’s a pain in the ass.” Marsh grumbled, knocking back another gulp of wine miserably, “It’s gonna be so cold when winter rolls around.”

Johanna threw her head back dramatically, “Ugh. Don’t remind me. Lizzie gets so anxious when it’s cold. And then I get anxious by proxy.”

“To be fair… you did break your leg in sixth grade when you slipped on some ice.”

“Yeah. I remember.” Johanna’s mood soured, and she frowned at her reflection on the bottle, when Marsh passed it back, “My parents were shitting themselves when I went to my first Reaping with a limp and six slips.”

Marsh glanced over at her, guilt creasing his eyebrows together. “Sorry.”

“S’ok.”

The two of them sat in silence for a while, looking out at the darkening woods. Watching as the occasional bird or squirrel or chipmunk scuttled on by in the branches near them. They passed the wine back and forth, both grumbling wordlessly about the taste after every sip, until their minds grew foggy with both tiredness and alcohol.

Johanna was the first to spot the flash of white in the trees, and soon spotted more and more. She nudged Marsh and nodded to the flock of gathering birds. She wondered if they knew; if they knew what day had just passed and what they were about to do.

She was never the first to start, though. A slight stage-fright that she’d carried her whole life.

Marsh’s warm alto voice bled into the night, as tuneful and as sad and alone as ever.

“Come all ye true born shanty-boys, whoe’er ye may be,

Come sit upon the deacon’s seat and listen unto me,

A story’f a young shanty-boy, so tall, genteel and brave,

‘Twas on a jam on Gerry’s rocks he met a wat’ry grave.”

They could pretend all they wanted; they could act as nonchalant as possible; they could drown their sorrows in booze and convince themselves that they were adult enough to deserve to be so tired. But both were just as petrified of the Reaping, and the Games as any other child in Seven. As any other child in Panem. And not just of the Reaping; of the Games, but of the dangers that lurked around every corner in Seven. Both had recently picked up some hours over the weekend at a logging facility. And already had seen and obtained more than their fair share of injuries.

The guard staff- the Peacekeepers- who followed them out and shadowed them in the forest at work- didn’t particularly care about any sprains or broken bones- or even deaths- as long as the work was done. Johanna had- just last week- seen a man be stuck under a felled trunk that slammed him to the floor. She hadn’t been strong enough to move it on her own, though she’d tried desperately. He’d passed out by the time someone else from the team had showed up and managed to help her move it.

He'd never walk again.

“It happened on a Sunday morn as you shall quickly hear.

Our logs were piled up mountain high, there being no one to keep them clear.

Our boss he cried, "Turn out, brave boys. Your hearts are void of fear.

We'll break that jam on Gerry's Rocks, and for the Capitol we'll steer."

Johanna joined Marsh then, their untrained voices wove roughly together as they sang. And soon the mockingjays picked up the song, too. Echoing the haunting, sorrowful melody around the woodland; it would surely reach all the way back to the town.

It wasn’t a cheerful song. But it hadn’t been a cheerful day, so what did it matter?

Death clung to district Seven like a burr, sharp and pinching, and impossible to avoid. The Reaping was a spectacle as much as it was a death sentence, an oddity to the quiet, unnoticed deaths that happened every other day.

Not that the kids who got shipped off to the Capitol were remembered any better than the poor sods who’d get sick, or crushed by felled trees, or torn to bits in the factories, or shot or some other shitty way to kick the bucket. It was hardly a wonder that over eighty percent of Seven’s population was under forty years old.

Johanna wondered if she’d make it that long. Or If Marsh would. Or her little sister.

And then she drowned that thought in another swig of the disgusting wine.

Better not to think about it.

[laedback-taurus]

My Boys – Finale

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Mother!Reader Warnings: none Word Count: 2394 A/n: Maybe slight spoilers for ep 6. Continuation of “My Boys” part 1 and 2. S/n = Son's Name Part 1 / Part 2

You and Bucky decided you were going advantage of the small amount of quiet time you had before he had to go and do what he does best, save people. The three of you had left Sam’s and made your way back to Bucky’s apartment, your son had insisted that you move Bucky in as soon as you got back, so that’s what you planned on doing. Bucky didn’t have a lot of stuff, so it wasn’t going to be a long process. Once your car was full to the brim with Bucky’s belongings, you set off for your place, unlike Bucky, you owned a small house just out of the busy city. Bucky had been there a few times, but he had never stayed, you just hoped he’d like it there. You had to admit that it felt weird moving Bucky in, you had bought the house with your ex-fiancé with the intention of raising a family and growing old in it, but some things just don’t work out that way.

You watched from your kitchen window as Bucky grabbed the last of his things out of the car after telling you to stay put and insisting on getting it himself. He walked up your driveway, spotting you in the window and sending you a sweet smile. He placed his things in the spare room where you had put the rest of his stuff, just until you could sort through it and find homes for everything. You saw him leave through the back door and walk out onto your deck, watching s/n run around the back yard. You soon followed, appearing behind him and wrapping you arms around his waist from behind, stood slightly up on your toes and rested you chin on his shoulder.

“Welcome home Bucky” You whispered, making him smile. You turned your head slightly to get a look at his face, his eyes were glassy and brimming with tears.

“Bucky! Come and chase me!” You son called out from the yard where he was happily bouncing on his trampoline.

“You’ll regret this little mam” Bucky replied making his way down the stairs of the deck, as soon as he hit the grass he took off in s/n direction, your son squealed in excitement and quickly jumped off the trampoline, running away from Bucky. His little legs didn’t get him very far before Bucky scooped him up and spun him around.

“Gotcha!” Bucky yelled. All you could hear was the ecstatic laugher of your son as you watched your boys run around the yard.

---

You were sitting up in bed, just looking aimlessly through your phone while waiting for Bucky to come to bed. S/n had once again insisted that Bucky tuck him in and read him a story, you desperately wanted to listen to Bucky read a story but apparently it was “boys only”. Right on cue Bucky appeared in the doorway, he had the most adorable smile on his face. You could tell that he loved your son to pieces and s/n loved him so much that he wanted to call him Dad, which you and Bucky hadn’t talked about since you told him at Sam’s. Bucky pulled off his shirt and threw it on the floor before crawling into bed next to you, you could sense that he was slightly anxious by how he laid quite far away from you. You put your phone down on the bedside table and shimmied down the bed till you were laying on your back before turning the face Bucky.

“Are you okay?” You asked softly.

“Yeah, it’s just been a big day and with everything else going on right now it just a lot at once” He admitted.

“Should we have waited?” You queried, at this he moved closer to you, laying on his side to face you.

“No, after all this is done…I want to come home to you two. Coming home after the fight with John and finding the two of you there just felt so right…I don’t want to go home to an empty apartment when I could come home to…” You noticed him hesitate slightly. “My family” you wanted to burst into tears, Bucky saw you as his family, something he hadn’t had in a long time, out of everyone, he chose you. You closed the distance between you, catching his lips in a sweet kiss. His right hand found its home on your hip, pulling you flush against his bare chest. The kiss started out sweet and loving but soon turned into passionate and full of lust. Bucky had been without you for way too long, he was used to you being there every night he needed but when he had to leave he lost that for a while and didn’t like it one bit. You lifted your leg slightly and draped it over hip, pulling his waist closer to yours and that was it for him, he quickly and effortlessly flipped you over, pinning you underneath him.

“Let’s make the most of tonight yeah?” He whispered, his voice husky. His eyes were dark and full of lust which made your legs go weak.

All you could do was nod.

---

You woke up fairly early in the morning due to some rustling around your room. You opened your eyes and looked around to find the source of the sound that had rudely awoken you. You soon laid eyes on Bucky who was suiting up, you sat up in your bed and admired him as he dressed, he looked over his shoulder and smirked when he found you checking him out.

“Good morning Doll” He greeted as he was doing up his belt.

“Good morning handsome” You returned, swinging your legs over his side of the bed, you spotted his shirt from the night before and slipped it on.

“Sorry I’m leaving so soon, Sam called. I honestly thought we’d have more time” you could sense the disappointment in his voice. He walked over to meet you at the foot of your bed. Your hands made their way up to his hair, styling away the events of the night before.

“It’s okay Bucky, we’ll be here when you come home and then we’ll have all the time in the world” You finished working on his hair and let your hand fall to rest on his shoulders “just please say goodbye to S/n”.

“Of course,” He planted a sweet kiss on your lips before leaving to go to your son’s room. You sighed and wrapped your arms around yourself, worrying for the safety of you lover. You left your room and walked a little way down the hall to your sons’ room, his door was now open, and you could see Bucky kneeing in front on his bed, s/n now sitting up in it.

“I have to go Buddy, I’m sorry that I have to leave so soon” He explained. S/n just gave him a sweet smile.

“It’s okay Buck, you have to go save the world, it’s what you and Sam do” your son said as if it was the most normal job in the world.

“while I do that, I need you to do a very important job for me” Bucky looked at him sternly.

“What’s that?” your son asked, excited at the fact that he could help Bucky.

“I need you to look after your mum for me, okay?” this made you smile.

“Of course! I’ll make sure she’s safe until you come home” s/n declared.

“I wouldn’t trust anyone else” Bucky leant forward and placed a sweet kiss to your son’s forehead, making your heart skip a beat at the interaction. “I’ll see you later buddy” Bucky ruffled his hair and got up leave, spotting you in the doorway. He smiled at you and you both made your way to the front door.

“please be safe” you whispered to him when you reached the door.

“I will be Doll; I’ve got a reason to be”.

“I love you” was all you could say.

“I love you too” He gave you one last sweet kiss before disappearing through the door.

---

It had been a little while since you had heard from Bucky, the last you were told was that they had won, and Sam had finally taken up the Captain America mantel. You thought that’s when he’d say that he was coming home but he didn’t, he told you that he still had something to take care of, but he’d be home as soon as he could.

You were currently sat in your spare room; you had been organising some of Bucky’s things around the place to surprise him when he came back but you had stumbled across some old photos of him back in the 40’s. There was a heap of him and Steve, him in uniform, him and a few girls that you assumed were some of these flings he told you of, it still made you a little bit jealous regardless. You imagined what it would have been like being with him back then, going on dates with him, dancing with him and just knowing him. You were about to move on the other box when you heard the front door open, you quickly placed the photos back in the box and shot out of the room. Bucky spotted you pop your head out of the spare room and chuckled at your excited expression. You ran to him and he opened his arms to catch you. You wrapped your arms around his waist and gave him a squeeze.

“I told Yori” He whispered out of nowhere. You could tell he needed to get it off his chest.

“How did it go?” you were afraid to ask.

“he was upset, which I expected but he didn’t yell or get angry with me, he just asked me why. I saw him at the bar later, it hurts knowing that I lost a friend, but I gave that friend closure” you could hear the sorrow in his voice. “I also finished the book, sent it to Doc seeing as I don’t need it anymore”

“You’ve come so far Bucky, I’m so proud of you” Bucky wanted to cry at that statement, his girl was proud of him, his amazing girl that actually loved him, his girl that never gave up on him.

“Buck!” suddenly S/n ran into room and jumped on Bucky’s back.

“Hey buddy, did you do what I asked?” Bucky queried after S/n jumped off him.

“Yes! I protected mum just like you asked me to” Your son looked so proud of himself in that moment.

“I knew I could count on you” Bucky ruffled his hair. “I can’t get too settled in yet and you two have to pack a bag…and maybe cook something” he scratched the back of his head “I’m not sure how these things work”.

“Wait, what? Why do we need to pack? what are we doing?” you asked shocked at his sudden ramble.

“Sam invited us to a cookout…whatever that is” Bucky explained.

“Right, well we better get packed and we’re buying a cake on the way seeing as you gave me absolutely no notice” You pointed at Bucky.

“You heard your mum, lets go!” Bucky picked up your boy and took off down the hall. You shook your head and giggled.

---

When you arrived at Sam’s, Bucky and S/n immediately went to Sarah’s boys, Bucky pretending the let them get a few hits in before threatening them with the cake.

“I’m so glad you made it” Sarah appeared next you, a warm smile on her face.

“We wouldn’t want to miss it, besides Bucky wouldn’t let us” You chuckled watching your boy run around with Sarah’s.

“How are you and Bucky after your confession?” Sarah asked.

“Really good, he moved in and so far, everything is working out great, S/n loves having him there” You smiled.

“Have you ever thought about expanding your little family?” The thought alone made you blush.

“it’s definitely not something Bucky and I have spoken about yet and I reckon its off the table for a little while but…” You locked eyes with Bucky as he spoke to Sam “I wouldn’t mind it”.

You spoke with Sarah for a little bit longer before it was finally time to eat. You sat to the left Bucky, leaning you head on his metal shoulder after everyone had finished, his hand was resting on your thigh as he spoke to some men across the table.

You had found him again after the meal, leaning against the railing of the dock, you stood next to him, looking out at the water. His noticed your arrival and wrapped his right arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You both just stood there in silence, enjoying each other’s company, you could tell that a huge weight had been lifted off Bucky’s shoulders, after today you were really starting to see the man that you saw in those pictures earlier. Bucky knew he was better, he knew that without Sam’s help he’d still be going about it the wrong way, but he also knew that there’s no way he would be here without you, your love and support was exactly what he needed to find himself again.

He placed a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Thank you, Doll”.

“for wha-“ you were cut off.

“Mum! Dad! Come here” Your son called out. Your heart skipped a beat at hearing your boy call Bucky dad, you still hadn’t spoken about it but apparently your boy couldn’t wait. You really didn’t know what Bucky’s reaction was going to be, becoming a dad, especially to a child that isn’t biologically yours is surely a scary thing. He could leave you over this. You got up the courage to look up at him, fearing the reaction you’d see but as soon as you cast your eyes on him, all you doubts melted away. Bucky was looking in the direction of your boy with glassy eyes and the biggest smile you had ever seen, his eyes held so much love and pride that it made you want to cry. He looked down at you with the same look in his eyes.

“Our boy is waiting for us”

[ashyblondwaves]

Backseat Driver

@ecstaticrevrie sent me a message requesting number 14 on the smutty one liners prompt list. Here you go, hon!

Sentence: “Later you will definitely need to tell me where you learned this.”

Summary: Wanda and Vision go for a drive through the lush backroads of Upstate New York. Of course, there’s a pitstop. 

This is rated explicit. Obviously.

The world around Wanda was a blur of green trees and a warm earthy breeze filtering in through the opened passenger side window as I Get Around by The Beach Boys played low on the radio. It felt so nice to get away from the Avengers Compound, even if only for a few hours. 

“Tony must really like you,” Wanda said, glancing over at Vision behind the wheel. Broad shoulders filled the empty space around him. “He’s letting you use one of his cars for a drive you wouldn’t tell him anything about.”

“I didn’t want us to be followed,” Vision said simply, pressing on the gas. The engine gave a loud roar as they zipped up the empty street. “Besides, he’s one of my dads. Of course he’d let me use the car.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. The Tony Stark is one of Vision’s dads joke was something the two of them played up often. They were only ones that seemed to find it funny. 

“Would you rather have brought Tony on this joyride?” Wanda asked, faking a pout. “We can go back so you can get him, if you want?”

“Oh no, darling,” Vision’s low cadence hit Wanda low in her belly. He turned his head to sneak a quick glance at her. “Mr. Stark has no place in what I have planned for us today.”  

Wanda smiled triumphantly. He hadn’t even told her what the plan was. All he said was he wanted to take a drive with her and to dress comfortably. But his tone; she’d heard that tone before. And when he used it, it always ended in them tangled together with nothing between them. Sometimes in bed, other times they got creative when the others were out. 

The kitchen sink was Wanda’s favorite. It was a night she thought about often. The unexpectedness of it, the spontaneity. It never failed to make her ache remembering how Vision came up behind her and pressed his hands to her shoulders, dipping his head into the crook of her neck and pressing a kiss there before whispering in her ear, “We’re alone, sweetheart.” 

He stepped up closer then, pressing the front of his body flush with Wanda’s back. She felt his erection against her ass instantly. She wiggled a little to tease him. She wanted to hear the moan she loved so much. That low growl under his breath that rumbled his chest and sent a jolt of pleasure straight between her legs. 

They didn’t have much time. Someone could’ve come back at any moment. It was that thought alone that made their tryst even more thrilling for Wanda. 

Luckily, she’d worn a skirt that day. Vision’s hands snuck under the flowing fabric and pulled her panties down, letting them drop down to Wanda’s ankles. 

“Stay put, love,” Vision said, giving her ass a squeeze and taking a step back. 

Wanda glanced over her shoulder and watched him go through the motions. Unbuckle the belt, unbutton the top button and unzip the jeans. She could just make out the outline of his cock through his boxer briefs. She wanted to turn around and help him; reach beyond the band of those underwear and  grab hold of him, pump him with her hand a few times before getting down on her knees and finishing him off with her mouth. 

But Vision had a plan so she stayed put, rising up on her tiptoes in anticipation. She heard the foil wrapper of the condom and snuck a glance again, watching Vision roll the prophylactic down his length. Neither of them were sure if they needed to take the precaution. The science told them no, but there were quite a few things that Vision could do that he wasn’t supposed to be able to. At the rate his systems were evolving, they didn’t want to take any chances. 

And all at once, they were ready. Vision closed the space between them again and grabbed Wanda’s ass, coaxing her back to her tiptoes. She gripped the sink to help her balance until she felt Vision at her entrance. 

“Ready?” Vision asked, teasing her with the head of his cock. Running it between her wet folds. If she wasn’t so ready to feel him inside her, she may have laughed. She could just see how he was positioned to accommodate their height difference. While she stood on her tip toes, Vision had to bend at the knee to reach her. But the humor was lost when all she felt was the aching between her legs and the memories of Vision’s cock teasing her. 

“Ready.” 

That was all Vision needed to hear. He pushed into her, eliciting a relieved moan from Wanda as she pushed back against his cock, desperate to feel all of him inside of her. With both hands on her hips, Vision pumped into her, the rhythm impossibly delicious.

They were as quick as they could be about it. Wanda was on the edge of orgasm, wavering between bliss and frustration when Vision reached around her front and slid a hand between her legs. The tips of his fingers gently toyed with her clit as he pounded into her and it was exactly what Wanda needed. She came with Vision’s name pouring from her lips, her walls clenching Vision’s cock with each spasm. He wasn’t far behind. As he came, he hunched over Wanda, pressing his chest flush with hers as he kissed her neck and whispered his love for her. 

She still smiled to herself every time she went to the sink. 

"We’re here.”

Wanda jumped. She’d almost forgotten she was taking a drive with Vision, the memories of their coupling at the sink feeling so real in that moment. She smiled and sat up looking out at the empty clearing in front of them. 

“Are we having a picnic?” she asked, looking at the bag Vision had packed before they left. 

“I wouldn’t call it a picnic,” Vision said, taking a moment to think. “Well, I suppose you could call it a picnic if we’re using euphemisms. But it’s not a picnic in the traditional sense of the word.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes at Vision. “What are you up to?”

“Let’s get our of the car and find out,” Vision challenged. “I have to get it set up for us.”

Wanda vacated the car quickly, eager to find out what Vision was talking about. 

“I asked Mr. Stark for a car with a backseat,” Vision explained as he moved the passenger seat as far up to the dashboard and flipped the seat forward. “That way we could use it.”

Wanda gasped when she realized what Vision was talking about. “You want to have sex in Tony Stark’s car?” 

“The fact that it’s Mr. Stark’s car has nothing to do with it,” Vision corrected her. “I wanted to try this and it was the only way I could secure a car.” 

“Tell me more about your plan,” Wanda said, smiling from ear to ear at Vision’s forethought to set this up. 

“There isn’t much more to say,” Vision shrugged, ensuring one more time that the passenger seat was moved up as far as possible. “If I tell you more then it won’t be very erotic.”

Wanda smiled to herself. Vision tried. He tried so hard to bridge the gap that his analytical system created during normal conversations. But the harder he tried, the more he reverted back to sounding more like a computer than a human. It was a fault that was endearing to Wanda. She moved toward him quickly. Gabbing him by the collar of his sweater, she pulled him down into a kiss. As she let go, she ran her hands down his chest, coming to a rest at his hips. 

“You’re always asking me what I want,” she murmured. “Now it’s your turn to tell me what you want.”

Vision nodded, tangling a hand in Wanda’s wind blown hair. “But I want you to be ready for this as well.”

“Can I tell you something?” Wanda asked, grabbing hold of Vision’s hand. “I’ve been thinking about that night in the kitchen. Remember that feeling? Knowing that ten minutes after we both came the team was in that kitchen cooking dinner? How did that make you feel?” 

“Salacious,“ Vision said as Wanda guided his hand between her legs. He sucked in a breath before finishing his sentence. “But in the best possible way.”

“Exactly,” Wanda said. She felt Vision start to massage her through her pants. “I carry that night with me and the mere thought of it has me ready for you all over again. Now, tell me, Vis. What do you want?”

“I’d really like for you to take your pants off,” Vision confessed. “I want to touch you without the restrictions of clothing.” 

It wasn’t the sexiest delivery, but by now Wanda recognized it as Vision’s own brand of sexy. It worked for him. 

Wanda looked around. They were as secluded as they could get, so she shimmied out of her pants, kicking them off into the grass below them. Vision took her by the hand and pulled her closer to him, admiring her standing there in just her tank top. 

“Every time after I’m with you,” Vision started, sliding a hand back between Wanda’s legs. He gently toyed with the soft hair there. “I always think I’ve felt as much as I’m ever going to feel. But somehow, I feel even more every single time. Things I’m probably not supposed to feel. Things my systems were never designed for.”

“Does that scare you?” 

“What I feel when I’m with you will never scare me,” Vision said, maneuvering two fingers between Wanda’s wet folds. “I’m just grateful to experience it.”

At that moment, all talking ceased. Vision guided Wanda closer to the car, silently instructing her to prop her leg up on the sill so he could reach her easier. He easily slid his fingers inside Wanda, gently pumping them in and out at first, gathering wetness and finding a rhythm before he curled his fingers and searched for the rough spot inside of her that made her squirm the most. 

With the tips of his fingers pressed against her most sensitive spot, Vision pressed down and rubbed the area with strong and steady movements, never breaking the pace. The last thing he wanted to do was break the pace.

He’d learned early on not to stop, no matter how much Wanda writhed and cried out. Her reaction to his fingers on this spot alarmed him at first. She almost looked pained and he stopped to make sure she was okay. Never stop. It was all for good reason, she’d told him. He was not hurting her. 

Even now, as Wanda’s orgasm hit her and her knees buckled, Vision was almost alarmed by the intensity of it. She muttered obscenities with each clench of her walls around his fingers and gasped for breath. But when he looked at her, she was smiling. 

Breathlessly and holding herself up with an arm over the open car door, she spoke. “I love when you do that.” 

She was so beautiful after she came. Rosy cheeked, a slight sheen of sweat at her brow and a smile that Vision never saw any other time. He took pride in knowing that he was the one that put that particular smile on her face time and time again. 

Vision stepped forward, cupping Wanda’s face in his hands. “Are you ok to continue?” he asked. “We don’t have to.”

“Don’t think you’re getting out of showing me what you’ve been planning that easily,” Wanda said, wrapping her arms around Vision’s neck. “I’m ready for whatever you have planned next.” 

Vision nodded and broke away from Wanda, quietly going to the bag he had packed. From the bag he took out a towel and a condom and made his way back to Wanda who was eyeing the towel in confusion.

“This is probably disappointing to you,” Vision said, waving the towel in the air before laying it down on the backseat of the car. “But I’m not particularly fond of the idea of having to explain to Mr. Stark how his backseat ended up soiled, so I had to prepare. And I didn’t want to just walk out of the compound with a towel in my hand.. so I put it in the bag.”

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh. She was far from disappointed. Knowing how many times her own bedsheets ended up as a casualty of their coupling, the last thing she wanted was to have to explain what happened to Tony’s backseat to Tony himself. 

“I don’t really know how to approach this next part,” Vision admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “I think I took too long, now it feels disjointed.”

“We can always fix that,” Wanda said, moving in closer and pressing a quick kiss to Vision’s lips. “Don’t overthink it.” 

It was all Vison needed to hear. 

He pulled Wanda close to his body, kissing her deeply and with purpose. Their hands explored together. Vision, moving to the soft exposed skin of Wanda’s ass as Wanda decided to go for the bulge at the front of Vision’s jeans. She kneaded and massaged his cock until he could do nothing but groan against her mouth. 

It was time. Vision pulled away and quickly undid his jeans as Wanda watched in anticipation as he pulled them down and stepped out of them. Without fanfare, he got into the backseat of the car and held Wanda’s hand as she clambered in in after him. 

“You’re going to sit on my lap, but with your back to me.” Vision explained, stretching his legs out in the space he’d created by moving the seat up. 

Wanda nodded, swinging a leg over Vision’s body and getting in place. She leaned forward, pressing her hands against the back of the passenger seat. 

“Later you will definitely need to tell me where you learned this.”

Vision stayed silent as he grabbed Wanda’s ass in one hand and squeezed, lifting her up just enough to gain access to her. With his other hand, he rolled the condom down his length then grabbed hold of his shaft and guided his cock to her entrance, slipping the head in teasingly. 

What Vision didn’t plan for was Wanda taking the reigns on top of him. She pushed back against his teasing, sucking in a breath as his cock fully slipped into her. She rose up, letting him slide out just enough before she came crashing back down, their bodies making a satisfying smack as they collided. 

They moved together, finding a satisfying flow. Wanda would raise up, and Vision, now holding her ass with both hands, would pull her back down onto him, lifting his hips to drive himself in deeper. They were hitting all the right spots and Wanda, still stimulated from her first orgasm, didn’t need much before she was coming again. She stilled as the orgasm washed over her, allowing Vision to take over completely, pumping his hips while Wanda’s walls gripped him tightly, driving him over the edge. 

He came with Wanda’s name on his lips and her ass in his hands. And even though Wanda had finished minutes earlier, she couldn’t help but moan back just listening to him come. 

They decoupled in silence, Wanda stepping out of the car to grab their pants as Vision pulled off the condom and put the car back in order. 

As they made one last check to make sure everything was as it should be with the car, Wanda started to laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” Vision asked, getting into the drivers seat as Wanda curled up on the passenger side. 

“It’s just that I can’t believe,” Wanda stopped to laugh again before she continued. “I can’t believe we just had sex in Tony Stark’s car.” 

[justcallmenikki7]

BTS Reaction To: Going Shopping With Your Child

Summary: you and your boyfriend go out with your kid for the day

Warnings: fluffff, cute dad bts, jimin wanting to prove the BULLIES WRONG, mentions of some bullying? its just not stated just implied to the daughter, reader has some anxiety in taehyungs part, mentions of puking, fluff in general.

Request: Can you do an imagine with BTS members where you go shopping with your kid (preferably small kid or baby) but you can do anything :)

W.C.: 1.7k

Notes: ALMOST FINISHED WITH ALL OF THE ASKS IN MY INBOX!! 2 TO GO!

Seokjin:

For the first time since you gave birth to your son Alexander, your boyfriend wanted to go out and show your now little family. At first you were reluctant because of the fear of something bad happening such as Alexander catching a cold, someone taking your son, the paparazzi scaring him – you are just plain nervous. But the reassurance from your boyfriend and encouraging words, he got you to say yes and the excitement in his eyes had you relaxing.

After gathering your bag that held everything you need for the day, you got Alexander and you dress while Seokjin was out in the garage putting in the car seat. Dressing yourself in something comfortable but also stylish, you got Alexander and made your way to the garage.

“See, everything will be fine, you said.”  You mocked your boyfriend. “There is nothing to worry about, you added.” You glared at your boyfriend who was giving you a worried smile as you tried to get rid of the puke stain that Alexander caused.

“Hey! Baby’s puking is normal thing, you have nothing to worry about!”

“Oh! Nothing to worry about, huh? He managed to get puke on both me and the waitress!” You exclaimed, rubbing even harder on the area where Alexander puked.

Cringing, Seokjin gave you a nervous smile, “Okay maybe there is something to worry about?”

“You think?!”

Yoongi:

Sitting on the bench outside of the Victoria Secret shop, Yoongi held Mia in his arms, lightly bouncing her so she can fall asleep. There was a slight pout on his lips because he could not bring into the store with you while you shopped – and this is one of Yoongi’s favorite stores to shop with you in.

A small whine escaped Mia’s lips causing the rapper to frown at his daughter. “Hey, why are you whining?” He asked, knowing that she will not give him a verbal response, only another whine came from the small child. Not knowing what else to do, Yoongi began to start singing ‘So Far Away’ to Mia, praying to whoever is listening that it will calm his daughter down.

You just got done finishing your shopping inside Victoria Secret, wanting to get some new pajamas and underwear, and a cute little backpack for days out with your daughter. As you were walking out of the store, you stopped in your tracks when you heard your husbands voice singing. Walking quietly over to him, you began to tear up because the scene that is right in front of you is picture perfect. Knowing that your husband does not notice you yet, you shimmied your way onto the bench with him as discretely as possible, wanting to see how long that it will take for him to notice you. Once he was done singing, you laid your head on his shoulder, only to get knocked in face due to him jumping from your presence.

“God Dammit Min Yoongi,” you cursed, rubbing your jaw.

“Well you shouldn’t have scared me like that!”

“Oh wow, so now its my fault?”

Hoseok:

Going out with your husband and twins was a bad idea.

Why?

Well, Hoseok lost Maggie and you are dealing with Jisoo who is wanting to get a new pair of leggings because her old ones now have holes in them from gymnastics. But the thing is, Jisoo is very picky when it comes to leggings and now you know how your mom felt when she took you shopping.

“But mom, they are too thick and they’re going to make me uncomfortable.” Your eight-year-old daughter explained.

“Well for some reason, this is all that they have, and you have tried on every pair. Do you want to go to Walmart and see if they have the ones you like?” You asked, folding the pair of leggings that she got out of.

“If that’s okay? I don’t want to be irritating…” She checked, one of the traits that she got from you which is the feeling of being irritating and asking for too much.

Smiling gently at her, “you’re not being irritating, love. I want you to feel comfortable in what you wear, especially with gymnastics. Come on, lets find your father and sister.”

Walking out of the dressing room you were met with your husband who was giving you a nervous smile.

“Where’s Maggie?” You asked, praying to God he did not lose her once again.

“You know how much I love you and much I cherish life, right?”

“You better find her in five minutes or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Namjoon:

Taking a child and a man child shopping was not the greatest idea you ever had.

Your boyfriend is perfect! You can agree to that. But the one thing that the two of you can agree on is how destructive he is. You remember the first time when he met your parents, he broke your mothers’ sister’s funerary urn.

That was not a good meeting because Namjoon broke out crying and panicking while your mother broke out into a heavy cry whereas your dad was trying to figure out what happened.

It was a very interesting meeting.

But the reason why you are nervous with this shopping trip with your family is because you are shopping for jewelry – something that Namjoon is also known for destroying. You can admit though that he is doing good so far because he is watching your guys daughter, Jessie. The pretty silver and gold began to take your attention from your husband and daughter away, causing you to not realize that Namjoon is now looking with Jessie and touching some of the displays. The sound of glass breaking and a scared, but all too familiar gasp had you turning towards your husband with a glare.

Giving you a nervous smile, Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck. “Oops?”

Jimin:

Having a husband that is a dance and a daughter wanting to take after him, both you and Jimin wanted to get her a ‘starting kit,’ – which consisted of new dance clothes, a duffle bag, water bottle and the whole shebang. When the first dance class ended, your daughter raced out to the car where you and Jimin sat talking, crying her eyes out about being bullied by the girls in the class because she did not have pink, or Victoria secret, or in their terms ‘name brand’ stuff.

Pulling a few strings, Jimin found out that those girls were best friends and were going to be at the mall shopping since it was the leader of the group’s birthday. Wanting to go along with his plan, the three of you, along with her uncles, you guys decided to have a ‘fun day’ at the mall. Jungkook and Taehyung were distracting her before she panicked by jumping into Taehyung’s arms to hide herself from the girls.

Jimin gave you smirk before walking into Gucci to get the clothes that he wanted to spoil his daughter with. As he walked out, he made sure to get the group of girl’s attentions by calling out her name, shaking the bags that held the clothes in. With wide eyes, Makenzie jumped out of Taehyung’s arms, running up to her dad with a wide grin, forgetting about the group of girls who were starting at her in shock.

“Dad!” She yelled happily, “What is this?”

“This is for you, princess. Now you’ll be able to look in style for your next dance class!” He announced happily, a little louder than usual so the girls to hear.

At the next dance class, the girls did not once bother your daughter.

Taehyung:

Being with someone who is very into fashion is interesting because you, yourself, are not that into it. Preferring Under Armor shorts and your boyfriend’s hoodie than wearing Gucci or Puma always made you unique in your boyfriends’ eyes. After being together for almost fifteen years while having a five-year-old child, Ski, you kept with the same style.

But Taehyung wants to change something for just a day.

Having an Instagram page for your guys little family, he wanted to have a photoshoot while you three are out an about. But the twist is, is that you have to be wearing something fashionable, something that you despise. After several attempts of persuading you, you finally caved in and decided to do it.

The sounds of whispers coming from your peers has your anxiety skyrocketing because you feel out of your place. Noticing it, Taehyung nudges your daughter, who is in love with this whole day out, he gets her attention.

“Tell Mommy how beautiful she is, she is looking upset.”

Nodding her head happily, Ski bounces towards you, causing you to smile. “Hi sweetheart, how are you feeling?”

Tugging your hand, wanting to crouch down to her level, she pulls you closer to her. “You look beautiful, momma!”

Eyes watering, you picked her up, accidentally nudging Taehyung, you hugged her tightly to you. Joining the hug, Taehyung pulled the both of you into his chest, kissing the tops of your guys heads.

Jungkook:

“Why must we wear black?” You asked your husband, pushing the stroller that had your sleeping son, AJ, in it who was also wearing all black.

Looking at you with wide eyes, hand on chest taking offence to your question, Jungkook gasped. “Because black is in style! And we look fancy!”

Shaking your head, “We look emo as fuck.”

Smirking, “Are you having flashbacks of your emo stage, baby?”

Glaring at him, “you better keep your mouth shut or you’re on baby duty tonight.”

Rolling his eyes, he ushered you into the Louis Vuitton store, taking the stroller from you so you could take a break from it. As the both you and Jungkook were searching the shelves, the sounds of uneasiness started to come from AJ, alerting the two of you. Putting the jacket back on the hangers, Jungkook took AJ out of the stroller, picking him up and bouncing him up and down lightly to try and get him back to sleep.

It happened all too fast; one moment Jungkooks black leather jacket was all black, and the next it had the breakfast you fed AJ this morning, decorating it.

Not knowing what to say, you cautiously took AJ out of his dad’s hands, trying to not break out laughing from the look of disgust on his face.

“Huh, maybe the color black isn’t that bad after all.”

[ceratonia-siliqua]

The Descent

This is the prequel to Heaven is a Prison (a place far worse than hell)! This can be read stand alone and it doesn’t matter which you read first but they are ordered based on publishing dates! 

I highly recommend reading this on Ao3 since I include some plot notes at the end of the fic! You don’t need them though, they just explain a few things. 

To the anon who requested this, sorry it took so long!

Ao3 Link

Summary: After Bucky's accident, it's a struggle to get back to normal, especially when things go sideways on the first day...

Warnings: Inces/t (father/son), Brain Injury, Extremely Non-Con, Forced Feminization, Dirty Talk, Humping, Cum Eating, and Underage/d. 

. . . . . . . . . . 

“Where’s my baby?”

When the doctors told Peter that was the first thing out of his father’s mouth after the accident, Peter broke down in tears. The kind that shimmer with relief and exhaustion as all the anxiety suddenly vacates your body. A nurse guided him to a side room, sat with him as he cried it out. She let him have his moment of weakness, didn’t say a word till he seemed ready to speak. Even then all she asked was if he was okay now.

He nodded, tried to explain that his dad’s odd sentence was a good thing. He’d always been his dad’s baby, since the day he was born and the nickname carried even into today at times. Just like his dad was always Daddy when they were at home, though this he kept to himself. Two words they had never grown out of and meant that if nothing else, his dad knew enough to be worried about Peter and want to see him.

When he seemed calm enough, the nurse placed an empathetic hand on his shoulder and offered to take him to his dad. Peter was out of his seat in a second, nodding wildly and wanting nothing more. They left, walking down a sterile white corridor, occasionally marked with signs or a piece of artwork to bring some color back into the monochromatic scheme of the floors and walls. It was isolating and… while not unfriendly, it certainly wasn’t welcoming.

The sliding glass doors that lead to the rooms were made private by a curtain, pulled close in just about every room, including Bucky’s. Before Peter could burst through and see his dad the nurse pulled him aside.

“Peter, your dad… He’s awake but he didn’t get out unscathed.”

“I know, Ma’am. He got hit by a truck.” On a motorcycle. It has been low speeds which was the only reason he survived the semi tap that sent him spinning out into a ditch.

“No, honey. I’m not talking just physically. The doctors’ did some brain scans. He’s swelled up real bad and he might not remember things or be acting the way you remember.”

He could tell she was withholding details, the way she glanced down at one point gave it away. Her eyes momentarily filled with guilt she thought he hadn’t caught. He let it go for her sake.

“Okay… I still can see him though, right?” Doe eyes drove a stake straight through the poor woman’s heart, even if Peter hadn’t meant to.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have brought you just to make you march back out. Just know there is no shame in needing a minute. Okay? He’s still beat up pretty bad and is gonna be sore. He also needed to be put in mitts because he kept trying to pull his tubes out. We’re hoping they’ll get to come off once he’s settled down a bit.”

Peter nodded along, understanding and listening, but far more concerned with his dad and being by his side. It had been the two of them since he was born, the idea of losing him was a cold clawing dread that made him nauseous. Without his dad he had nothing, the idea of losing someone who was such a center piece in his life was like asking him to live without air. He was nowhere near ready to let go of his dad.

Eventually the nurse was satisfied. She opened the sliding door, standing back as Peter entered before closing it lightly behind him. With a deep, shuddering inhale, he pushed past the curtains.

The eyes he was met were his dad's, the color, the shape, all the same physically, but there was something fuzzy behind them, strange. Peter put it up to the medications and the obvious head injury, nobody would be one hundred percent after that kind of diagnosis. The slightly unfocused gaze cluing him in until suddenly they were shockingly alert and fixed on him. The mitts the nurse had warned him about reached out towards him, his dad laid out on his back.

“Darling, come here. Need to make sure you’re okay.” The movements were clumsy and while he understood perfectly what was being said, there was an off slur to the words and pauses.

Peter drew closer, coming up to the bed. His dad ran uncoordinated, mitted hands down his arms, expression focused despite the clear haze. The frustration was evident in his movements as he was unable to properly assess Peter’s state with the slabs of foam under his palms.

“How are you feeling, dad?” He gently grabbed Bucky’s wrists, trying to get him to make eye contact.

“I’m alright, just need to make sure you’re okay.” Grumbled out as he allowed Peter to hold onto him.

“Do you need anything? Water? A snack?”

“Just you baby, just you.” He pulled his wrists out of his son’s hands, went back to touching him as best as he could manage.

Tears fuzzed out the edges of his vision, Peter reached for his daddy. Needed to feel the one person in his life who made the world feel shapeless without his presence. Bent over at the hips and practically laying on the wounded man below him. He choked out a sob as strong, familiar arms closed over his shoulders and drew him in, chest to chest.

“I thought you were gone.” Not enough air in his lungs to make the words sound complete as they were punched out of him.

Dragged in as close as he could manage, Bucky tucked his nose behind his son’s ear. “Never. I’d never leave you behind, Peter.”

Hiccups, the kind you only get with the worst of tears, pelted his breathing. Hitched his breath every other beat as he came off the adrenaline and tried to settle back into his skin. Peter hid in Bucky’s shoulder, face obscured from the rest of the world as hot tears rolled down his dad’s neck, breaking the poor man’s heart.

Mitts passed over his head, trying to push fingers through his curls and failing. A growl tumbled through the chest beneath his palms as his dad cursed the damn restraints, Peter joined him silently. He glanced over his shoulder, the curtain was still closed.

“Dad, the nurse says you have to wear the mitts because you keep pulling things out--”

“‘Cause they weren’t letting me see you.”

“If I take them off, will you promise not to tug on anything?” He would probably get in massive trouble for this but it wasn’t like they could do more than kick him out of the hospital. Surely so long as they put them back on after it would be fine.

“I won’t so long as you stay here.” Bucky held out his restrained hands, wanting the offending things off.

With one last glance over his shoulder, Peter undoes the velcro on one hand but left the other in it’s mitt, thinking it was easier to justify one “slipping” off than both of his hands free.

Without sparing a second, the free hand roams through his curls, trailing down the back of his neck, where they come to rest. Tangled their way through the soft baby hairs there, vulnerable and intimate. His dad props himself up on one arm, pulling Peter’s neck carefully down towards him while rising to meet him. Seeing that a kiss was coming, Peter turned his cheek, offering his dad easy access to the spot. His dad missed the mark, pressing at the underside of his jaw and holding for two shuddering heartbeats.

When he pulled back, Peter was surprised to find disappointment in his dad’s features. Lip set in a displeased line and eyes turned in a disgruntled tilt. Maybe he was just upset that he missed..? Peter gave a kiss as well, hoping it would erase that upset look. His own placed on his dad’s nose, slightly playful in an attempt to get a smile.

It worked, Bucky’s face melted into a grin as he pulled Peter all the way down, tucking his boy’s face into his shoulder. Awkwardly bent in half, Peter is forced to shimmy his lower half onto the bed and makes an undignified squeak when his dad slips a few fingers through his belt loops and uses them as leverage to help him onto the bed. His dad’s soft chuckle in response left a shadow of embarrassment but the sweet sound melted him. He needed this, to be close after feeling like the world stood between them before, ready to take the only man who cared about him away. The heavy rise and fall of his dad’s much larger chest reminding him that he was alive, that they both were.

“...Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“You’re not allowed to ride the bike anymore.”

The rumbling, loud laughter made the bossy statement into something concerned and gentle. He wasn’t being laughed at but instead humored. “I promise, no more bike. Don’t think I could in this state anyway. “

His forehead scratched across the short sleeve of the hospital gown as he hid from the light. Surrounded by darkness and the smell of his daddy, he was at peace for the moment. There was a small shift and Peter heard something fall on the floor. Just about to ask what that had been, he feels both hands, now free, run down his sides. He jumped when they slipped under his shirt, stroking at the skin around his slight love handles. About to ask what he was doing, they’re interrupted by a knock.

Peter jumped up, hands fell away as his dad grabbed one of the mitts and stuck it back on. Peter goes to peak behind the curtain and see who was asking to enter.

A doctor, all clean pressed with his white lab coat. Some voice in the back of his head piped up, recalling how deceiving the coat was in it’s clean exterior since lab coats are hardly washed as much as they should be and become vectors for illnesses. He is considering if letting such a thing near his dad is something he’s going to allow when he is reminded of his place. The doctor carefully pushed past him, Peter ignored like a small child, seen and not heard. He wants to fume but the need to play nice won out. He just needed to stamp down the territorial urges a bit better.

His dad managed to get one mitt back on but the other one was sitting loosely on his hand. He hid it from the doctor, tucking his hands in his lap to hide the strap. The scene threw him. With the way his dad had been acting he thought he was completely out of it, but that split second scene suggested his dad was still able to rationalize and know well enough to hide the mitt situation. Maybe he imagined it? Things were definitely a little off, just something about the energy around his dad was different. It could be that some parts of his brain were affected and not others.

Lost in his musings about the two-second detail, he missed what the doctor was saying. At the tailend he tuned in, catching the doctor saying something about physical and occupational therapy and his eventual home release.

“--Once we get your walking coordination back in tune you should be good to go. You’ve displayed some ability already according to the nurse when she’s helped you to the komode, which is excellent. We’ll likely be able to send you home in the next few weeks if things go as I am hoping.”

Peter hoped the doctor was right, or maybe wrong and that his dad would be coming home earlier than expected. The last few days alone in their apartment had been painfully quiet. Uncle Steve had been swinging by to help feed him and check in but he’d been unable to hold much of a conversation with him when they were both swimming with anxiety. Unsurprisingly, his mom still had not called to check in, thank god she flaked on her two weeks with him or he may not have been allowed to go back to the apartment he and his dad shared.

“Sounds good, Doctor. Anything I can do to help speed it along? I have things to do at home.” His dad shot him a look and Peter had no clue what it was supposed to mean. He felt like there was a hidden meaning there he wasn’t quite catching but was being expected to know.

“Patience is key, Mr. Barnes. If you push too hard, too fast you might backslide in progress. Just do as the physical therapist advises and they should be able to help you get back on your feet in a timely manner.” The doctor then proceeded to prattle off a few more things before a nurse came in with medications. He didn’t get a chance to spend more time with his dad as his phone pinged, Steve was there to come get him. He had school in the morning. Part of him wanted to blow it off, just spend the night by his dad’s side but Steve wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer on this one. Dodging the nurse, Peter pressed a quick kiss to his dad’s cheek and a hasty goodbye before he was shooed off. He left, looking back over his shoulder like he expected his dad to somehow be following.

_______

When he got the news that his daddy was going to be coming home, Peter flew into a near frenzy. He scrubbed the whole apartment three times and had reorganized his closet twice in just four days. Climbing up the walls, he was impatient and wanted his dad home now. The apartment had been too quiet for too long. Nothing ever moved unless Peter moved it and it was jarring to find things where he’d left them. He never realized how often things shifted in a shared space till they stopped. He hated it, wanted nothing more than to go back to normal, whatever their new normal ended up being.

Steve brought Bucky home Friday night, nearly a month after the accident. The father and son duo had hardly seen each other in that time, visits rarely lining up and the nurses deciding that his dad was always too worked up after seeing his son. Peter practically threw himself into his daddy’s arms, burying his face firmly in the solid wall of the other man’s chest. Thankfully, he was small enough that he hadn’t knocked Bucky off his feet. He seemed to still be getting his footing and walked in a slightly stilted manner that made Peter just the tiniest bit upset to see.

They all had dinner before Steve left, having things that needed to be done and trusting Peter to keep Bucky out of trouble. Nothing of much note happened that first night, Bucky too tired to do more than change clothes and land face down in bed. Peter left him to it, not wanting to bother his clearly exhausted father.

The morning, well, that is when things began their strange descent.

Peter was brushing his teeth, staring into the mirror with the expression unique to those who had stayed up just a little later than intended. Leaning down to spit into the running water of the sink and rinse his mouth, Peter jumped when something pressed against him. Spinning and nearly taking his hip out on the counter, he relaxes when blue eyes stare back at him.

“You scared me.” Peter, in his relief, didn’t catch the odd look that passed through Bucky’s eyes as he looked down on his son.

“You weren’t in bed, I heard the water running and thought I would check on you.” A large hand reached out, cupping Peter’s face.

Confused but not about to question the affection, Peter tips his face into the palm of his dad’s hand. “Did you need anything?”

“No, I just wasn’t sure where you had gone. You weren’t in bed with me when I went asleep, I thought you would be there by the time I woke up.” His thumb slid over the delicate skin of his lower eyelid, a light, affectionate gesture.

Only more puzzled by the statement, Peter lifts his head, not realizing he’d done it until he notices the hand following as though glued to his skin. “Why did you think that?”

It was Bucky’s turn to look confused. “Don’t you always sleep with me?”

Peter shook his head. “No, not in a long time. Sometimes I come and sit on the bed with you in the morning but I don’t normally sleep there.” His dad must really be messed up if he was expecting Peter to do something he hadn’t since he was eight.

“Did I do something wrong? Why don’t you sleep in our bed anymore?” Fingers flexing against Peter’s scalp.

Our bed? “No, no, I’m just not supposed too. It’s not normal for a teenager to sleep in the same bed as his dad.” This really was not the conversation he was expecting to have to have today.

“Says who? Peter, you’re always welcome in bed. I want you there, it lets me know you’re safe if you're near.”

Oh, that makes a little more sense at least. Maybe his dad was just nervous after the accident, wanted the security of having him near after all he’s been through. Admittedly, the thought of staying in the same room was appealing, he’d been jumpy ever since his dad had been in the hospital. Daddy wasn’t there to scare away the shadows that haunted their apartment, something he did just by being and hadn’t been obvious until he was no longer there.

“Would it make you feel better if I was in bed with you tonight?”

The beaming smile he got in response was so sweet, so heartfelt, that Peter felt himself smiling back. “Always, sweetheart.”

“Then tonight I’ll do it.” With the matter settled, Peter slipped out of his dad’s grasp and the bathroom. He heard the shuffling behind him that signaled he was being trailed. He plopped on the couch in the living room, flipping on the TV for some background noise.

Bucky settled in beside him, close enough their thighs are sealed together. Peter leaned over, tipped his head against one broad shoulder, sighed. An arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him in tight.

“Missed you, lovebug.”

Peter nuzzled his shoulder, smiling at the childhood nickname. “Missed you too, Daddy.” Teased just a little, lifting into a sweeter tone for the title.

They relaxed, a soothing hand running over his ribs. Up and down, up and down. He lost focus on the show quickly, closed his eyes and soaked up the gentle affection. The petting turns into a circular motion, one that slipped under the back of his shirt and over his skin. Daddy flipped back and forth between the two, always a warm hand trailing under his shirt. It made him sleepy, cravied a mid-morning nap as a result. He yawned and was rewarded with a crown of kisses across his forehead.

“Sleepy baby.” A honey tinged chuckle that made Peter soft and squishy. “Wanna go to bed, honey? Let Daddy take care of you for a little bit?”

Peter nodded, let himself be manhandled into strong arms, forgot to be concerned about his dad’s ability to do this when he felt so safe in his arms. Hadn’t been carried like this since he was small, loved the attention as he got a wet kiss on the cheek and was squished into the much broader body. Couldn’t resist giggling before he relaxed back.

The walk was short, a hand cupped his rear as the door was closed and the covers pulled back. He’d kept his eyes closed, lulling through the early stages of sleep. Still, the cool darkness of the room was pleasant behind his eyelids. He was set down amongst the covers, held close as Daddy slid up beside him. He was cradled, the back of his head cupped and used to press him gently into the crook of his dad’s neck. The other wrapped around his lower back. Peter was too far gone to do anything but doze off, warm and content.

_____

Peter woke up as his legs were folded into his chest, something hot and blunt pressed against his hole, startling him onto alert. He thrashed, trying to rip his legs away from whatever was restraining them so he could flee. His reward was the weight of a body pressing down against his calves, his feet stuck uncomfortably against a washboard stomach as his thighs are pressed into his chest He’s folded in half and had no time to think as he’s suddenly opened up on the head of a cock.

Terrified, he cried out in pain as someone sheathed themself inside him, pain slowly working it’s way up his spine as he was stretched. Forced to take and take and take what feels like an unending length, too thick for his small body to accommodate.

“S-stop. Stop!” Tears start to come, it hurts, it hurts and he can’t get away from it.

“Shh… It’s okay. You’re okay, baby. It’s just Daddy.” The rumbling tenor stops Peter dead in his tracks.

He actually focused, looked to see what was going on rather than run on blind panic. A sob ripped through him as his dad stared down at him. It must be a dream, a nightmare.

“You’re doing so well, lovebug. I know it’s been a long time since Daddy’s been in here, just relax.”

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin when a thumb ran across his rim, swiping over the place where their bodies connected. Treated as if it were normal, like they were two lovers in the midst of a reunion and not a father recovering from a brain injury and his confused son.

“Love this pussy, always so sweet for me. Yeah, there it is, let Daddy in sweetness.”

Peter blushed an angry tomato red. His dad was talking to his asshole while he sank his cock inside of him like this was something they’d done before and not sending Peter headlong into a panic attack.

Trying to suck down air as the panic in his body rose, he pushed against the wall of steel before him. “No, no, nonono, take it out! Take it out!!” The answering roll of hips made his back arch of the bed. Too much, it was too much.

“There’s my boy.” The slide of cock leaving his body was a relief until it rocked back in. The thrusts reached deeper inside of him than he thought possible. “Just need something to fill you up and make you feel good to get you settled down. So pretty, Peter. You’re a dream, baby doll.”

The thrusts start slow and pick up pace at the same rate the pain subsides to the pleasure of being filled. The fight left him as the sweet little spot inside his hole is battered and ground against with every slide. Peter doesn’t register his moans, sounding far away and not a part of him. He does register the squeal, the high pitched whine as his neck is assaulted with tooth and tongue. Flushed at the loud, wet slapping of his Daddy’s balls as they bounced off his rear. Now brought to his attention, it made him jump each time they hit the mark.

“This pussy hasn’t been fed in so long, has it sweetheart? Just waiting for Daddy to come home so it can swallow up the cock it needs. Cum hungry little cunt, all for me, ain’t that right?”

None of it made sense, nothing like this had happened before. Later, Peter would put the dots together, would see the little things that point to what was going on in his dad’s head. Would all fall into place when Daddy gets mad about him shying away and asks him why he’s rejecting him when Peter is his and has been for so long. Something got knocked loose, butchered some memories until this became something he could only imagine Peter wanting. But that was later, outside this moment. A time away from this second where Peter was moaning like a bitch in heat as his dad made him feel, took his first cock and got to enjoy the skill that comes with someone so much older.

The last few thrusts are violent, made him yip as hips slammed down onto his ass and turned the skin red. The rush of cum made his body shake, not knowing what to do as he’s filled.

“Cream-filled, just how I like this little hole. Soppy and wet just like a real pussy, huh baby? Think Daddy can have his pie and eat it too?”

The words meant nothing, all Peter could do was shake his head, hoped it would get him out of this. He ached both in his ass and his locked joints. Just end, please, that’s all he wanted.

But it doesn’t.

Bucky slides out, slowly, dragging it out so that Peter has to feel every vein on it’s way out the door. He sighs, relieved as the pressure on his legs is let up. He goes to lower them, stretch out and hopefully roll away but they’re grabbed and suddenly he’s flat on his belly, his cock making itself known as it slides over the sticky sheets. His back cold as the sweat is exposed to the cool air. A pitiful, displeased noise fell from his lips as a face forced itself between his thighs. A tongue, scorching hot, lapped at the cum seeping from his gaping pussy. His poor battered cunt loosened into a pouting mouth as a searching tongue makes out with it, wet and messy.

He can’t help it as his hips tip forward, seeking out release as his cocklet stands red and angry. It hurts and the sheets glide over it in a way that makes the ache settle and that same tingly feeling from earlier skitter it’s way up to the base of his skull. Hands come up to his hips, guiding as their master eats out his hole like he doesn’t need air to live. It brings him to the edge, paints his belly white with shame as the orgasm wracks his body.

Collapsed on the sheets, Peter curled up. Too much, too much. His brain shut down, taking him to a place that’s fuzzier, not yet forcing him to process what has just happened. It’s why he doesn’t fight as a hand and tongue coax his jaw open, why he only shudders and obediently swallows as cum is smeared and drooled into his mouth.

“Seems you’re just as hungry for cum as your hole.” It’s said like a joke, like it’s meant to be teasing.

Peter just wrapped his arms around his head and prayed for sleep.

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot “Surprise Guest Stars” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Chaos ensues when some uninvited performers show up to Thomas's Christmas pageant ... (2221 words)

Notes: Blaine friendly. Assume this happens in a world that hasn’t met Covid yet. A re-write for @kbweek2020 Day 4 prompt Parents.

Part 60 of Daddies.

Read on AO3.

“You tell him!” Sebastian whispers. 

“No, you tell him!” Blaine whispers back fervently - a huge fail if he was trying to keep Kurt from hearing him. For a man who’s been working in theater professionally since college, how could Blaine forget that Kurt would be able to hear him from every corner of the stage? Rule number one of working backstage - no shushing and no whispering.

“Why me?” Sebastian asks.

“Because you’re his husband! You have a child together! If I tell him, detectives will never find my body! He won’t hurt you!”

“Yeah, right. Wanna bet?”

“Sure. Can you break a hundred?”

“For God’s sake!” Kurt snaps, too overwhelmed this close to curtain to handle anything that might go hand-in-hand with those two and their whisper fighting. “Would one of you just tell me what the heck is going on? What are you arguing about?”

Sebastian looks at Blaine, waiting for him to give Kurt the explanation he’s demanding while Sebastian searches for a place to hide. He’s out of luck when Blaine catches him off guard with a huge shove towards center stage right in the path of the steely-eyed man walking aggressively toward them, the thick heels of Kurt's Jimmy Choo loafers pounding against the wood floorboards marking down the remaining seconds of their lives.

Blaine may have made his living on the stage, but Kurt takes theater much more seriously than he ever has.

“We might have a problem,” Sebastian says.

“What? What problem!? It’s fifteen minutes to showtime! Don’t talk to me about problems!”

“O … okay ...” Sebastian smiles sheepishly, splaying his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Let’s call it a hiccup then.”

“A hiccup is a safety-gated synonym for problem, and I refuse to accept that there are any problems.”

“And yet, we still have one.”

Kurt sighs, throwing a hand to his forehead to shield his already blooming headache from whatever stupidity this is, and ends up smacking himself with his clipboard. “Fine!” he groans, rubbing the sore spot. “What is it!?”

“Look up there.” Sebastian reaches out to take his husband’s shoulder and redirect his attention. But after considering the possibility of getting his hand bitten off - a hand that will become most important if Kurt decides to never sleep with him again after this - he motions with his chin instead.

“Up where?”

“Up … up there. In the Christmas tree.”

“What? Is Mrs. Popson complaining that the ornaments are unbalanced again? Are we going to have to re-Feng Shui the lights to better complement her third graders’ angel piglets?” Kurt allows himself a snicker as he follows Sebastian’s instructions and gazes up. Eight dozen ridiculous things have happened so far, and their little pageant has yet to even open. That’s probably all this is - something ridiculous. A minor inconvenience blown way out of proportion.

At least, that’s what it had better be.

But as he peers through the branches of their picturesque twelve-foot Fraser fir, he realizes no. This isn’t a little thing. It’s a rather large thing. So large, he wonders how come he didn’t notice it before now.

“Oh … shit,” he mutters.

“It's Blaine's fault. I didn't see it until he pointed it out,” Sebastian says, passing the blame off on an offended Blaine and leaping quickly aside in case this revelation has consequences. 

“This,” Kurt hisses, jabbing a finger upward, "is why I told you I wanted an artificial tree for the Christmas pageant! Where did we get this thing anyway?”

“It was donated by Father Bruno at St. Adalbert’s Parish to show support for the school's LGBTQ+ inclusive program. He went out to the woods and cut it down himself!”

“Right!” Kurt folds his arms over his chest. “He probably planned this! Did it on purpose to sabotage our pageant! You can’t trust the Catholics! Don’t I always say that!?”

Sebastian looks at Blaine, and a confused Blaine looks back, each wondering if this is some inside remark directed at the other.

“No!” Sebastian pulls a face. “I have never heard you say that!”

“Well, you can’t,” Kurt sniffs. “And whether I said it or not, it’s generally implied.”

“I don’t think the man did this on purpose,” Blaine says, but does so in that soothing tone he used so often on Kurt in high school. A bad decision, Blaine realizes, the moment Kurt's head pivots his way, and he sees everything from Kurt’s neck to his scalp turn a bright, crayon red.

“Really!? Then let me ask you this - during the time it took the good father to cut this tree down and drag it over here, he never once noticed there was not one, not two, but three nests inside!?”

“I guess not! But neither did y---we,” Sebastian corrects, his life flashing before his eyes when he comes close to implying his husband is at fault. “We got the tree last minute. I guess they slipped through the cracks.”

“Obviously.” Kurt closes his eyes and drops his head, searching for an answer in the dark behind his lids.

Five minutes.

By now, they only have five minutes. He hears the children lining up with their teachers backstage while he and his husband argue. But they need to stop arguing and come up with a solution.

Fast!

He takes a deep breath in and exhales out, the inklings of a plan forming in his head.

“It’s okay,” he says, reassuring himself more than anyone, the headache simmering behind his eyes threatening to become a full-blown migraine. “It’s going to be okay. They haven’t let the parents in yet. They’re still in line outside. We can fix this. We can still fix this. We can move them, right? Just … shimmy up there and get them down?”

Blaine and Sebastian shoot each other anxious looks. This time, Blaine starts, choosing to jump on the grenade for Sebastian. “Uh … no. We can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” Kurt counters, over-enunciating consonants through teeth clenched so hard they’re about to pop from his skull. “Figure out a way to skitter up there and pluck them out. It can’t be too difficult.”

“I’m sorry, Kurt …”

“Or come at them from above. You can reach down from the catwalk. That might work out better seeing as they’re so high up.”

“No, Kurt …”

“We’re not going to hurt them,” Kurt interjects as if that might be the big hold up. “We’re going to relocate them.”

“Kurt …”

“There’s a cat carrier in the fifth-grade room,” Kurt continues desperately, unsure why it is this can’t be done, why Blaine can't say, "Brilliant, Kurt! I'll get right on that!" He’s seen people do it before. The Crocodile Hunter (God rest his soul) rescued birds left and right. That nice Officer Kevin from the SPCA who rescued the deranged pigeon from his father's auto body shop. And wasn’t there a famous Vine where some guy got an owl out of his kitchen using a broom? It can’t be that difficult. “We’ll toss them in there for the time being and then …”

“Kurt!” Blaine cuts in, raising his voice a tad higher than advisable considering the situation. “We can’t move them!”

Kurt's glare nearly takes the top of Blaine's head clean off. “And why can’t we?”

“Because those aren’t just any birds.” The three men look up at the exact moment nine fluffy faces peek over the edges of their nests and look down, probably wondering what all the commotion below is about. “Those are loggerhead shrikes.”

Kurt and Sebastian both look at their friend with confusion on their faces.

“How do you know that?” Sebastian asks.

Kurt puts a hand on his husband’s shoulder and shakes his head. “That question is going to require a longer answer than we have time for. Plus, there are children in the building. Just accept that Blaine has a thing about birds.” 

"PG? Or R?" Sebastian asks, needing clarification regardless.

"Try X," Kurt says in a lowered voice.

Sebastian looks at a blushing Blaine with wide, disgusted, but somewhat amused eyes.

"Continue," Kurt says, "from the part where you tell us why these birds are about to ruin our pageant.”

“Loggerhead shrikes are threatened. That means they’re protected. We can’t move them ourselves. We might not be able to move them at all without taking the tree with them.”

Kurt’s eyes bug. “We can’t … we can’t … the tree!? Oh great! This keeps getting better and better!”

“Relax.” Sebastian takes the risk and puts a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. He tries to massage it, but it’s hard as a rock. “It’s okay. We can still sort this out.”

“And how do you suggest we do that!? Huh!? Our Christmas pageant, which your son is starring in by the way, and is supposed to start in …” Kurt spins around in search of a clock. When he can’t see the one on the far wall, ironically because of the tree, he fishes his cell phone out of his pocket and checks the screen. His eyes bug out farther “… two minutes! has been hijacked by birds!”

“Look, Kurt, they’ve been chill so far. Maybe we can have the pageant with them there and move them after. Problem solved.”

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees optimistically, trying to force his heart to slow down, seeing how, with no time to spare, this could be a feasible option. “You're right! We’ll let them stay! Problem solved! I mean, what’re a few birds? It doesn’t look like they can even fly yet. And they’re cute! They’ll add realism. They won’t be any trouble.”

“Not exactly,” Blaine says, and Kurt has never wanted to punch him in the face so hard in his life. Wait … come to think about it, there may have been one or two other times. “There may be a whole other bigger problem.”

“And that is?”

“Those are babies. Juveniles, specifically. I don’t see any moms. Or dads for that matter.”

“I know I’m going to regret asking this,” Kurt moans, resigned to whatever fate Blaine’s knowledge is about to bestow upon them, “but … that’s a problem why?”

“Because loggerhead shrikes are protective. Being separated from their chicks, the parents will get aggressive. Also, if the babies don’t know where their parents are and they get nervous …” A series of jarring screeches interrupt Blaine’s explanation. Kurt glares up at the birds, mouths open wide, cawing loudly into the air. Blaine points up. “They’ll do that.”

“Great!” Kurt yelps, at the end of his rope. “So we have potentially agro birds loose in the theater, baby birds that spontaneously scream bloody murder, and a play set to start in half-a-minute, which we may have to postpone indefinitely in case we need to call animal control - do I have that right?”

“Basically, yes.”

“Well, skippidy do! Is there anything else!? Anything at all you’ve forgotten to tell me!? Because what else could possibly go wrong!?”

The doors at the back of the auditorium fly open, and Kurt blanches, knowing that right then and there, his question is about to be answered.

“Kurt! Sebastian!” the assistant principal yells, looking a little too much like Tippi Hedren in The Birds for anything good to come from her sudden appearance. “Come quick! It’s an emergency!”

“What? What, what, what is it now!?” Kurt asks, sounding less than sympathetic.

“Insane birds are dive-bombing parents in line outside! Three people have already been pecked! Everyone is scattering!”

With the auditorium doors thrown open, Kurt can hear the panicked yells of parents banging on the steel doors outside, begging to be let in. Above that, the shrieking of the birds searching for their babies echo through the halls, their screams so high-pitched and piercing, they make their way through the thick stone walls and double-layered storm windows. Hearing their parents’ cries, the baby birds respond, frantically flapping their wings in an effort to take flight themselves and reach them.

Bitterly Kurt thinks all of his problems might be solved if they give it a go, plummet to the ground, and break their little birdie necks.

How un-festive of him.

Sebastian looks at his done-in husband. “Do you want me to go outside and handle this one alone?”

“No.” Kurt straightens his back, squares his shoulders, hands his clipboard over to Blaine, and makes for the stairs to the stage, head held high like a gladiator going off to fight an unwinnable war. “I’ll go. Blaine? Tell the teachers … there’s been a bit of a delay.”

“Will do,” Blaine says, leaving the stage with a solemn salute and a sigh of relief.

“And Sebastian?”

“Yes?” Sebastian says, falling in behind his husband, unwilling to let him walk off into the bird battle alone.

“Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“The next time I ask what could possibly go wrong - gag me.”

“Absolutely.” Sebastian smirks, preparing to die on the hill of bringing a smile back to his husband’s face. “Just so I can plan appropriately … will you be asking that anytime tonight, perchance? Because I can get a babysitter and rent a room in about five seconds.”

“Great,” Kurt replies humorlessly. “Do that. Let’s pray I’ll have enough blood left in my body to enjoy it.”

[ifyoulovemeletmebinge]

We’re All Monsters

destiel au where everything in canon is used at the wrong time and oh also cas is a monster. 

for @beingforcedtolivebadwriting

RATED M 

read it on ao3 here:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Dean Winchester knows he hates monsters.

That’s one thing. It’s almost the first thing. In almost every situation.

Dean wakes up and all he can think of is how much he hates monsters.

Some of it comes from the fact that John is a shitty dad and that’s not because of him being a shitty dad. Dean can’t remember much at all from his life before the fire, but from what John tells him, they were The Perfect American Family. He knows that at least.

He also knows that because monsters fucked that dynamic up for his family, he hates them unconditionally.

None of that has been truer than how he feels tonight. Tonight, his hands are still shifty on the wheel of the Impala, tonight his feet are still struggling to reach the brake pedal without stretching, and tonight the sky is pitch black and the air is warm and humid, and tonight he’s gonna kill some monsters.

Well. Maybe not.

John’s instructions were to stop by (by which he means break in) the morgue, take an extra look at the bodies, and identify any marks that stand out for a tell of what kind of son of a bitch they were dealing with.

John usually does this himself, but Dean thought it best to not bring up the fact that his dad needs to drink himself to blissful unconsciousness on the week of the anniversary of his dead wife. The case was bad timing, thus, Dean is the lucky pick to do the dirty work.

Not that he minds. This is something he wants to do. This is something he craves. Dean has been getting taller and bigger and stronger, and his hands have been itching more, and he can’t stop shifting his weight, and lately he feels like doing something that will fully transition him into the man he’s supposed to be. Except all he knows is John, and John is a hunter.

But Dean doesn’t mind. He’s good with a gun, and he’s a quick runner (he would have joined the track team if John had let them stay past Christmas break at his last school), and if that’s all he’s got, he’ll use it to do something. He’ll figure it out.

He’d way prefer to risk himself getting arrested, and going to juvie (again), than Sammy. Sammy, who’s back at the motel. Sammy who’s hopefully, peacefully sleeping. Sammy, who he hopes won’t be awake to see John come back from the bar. Dean intends to make it back before that. It’s only 11pm. He’s got time.

Dean parks the Impala (he only struggles for a few seconds with it, alright) a couple blocks down from the police station. His shoulders crowd up around his ears, cotton of his sweatshirt brushing his jaw, as he walks, as silent as he can, between the shadows of the decorative trees in this stupid suburb, to the back of the station.

He’s already scouted the place earlier in the day, so he knows which window leads to the desired formaldehyde smelling room. The station is only one story high, so he’s easily able to unlatch the outside lock with his pocket knife, and heave himself up. He shimmies himself in (fuck, that window’s tight) and ends up doing a supported handstand on the morgue floor. He throws his legs to the side--only hurting his ankles a little on the edge of the window--and then he’s finally got both his feet on the ground.

Dean stands up from his crouch, slowly. Then he scoffs to himself. Who the fuck is gonna hear him in here?

He moves closer to where the target is. There’s a sleek metal table in front of him, and yes, there’s a dead person on it, covered by a thin white sheet. Dean searches for gloves in the dark, because he’s a teenage boy but he’s not that gross, and he snaps them on, pulling back the sheet and averting his eyes from the corpse’s face. He goes straight to where the money is.

At the junction between the corpse’s shoulder and jaw, right in the middle of the neck, there’s a big bite. It’s not anything his dad has seen before, as he kept complaining so much since they found the case, and Dean has to swallow back bile at how ugly it looks. Black and protruded, half scaly-like, half-raw ripped skin, at least under the moonlight coming from the window. He should have brought a flashlight.

Dean is cataloging the patterns to draw for his dad later, tracing his fingers over the lines carefully, really feeling the texture and the way it’s swollen the skin. He thinks he imagines the sound at first.

Then he stops his hand, and he thinks again.

That’s definitely a sound. Like a real movement that wasn’t him, and it’s coming—it came at least—from the room right next door, the main storage for the other bodies. Dean turns his head to look at the door, and oh, would you look at that, it’s peeking open to more darkness on the other side. Where the sound came from. Except how is there a sound at a morgue in the dead of night?

Dean was not prepared for this. His heartbeat starts announcing itself in his ears, and he’s almost vibrating with fear. He thinks of his dad. What would John do at a time like this? Probably start shooting.

But Dean didn’t have a gun. Even if he did, it could just be the doctor, or a policeman staying after (they always got in his way), and he can’t go around shooting random people. It’s hard to explain to a dead person: “Hey! Sorry! Thought you were a monster! My bad!”

Then he remembers his pocket knife, whips it out, and holds it tight in his right fist. Dean starts walking towards the door, but he wants to knock the whole wall down and skeet the fuck out of there.

He holds his breath as he gently kicks the door with the tip of his boot (he figured out a way to make Sam convince John to get him new ones, and yeah, these loggers are pretty fucking cool), and then he’s in the room.

The first thing he notices when his eyes adjust to how dark it is in there (honestly, would it kill a monster to turn on a light?), is the two figures bent over what he assumes is another poor corpse being taken advantage of. He also hears… ew. Those are chomping and chewing noises. He never gets the clean ones.

Dean doesn’t know what to do! Does he shout? Scare them? Lunge at them? Anything he does next could be the last thing he does. Is he ready to die?

Luckily, Dean doesn’t have to decide his first move because the figures do it for him.

It happens too fast—and maybe he’s reading too many comics because his first thought is I wish I had super speed like Barry so I could gank these fuckers, except he doesn’t, so it’s fast.

He’s on his back in a blink. There’s a bony arm on his neck and another holding one of his wrists in a grip so tight Dean wants to make a eulogy for his circulation. There’s also a normal-ish weight on his hips and his stomach, which suddenly lurches because fuck. Fuck. The monster’s on him, he’s pinned. And for some reason he’s still alive.

Still. Fuck.

After a moment of heaving breathing from the guy on top of him, the figure lurking around, and his own wheezing lungs, Dean grunts out: “You guys gonna eat me or what?”

The guy above him doesn’t let up, but Dean does feel the other one walking around. Like the ground shakes with his every step as he comes closer to Dean’s ears near the floor.

“Personally,” says Figure 2 from way above him, and Dean feels disoriented at how far away his voice sounds, “I’m fairly content. My son here, however… well, he’s just famished.”

Dean’s eyes flick to the guy on him, trying to make out his features but it’s just too dark, and all he can feel is the terribly tight grip on his wrist, the way his forearm is crushing on his neck, and—hey. His pocket knife is still in his hand. His free hand, the one trapped under the small of his back, where he can feel the butt of the handle digging into his skin slightly.

“Go on, son.”

Figure 1, aka The Son, seems to be hesitating, and Dean doesn’t want to wait till he decides if he wants more salt on him or not before the meal, so he wriggles his hand out, and drives it across his body and downwards in a surprisingly strong stroke. He knows he hit something when the arms on top of him lift up entirely, and there’s a pained groan resounding amid the darkness.

He rolls on his side, scrambles up, and flies out of the room, back into the main morgue lab, through the door, down and down the long hallway, past the reception desk, and he’s out the main entrance, not caring one bit about the obnoxious ringing of the alarm behind him.

His calves are burning by the time he throws himself in the Impala, and he clumsily fishes out his dad’s keys, turning the car on. He drives 50 above the speed limit until he gets to the motel.

Dean tells John everything. He draws what he remembers with shaky hands. He neglects to mention how many of them there were.

<15 years later>

“And then, like a fucking Clint Eastwood movie, he comes back home--”

“You mean the motel?” Sam interrupts.

“Yeah, whatever. So he barges in the door--” Dean frames a rectangle with his hands “--silhouetted by the moonlight, and he tucks his gun in and he swings his dirty machete over his shoulder and he tilts his head and then he says: ‘Boy, pack your stuff. Our job here is done.’ I mean… it was fucking awesome,” Dean chuckles.

“I think your memory is unreliable.”

“Sam, you were dead to the world that night. On my bed, might I add, so you didn’t even see any of this. John kicked ass!”

Eileen’s smile is a little forced, and a little awkward, but Dean can’t blame her. His energy is hard to match when he’s a few beers in. Sam keeps eyeing her, like he's checking in on how she’s receiving this story about their dad. Like she would ever judge him for it.

“He sounds like a brave hunter,” she signs and says. Dean feels way too proud.

Sam tries and fails to keep the grimace off his face. “Yeah. Babe, is it late? We should…” he trails off, tilting his head in the direction of their bedrooms. Eileen nods in agreement, seeming relieved. She squeezes Dean’s hands as she leaves. Sam is standing now, and he waits until Eileen is gone to turn his bitchface on.

“Dean, please stop doing that.”

Dean furrows his eyebrows. “Doing what?”

Sam sighs, exasperated. “Praising dad. I don’t know, sugarcoating him, painting him as the hero. You know damn well he wasn’t.”

Dean’s throat tightens. If that’s what Sam thinks he was doing, he really doesn’t know him at all. He's full of indignation when he answers: “That’s the last thing that I would do. I know firsthand, more than you, how shitty John was. Sam, I know. I was telling the story how I remembered it. ‘Cause back then? Yeah, he was my hero. I’m old enough to know better now, but--what the fuck do you care? You think I’m purposely lying to Eileen? For what?”

Sam can’t meet his eyes. “Dean, no that’s not what I-I just can’t hear that shit. It makes me… uncomfortable. I don’t wanna talk about dad like that anymore. I'd rather not talk about him at all, actually! I just… I can’t hear that shit from you.”

Dean balks, mouth open. He scoffs, “Fine.” He stands up and puts his jacket back on, checking his pockets for his keys and his wallet.

He’s halfway up the stairs when Sam calls from the library, “Dean, come on. Let’s talk about this. Or not! Dude, we just got back from a hunt, don’t leave. Let just-let’s forget about it, alright?”

Dean pauses at the railing. He turns around and shouts down at Sam: “Yeah, sure, Sammy! Let's forget our whole heritage. It never fucking mattered to you anyways.”

He’s slamming the door to the bunker closed behind him, and hopping in the Impala (which he didn’t have time to wash or put in the garage since their hunt), and then he’s off god knows where. He needs a drink.

Dean picks the fourth bar/restaurant place he sees. That seems like far enough away from his brother for now. It’s one he hasn’t gone to yet. Fun, new, and exciting!

He’s working on his third whiskey, maybe half an hour after he arrived, when the bartender puts down another glass in front of him.

Dean glances up. “Hey, um. I’m good for now, really.”

The bartender is tying his long cornrows in a ponytail on the back of his head, and when he meets Dean’s eyes, he gives him a shit-eating grin. He nods off to the side, “Courtesy of your secret admirer.” Then he winks at him and leaves for the kitchen behind him. Dean feels all warm inside at that, but he doesn’t have much time to revel in it before a man sits down on the stool next to him, a non-respectable four inch distance away.

Dean is appalled before he takes in this dude, and okay. Not bad. Looks about the same age, dresses like a grandpa from the trenchcoat he sees, has spiky black hair that Dean might want to run his hands through, and shit, fuck, he’s looking at Dean, say something!

“Hello,” the man says and whoa, who died and made you Batman? His lips are plumper than a guy’s lips usually are (look who’s talking, Dean) and chapped and they’ve got a nice shape. Dean likes the cupid’s arch on his upper lip, it looks classy. His nose is pointy, and maybe a bit small, but damn if it doesn’t work well with his sharp cheekbones. By the time Dean can register his eyes, all his brain can think of is wow.

Dean’s never seen bluer eyes. They’re as clear as the sky, but Dean feels like he could drown in them. Or maybe that’s just the way this man is looking at him. Dean’s rarely been stared at with this much intensity, and he feels a blush spread to the tips of his hot ears.

He clears his throat. “Hi.” Dean has to look away now, back to his own glass before he combusts. He’s surprised a dude like him would buy him a drink.

Apparently, the man can’t sense how awkward and unprepared Dean was for this because he starts talking again, keeping his voice low so that only Dean can hear him, so it’s only a rumble in his chest. “I hope I’m not overstepping. You looked like you needed some company. Is that the kind you like to drink?”

Dean is so flustered at the sheer… whatever this dude has, he has to remind himself this is a normal human interaction. Be nice. Make eye contact.

“Yeah, it’s uh--it’s great. Thanks. For buying it. Um, I’m kinda driving tonight, though, so I might want to stop at this--” Dean raises his own drink in his hand “--You can-you want it? I'd be a waste otherwise.” He’s cringing so bad inside that his stomach hurts.

The man levels him a neutral stare. A few seconds later, he nods and reaches over to pick up the extra whiskey. Dean follows his hands and fuck they’re nice. He’s got long fingers, and for some reason the way his metacarpals shift under his skin is incredibly attractive.

The fun doesn’t stop there though, because then the guy is bringing the glass to his mouth, and he’s not taking his eyes off Dean’s own wide ones, and he’s taking a drink and it all looks sinful. The way his trachea shifts as he swallows, the opening and closing of his enticing jaw, and especially the way his pink tongue peeks out from his mouth to lick at the rim of the glass.

Dean swallows what feels like sandpaper.

“My name is Castiel,” he says, putting the glass down, holding it between his hands like he's bracketing it. He shifts his hands and the glass follows, rotating back and forth.

“Dean.”

Castiel nods, his lips quirk up a little, and this might be the first sort-of smile Dean has seen from him.

“Why’d you buy me a drink?” he blurts out.

The grin grows by a millimeter. “You looked like you needed one.”

Dean snorts. “That bad, huh?”

“Maybe that good.” Dean sees a peek of teeth from Castiel and he can’t help but shiver.

Dean recognizes it for what it is, so he turns on his own charm, slipping into familiar flirting territory.

“So what do you do, Castiel?”

Castiel’s eyes flick to Dean’s mouth for the quickest moment, and then his mouth is a neutral plane again, smirk vanishing completely. He thinks for a few seconds. “I’m an accountant.”

Dean knows that could mean literally anything, except the guy is wearing a tie and there’s a trenchcoat, so yeah. He’s an accountant for real.

“Cool. Numbers, huh?”

Castiel narrows his eyes, like he’s squinting. Dean finds it both intimidating and endearing. “Yes. How about you, Dean?”

He blushes harder at hearing his name in that gravelly voice, but keeps his cool when he answers, rehearsed: “Odd jobs, here and there.”

Castiel doesn’t miss a beat. “Fascinating.”

Dean blinks. Okay. “Is it?”

“Yes. You must travel a lot.”

“I do, yeah,” he nods, feeling a little vulnerable.

Castiel is back to staring at him intensely, and it makes Dean’s veins sizzle a little with want. They’re upgrading from Flirting/Small Talk Territory to Let’s Go Like Now Territory. Dean’s breathing comes a little deeper.

“Would you like to travel right now?”

“What?”

Castiel is definitely looking at his mouth. “Would you like to go outside?”

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise. This guy does not waste time. Not that he’s complaining, he’s been feeling hot all over since Castiel sat down, and he’d give himself at most another half an hour before he proposed they move this interaction somewhere else himself. So Dean downs the rest of his whiskey, feels the buzz in his ears and the tips of his fingers, and he stands up. “Let’s go.”

Castiel follows him outside.

The night is more humid than it should be for August, but Dean can feel the chill of Fall coming, and he’s grateful for his jacket. He’s shoved his hands in his jean pockets as he walks to the corner where the sidewall of the bar meets the front wall of it. He stops and leans one shoulder right at the edge of the wall to the side, facing the parking lot. Out of options for what to say, Dean waits until Castiel comes closer (his hands are in his trench coat pockets and it’s weirdly cute), and he points at his Baby, thirty feet away.

“That’s my car. She’s my Baby.”

Castiel stops two feet away from him, but right in front, and he turns his body to the side to follow where Dean’s finger points. He stares at the Impala for a bit, before he turns his head to Dean again. The light coming from inside the restaurant is what brightens Castiel’s face and Dean is a little breathless as he admires his illuminated features.

“She’s very beautiful.”

Dean smiles, proud and sheepish. “Thanks. Um, what about yours?”

Castiel inhales, taken aback. “Oh. I didn’t drive here tonight. I like walking.” he says slowly.

“Oh, okay.” Dean answers stupidly. It’s not that he’s disappointed they can’t talk about cars, it’s just… what else are they supposed to talk about at a moment like this?

“So what brought you here tonight, Cas?” Dean doesn’t catch himself in time, and the nickname is out. Oops. Castiel seems to inflate a little in response though, so he’s fine. For now.

“Rough day.” He says, then like an afterthought he adds, “At work.”

This dude is so fucking weird. Dean is obsessed with him.

Suddenly, he doesn’t want to wait anymore, he just wants to take what Castiel offered. He’s been wanting to taste him since he looked at his lips, so he smirks at Castiel and he asks, “Come here, Cas.”

For a moment Castiel tilts his head, and Dean can’t figure him out, and he kinda loves that, the anticipation of not knowing what this guy is gonna do or who he is. Dean beckons him with a hand. He’s drunk enough on the beers from earlier and the whiskey and the adrenaline drop from the finished hunt that he’s allowing himself this tonight. A little recklessness can’t hurt.

Castiel walks closer than Dean expected him to, and Dean turns to press his back to the side wall, his shoulder barely off the edge where the front and side connect. Castiel follows the twist of his body perfectly because suddenly he’s crowding Dean against the small space with his hands on either side of his head on the wall. Their faces are mere inches apart.

Dean loves the way the air shifts then, like someone pulled a lever down and the current of electricity started running. They’re breathing each other’s air, and Castiel’s eyes are glued to Dean’s mouth, while Dean alternates his staring between Castiel’s darkened eyes and those chapped lips. Dean feels like he's vibrating.

He forces his hands to unfreeze and brush the trench coat flaps aside, coming to rest on top of Castiel’s hips, over his belt. This moves their bodies closer still, Dean subconsciously opening his legs wider to let Castiel slot a knee in between them. Their hips press, Dean shivers, and then he shivers even more when he feels Castiel’s lips pressing against his.

It’s exactly like he imagined, except it’s about a thousand times better. Castiel’s lips are soft and pliant, and he presses brushing kisses and pecks Dean’s lips for a bit, leaving them tingling for more, until he starts to really get into it. Castiel softly clamps his mouth around Dean’s bottom lip and he pulls back, and Dean is so fucked. He tries to keep his knees from wobbling, and then he gets what he wants when Castiel presses forward again, kissing him open mouthed, and there is his tongue, and it tastes really sweet and Dean feels positively intoxicated.

He can’t remember when he closed his eyes, but there are fireworks exploding behind them, and his dick is saying “Hell, yeah!” and he’s tilting his head to kiss Castiel deeper, chasing more of his mouth and his taste and his smell. His hands are gripping Castiel’s hips in a vice.

Dean can’t help the moan he lets out when Castiel’s tongue does a thing, and he also can’t help his surprise when Castiel pulls back abruptly after the sound has registered. His shock is almost overshadowed by the crude things his brain is thinking when he takes in Castiel, whose lips are shiny and wet, and whose pupils are enormous.

Dean holds his breath, furrows his eyebrows, and waits. Castiel is looking at him, pained.

“Dean, I can’t,” he whispers.

There is a moment, and then Dean blinks, understanding everything. He’s a little upset, but mostly embarrassed, except his brain can’t fully express that, so it’s put through a well-oiled machine that converts it into anger. Now, that he can do.

He’s pushing Castiel off him, walking five steps away then pivoting and walking back. He repeats this path, running a hand down his face as Castiel just fucking stands there, looking at him sadly.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Dean bites out.

“Dean, I can-” Casties tries.

“No, seriously. What the fuck is wrong with you?” he whirls around to stare right at Castiel a few feet away. Castiel’s shoulders fall and it enrages Dean even more.

“You know what, Cas? Go fuck yourself. You got some issues to figure out, and it’s not gonna be with me. Go to hell, asshole.” Dean spits out, fixing Castiel with a furious stare, feeling his jaw tick in anger, and then he’s stomping away.

As he gets closer to the Impala, he crosses his arms, feeling indignation constrict his chest. This is not the first time this has happened with Dean and unfortunately, he thinks it probably won’t be the last.

Damn it. A guy like that? Probably has a pretty little wife, probably hides his wedding band right in his front pocket, which Dean completely skipped on his way to grab at Castiel’s ass. He groans internally as he rounds the back of the car till he reaches the driver’s door. He’s going home with the worst case of blue balls he’s ever had.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” He hears as he fishes out his keys and puts the right one in the slot to unlock the door, and hey, Castiel’s voice is much closer than he expected, but Dean doesn’t have time to turn around and yell at him some more because suddenly the ground is completely gone from under his feet. Dean’s vision goes blinding white, and then pitch black.

The pain finally registers on the back of his head, and the last thing he sees before he's out, is the key chain dangling from the lock on the Impala’s door.

****

The world slowly slots back together as Dean wakes up. There’s four, then three, then two, and then it all merges into one again. Dean acutely feels the pouding in his head.

He’s… laying down? Yeah, he’s on a bed. The mattress is nice. There's even a thin blanket on top of him, dark grey. He turns his head to the side-nope, that’s a wall-tries the other side and okay good, there’s the rest of the room. He feels a little less claustrophobic now that he’s seen the whole space. It’s dark just because the lights are off. It looks like a normal basement, unfinished ceiling and all, with boxes stacked in the corner covering a whole wall. There’s a couch facing him, parallel to the bed, and there’s a figure sitting there. Dean eyes his phone, wallet, car keys, and pocket knife on a night stand next to the bed. It’s just out of his reach.

He pinches his eyes shut, wiggles his toes in his boots (no brain damage done, yay), and then he groans out: “What can I do for ya, Mr. Monster?”

When he opens his eyes, Castiel has turned one of the overhead light bulbs on. He looks serious.

“Firstly, I want to apologize, Dean. I didn’t want to have to do this, and I didn’t plan for it.”

Dean is more than confused. “What.”

Castiel stands up from his couch, he’s only in his suit now, tie loosened, and damn Dean’s stupid (probably concussed) brain, but he still looks yummy. Monster, Dean. Focus.

Castiel crosses his arms, and plants his feet. He keeps a very respectable distance away from the bed, and Dean’s gut twists at the thought that he was playing him all along.

“I didn’t… want to seduce you. I just wanted to talk. I might have derailed from my plan slightly.”

Dean’s jaw ticks. “And what was that amazing plan of yours, Castiel? If that’s your real name.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean’s tone. He huffs a breath out his nose, frowning.

“You know, Dean, you may not remember me, but I remember you. Fifteen years ago, your father killed my father, and I’ve been keeping tabs on you ever since.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breaths out after a few seconds of stunned silence, propping himself up to fully sit up on the bed. He feels his bruised brain click things together. “You’re the second one. You survived.”

Castiel is silent, and that’s all the confirmation Dean needs to know he was pinned down by this guy way before tonight.

Dean laughs. “What kind of fucked up revenge plot is this? You’ve been stalking me for years? Well, then you must know my father died of alcohol poisoning almost a decade ago. It was ugly and painful, and you missed your chance, asshole.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Dean,” he says sternly, “I didn’t want to kill your father. And I don’t want to kill you. That’s not why I ended up kidnapping you tonight. I’m grateful for what your father did for me.”

Dean does a double take, swings his feet off the bed and onto the ground. “You’re what?”

“This may come as a surprise, but not every monster is a monster. Not fully, anyway. I’m half-human. And I need your help to go all the way.”

[nocturnal-jeon]

𝚍𝚊𝚍!𝚋𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗➛ 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚊𝚕

i hope you guys are okay with the genders i picked and i hope you like this reaction. 

and to those who have sent in father related requests, those will come in time as i’m doing this in chronological order. 

and i’ll try my best to do one dad!bts post per week. 

Kim Namjoon

The two of you sat on the floor of the beautifully comfortable rooftop terrace of your apartment building. No one was outside and it was just you and Namjoon, his face illuminated by the small bonfire burning a few feet away. 

Namjoon sat opposite of you with his right knee pulled into his chest as he looked at you. 

You sat opposite of Namjoon, your legs outstretched as you leaned against the couch, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as your hands rested comfortably on your bump.

“Namjoon, you open it,” you said. “Y/n, you open it,” he replied. You tried to glare at him, but you broke into cute little laughs. “Namjoon, you open it,” you said with a sense of urgency in your voice. He shook his head, a playful smirk on his lips. 

“Joon, I took the pregnancy test and brought it to you. You can open the envelope and bring it to me,” you said smartly, cocking your head to the side. “Oh, I see how we’re doing this,” he said with a deep chuckle, reaching over to hold the envelope. “So, does this mean that since I made dinner last night, you get to make it tonight?” he asked, being a complete smart ass. 

“Shut up and open the envelope, you idiot,” you teased, but quickly watched with wide eyes as his long fingers opened it. 

“Guess you’re going to be outnumbered,” he said with a sweet smile as he crawled over to you. You raised an eyebrow. “It’s a boy, y/n. Geez, and I thought you were the smart one,” he joked. Tears prickled your eyes as Namjoon sat beside you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. 

“I know he’ll be as smart as you, Joon. And I really hope he gets your height,” you said as you breathed in his scent, silent yet colorful fireworks going off inside. His long fingers rubbed your arm up and down. 

“I’ve always wanted a son, you know,” he said, leaning his head to the side so his cheek was resting against the crown of your head. You smiled. “You’re going to be the best dad, baby,” you said, snuggling further into his warm body. Namjoon smiled from ear to ear at the sound of that. 

“You’ll be the best mom, baby,” he said, placing a loving kiss to your forehead. 

“Wait, so do I actually have to cook dinner tonight?” you asked, causing Namjoon to let out that laugh you love so much. “No, baby. You do enough. You carrying our son is enough. I’ll cook tonight, so don’t worry about that,” he said.

Not like he didn’t already, but Namjoon would treat you like a princess throughout this pregnancy. Because not only were you the love of his life, but you were carrying the best thing you could have ever given to him. And for that, Namjoon was eternally grateful. 

Kim Seokjin

Jin was far too invested in these old wives tales for predicting a baby’s gender. You honestly thought it was a little stupid, but Jin had a whole chart on the wall in the kitchen that he made sure to tally and keep track of daily. 

You let him have his own little thing because you could see how excited and happy it made him. All of the boys played into it, too, placing bets on what the gender would be. 

Honestly, it was just incredibly amusing to watch. 

However, your doctor was the most amused when she saw the look you and Jin gave each other when she asked if you wanted to find out the gender. You laughed when Jin called all of the members and had the phone on speaker so they could all hear. 

“Well, congradulations, you’re having a boy,” the doctor said happily. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter and point at Jin’s shocked face as the boys erupted into either cries of defeat or cheers of success. “I told you!” you exclaimed. Jin gave you a glare, before breaking into laughter himself. 

“Yah! These wives tales are lies. I really thought the were right because they told me it would be a girl,” he complained. “Aw, Jinnie, you’ll be okay,” you said as you pulled his face closer to yours so you could kiss his cheek. He told the boys he would call them later before hanging up and placing a kiss on your stomach. 

“Regardless of those lies,” he began, causing you to playfully roll your eyes, “I’m glad we’re having a boy because he can inherit my handsomness,” he said, causing you to slap your hand over your forehead in embarrassment. 

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized, looking over at the doctor. She chuckled. “It’s fine. That was the best reaction I’ve ever seen to learning the gender,” she said, causing both you and Jin to laugh. 

“Here, I’ll go get the printed pictures from the printer and give you two some time to yourselves,” she said before getting up and leaving the room. 

“Bets aside, and the fact that I was right about the gender, we’re really having a boy, Jin,” you said. He smiled and rested his forehead against yours as his hand searched for and found your distended stomach, his thumb rubbing over the skin. 

“A little boy. God, he’s gonna be so handsome,” Jin said, causing you to giggle. “Very handsome,” you replied. “He’s going to be picking up all the ladies,” Jin predicted. “Sweetie, he hasn’t even been born yet. Let’s take it a day at a time,” you suggested, causing him to playfully pout. “Fine.” 

Min Yoongi

You and Yoongi had just arrived home from your ultrasound and the car ride was completely silent. The sounds of other cars and your surroundings seeped through the metal of the car, but your mouth remained shut and so did Yoongi’s. 

It didn’t even feel appropriate to play music since all you and Yoongi could think about was what the envelope resting in the cupholder said. Listening to your mom’s experience with children and childbirth wrapped you and Yoongi in a blanket of fear. 

But as long as you had each other, you two knew things would be okay. 

The silence continued inside the apartment and as you and Yoongi stood next to each other, the envelope on the table in front of you, you couldn’t help but break into little fits of giggles. Yoongi turned to you, amused but equally confused. “We’re being so stupid. It’s just going to tell us the gender, is all,” you said with a smirk. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi began, “but it also tells us the number and if it is more than one baby, y/n, I swear,” he said in a serious voice, but all it did was cause you to break into laughter. He crossed his arms and pouted cutely. “Validate my feelings,” he whined. “I’m sorry, Yoongs. I understand why you’re so nervous. But there might not even be anything to be worried about. We’ll just have to see what it says,” you explained, slowly reaching for and holding the white envelope. 

“I want you to open it, Yoongs. You need to face this,” you said with a chuckle as you put it in his hands. Slowly, with his ringed fingers, Yoongi opened the envelope and pulled the small slip of paper out of it. You watched his face for any change in emotion, and when you saw tears prickling the brim of his chestnut eyes, your hand instictively reached out to hold his forearm. 

He took in a shaky breath. 

“We’re having a little girl, Y/n,” he said, looking over at you, his eyes painted with immsense happiness and his lips drawn up in a cute little grin. Your heart grew larger than your stomach as you nearly cried yourself. Yoongi placed the envelope back down on the table and pulled you in for a soft yet intimate hug. His hands rubbed the small of your back, while his lips placed butterfly kisses against yours.

“I know she’ll be just as beautiful as you, y/n,” he said, his hands moving to place themselves on either side of your protruding bump. “My girls. Damn. I can get used to saything that,” he mumbled, causing you to smile. You’ve always loved the idea of having a little girl to play dress up with and watch all the Disney movies with.

And that night, once you had fallen asleep, Yoongi shimmied his body down so his face was level with your stomach. Delicately, he lifted your shirt further up. “Hey, little baby. Well, I guess you’re a baby girl, now. My baby girl,” he said, his pointer finger gently tracing a line over the soft skin.

“I’ll always protect you, baby girl. Always. And don’t tell mommy this, but I can tell you’re going to be a daddy’s girl,” he said in a whisper, not wanting to wake you up. And for at least an hour, Yoongi talked to his daughter, feeling an even stronger connection with the little baby in your stomach.

Jung Hoseok

You had discovered what the gender was when you went to an ultrasound alone. Hoseok was so upset that he wasn’t able to be there, but he was stuck in a different country with a delayed flight, but you promised to send him the ultrasound pictures to cheer him up, and while it did temporarily, Hoseok was visibly upset for hours after the fact. 

You kept it secret for a week until you told Hoseok that you were planning a gender reveal party. And for the following week that it took for you to properly plan it, Hoseok tried to get you to tell him what it was, but you wouldn’t budge, no matter how cute he was. 

You invited both your family and Hoseok’s and all of the boys and your closest friends. There, in your backyard, was all your favorite people in the world.

For the actual revealing, you had gotten a piñata for Hoseok to hit, which you thought would be perfect for the energetic person he was. 

You stood next to the boys as you watched him hit it with all of his power. 

One hit. 

Two hits. 

Three hits. 

It was after that third hit that it burst open, blue confetti pouring out as everyone cheered excitedly. Hoseok ran towards you and picked you up excitedly. “A boy!” he exclaimed, kissing every inch of your face. You nodded. “A boy, Hobi,” you replied. He put you down and pulled you into a tight hug, a few stray tears wetting your neck. But those were all happy tears. 

“I wanted a boy,” he whispered against your lips, causing you to chuckle. 

But his screeches of happiness didn’t stop there. When he bit into a cupcake and discovered blue frosting inside, you nearly spit out your water to laugh when you heard the familiar screech from across the backyard. 

Even after cleaning up later that night and getting into bed, Hoseok would not stop rambling about how excited he was to have a mini version of him walking around. 

Park Jimin 

You were outside taking pictures of the aftermath of a thunderstorm. The sky was a medium toned gray and there were a few white clouds appearing in the sea of dark charcoal clouds. 

The grass was wet, but if you got your camera to focus, you could see each individual waterdrop on the tips of the dark green grass. 

It smelt like it had just rained and for some odd reason, it calmed you down. if you believe rain has a smell we can be friends. 

Jimin watched from the window, a small smile on his face. It always brought positive energy when he would watch you do what you love. And you were in the zone, too. Your eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as you squinted to  examine the photo you just took. 

But then the phone rang and Jimin got a call that made his day one of the best. 

You were standing in the garden, examining a picture of a ladybug you took, when Jimin joined you outside and snaked his arms around your waist from behind, his hands holding your bump through the large shirt you wore. 

You smiled. 

“Can I help you, Mr. Park?” you asked, a grin on your face. His warm breath on your neck sent shivers down your spine. 

“I just got a call from the doctor about the gender,” he said right into your ear, causing you to quickly turn around to face him. “What? You know what the gender is?” you asked, eyes wide. He nodded, the cutest smile on his lips. “Tell me,” you whined, causing him to cutely giggle. 

“We’re having a little girl, y/n,” he said in a soft, gentle voice. You could not contain your excitement. You were always secretly hoping for a girl. You hugged Jimin and he tightly wrapped his arms around your figure. 

“A little baby girl,” you mumbled happily to yourself. You felt him nod. 

“A little baby girl. A little version of me and you, but obviously with all of your gorgeous features,” he said, causing your smile to grow and your cheeks to blush, if that was even possible at this point. 

“What picture were you just taking?” he asked out of pure curiosity after several minutes of silence while the two of you just hugged. “A ladybug,” you replied. 

“Hm. She’s our little lady bug, y/n. Small and cute,” Jimin said, causing your heart to flutter. And it was at that moment that your little lady bug gave you the smallest little kick. She liked that nickname, too. 

Kim Taehyung 

“Tae,” you said, peeking your head into his office. He was sitting at his desk, his head down as he wrote into his journal. His back was to you, but at the sound of your voice, he turned around and his once-serious expression turned soft when he made eye contact with your stomach. 

“How’s my little baby doing?” he asked in a soft voice as he rolled over in his office chair, his large hands holding each side of your large bump as he placed a big kiss on it. You smiled. “Are you busy right now?” you asked, looking down at him. He looked up at you, his hands dormant. 

“I’m never busy when it comes to my babies. What’s up?” he said, causing you to smile. He was already keeping his promise of making more time for you and the baby wasn’t even here yet. 

“There’s something I want to show you,” you said, causing him to raise an eyebrow. “What is it?” he inquired. You shrugged your shoulders. “Just come to the bedroom with me,” you said, extending your hand. Taehyung stood and held your hand and followed you as you brought him down the hall and into the bedroom. 

There, laid out on the bed, was one baby onesie, in blue, with the Gucci logo on the front, with a matching hat and bib. And beside it, was the same thing but in pink. 

“Did you go shopping for the baby or something?” he asked, turning to look at you. You couldn’t help but chuckle at how oblivious Taehyung was. 

“It’s not one baby, Tae, it’s two,” you said, holding up two fingers for extra emphasis. His eyes widened and darted back to the clothes on the bed. “Wait, the colors...” he began, slowly turning to look back at you. You nodded, a small smile on your face. “A girl and a boy,” you said, confirming his suspicions. 

His whole face lit up. “Two babies? A boy and a girl? Twins?” he asked, obviously unable to maintain his excitement. You nodded. Before you knew it, he was placing fast yet sweet and savory kisses on your face before he was on his knees, talking to his babies. 

“Hey little prince and little princess. Mommy already knows that you two will be the best dressed babies out there,” he said, causing you to chuckle. He placed a slow and gentle kiss on your stomach. “A little y/n and a little Taehyung. Isn’t that magical, darling?” he said, looking up at you. You nodded. “It is,” you said. 

“This changes everything now. We have to redesign the nursery to feature two babies, rather than one,” he said, standing up and taking out the small binder he had purchased, just to help the two of you gather inspirtation and paint swatches for the nursery. You chuckled at his excitement and rubbed your stomach as you watched your husband neatly fold the onesies before taking out his laptop and going on pinterest. 

“Baby, come sit. I need your advice on this shade of yellow,” he said, looking up from his spot on the bed. You chuckled and sat beside him. 

And that’s how you spent your evening. Redesigning a dream into an even better one. 

Jeon Jungkook

“Stop being an asshole,” you whined as you tried your best to chase your child-like fiancée around the living room. Your stomach wasn’t large to capacity yet, but boy, was it getting there. And your typical physical mobility was beginning to lessen day by day. So, yes, Jungkook was being a little bitch for making you chase him around. 

He held your phone tighty in his right hand, an email from your obstetrician waiting to be opened on the screen. You and Jungkook, like the children you were, couldn’t decide whether you wanted to know the gender when the doctor offered to tell you when you were getting your ultrasound earlier that day. 

So, she settled with sending you an email with the gender in it for you two to open when you felt the time was right.

And after some more bickering, you decided you didn’t want to know, but Jungkook did want to know. As a way to buy himself some time, he grabbed your phone and ran around with it. 

And it’s been just over five minutes and he’s still running around, his bunny-like smile permanantley drawn on his face. 

“Fine, Jungkook. I kinda want to know, too,” you said, giving in as you collapsed onto the couch, too tired to continue further. He stood on top of the opposite couch, the phone held up high. “So, I can look at the email then?” he asked, looking over the screen to you, his eyebrows up high. You nodded, watching him, amused. 

His eyes searched the screen and after one tap, his eyes widened and his body froze. 

Suddenly, your phone slid out of the grip of his hand and fell onto the floor, breaking. 

You sat up immidiately. 

“Jeon Jungkook!” you shouted, a look of disbelief on your face. 

“It’s a boy!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, doing more laps around the living room, his arms up in the air as that bunny smile made a reappearance. “Wait, really?” you asked, suddenly excited as you momentarily forgot about your broken phone on the floor. 

“A little Jungkook. Imagine that,” Jungkook said as he made his way towards you. Placing his hands on your hips, he leaned down and placed a loving kiss to your lips. Your arms wrapped around his neck, deepening the kiss as his tongue traced the outline of your lip. 

But before you allowed things to get carried away, you stepped back from Jungkook and pointed at your phone on the floor, completely shattered. He giggled cutely. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll buy you a new one,” he said, filling the space between the two of you and pulling you in for a hug. 

“You better,” you mumbled into his chest. 

But the stress from your phone went away and the joy of finding out you were having a boy replaced that emotion, filling your body with warmth. 

[worryinglyinnocent]

Ficlet: Frustration

Summary: Claire Littleton is very pregnant, very uncomfortable, and very stuck on a weird island. She’s also very horny and very determined to scratch that itch. If Gold, the fellow passenger with whom she struck up a friendship on the flight, can help, then so much the better. Anyem: Gold/Claire, a pure PWP little smutlet.

Rated: E for explicit.

Frustration

Life, Claire thinks, really isn’t fair at the moment. For a start, she’s the size of a house. Her back aches, her ankles are swollen, her head is so fuzzy from hormones that she doesn’t even know which way is up anymore, and she has to pee every ten seconds. Well, it feels like that, at least. All whilst she’s stuck on this mysterious island in the middle of nowhere.

But to top it all off, adding insult to numerous other insults, she’s hornier than she’s ever been, and her vibrator is several thousand miles away.

It’s getting to the unbearable stage now; she’s had sex on the brain for three days straight and she’s got to do something about it. Aren’t there animals out there that will literally die if they don’t mate whilst they’re in heat? Claire glares down at her huge stomach. Look where mating got her last time. It’s something of a jolt when she realises that she hasn’t had sex since she found out she was pregnant. Thomas had a weird kind of Madonna complex going on at first, although hers is far from a virgin birth. Then as soon as she started to show, he lost interest because hey, she was fat.

Claire does a quick rundown of all the guys in the camp. No, she’s not that desperate. Well… Her mind comes back to Gold. He’s always been good to her, a level-headed friend in her time of need. He was sitting next to her on the plane; technically he’d had the aisle seat, but he’d been happy to swap so she wouldn’t disturb him every time she needed the bathroom. He chatted to her amiably, never once mentioned her baby bump, and he held her hand through her Braxton Hicks just after the crash. He’d been petrified of flying before and now he’s even more determined never to get on another plane again.

She shakes her head crossly. No, she really shouldn’t be thinking about him in that way. Even if she does happen to know that he’s single. He’s been a great friend to her, but, all things considered, he’s probably better off as just a friend. He probably isn’t even entertaining the notion of doing anything like that with her. Especially considering how gross her body is at the moment. Besides, he wouldn’t be thinking of her in that way anyway. Someone, Shannon perhaps, said once that Gold’s become the camp dad, just as Rose has become the camp mum. Given her complicated non-relationship with her own father, Claire would hate it if it turned out that she was mistaking parental feelings for other, distinctly non-parental ones.

Then again, she just can’t get him out of her head.

Claire gets to her feet, checking that no-one’s keeping an eye on her. People tend to hover, worried about her, and it can be difficult to get a moment’s privacy, which is what she needs right now to stop herself going mad with lust. She finds a quiet, undisturbed corner, well-hidden within the trees, and settles herself on the ground, cross-legged, trying out all the breathing exercises from her ante-natal classes which she already knows will have little effect on the heat building between her thighs.

Finally accepting that she’s never going to get anywhere until she has a thoroughly satisfying orgasm, she takes a deep breath and slips one hand down into her panties. It takes a long time for her to relax enough to get going, one finger sliding into her folds and going straight for her clit, and she’s just about found a rhythm and some desperately needed relief when she freezes on hearing footsteps approaching.

“Claire?”

The voice is soft and Scottish, and Claire groans because it’s the one person whom she absolutely should not be thinking about whilst masturbating. Tears of frustration begin to well behind her eyes and it’s just the last straw, hormones making her weep on top of everything else.

“Claire, are you all right…” Gold comes into her little clearing and tails off on finding her, and Claire realises that she’s still got her hand down her trousers, and her intentions and need to be left alone are obvious.

“I’ll leave you in peace.”

He makes to go, and Claire doesn’t know what possesses her to scramble to her feet to stop him, running her sticky fingers through her hair.

“No, Gold, wait, please.”

He turns back and his brow furrows when he sees the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Claire?” he asks gently.

“I want sex!” The volume of her statement alarms her, and she wonders how many other people heard it. “I’m stupidly pregnant and stupidly horny and I need an orgasm so badly I can’t see straight and I just can’t relax enough to get myself off and I keep thinking about you for some reason and I feel like a whale and…”

“Claire.”

His hands are warm against her cheeks as he cups her face and his lips are soft on hers as he kisses her.

“Oh, Claire, sweetheart, all you have to do is ask and I’ll gladly assist.”

Dumbfounded by this revelation that the feelings go both ways, Claire can only kiss him back, something in the back of her mind telling her that this is a terrible idea and something else not caring because it feels so good, it feels so right.

He walks her back, leaning her back against her tree, and Claire never wants to stop kissing him. She’d kept thinking about him, but she’d never dreamed that it would actually come to anything. He’s hardly her usual type, but he’s kind and he’s good-looking and he’s here; and they’re on an island in the middle of nowhere so the rules don’t apply.

And God, he’s a good kisser, and if he’s as good in other areas then she won’t need another orgasm for a year.

She breaks away and looks up at him, his lips bruised from frantic kissing and his eyes bright with want. Something inside her twists.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “I’m not at my best. In fact, I’ve never been less sexy.”

“You are gorgeous.”

“I’m hideously fat.”

“You’re pregnant, and understandably frustrated with it.” He kisses her again, and as he presses in closer (well, as close as he can with the baby in the way; he’s kind of side on), Claire feels his cock stirring in his jeans. It was so strange seeing him in jeans after he’d been wearing a suit on the plane and for a few days afterwards. The suit had almost seemed like a part of him. Something in her chest – and indeed her loins – had flip-flopped on seeing him in jeans and white button-down (grubby white now, but the more scruff, the sexier he gets).

“Come on. Let’s get you what you need.”

His hand skims down her side and Claire grabs it, putting it firmly between her legs. She needs him now, no more niceties, although the kissing is wonderful. Between them, they get back on the ground and Claire shimmies her trousers and panties down, letting her thighs fall open to welcome Gold’s questing hand between them. He dips his fingers into the wet heat pooling at her entrance and strokes along her folds.

“Just let go, love. It’s all right. You need this, so just tell me what you want and take what you need.”

Claire just gives a sob of blissful relief as his thumb grazes her clit and keeps rubbing little circles around it.

“More,” she gasps, her fingers digging into his shoulders where her arms are around his neck, clinging on for dear life and desperate not to let go. “Please, just more.”

He keeps touching her, firm and steady, and a long finger presses up inside, stroking her inner walls. Claire hasn’t felt this good for a very long time and she cries out unashamedly with her pleasure. A second finger joins the first and she groans as they curl. She’s so close to the edge, and she wriggles her hips to get Gold’s hand just where it needs to be. A moment later, the dam breaks and she moans, shuddering all over as the joy and warmth spreads through her veins.

“Thank you,” she mumbles as she comes down from the high, still holding on like a limpet. “Thank you so much.”

“You needed that, love.” Gold chuckles and kisses her forehead, carefully drawing his fingers out of her and licking his hand clean.

“You can’t imagine how much.”

She’d be content to stay here like this, safe and warm and thoroughly fucked in Gold’s arms. She feels like she could sleep for a week, but Gold’s erection is still bulging undeniably in the front of his jeans, and Claire feels a certain desire spark into life again, knowing that as unsexy as she feels in herself, Gold still wants her. The need is not as strong and all-consuming as it was before, but she certainly wouldn’t be averse to round two, and at least she knows she can’t exactly get pregnant again from the encounter. She reaches down and cups him, squeezing lightly through the denim. Gold gives a strangled sounding grunt.

“Let me return the favour?”

He shakes his head. “It’s a hell of a long time since I was last with a woman, Claire.”

“Well, you certainly didn’t seem to rusty to me.”

He gives a soft laugh. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“Thank you for the blinding orgasm.”

“What I mean is that it’ll all be over in about thirty seconds and it won’t exactly be earth-moving.”

“I don’t care.”

Gold lets her undo his belt and fly then, and she takes out his cock, running her thumb over the blood-flushed tip. He hisses with pleasure and his hips twitch, thrusting up into her hand.

“You want to be inside? I mean, it might be a bit difficult…” She indicates her belly.

“No, I’d rather see your face, if that’s ok.”

He tilts her head back for another kiss and Claire’s hand stills on his cock, surrendering into it. Hell, they could be polar bear breakfast tomorrow; she’s going to make the most of this moment whilst it lasts.

When she starts to touch him again, it doesn’t take more than a couple of firm pumps of his length before he spurts over her hand, and for a long time they stayed slumped at the bottom of their tree, half-undressed and wonderfully debauched, finally sated and no longer frustrated. Of course, there’s a lot to go over. She’s heavily pregnant with a baby she never expected to raise, let alone raise on a weird island, and this probably isn’t the best circumstance in which to start a relationship.

But for now, like with their lives after the crash, all they can do is take each day as it comes, and treasure the blissful moments like this one.

[blackberrywidow]

Transcendental (i)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Words: 4.7k

Chapter Summary: Life goes on, even if you don’t want it to.

Warnings: Canon divergence, angst (!!!!), mentions of death and mourning. You’ll notice that this series will have a lot of ups and downs, but I promise it’ll even out in the next few chapters.  

Author’s Note: So here’s the first actual chapter (be sure to find the prologue in the masterlist if you haven’t already)! Still mostly laying the ground work for the plot, but shit really starts happening next chapter. So there’s that. Please let me know what you think with a like/reblog/comment—I love hearing from you!

And as always, special thanks to @blackwidws for creating the banner for this series and just being perfection personified.

Series Masterlist

Chapter One

Then

You winced as a cornstalk whipped back to hit you in the square in the face, but you pushed on, panting and sweating. Your bare thighs were taking the brunt of the abuse, another stalk slicing into your skin as you shot past it, and you were once again reminded that running barefoot through a corn field in nothing but your underwear and an AC/DC t-shirt was a resoundingly bad idea. You were a superhero though, and you had faced worse than this. So you carried on, determined to not get caught.

But determination could only get you so far. You could hear him catching up to you, his feet pounding the ground at a much faster rate than yours. He had always been faster than you, you knew that, but you still cursed internally, careful to keep your ragged breathing as quiet as possible, even if it waspointless. You knew it was only a matter of time before—

“Gotcha!” was the last thing you heard before you felt the sting of webbing smack against your shoulder, and then you were flying backwards, directly into your pursuer’s chest.

Though you had anticipated this move, as it was unquestionably his favorite, you couldn’t contain the gasp that whooshed out of you at the contact. Nor could you repress the exhilarated giggle that burst out of you once you were back in his arms.

“You could have at least let me get a little farther,” you complained, mock pout forming on your lips as you tilted your head back to look up at him.

Peter only laughed, eyes twinkling the way they always did when he was happy. It made your heart swell just to see it, to know that you were the cause of it.

“I could have, but we both know your sense of direction is deeply flawed without AI assistance, so there’s no telling where you would have ended up if I had. And—wait,” Peter cut himself off, expression bemused as he glanced down for the first time since he found you, “are you not wearing pants?”

You raised a single eyebrow in challenge. “Does it look like I’m wearing pants?”

“No,” Peter said decidedly. “You are most definitely not wearing pants. What happened to your pants?”

Your mind instantly flashed to the bush you had fallen into after you had leapt over a fence post to get into the field. The thorns had bitten into your skin, but they had snared your shorts entirely, latching into the pocket and refusing to let go. In a moment of true wisdom, you had decided to cut your losses and shimmy out of the pants before continuing your sprint into the cornfield.

None of which you felt inclined to share with him, knowing he would just laugh at your expense, effectively ruining the tone you were attempting to set by instigating this little chase.

So, you shrugged noncommittally, and offered a half-truth as an explanation. “I was hot.”

Peter’s brows lifted in skepticism.  “Uh huh. And you thought running into a cornfield was the best way to cool off?”

“I thought that running into a cornfield was the best way to get your attention,” you shot back, smirking when he laughed.

“Oh? And I thought dragging me all the way to Kansas to have a picnic in a field ‘just like in the movies’ was supposed to get my attention. I also thought it was supposed to be ‘peaceful, quiet, and with absolutely zero interruptions from global disasters and—wait for it—any form of physical exercise.’ And you know,” he continued, giving you a look when you opened your mouth to protest, “some would consider interrupting said picnic to take off running through a field as exercise.”

“Yes well, that was beforeyou decided to eat all the watermelon,” you defended, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes in mock reproach. “You left me with no other option. It was either run away from my feelings or kill you, and you know I love you too much to do that.”

“But you’re allergic to watermelon,” Peter reminded you in exasperation. “Which is why I packed you the apple—the apple that you ate without complaint, by the way.”

“That… is beside the point,” you finished lamely, suddenly losing confidence once you were standing still and facing him once more. You considered taking off again, but judging by the look Peter was giving you, he knew it, and he had no intention of playing along this time. “And besides, I’m only mildly allergic to watermelon.”

He gave you an unimpressed look, and you knew that he was perilously close to ending your game.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Peter urged, giving you an encouraging smile. “Just tell me what all of this is about. What are youreally running from here?”

And there it was. The game of cat and mouse was effectively over.

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to dodge the issue even as your grip on his arms tightened.

You wanted this—you knew you did. But you also knew that the thought of ruining this thing—this genuine bit of happiness that you had found—was terrifying.

“You know what I mean,” Peter said, voice gentle and coaxing, still smiling at you like you were the most important thing in the world.

And suddenly you remembered why it was you were doing this.

You and Peter weren’t like other people your age. Most 20-year-olds were worried about finding a job or finishing college. But you were superheroes, and you put your lives on the line every single day. And every time you opened your eyes, you weren’t sure if that day would be your last.

But if there was one thing you were sure of, it was that you loved Peter and he loved you. So you decided that you had done enough stalling, and it was time to just go for it.

“Will you marry me?”

The stunned look on his face was the only indicator that the words had in fact left your mouth. It was also a solid indication that maybe you could have led up to that a little bit better. The Starks were known for their charming words and long-windedness, but they were also known for their impulsivity and bad decisions, so the chances of this going well for you were about 50-50. Of course, this would be one of the times it didn’t—

“Did you really just ask me to marry you, or is this some kind of watermelon-induced hallucination?”

Your mouth suddenly felt very dry, but you managed a sharp nod in affirmation. When he only continued to stare at you, wide-eyed and speechless, your brain decided to grace you with the ability to speak again. Which historically only made things worse for you.

“I did, uh… ask you to marry me. And I mean, I know we’re young. Some would say too young, but most people don’t have jobs that involve saving the world on a daily basis, so you know. Fuck what they think, I guess. Unless you’re worried about what other people think, which is understandable. I mean, it would be very public, because you know. I’m the heiress to one of the largest fortunes in the world. And the daughter of a superhero, who is also secretly a superhero. It kind of complicates things. But most things with us are complicated—well, things with Spider-Man and Siren are complicated, but things with Peter and (Y/N) never are, which is one of the things I love most about our relationship. And I love you, of course, and I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter how short it may be. So I figure, why not get married now? Why wait for something that may never come when I’m sure about this? I mean, that’s assuming that you are—”

Peter, finally taking mercy on you, abruptly lurched forward, claiming your lips in a searing kiss that almost made you forget about how awful your previous ranting was. The kiss was slow and sweet, but brief as he was soon breaking away to stare at you with those heartbreakingly beautiful eyes.

“I love you,” he said, and your breath caught in your throat because no matter how many times he said it, it still always surprised you. “I love you, (Y/N) Stark, and I do want to spend the rest of my life with you. I was just surprised. I mean, it’s not every day the girl of your dreams proposes to you.”

You rolled your eyes in an attempt to hide your relief, but also because Peter was ridiculous. As always. “Don’t tell me you think it’s a man’s job to do the proposing.”

“Of course not.” Peter looked affronted, the sight enough to make you giggle and lean in closer to him despite the summer heat. He smiled down at you, pure adoration in his eyes. “But I do wish that I could have talked to your dads first—you know, to make sure that they don’t kill me. And I want to get you a ring, which could be a real problem on a full-time student’s salary. Though I could always sell a kidney… or state secrets. Whichever goes for more, I guess.”

You only laughed, bright and airy, shaking your head before sealing your lips over his again, watermelon mixing with apple in a delicious combination as he pulled you closer and deepened the kiss.

You pulled away several minutes later, breathing hard, and rested your forehead against his. Your lips were tingling, and you weren’t sure if it was an allergic reaction from the watermelon or just the usual affect that Peter had on you. Probably both, if you had to guess, but you ignored it.

“I don’t care about rings or big weddings or anything like that. All I want is you, Peter Parker. Well,” you amended, pulling back and glancing down when you felt something shift around your feet—likely a snake, “you, and to get the hell out of this cornfield. Probably the entire state of Kansas as well.”

“And some pants?” Peter suggested, following your line of sight to take in your bare legs.

You felt your cheeks warm, and you could only hope he would blame it on the heat. “Yeah, some pants might be nice too.”

“Alright then,” Peter said before scooping you up into his arms to carry you back across the field, much to your delight. “So, the to-do list is: me, leave the state of Kansas and find some pants, in that order. Oh, and then get married. I think we can manage that without too much trouble.”

“You better hope so,” you teased, smile so wide it almost hurt. “It only goes downhill from here baby. I’m a very needy person, you know.”

“Oh man, do I,” he sighed dramatically. “It’s a good thing you’re wealthy. To afford all of the medical expenses that come with carrying you on my shoulders for the next decade or so.”

Your laugher rang across the field, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so happy. “The next ten years? Think again Parker. You’re stuck with me for life now.”

Now

(Three years later)

It wasn’t raining, but you thought that it should be.

It always rained in the movies, after all. A group of mourners in black, umbrellas raised to block the rain even as tears fell from their eyes. The camera would zoom in on your expressionless face, cheeks dry as you watched them lower the casket in the ground. A single tear would slide down your cheek, and it would be over.

As it was, this wasn’t a movie and the sun was beating down on you and your father’s hand on your shoulder was uncomfortably warm. Your eyes weren’t dry, though you did your best to keep your face devoid of emotion otherwise. Your hands clenched at your side, aching for an umbrella—for somethingto hold onto. For a distraction.

They said Stark men were made of iron, but Stark women were made of stronger stuff. You had to be, if you were going to survive this.

The hand on your shoulder squeezed tighter as they lowered your husband into the ground.

A sob sounded close by. You thought it may have been you, but you couldn’t be sure of anything as you watched the casket that held what was left of Peter Parker disappear from view. You didn’t think you’d be sure of anything again.

There had been a time where you were sure you would spend the rest of your life with Peter, after all. But there had also been a time when you were sure your father, Tony, would live to see you have children, to see you take over the family business, to simply be there. And well… Looking back now, you felt exceptionally naïve to have hoped for anything at all.

You wished it would rain, if only to drown everything else out.

…

“It was a nice ceremony. A lot of people… I’m sure he would have liked that.”

The comment was made lightly, searchingly. Empty words to fill a silence that cannot truly be filled. But empty words were never really Steve Rogers’s specialty, and they fell flat in the back of the limousine that was taking you back to the Tower.

Still, you nodded, the pain in Steve’s eyes pushing you to play along. To ignore the fact that Peter’s funeral was so large only because he was married to you, the Stark heiress. No one knew who he really was. No one knew that he had died a hero. No one but you and your father, and a handful of other superheroes who couldn’t attend the funeral without creating a stir.

It didn’t feel like enough.

“It was,” was all you said.

The car fell back into a careful silence, and with nothing better to do, you continued to stare at your father’s profile out of the corner of your vision. Keen eyes traced the hard edges of his face, the way his hair shown like gold when the light struck it just right. Sometimes you wished you could find a trace of yourself in his features, that you had a physical connection with him the way you had with your other father. That maybe there would still be someone on Earth that you actually shared blood with.  

But Steve had been a father to you in every other way since he joined the team when you were 12, and you knew that he was all you had left now.

First Happy to the Mandarin ten years ago, then Aunt May to a heart attack two years ago, then Tony to his heroics last year, now… Peter. All gone to somewhere you couldn’t reach reach them. Steve was the only family you had left now, if one didn’t count Rhodey or Pepper, who both had thrown themselves into work after Tony’s death. You knew you were the only family he had left too.

It hurt to admit, but it didn’t feel like enough either.

“I…” Steve hesitated, eyes piercing through you in the way they always did. “I gotta say, I’m almost glad your father wasn’t here for this… Awful, isn’t it?”

Your eyes burned at the reminder, and you weren’t sure if you could agree or not.

Tony Stark, your biological father who had raised you ever since your mother left you at his doorstep over twenty-three years ago, had nearly a year ago now (10 months and 12 days if one wanted to be precise, but who was counting really?). He died a hero, as you always feared he would, saving the world from a madman who thought he could bring peace to the universe by destroying it.

He was fifty-two. He had been married to Steve for only three years after dancing around the idea for nine. He had been an outstanding father, and he had died alone.

But most importantly, he had loved both you and Peter fiercely, and it would kill him to see you like this now: widowed and heartbroken at twenty-three; his son-in-law dead because he didn’t know how to not be a hero. Just like Tony.

Perhaps Steve was right. Perhaps it was better this way. But still, you craved the comfort only Tony knew how to give you.

You wished for simpler times, if there ever was such a thing.

But what you said was, “A lot of things are awful. It hardly makes a difference anymore does it?”

“Of course it does.” He said it so quietly, you almost missed it, his jaw was clenching the way it always did when he was fighting off tears. And then he was clearing his throat, the way he always did before he gave you a speech. It was nice, you supposed, how some things never changed even when everything else crumbled around you.

“I… I’ve been trying to think…” he started, unsure in a way that he never was. It made you sit up straighter, coming out of your revere enough to give him your full attention. “What your father—what Tony would say. To make you feel better, to comfort you. To give you hope or love or—God, I don’t know, something to make this better. He was always so much better at comforting you than I was,” he let out a shaky laugh, and your eyes burned at the reminder. Steve had always been a comfort to you, but no one had ever loved you the way Tony did. “But I know that there isn’t anything I can do or say to fix this. That I—that neither of them are coming back, and the only thing to really do is accept that and move on.”

He cut himself off there, seemingly unsure of how to proceed, and you knew it wasn’t his fault but it hurt to think about carrying on after you had already lost so much. What more could you stand to survive? What more would it take to break you?

“Is that what you did?” you deflect instead of giving voice to your fearws, your tone mild and quiet in the backseat of the car. “Move on?”

Your father’s lips twitched up into a heartbreakingly sad smile, and it confirmed your thoughts before his words did. “No, I suppose not.”

You nodded, eyes shifting back to gaze out of the window once more. “I thought so.”

The remainder of the car ride was spent in silence.

…

A week passed by uneventfully.

That is to say that while things may have been taking place in the world outside of your small apartment, you were in no way a part of them.

Steve had begged you to move back to the tower, back home.You didn’t have the heart to tell him that without Peter or Tony, no place really felt like home anymore.

Tony had always told you that a home was a concept more than a place, something that you learned quickly when you were traveling constantly with him for the first 12 years of your life. It was a sentiment that only solidified once you found Peter. And now it meant nothing.

The one-bedroom apartment you currently resided in came the closest though. You and Peter had moved in not long after your engagement, despite Tony’s protests that you could find something a little bigger, a little closer to Manhattan, a little more comfortable. It was cheap and located in a questionable part of Queens, but it was yours and the two of you had been so proud that you had managed the deposits and rent all on your own.

It had been the place you called home for three years, but more importantly than that, it held a lot of memories for you. It’s where you and Peter shared your first night as husband and wife, something that seemed like forever ago even though it had only been two and a half years in reality. But it was also where you sequestered yourself after your father’s death not even two years later. It was where you were hiding once again.

You were aware that it wasn’t healthy, closing yourself off like this. But you had no reason to leave.

Without Tony and without Peter, you had no desire to be a part of the world that had used and abused them so.

There was Steve, of course, but he dealt with grief differently than you did. He had his missions and his avengers and his heroics to occupy his time, and though he called you every morning, you didn’t hear much from him. You assumed it was his way of giving you space.

Rhodey and Pepper were both consumed by their jobs as well, and you couldn’t fault them for it. Rhodey’s position in the military and Pepper’s place as CEO of your father’s—your—company were demanding, and they made time for you whenever they could. They were like an aunt and uncle to you, and they always would be, but things had been more… strained since Tony’s death. You suspected that was your fault as well.

And the Avengers, your team that had been your family since 2012, were scattered across the globe. Natasha called when she could, but she was undercover more often than not these days, and it was hard to stay in touch. Other than Steve, she was probably who you were closest with on the team.

Clint, Bucky, Sam, Thor, Bruce, Carol, Hope, Scott…. They were all still living their lives and fighting the good fight to keep the universe as peaceful as possible. You knew that true heroes couldn’t let the deaths of their friends and comrades hold them back. The world still needed them after all.

Which is how you knew you weren’t a hero, no matter how hard you tried to be like your dad. Like Peter.

This grief and guilt that weighed on your soul was just too heavy. After Tony had died, you had tried to carry on his legacy and become Iron Woman, leaving behind the Siren, along with her black suit and batons that she used to take down would-be rapists and murderers, to bear the weight of red and gold armor instead.

It had been difficult, but manageable with Peter’s support. You had always loved saving people after all, always wanted to be a hero.

But now you found that it was impossible to get out of bed in the morning, let alone worry about saving anyone else.

And that day was meant to be just like the rest: bleak, uneventful, unwanted.

But then you heard the creak of your window opening, and the shattering of a vase quickly followed by muffled cursing.

Your armor surrounded you in an instant, nanotech spreading across your body from the twin metal bracelets on your wrists. You weren’t sure what you were expecting to see when you carefully crept into your living room to investigate, but it certainly wasn’t… this.

“Uh… hey,” the boy in the black Spider-Man costume squeaked, before dropping his tone into a clearly false baritone. “I mean, hey. What’s up?”

You only blinked at him once behind the visor of your suit before letting it recede back into your bracelets. If he was surprised to see who you were, he didn’t show it. Which left just one question.

“Is this some kind of joke?” you ask, voice tightly controlled in an effort to keep the tears at bay.

That, at least, seemed to surprise him.

“No!” he rushed to explain, hands up in a placating gesture. “Of course not, I was, uh… I was told to come here. For help.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Oh yeah? Help with what—fashion advice? And who exactly sent you here?”

The boy—and he most certainly was that, couldn’t be older than 14 based on his voice and stature— hesitated, indecision writ across every line of his body. But then he slowly removed his mask, revealing a mass of curly hair and dark, pleading eyes.

He really was young.

“It was your dad, Captain America I mean,” he explained, eyes lowered to the ground like he doesn’t know what else to say, but things are starting to piece together before your eyes. “He—he saw me scaling a wall in Brooklyn—a complete accident, not my fault. But uh, I told him that I wasn’t really sure what to do with… well, you know…”

“Your powers,” you answered, sparing him the embarrassment of saying it out loud. You could tell he was still struggling to admit it to himself, let alone someone else. “How long have you had them?”

“Just a little over a week,” he says, sounding almost relieved. “I got them the night…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but his meaning is clear.

The night your husband died.

You sucked in a surprised breath. “You know who he was?”

He shrugged, looking even more uncomfortable than he did before. “Yeah, the Captain—Captain America—he told me. About… uh, Spider-Man, and what he meant to him. To you. He said that you were the only person who could really help me with this. That you were the only one a-alive who… knows what it’s like.”

You purse your lips, and you want to curse your father for arranging this, but you can almost see his logic. No one knew what it was like to be Spider-Man better than you did—you had spent several years of your life in love with him after all. But you knew what being a superhero did to someone, especially when they were so young. And you wouldn’t play a part in ruining the life of a kid you didn’t even know.

“So you want to be a superhero then?” you ask, ready to tell him what it really meant and that if he were smart, that he would run away from this and never look back.

But he surprised you.

“No,” he says with conviction. “At least not… not now. I’ve got school and my parents and girls and a million other things to worry about. All I want is to know how to control this, so that I’m not sticking to every doorknob I touch or getting stuck on the ceiling every night.”

His tone implied that this had happened more than once, but you decided not to question it despite your curiosity. Instead, you ask, “And I imagine you got the suit from my father as well?”

He nods, a bit sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m… sorry, if it seems like it’s in like, poor taste or something. And that I uh… made some artistic changes. He just gave it to me and said it was mine if I ever decided I needed it, but I guess maybe I should have asked you first. It was just you know, Captain Americaand when he tells you something you just—”

“You do it,” you cut him off with a roll of your eyes. “Yeah, that’s what everyone says, but here’s your first lesson kid: sometimes the best thing you can do is ignore Captain America. Save yourself the pain.”

Your mouth quirked up into something resembling a smile when his mouth dropped open in shock. It felt odd on your face, but you were almost relieved that you could still do it. “So you don’t want to go into the super hero business, right? You just want someone to teach you the ropes so that you can function as a uh… Spider-Person?”

He blinks at you a couple times before nodding, either still in shock that you had dissed Captain America or that you were willing to help him.

“Alright then, we’ll start with the basics. What’s your name kid?”

“Miles,” he said after a beat of silence. “Miles Morales.”

“Nice to meet you Miles,” you respond, already thinking up training regimens and calculating dietary plans to compete with his increased metabolism, and the excitement that came with the sudden appearance of a purposesurprised you. But all you said was, “Let’s get started.”

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[anonthenullifier]

Do you think Tommy and Billy would ever given a tour of Stark Industries? I mean their Dad did technically help run it in a previous life.

Thanks for the ask!  I don’t think this is what you were looking for, but it is the first thing that came to my mind after reading your ask. I do apologize if the characterization is off at all, I don’t usually write from either of the twin’s perspectives but it was the only way to do this story . Hope you enjoy!

“And now we move into what many consider the true heart of the tour,” a peppy smile goes with a peppy wave of her arms and the impressively uniformed pep in the tour guide’s step, “the hall of heroes.”

“Kill me now,” Tommy groans next to him, mood perpetually spiraling downward for the last hour, “please just blink me out of this reality.”

The field trip isn’t that bad. Well, it’s not great, but it could be worse, like the time they went to the wastewater plant and there was a leak. “This is the last room.” It is also, admittedly, the worst room to be in as children of Avengers. Being in a shrine devoted to worshipping your parents and family while surrounded by peers that already view you differently kind of sucks.

“We’re at Stark Industries,” Billy waits for his brother to make some sort of point, shrugging off the aggravation in his voice and inspecting the first generation uniforms of their parents. The plaque has an asterisk that leads the eye down to a note stating all uniforms on display are originals, graciously donated by the heroes except for The Vision’s (Billy frowns at the unneeded The) which is a replica due to the still unexplained power he has to shift molecules.

Tommy begrudgingly joins in staring at the uniforms, “This crap is not what we should be seeing. We’re not fucking tourists.”

“Language.”  

Dad has been trying, and failing miserably, to curb impolite language, so when he is not around, Billy takes joy in turn-coating his allegiance and policing it. “Oh bugger off, traitor.” They both laugh at the loophole they discovered early on. If dad doesn’t realize they’re cussing, then they can do it freely, until mom stares them down, anyway. “I’m serious, I want to see the top secret stuff, not,” he flings his hands out at the post-Thanos uniforms, “this.”

They’ve listened to their grandpa wax poetically about his innovations, sat dumbfounded at the technical questions from both their dad and their other science minded relatives. There is so much more than old Iron Man uniforms and the ten different shields good ole Captain America has used to protect freedom. “Mom and dad are meeting us at the end, we could just ask-“

Tommy recoils at the comment, side-eying him the same way you would a person espousing mind control through frozen corn kernels on the street corner (though that actually ended up partially correct and led to a few months without corn in the house and deep, empty looks on their parents’ faces). “You trying to steal the funkiller crown from dad?” Hands turn Billy toward a small, gray door with a white and red sign stating Authorized Personnel Only. “You know the good stuff is back there.”

“No,” even if they can easily distract the chaperones and slip away from their classmates, it’s not worth it. “In less than a day, I get to go with Teddy on a houseboat.”

Tommy’s unempathetic stare is typical when matters of his relationship come up, “And…?”

“And I’m not risking it.”

Billy moves on to the current day display (all replicas), fingers tapping through the buttons on a screen introducing him to the training rooms and the Stark tech that is changing not just the world but universes too. Unfortunately the twin devil on his shoulder follows. “We won’t get caught.”

“We get caught 91.35% of the time,” a stat so graciously computed by dad three weeks ago when Tommy ran (literally) out and got them Taco Bell for lunch and then proceeded to proudly eat his chalupa in front of the teacher monitoring the lunchroom.

A scoff signals this fight is nowhere near done, “One, even dad admits his computation is flawed,” a margin of error assumed of plus or minus five percent for instances of misconduct that went fully undetected, “and two, that means we have a ten percent shot at success.” This is said as if ten percent is equatable to seventy five.

“Or we don’t and I have a hundred percent shot at a weekend without mom and dad.”

“Traitor.” Tommy shoves him out of the way, taking over control of the interactive display. “Yo display lady.”

A pleasant, lightly accented voice streams from the luminescent screen, “How may I help you?”

“Where are these rooms?”

A three second lag exists between the question and response, “Official training rooms are located at the Avengers compound, while beta-testing and highly complex simulations are housed here at Stark industries.”

Tommy stares at him, assuming this is somehow convincing. “No.”

“How many records are held by Vision?”

More silence and then the screen displays a table of dates and times, “Vision,” no The this time, likely because it was programmed by grandpa, “has eight time trial records across the two facilities.”

Another look from his brother implies this is all they need to know. Billy shakes his head. “And Scarlet Witch?”

The screen dissolves before providing new information. “Scarlet Witch has five records for time and three for amount of damage caused.”

“Go, mom!” Tommy is always more impressed by damage than time, something Steve has issues handling in their own training with the Young Avenger Initiative. “What about as a team?”

It’s to the credit of Tony’s programming that the AI understands the request in relation to the prior two questions. “Scarlet Witch and Vision, as a team, hold ten time records and eight damage records, including a combined record on training course Twenty Three, level of difficulty Wish You Were Never Born that has gone unchallenged for over eleven years.”

“Unchallenged.”

A smarmy confidence rests in Tommy’s eyes and finally the logic of his questioning clicks.  “No way.”

Tommy glares at him before returning to the screen, “Where’s that course?”

“Course Twenty Three is located here at Stark Industries.”

There’s something infuriatingly infectious about his brother’s need to rebel as a means of satisfying his drive to surpass others. It’s so tempting to say yes, but Billy digs his heels in, refusing to go along yet again with one of Tommy’s plans that, though always fun, never have fun consequences and dammit, he wants to spend the weekend with Teddy. “Not a chance.”

Exasperation fills every inch of Tommy’s flail. They move on and the silence is nice, if not a bit unsettling. “Question.”

Billy makes sure his annoyance is firmly on display. “What?”

“Would you rather try and break their record or,” a lightning fast push spins Billy around, “watch Cody manhandle mom?” Mortification gnaws at his resolve, their classmate groping the mannequin from the brief time the Scarlet Witch wore a leotard and tights. It’s when Cody makes direct eye contact with them and starts pantomiming his intentions that Billy’s hands snap shut, blue energy tingling under his skin. “You take him down, guarantee that houseboat is gone.” An arm loops amicably around his shoulder, pivoting him towards the authorized access door. “We go see the good stuff and you have slightly better odds.” Billy is turned back to Cody, who has only grown more vigorous in his lewd gesticulating, “No houseboat,” and then back to the door as if there are only two options, “or a shit ton of fun and possibly a houseboat.”

Billy sighs and Tommy’s mouth tips into a beaming smile. “Fine.” Immediately his mind starts justifying the decision, an 8.65% chance not the worst odds in the world, plus, if they aren’t in the room when the prototype of the next-gen Iron Man happens to fall on Cody, then no one can point at him as the culprit.

Wordlessly they carry out the escape, Billy always taking on the role of distraction through subtle manipulations of perceived reality and Tommy gleefully vibrating his molecules to slip through the wall and open the door. “Let’s go.”

For some reason, he had assumed walking through the door would be like that one movie they watched, with the oompa-loompas, a door opening and a world beyond imagination appearing before them -flying suits, disappearing materials, explosions, scientists in white coats and blue gloves. Instead it’s just a hallway with beige walls and linoleum floors and doors lining the way. “So, what’s the plan?”

A thrilled, unconcerned lift of his brother’s shoulders drops their chances of success at least a percent, “Walk like we own the place and see what we find.” It’s sadly not his worst plan.

And walk they do, Tommy’s chest puffed out and arms swinging in casual authority. Technically, they sort of own some of the place, via dad’s stake in the company, so it’s not like they are being overly deceptive. Each hallway looks the same, making it difficult to track exactly where they are going, until they find another door stating Credentials Required and a face scanner affixed to the wall. Tommy doesn’t even hesitate in shimmying through the wall, so Billy follows, hands parting the space in front of him so he can walk through, closing reality behind him with some hesitation, certain there have to be cameras somewhere tracking them.

That concern is tossed aside because now they find the cinematic reveal, an open hangar in front of them with some sort of alien-esque ship on the ground and four floors of glass doored, luminescent laboratories spanning the reach of their eyes. “The good stuff.” This is far better than replica uniforms. “Let’s go find the simulation.”

“But look at this stuff!”

The self-confidence he had admired earlier also goes hand-in-hand with a tendency for fixation. “Yeah, I see it.”

Billy does his best to keep pace with his twin, who has a habit of speeding up his walk when excited while forgetting other people can’t move nearly as fast. That combined with Billy’s desire to peer into every lab space and marvel at the work, makes their trip stream by incomprehensibly. He thinks he saw a phasing suit, maybe a new particle generator, some sort of extraterrestrial looking staff, a portal to a mountain side, what he thinks might be a baby raptor, and also their grandma, who he usually loves seeing but pulled Tommy out of view before she could spot them. “Do you have any idea where you’re going?”

“Nope.”

“Fantastic.”

“Where are you going?”

The voice is instantly recognizable, one they’ve grown up hearing and it’s a little judgmental and a little bit amused. Tommy swings around and puts on the fakest innocent smile the world has ever seen. “Hey, Grandpa!”

Tony smirks, unconvinced by the tone of the greeting, but he isn’t angry, which is a good start. “How are my favorite rebels doing?”

“Great, on a field trip.” Billy is in awe of people like Tommy and Tony who can act so natural, can just ooze bravado and a sense of entitlement on a whim.

There is a nod and a contemplative droop of his goatee. “Seems you got lost.”

Tommy nods along, “Yeah, been trying to find our classmates, have you seen them?”

Now Tony chuckles, slapping his hands together, giddy at the lie but still showing no signs of annoyance or reprimand. “I have not, but I imagine they can’t phase through walls like you two can.” Billy, personally, wilts at the calling out, while Tommy shrugs again, matching Tony’s stance and attitude. “What do you two want to see?”

“What?” It comes out before Billy can catch it, surprised at the quick approval of their misdeeds.

“I asked what you wanted to see,” Tony stares at them, concerned he has somehow slipped into another language, “There has to be a reason you barged through my walls.” Learning to function in both the superhero world and just being a teenager with parents who have rules you don’t agree with, requires an ability to spot entrapment, certain phrases purposely worded as openings for waltzing right into admonishment. When neither of them take the bait, Tony acts hurt, a shake of his head and a pained, expertly acted, clutched chest. “I thought I was the cool, eccentric grandfather,” a smile threatens to wash away Billy’s anxiety as Tony continues in pantomimed betrayal. “Is it Thor? Would you tell Thor what you want? I mean, I don’t blame you, those gorgeous, puppy dog eyes are a killer.” A snigger from Tommy and all apprehension leaves the atmosphere, Tony’s toothy grin absolving all guilt of their sneaking around. “Seriously, what do you want to see? I’ve got a brand spanking new interdimensional travel lab, some Skrull-based camouflage trials, there’s a spaceship downstairs, Helen has an updated, palm-sized cradle.”

All of it, every last one is what Billy wants to see, but Tommy beats him to the request, “We want to do simulation twenty three, Wish You Were Never Born.”

Understanding dawns on Tony’s face, “Want to show the parental units up, huh?”

“Yep.” Tommy is close to vibrating through the floor.

“It’s really dangerous,” the mood darkens until Tony presents them a masterclass, uncaring shrug they’ve seen numerous times in his press conferences and Senate hearings, “but I’m not your parents and so it is my duty to aid and abet your delinquency.”

An ecstatic arm closes around Billy’s shoulder as they follow their grandpa down four different hallways and three staircases, emerging into a vast, utterly empty warehouse. “You all have suits?” Tommy whips off his sweatshirt to reveal the Stark crafted, green and white suit he always wears under his clothes, yanking his goggles from his back pocket and pulling them down over his face. Since this seems to actually be happening, Billy waves his hands, materializing his own caped suit in place of his jeans and t-shirt. “All right then, let me go upstairs real fast.”

The climb into the observation booth is agonizing under Tommy’s uncontainable excitement, his feet a blur as he warms up, running in place. “Quick disclaimer, boys,” they look up at Stark’s face through the window, “there are numerous things that can seriously maim you in this course, kind of why your parents hold the record, the whole made of vibranium slant your dad’s got going makes him uniquely qualified to handle a lot of this and your mom is terrifying as well, so together, magic.” A seed of doubt sprouts in Billy’s mind, yet it is not given time to be nurtured a, “Anyway, best of luck!” and then the room comes alive around them.

To say the difficulty level name is apt is a bit of an understatement. At any given time there are over a dozen different foes, and for each type of challenge, there are at least a dozen individuals within it. It ranges from laser guns, incendiary robots that look an awful lot like Ultron, replicas of the Black Order, phasing, flame wielding alien things, and Billy’s least favorite right now, microscopic, swarming jellyfish that blister the skin on contact. In amongst the chaos of fighting, he can hear Tommy cycle between “Shit, shit, shit,” “Oh my God!”, “What the fuck is that,” and maniacal glee. Slowly, and painfully, they take down the threats, sometimes combining forces to remove a particularly difficult foe, and sometimes splitting up to decimate the weaker challenges.  

Looming over them is a very large clock, ticking away at their time and next to it, is the record of their parents. Their own clock continues, the numbers growing more similar to the goal and Billy assesses the surroundings, only taser faced bear-like creatures and giant bouncing orbs made of some sort of sticky, burning compound left. “Tommy!” His brother skids into view, mouth in a perennial smile and lungs heaving as he waits for the next strategy. “We have ten seconds, I say we vaporize.”

What seemed impossible is proven wrong, Tommy’s lips curving even higher as he fiddles with his goggles. “You hold them steady.”

“Will do.”

It’s a technique they birthed from their mistakes, the possibilities of their powers unknown and often discovered in embarrassing and unintentional ways. Like vaporizing soccer fields during gym class. Billy winds his powers around the last group of adversaries, wincing at the weight of their resistance as he adds more and more force to his hold. While he does this, Tommy runs a large circle around the bound creatures, legs pumping faster and faster with each lap until even Billy can’t track his position. That’s when it happens, a sonic boom that spreads through the warehouse, shoving Billy to the ground, puffs of smoke making the air murky, and then there is a “Hell yeah!” and the telltale sound of the buzzer their own training uses to signal success.

Tommy collapses on the ground next to Billy, “That was amazing.” All Billy can manage is a nod, lungs and body aching. “Do you think we did it?”

“Though impressive, unfortunately you were 8.65 seconds over.” Disappointing, but not bad. Far more worrisome is the unmistakably even English accent informing them of their failure.

Billy strains to sit up, glancing over his shoulder at the deep scowls of disappointment on his parents’ faces, next to the apologetic wince of Tony. “Fuck.”

“Language, William.” Tommy snorts and is met with a jab of blue to his chest. 

Two strikes in less than three seconds and the houseboat is most definitely floating away, “Sorry, dad.”

“What are you two doing here?” This time it’s their mom, her accent thicker when she’s angry and currently it sounds like she just moved here from Sokovia.

A hand pats Billy’s arm, a reassurance that really isn’t helping. “The field trip was just so boring.” Nor is Tommy’s attempt at defending their choice providing any hope of bringing the boat back. “We just wanted to see stuff.”

The intercom clicks and they are presented with a predictably logical alternative, “You could have asked us after the field trip. You had shown interest in a more detailed tour the other night, hence the reason why your mother and I were meeting you here instead of at home.”

Billy flops his head to stare deep into his twin’s goggled eyes, “I suggested that.”

“Shut up.”

Another click and mom is back on the microphone, “We’ve been speaking with the Altman’s,” any last, clinging hope withers away, “they were really looking forward to having you with them this weekend,” the feeling is mutual, “they suggested a nice compromise.” He waits to learn what this is, worried if he asks it will harm any goodwill left. “They invited all of us along on the trip.” 

Despair is far heavier than the physical toll of the course, and isn’t helped at all by the thumbs up next to him and the out-of-breath, “Yes, I love houseboats!”

[p-artsypants]

In Due Time (2)

I had no idea that this fit was going to be so well received!! Thank you guys for all your reviews! They mean a lot!!

FF.net | Ao3

—

Finally, Astrid and Little Hiccup landed outside the Great Hall where their friends were gathered.

“You’ve been gone for an hour!” Protested Snotlout. “What took you so long?!”

Hiccup slid off the saddle and darted to hide behind her.

“Whoa, H! Is that you?” Tuff called out, leaning on Barf’s head.

Hiccup peered out from his hiding place, hesitantly. But he scowled and said, “Yeah, and what of it?”

“Aw, he’s so cute!” Tuff leaned in close to his face. “Had some cold water shrinkage, aye Hic? Ha, we’ve all been there before.”

Ruff elbowed her brother. “Don’t be nasty.”

Astrid urged Hiccup to stand in front. He hunched his shoulders and clenched his fists. He didn’t like everyone staring at him, judging him.

“So…uh, you going to explain what happened?” Asked Snotlout.

“The final ingredient for the cure is Flightmare Algae from the North Swamp.”

“Right,” said Fishlegs. “We know that.”

“So, Gothi switched our present day Hiccup with five years ago Hiccup.” She rested her hands on his shoulders. “He’s going to be hanging out with us for the next few days until our Hiccup returns. Try to be nice will ya?”

Fishlegs furrowed his brow and leaned in closer to examine younger Hiccup. “Five years ago…then this is before Toothless and the Red Death.”

“The Red Death?” Asked Hiccup, shyly.

Snotlout leaned on his shoulder heavily. “Yeah man! A huge dragon! The size of a mountain! A dragon queen, that eats other dragons! And you go up against it!”

Hiccup just stared at him with a gasp, wide eyed.

Tuff laughed, “yeah, and you only get your leg ripped off!”

Repulsed by this idea, Hiccup shoved his cousin off of him forcefully and took off running into the the village.

“Hiccup!” Astrid and Fishlegs called after. Astrid gave chase while Fish smacked the two boys on the arm. “Nice going!”

“What! What did I do!?” Snot protested.

“Hiccup from five years ago? You three used to bully him relentlessly. Of course he’s not going to take the news about losing his leg to a dragon very well, especially from you guys!”

“Well, what are we supposed to do? Not mention what was probably the greatest moment of his life?”

“We might all consider Hiccup’s bravery against the Red Death as some huge accomplishment…but I know for a fact that he doesn’t think so.” “What! How can he not think that’s the most awesome thing ever!?

“Look, if you don’t get it, then ask him yourself.” Fishlegs huffed in annoyance and stormed off.

Astrid hurried through the village, glancing at the awe-struck people milling about.

“What’s wrong with Hiccup?” One asked.

“Why has he shrunk?” Asked another.

“Nothing to worry about!” She called back. “It’s all under control!”

Except it wasn’t because she couldn’t find him anywhere. She groaned in annoyance. Back in the day, whenever he’d get yelled at or picked on, he had the amazing ability to completely disappear for hours at a time. It probably wasn’t that miraculous, given his size.

“Oh lass, where’s the little Hiccup?” Gobber asked, seeing her alone already.

“Snotlout brought up the Red Death and he went running. I have no idea where he went.”

“Snotlout eh? Well, Hiccup has several hiding places he goes, depending on who picks on him. I think it’s…this way…” He beckoned her towards the docks.

“How do you know this?” She asked.

“Easy. I was the one who had to find him for Stoick, or for work. I rarely yelled at him, so I could get him to come out and go back home or to the forge. It was a daily duty.”

She frowned. “Daily?”

“Aye. Do you not remember?”

“I…I thought he just got in trouble during the raids.”

“No, no, I wish! Between Snotlout and the Twins tormenting him, and Stoick reprimanding him, there was hardly a day where he had any real fun at all.”

“Oh my gods…” she winced. “I…I didn’t know.”

“I don’t blame you lass. You were focused on your own stuff.”

At this point, they had made it to the cliffs that looked down over the docks. Gobber led her down the ramps about halfway, and then shimmied over to a narrow plank. “Watch yer step.”

This part of the ramp wasn’t used for actual walking or navigating, it was simply support. The only people who would be over here, were those repairing a collapse, or perhaps dragon damage.

“Ah, just as I thought.” Gobber gestured inside the ramp. Two thick beams on both sides, the walkway above, the cliffs in the back, and only a few cross beams to sit on. That was where Little Hiccup had holed himself away.

“How did you get back there?” She asked the shadow.

Hiccup didn’t respond, he only sniffled.

“I’ll take care of this,” said she, weaseling her way to him. It was a tight fit, and the hole went back far, but finally, she reached him. He had drawn his knees in, and hid his face in them.

“You didn’t need to come for me.” He said. “I can handle yourself.”

“I doubt that.” She scoffed.

He glared at her with bloodshot eyes and snotty nose. “You and everyone else on this stupid island.”

She winced. “That’s not what I meant...”

“Then what did you mean? That I’m too weak to swing a sword? That a dragon could kill me with one swipe or one bite? Because I’ve heard it all before! But I can handle not having to be babysat for five minutes!”

Astrid didn’t know how to answer, so she sat beside him. Carefully, she ran a few fingers through his hair and began to braid it.

He sat trembling, whether it was his anger or nerves, she didn’t know.

“Listen Hiccup. Berk has changed in the last few years.”

“So I noticed...”

“And you are to thank for those changes.”

“Great! It’s nice to know that I don’t change! Always messing things up!”

She pulled on his hair with a tug, shutting him up.

“These changes have been good, Hiccup. I promise. Yes, you have to face a mountain sized dragon, but you don’t face it alone. Toothless is with you, and together you defeat it.”

“The dragon?”

“Hmm-mmm.” She finished one braid and started another. “You lose your leg, but you gain so much confidence and self assurance. Because of your sacrifice, we no longer have to fight the dragons. Instead, they protect and love us.”

“Dragons…they can’t do that.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone! Especially my dad!”

“Your dad does get really mad at you…he disowns you even.”

“Well, that sounds like something to look forward to.”

“But,” she continued. “You prove him wrong. You prove everyone wrong.”  

He was quiet, and then gave her a doubtful look. “I don’t know if I should trust you...” He spoke softly, but honestly.

“Why not?”

“Because my Astrid—er, the Astrid I know in my time...she barely speaks to me. Sure, I see her glance at me sometimes with pity in her eyes, and sometimes she has me work on her axe in the forge...but she would never comfort me. If anything, she’d punch me and tell me to buck up.”

Astrid snorted. “That’s me.”

“So...are you being real right now?”

“Here’s a fun story,” she said, winding yet another braid. “I was the first one you convinced. You basically kidnapped me and took me on a flight on Toothless. You showed me how great dragons could be, and I supported you through everything after that.”

“So...you and I become friends?”

She snickered, “not quite.”

He deflated.

She hooked a finger under his chin and turned his face towards hers. “We’re betrothed.”

“B-B-Betrothed?!? But...oh, an arranged marriage?”

“Nope, totally mutual. I love you, Hiccup.”

He hid his face in his hands. “I never thought I’d hear those words from you.”

“Oh, do you have a little crush on me?”

“No!” He shouted, much too loud, much too obviously. “I mean…you can’t ask that!”

“Hiccup, we’re all ready together, you can tell me.”

He dared to look at her, his face red and his lips tight.

“I promise, nothing bad is going to happen.”

He nodded. “Okay…I…havebeeninlovewithyouforyearsbutIknowyoudon’tfeelthesame—“

“Breathe! Hiccup! Gosh, I don’t remember you ever being so nervous before. Even back then. You stuttered a lot, but not like this.”

He frowned, “sorry…okay. I have been in love with you for…a while. But I know I don’t—wouldn’t have a chance with you unless I killed a dragon. So…there. I said it.”

Astrid smiled brightly and hugged him tightly. “Oh Hiccup, my sweet, silly Hiccup.”

Though he still blushed, he hugged her back.

“I kind of always knew. You’re not very good at lying.”

“I know!” He groaned. “I suck at keeping secrets!”

She pulled away from him and kissed him on the nose. “I’m not going to kiss you on the lips, because you’re so much younger than me now, but just know that one day, we will. Soon even.”

His blush returned. “This is torture, you know that, right?”

She simply laughed as she patted his back. “Come on, lets go back. And Hiccup?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t take anything Snotlout says too seriously. In our time, he is pretty desperate to impress you.”

That stunned him to silence. “What? No…”

“Yes! He’ll never admit it out loud, but it’s pretty obvious. You’re a hero now.”

Hiccup sat up a little straighter, evened his chin and said, “about damn time.”

—

Big Hiccup had been drawing for the last 45 minutes, as his father went on a tirade about the evils of dragons, how they were the spawn of the most sinister creatures, and how anyone that willfully chose to align themselves with them must be evil themselves.

It almost made him nostalgic.

Almost.

Once finished with his masterpiece, he interrupted his dad’s speech. “Look dad, I get it. But, here’s a crucial thing you’re missing.” He handed the sketch over to Stoick, who furrowed his brows at the sight. It had been a few years, but that dragon haunted his dreams. He remembered every scale. “This is the queen of the dragons. I saw her first and when I finally told you about it, you decided to ignore my warnings and take the entire tribe with you to kill it.”

“It doesn’t look so bad. Pretty ugly, but most dragons are.”

“I drew you in there for scale.”

Stock scanned the bottom of the page. “Where? I can’t see me.”

“Exactly.”

His eyes widened as he looked to his son. “You mean…this thing is alive right now?”

“Yep, and all the little dragons that you see day to day have to feed her, or else they get eaten instead.”

“Oh,” Stoick said. “Did you say…that you defeat this monster?”

“Yep, and that’s how I lose my leg.” This he said with a little smug smirk and a hand on his hip.    

“Don’t get smart with me, boy.” Stoick reprimanded. “I’m still your father and chief.”

Hiccup nodded, “sorry, it’s just...you change, dad. We change.”

“Apparently I become a dragon sympathizer.”

Hiccup groaned. How long had they been talking about this? It seemed like forever. He wiped a hand down his face. They were getting nowhere.

“Look,�� Hiccup began, gesturing with his hands. “I’m just here to get some Algae from the North Swamp. We can argue about this until the yaks come home, but when I leave in three days, everything goes back to normal, and you’ll forget all about this little tirade…and do it again in a few months with me anyway. So save your breath.”

Hiccup suddenly found himself on the floor, his right cheek stinging. “This isn’t a joke, Hiccup!” Stoick shouted at him. “Things may be all peachy keen in five years, but today, they aren’t. My people, your people are starving, and you have the audacity to sass me? If this dragon exists, we have to kill it! There’s no point in waiting if we can end this problem now!”

“See!” Hiccup shouted back, from the floor. “This is what I mean! You’re not listening to a word I’m saying! You can’t beat the Red Death! You aren’t supposed to! It’s my fate!”

“You can’t do anything right in the first place! Why would I trust you with something like this?!”

This is why Hiccup hadn’t wanted to return to this past, when Stoick was close-minded and full of anger. Of course he wouldn’t listen to Hiccup, because Hiccup never gave him a reason to listen.

“Fine,” said the boy. “I see how it is. But please…there are events that have to happen. Don’t change the future because of what I told you. You’ll ruin everything.”

Stoick scoffed and left the room, leaving Hiccup alone on the floor and feeling very cold.

Part of that was probably attributed to him not wearing a shirt. So he got up, rubbing his throbbing cheek, as he rummaged through his old trunk. He found his largest tunic and tried to put it on.

Obviously, it was too small.

For the rest of the night, Hiccup undid the seams and restitched fabric in the shirt to widen it. After, it was still a little tight, but it fit and he could deal with it.

The day had been exhausting, and so he laid down in his bed and tried to sleep.

It was odd not hearing Toothless’ snoring, or the frequent squawks from dragons outside. But then again, in this world, the sound of dragons were an alarm, and it was best to just let it go.

—

It didn’t take Little Hiccup long to get comfortable with the future.

In the evening, after Hiccup had been coaxed from his hiding spot, Stoick had beckoned him up to the stairs of the Great Hall, and gathered everyone else in the square.

Already, whispers were forming as folks studied the boy in too-big clothes.

“Friends,” Stoick called out, making them hush. “We are fortunate to have within our clan, Gothi, the Healer. She has created a cure for those quarantined up in the Great Hall.”

There were several cheers and sighs of relief at this news.

Stoick held up his hands again for silence. “Unfortunately, one of the ingredients no longer exists, and so she has crafted a clever way for us to retrieve it.” With no effort at all, he hoisted Little Hiccup to sit on his shoulder. “As you may have noticed, my son is a bit smaller than he used to be. Gothi has taken our Hiccup and replaced him with the Hiccup you all knew 5 years ago. He will remain this way for three days until Older Hiccup returns from the past. All this being said,” He gestured at the boy. “This Hiccup hasn’t trained Toothless and never fought the Red Death, but he has been told the gist of the situation. Don’t try to get dragon advice from him, because he doesn’t have it yet. But above all, be patient with him, and treat him like you would now, and not the way you did then.”

Hiccup watched as the villagers all smiled at him broadly, sincerely, it was not something he was used to.

Stoick set him back down on the ground. “Boy lad, I haven’t picked you up like that in ages. I forgot how small you were.”

Hiccup stopped entirely, and just stared at his father. Him being small was a fact of life, wasn’t it? The sky was blue, the ocean was salty, and Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was a pint-sized viking. For his father to forget…how big must he get? Taller them then all, is what Astrid said. But there was no way, there was just no way.

“Hiccup? You alright, son?” Stoick asked as he stood there in shock.

Elated, Hiccup threw his arms up into the air and proclaimed, “This is the best day of my life!” And he went to run down the stairs, but his leggings dropped mid-step and he tumbled down the stairs.  

“Oof!” He landed at the bottom.

So much for being popular and heroic.

Astrid yanked him to his feet easily and blocked everyone’s view as he readjusted himself. “Thanks…”

She dusted the dirt from his shirt. “Are you okay? That was quite the tumble.”

“I’m okay! I promise!”

Stoick looked down in fondness. Clumsy, gong ho, and chattery, those were traits his son had more prevalently when he was a child. Back then, it just annoyed him, and he even…

Oh gods, he had forgotten about that, too.

There were so many horrible things Hiccup had endured before the Red Death. That really seemed to be his lowest and most desperate place, and yet, Hiccup had never asked for an apology from anyone at that time. All the hurtful words from friends and family were just swept under the rug, and all was fine.

But Stoick made a vow at that moment, to dredge it up. It wouldn’t do Hiccup any favors to keep nasty feelings buried any longer.

It seemed like Astrid had the same idea, as she rubbed his head affectionately.

—

When Big Hiccup finally fell asleep, it was only for a few hours, because soon after, there was a vicious roar of a dragon. Then, the village came alive with shouts.

It was a raid.

Of all the times to be sent back, it had to be during a raid. Gods, what was he going to do? Just stay here and not get involved?

No, he couldn’t possibly do such a thing! Not if he could help it! He stood quickly, tying his foot into place. Then he patted himself. Gothi had taken his armor, and with it, his journal, knife, compass…but Inferno! It had been on his belt, and was now resting on the bedside table, where he had set it before going to bed. Quickly, he grabbed his sword and raced down the stairs.

Stoick was there, hammer in hand. He was prepared for the fight, and glanced at Hiccup. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m going to help.”

Stoick scoffed. “Help? Are you still a stubborn dim-wit in the future? Stay here!”  

Hiccup sneered. “Are you serious right now? You need all the help you can get!”

“Not from you!”

Hiccup shook his head. “You used to be such an asshole.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” With a huff, he shouldered passed him and into the village. Normally, Hiccup would never speak that way to his father. But past Stoick didn’t know. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t being logical, or trusting his successor. He wouldn’t even listen to him! It was frustrating and made Hiccup’s blood boil. He missed the father he knew in the present.

Fires had already broken out over the early morning sky, and Hiccup hurried into the fray. He stopped at the forge first, to grab a shield.

“Gobber, I need a shield.”

“One shield coming—…” The Blacksmith dropped it immediately as he stared at him. “Hiccup? Is that…? No…”

“I will explain everything later, just give me the shield!”

Wordlessly, Gobber held out the armor as Hiccup snatched it away.

“Puberty is a magic I will never understand…” He muttered to himself. They he called out after him, “Where do you think you’re going!? Come back!”  

Hiccup, now with shield, withdrew Inferno and ran towards the loudest squawks and roars. His goal was just to wave the dragon on and keep the townsfolk safe.

He heard a familiar dragon croon; a Nadder, his favorite Nadder, to be precise. Stormfly had landed and had all of her quills out, at the ready.

A young girl was on the ground, a spine in her leg.

Hiccup ran in and threw up the shield just in time to block the next few incoming quills. Then he waved his sword slowly, the flames creating an arch of light.

“Back…back!” He warned.

No doubt about it, this was definitely Stormfly. And if this was the raid he thought it was, then—

A net was cast over her, and she cried in indignation.

As much as he hated it, Hiccup continued his soothing motions. She had to be caught, or else Astrid wouldn’t train her in the future.

The Nadder began to calm as she watched the dancing fire. Then, Hiccup reached forward and scratched under her chin. Instantly, she collapsed.

“Oh wow! She fell right to sleep!” A man exclaimed from behind the dragon.

“All the better to kill her!”

“No!” Cried Hiccup. The two vikings looked at him in question, obviously not recognizing him. “What? Do you expect us to just let her go?”

“No no...just uh…use her for training?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea…” They were saying to each other.

Hiccup backed away quickly, not wanting to changed anything in the future on accident. But he did look to the injured girl.

But his heart beat a little harder when he realized it was young Astrid. “Uh…are you okay?”

She hissed, “do I look okay?”

He quickly knelt and scoped her up into his arms, “I’m going to take you to Gothi.”

“Put me down! I can handle it!”

He held firm and hurried his steps. “Nadder spines are poisonous. You look like you’re fairing okay for now, but who knows if that will last.”

She had to be fine. His influence in the past so far wouldn’t ruin her future, right?

Astrid winced slightly as she was jostled, but didn’t fight him anymore. Instead, she rested her arms around his neck to better hold on.

“Sorry…” she whispered. “Thank you. I’m Astrid. I don’t think I’ve seen you before…”

He laughed. “Oh, yes you have. I’m surprised you don’t recognize me.”

She frowned, her eyebrows pulling together as she looked over his face. “…Hiccup?”

“Surprise!”

“Wha—how—?” She wriggled in his grip, trying to get down. “Put me down before you drop me!”

“I’ll only drop you if you keep struggling!” He returned.

“You can barely hold the weapons in the forge! How are you supposed to carry me!?”

“Stop fighting and I’ll explain everything!”

Whether it was because it was early morning, or just sheer curiosity, Astrid relaxed and listened to what he had to say.

It was the same story he told Stoick. He was from five years in the future, and he was here to retrieve some algae that didn’t exist anymore.

“So you’re what Hiccup looks like in five years?”

“Yes.”

She was quiet, mulling this over carefully. They were almost at Gothi’s now.

“What am I like? Five years from now?”

Hiccup smiled fondly. “You become the most skilled, intelligent, intensely focused, and big hearted warrior on Berk.”

She smiled widely. “So do I kill a dragon?”

He winced. “Uh…yeah, yeah you do.” It wasn’t a total lie, given that she definitely helped kill the Red Death.

“Awesome! What kind?”

Rats. “Uh—let’s finish this later, okay?” And he hurried to get to Gothi.

The healer was outside when they arrived, no doubt watching the destruction below and waiting for the idiots to line up. But she was surprised to see Hiccup there, with Astrid of all people in his arms.

“Hi Gothi, Astrid got hit with a Nadder spine.”

The old woman nodded and urged him inside. She made no comment about his appearance, not even a second glance.

Following Gothi’s instructions, Hiccup carefully removed the spine from her thigh and ease her out of her leggings, Astrid blushed hotly all the while.

“It’s okay, Astrid. You need to get this looked at.” Then he backed off as Gothi did the rest of the job.

After Astrid was all bandaged, she pulled her leggings back up and tried to stand. But Hiccup was there quickly, and picked her up again.

“The spine’s out and I’m fine,” she insisted. “Please let me walk.”

Gothi on the other hand, did not agree. She simply smacked Astrid with her staff and gave her a hard look. Then she scratched something in the dirt, which Hiccup was able to piece together.

“She says…the spine didn’t release it’s poisons, but the wound was deep. Try to avoid walking for a while.”

Astrid groaned. “Fine…can you take me home then?”

“Oh course, Milady.”

Astrid smiled slightly. “Milady? What, do I become chief in the future?”

Hiccup began carrying her down the hill, at a much more leisurely pace. “No, and why are you so interested in the future?”

“Why wouldn’t I be!?” She exclaimed. “It’s exciting! Tell me more! Am I part of the Berk guard? Am I a legendary dragon killer?”

Hiccup exhaled, hating where this was going. He just had to weave the story carefully. He didn’t want another explosion like Stoick. “You’re…hm. Let’s just say, I’m very much on my way to becoming chief, and you’re on your way to becoming my General.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You picked me as your general? Wow…”

He smiled. “Who else was I supposed to pick? Snotlout?”

She shrugged. “I mean…if he didn’t become chief instead of you, I figured he’d take his dad’s place. He’s probably pretty sore about that, huh?”

“No, not at all.” They had reached the village at this point, and it appeared that the Raid had ended. There was a lot of smoke, but not as many flames. “In fact,” Hiccup continued. “Snotlout is one of my close consorts and I trust him with a lot of responsibilities.”

Astrid outright laughed. “You have got to be pulling my leg! There’s no way you and Snotlout get along, and him? Having responsibilities? Please…”

“Oh, don’t think it wasn’t a struggle. It takes him a long time to listen to me and do as I ask, but eventually, he sees things my way.”

“And what about the others? The twins? Fishlegs?”

“Everyone has their roles. The twins have a knack for pranks and destruction, but I’ve found if I can channel that talent, then they usually listen to me and spare me from their pranks. Usually.” He laughed. “And Fishlegs is very helpful, though he and Snotlout don’t always see eye to eye.”

“Yeah, that’s true now too.”

“But they can work together when necessary.”

Ironically, Hiccup could hear Fishlegs and Snotlout arguing just around the corner. “I told you to put this building out!”  

“Why couldn’t you do it yourself!?”

“Because Hoark asked me to put his house out first!”

Astrid wriggled slightly. “Put me down, I’ll straighten these numbskulls out.”

Hiccup set her on her feet, but kept his arm close for support, though she refused it. Rounding the corner, the two found Young Snotlout and Young Fishlegs battling it out while the baker’s shop continued to burn.

“Hey!” Astrid called, limping into action. “Stop fighting each other and start fighting this fire!”

Snotlout scoffed. “And where have you been?”

Hiccup, ever the leader, crossed his arms. “She was injured, because she was doing her job! Now we can argue about this later, but that fire isn’t going to put out itself!” And he snagged a bucket abandoned on the ground. Then he turned to Astrid, “don’t run.” Then he took off.

Snotlout and Fishlegs looked at her. “Who was that?”

She shrugged with a smug little smile, “wouldn’t you like to know?”

[jazzyhazzy]

Girls Like You - Chapter Twenty One - Christmas

Christmas Eve Eve

Staring upwards, my vision is flooded with twinkling lights, soft, warm sparkles fading in and out all in synchronised rhythm. I just had to take a moment, a breather, I needed to feel to cool wooden floor under me, so I shimmied my face under the skirt of the Christmas tree and lay there, staring up through the branches of woody pine at the lights, and the sparkle of the decorations, losing myself in the smell of the needles, the sound of Wham! ‘Last Christmas’ quietly humming throughout the entire house.

This is my first Christmas in the house.

Our first time hosting our families.

The first time we’re having to pull out the stops for Christmas, and believe me, I thought it would be a lot simpler than this. I failed to take into account how many guests we were going to be having, as well as how big the house is - decorating it has required a lot of help from Sav and Harry was required on many occasions to reach all of the high places we couldn’t quite get to.

He has fussed over me relentlessly since the transplant, and while it was bearable at first, it has quickly become tiring. I’ve thrown myself into Christmas, not only because it’s the most wonderful time of the year - duh - but also because it keeps me busy, but as I lay here under the tree having an internal meltdown, I feel I may have bitten off more than I can chew.

Nonetheless, I am determined to pull it all together, even if it means I have to stay up all night. I am going to be the Queen of Christmas. I’m going to put even my Mum to shame.

Frankie and Edgar’s noses sniff at me under the tree and try to shimmy under as well to see what I’m up to under here. They hate to miss out on anything, especially if it involves me, they truly are my babies, and Harry has had to get used to them sprawling out on the bed with us every night. “They’re going to get much bigger you know” I reminds me every time, as I scratch their noses while they sleep at the foot of our bed, not taking up much space.

I exhale, the needles of the tree blowing with the sudden exasperated gust.

“Alright under there?” Harry crouches down and peeks under the tree at me. He’s put his Christmas jumper on and has decorations hanging off his ears. I smile at him, but it doesn't last long as I remember the amount of food I still have to prepare, and it’s not even Christmas day till the day after tomorrow.

“There’s so much to do.” I groan, turning back to look up the lights, wishing I could just stay right here until some fairy godmother comes along and finishes everything up for me. I focus on the lights again, letting the sweet croons of George Michael fill my ears.

Harry grabs my ankles and pulls me out from underneath the tree. He towers above me with his hands on his hips, and he looks fucking adorable in his red jumper with reindeers jumping all over it. He’s still wearing the baubles on his ears and they’re jumping about frantically as he shakes his head. I giggle at his stern face “Uhh... ‘scuse me? Are you forgetting that my first job was a baker love?” he tells me, matter-of-factly.

“You worked in a bakery, you weren't actually the baker” I point out, squealing as he growled and picked me up, trying to be scary but I knew better, he still acts like I’m made of glass, even though I’ve almost fully recovered now. “You take that back! You know I’m good!” he protests, he holds me upside down like I weigh nothing to him, but my hands frantically grapple at his legs, trying to hold on for dear life.

Frankie and Edgar are going crazy, barking at him and nipping at his ankles, telling him to put their Mummy down. “AHHH Eddie OWWWW!” he yelps, dropping me gently down on the couch and picking Edgar up instead, growling at him and then showering his muzzle with kisses while Frankie jumps up on me and licks my face, they know he’s only playing.

We’re both in fits of giggles at the pups, and I smile up at him, cradling Edgar in his arms. He won't be able to do that for much longer, they’re going to get so much bigger, but for right now, I can still squeeze them into some gorgeous puppy christmas sweaters. As unbelievably tacky as they are, they’re also hilarious, so I obviously couldn't refuse.

“There’s no way we’re not getting a family pic of us and the dogs in front of the tree tomorrow night” Harry tells me, “With our matching sweaters” I add, lifting my chin so he can bend over, resting his hands on the back of the couch and leaning his head down to kiss me, once, twice, three times. It’s become so normal for us that we barely ever just kiss once anymore.

“We need to get our butts back into the kitchen woman, we have mothers coming tomorrow that we need to impress!” he reminds me, and I groan, sinking into the couch and cuddling Frankie close, kissing the top of her head as she wriggles in my grip, fighting for freedom.

Reluctantly, I let him pull me back to my feet and we both pad back into the kitchen, donning our aprons and getting our hands dirty again to make mince pies, pavlova’s and all other good things. Our Christmas music continues to blare over the speakers, our hips bumping every now and again to the beats as we laugh and sing to one another. I cut out gingerbread men while he whips up pastry for the mince pies. Our pups curled up together in their bed by their bowls, never far from us.

In this precise moment, I think back to when I was a heartbroken young girl who’s parents had just divorced, all those years ago I had adamantly wished upon a star one Christmas eve for a perfect boyfriend and a perfect Christmas and a perfect house and a perfect everything. If only I could go back and let younger Blair know that for once, her wish came true.

While it’s not perfect everything, it’s pretty damn close, I think, as I grab a small fistful of flour and blow it all over Harry’s face, cackling uncontrollably at his shock. This is all the perfect I need for now.

*** Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve came in the blink of an eye, and by some miracle, I managed to get everything in order before everyone arrived. My Mum and Andy were staying with us in the guest bedroom I had recently renovated - much to my mothers delight, she had always loved my way of decorating the house. We were also hosting Anne and Robin and Gemma had a prized spot on the fold out couch. Mine and Savanna’s Dads were staying with her, as well as her Mum, who thankfully didn't find it too awkward that she was staying under the same roof as her ex-husband turned gay for the father of her daughters best friend. To say we have an interesting family is an understatement, but it sure does keep us on our toes.

Love Actually plays on the television in the background, but my mum is far too busy chatting away to Anne - no doubt planning a wedding for Harry and I, Harry and Gemma are sprawled out on the rug in front of the fire, fighting over the puppies, and Robin and Andy are getting to know each other over a glass of duty free Whiskey. It’s almost the perfect family picture, just missing one little thing.

I try not to think about how desperately I want to fill this home with the sounds of childish laughter, and focus on having the best Christmas imaginable. I sit down by the tree and cross my legs, just able to put my hot chocolate on a side table before Edgar forgets all about Harry and bounds over to me, jumping up to lick my face and curl up in my lap.

“No fair” Harry grumbles, sitting up and moving to take Frankie off of Gemma. “Harry play nice” Anne scolds him, watching him reach for the dog. He just can’t seem to get his own way. Instead he settles on cuddling up to me instead of a dog, pulling me up onto his lap next to the Christmas tree and wrapping his arms around me, Edgar trying to get in on the cuddles, feeling left out.

Our Mums squawk in delight and try to get their phones our fast enough to take a picture of the moment. “You two make me sick” Gemma gags, retreating to squeeze on the end of the couch next to Anne. “Hush Gem, they’re in love”

“You’re just jealous” Harry pulls a face at her and she scowls, because her boyfriend has flown to France to be with his family for Christmas and after the past month we’ve had, it has really put into perspective how important family time is.

It’s nice to finally be able to relax after the hectic few days I’ve had running around trying to get everything ready for tomorrow, trying to think about cooking and serving and having enough room to seat so many people is kinda overwhelming. Thanks to Harry I’ve managed to pull through, it was a bit of team effort after all.

We sit curled up together on the floor watching the last of the movie, one by one our guests take themselves off to bed, Gemma the last to go, kissing us goodnight and retreating to the spare lounge to phone her boyfriend.

White Christmas plays over the speakers in the lounge, quietly, so not to wake anyone else up. I feel myself start to nod off against Harry’s shoulder, but he wakes me, pulling me up to my feet in front of him and he moves my hands to rest on his shoulders and he wraps his arms loosely around my waist, dancing slowly back and forth to the music.

Outside, it’s been snowing all night and it gathers in little piles in the corners of our windows. I smile at the sight, always wanting more than anything to have a white Christmas. It’s one of the things I love most about living here, is that it’s actually a possibility. Harry distracts me by nudging his nose against my forehead to get my attention, and once he has it he bends down to kiss me, pulling me closer against his chest.

It’s not so much heated, it’s just in the moment, something you do when you love someone in a perfect moment, is complete it with a kiss. “Mmm, it’s all come together alright huh?” he murmurs against my lips, continuing to move around the room slowly to the carols. I nod, somehow we managed to make it work. All of it, not just Christmas.

“Can I give you a present?” he asks timidly, searching my eyes. I bite my lip, watching him frown at the action as it always turns him on when I do that, but this time it’s not on purpose. “I don't know, Haz, it’s not Christmas morning” I protest, wanting everything to go to plan, if he gives me an early present than that means I’ll have to give him one now as well.

“Shh, its not really a physical present, more of a promise...” he trails off, uncertainly. I shrug my shoulders, “I guess I can allow a promise” I permit, seeing as its not really a present as such.

He takes a deep breath, meeting my eyes at once, and I try to figure out whats going on behind those emeralds. “I promise...” he begins, hesitating, I lock my arms around his neck and kiss him on the nose, signalling for him to go on.

“I promise... we can... try” he forces the last word out.

“Try?” I question, a little lost. Try what exactly?

“We can try again... y’know...”

“For a... baby?” I finish for him, it’s the first thing that comes to my mind, what else could we try for?

Harry nods slowly, holding my eyes so I know he’s serious about it. I choke up and bury my head in his shoulder, unable to help the tears springing to my tear ducts and spilling out over the edges.

“Are you sure?” I whisper, pulling back.

“I can’t... we can’t be afraid forever Bee.” he replies, tucking a stray hair behind my ear and kissing me again.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to, because I want to...”

“I’m nervous... but we can start by seeing a specialist and... and we’ll get it right.”

He knows how much this means to me, and although we haven’t spoken about it since before I went into the transplant surgery, I can tell he has been thinking about it since then.

I don’t expect it to be an easy thing for him to come around to, when we lost our little girl it was beyond traumatic, it was a heavy experience and we were both crushed under the weight of it. It scares me more than anything to try again, but I know that if we don't, I will always regret it. There will always be a part of me that is missing.

“Thank you” I whisper, reaching up to kiss him once, twice, three times. We stay like that for a while, swaying around the lounge, watching the snow come down outside, listening to Christmas carols. Our hearts full, and our minds open to the future. We revel in this perfect moment, and I wish that I could capture it forever, make it into a snow globe or something like that. I want to freeze this moment in time, and play it on repeat in my head. The two of us, Christmas eve, snow, love, laughter, family.

“Let’s jump in bed, Santa’s coming” he teases, I poke his cheek and let him lead the way upstairs, Frankie and Edgar padding their huge paws up the stairs behind us, following us wherever we go. We tip toe past all of the other bedrooms and shut our door behind us. Discovering some matching Christmas PJ’s folded at the end of our bed, I know exactly who the culprit is too.

“Mum” Harry groans, but he smiles nonetheless, never too old for his Christmas PJ’s. It means so much more to him this year, that he can have this time with her, that she is alive and healthy again. She will be around for many more Christmases to come. Ours have red and white striped pants and a red long sleeve t-shirt with a big red reindeer on them. “Bit girly” harry grumbles, pulling the pants on over his briefs.

We don’t often sleep together in PJ’s but it is Christmas after all, and traditions must be upheld. Grinning at each other as we brush our teeth and wash our faces off with flannels, we jump into bed and pull the covers up to our chins, we have each other, and the dogs curl up around our feet.

“Perfect little hot water bottles” I chuckle, resting my head against his chest, my eyes heavy, I’ll be asleep in moments. Harry’s arms rest around me, and he kisses me goodnight, thrice on the lips and peppering kisses just about everywhere else on my face.

“Merry Christmas Baby” he whispers.

“Merry Christmas” I manage to get the words out before my eyes shut and the next thing I know I’m dreaming of ice-skating and babies and chocolate pudding and Christmas ham.

Christmas Day

“Blair”

“Blair”

Sleep slips away with the sound of Harry’s loud whispering right in my ear. Like inside my ear.

“Blair” he calls to me again. I can’t pretend to be asleep much longer. I reluctantly open my eyes a tiny crack to see his face hovering directly above mine, his knees either side of my hips.

“Meeeeeeeerry Christmas!!!” he announces, his dimples sinking deep into his cheeks and his teeth on full display in his excitement. I shake my head and smile at him, “Alright, alright”

Victorious, he, rolls us overs so I’m not on top of him and he’s lying beneath me, his arms wrapping around my waist. “Kiss me” he demands, pouting his lips up at me, and I accept, leaning down to press my lips against him, his grip tightens around me and he deepens the kiss, tracing his tongue along my bottom lip. I go to reciprocate but he pulls away.

“I love you, but its Christmas morning, all I can think about is presents!” Harry bubbles, practically quivering with excitement beneath me.

I sigh, feeling a little disheartened, but still excited. “What time is it?” I complain, rolling away from him, rejected. On Christmas.

“It’s 7:30... where do you think you’re going?” he demands, grabbing my hip and turning me back to him. “It’s nothing, baby. I’m gonna let the dogs out.” I brush it off, wriggling free and throwing the covers back, locating my slippers at the end of the bed, heading for the door.

“Blair- stop it, jeez. I’m sorry!” he insists, grabbing my wrist and pulling me back to the bed to sit on his knee, like he’s Santa Claus in a mall. “Nothing is wrong! Just thought if you were going to wake me up like that you’d give me a little more time before pushing me away!” I sulk, trying my hardest not to pout like a child.

“I’m sorry! I get too excited, I wasn't thinking baby.” he apologises, kissing my shoulder and squeezing the air out of me like a teddy he just got on Christmas morning. Too bad I haven’t gotten him a teddy.

“Okay! Okay! I need to let the dogs out though or they’re going to shit on the floor and thats not how I want to start Christmas Day” I cry, Edgar pacing back and forth in front of the door.

Harry permits me freedom but chooses to accompany me downstairs, so he can peek at the presents his mum has put under the tree in the middle of the night - no doubt my mum took part too. Although we’re all grown up now, they still like to think we’re still their little babies.

“God they’ve even done stockings too” Harry almost screams in excitement, darting into the second lounge to jump on Gemma, waking her up. I presumed she would be shitty at the abrupt awakening, but she only shares his excitement - if anything, it’s magnified, they’re like a tornado of Christmas excitement.

I shake my head, needing a few more minutes in my adult state to wake up and get thrilled about the whole Christmas morning ordeal. I let the puppies outside and retreat to the kitchen, filling the kettle and boiling it, getting prepared for the copious amounts of tea and coffee I’m going to have to make.

Movement stirs throughout the house as parents wake upstairs, no doubt jumped on by Harry and Gemma - my mum will be so excited. She’s missed the last couple of Christmases with me, but now that we’ve settled into our new home Harry insisted that they let him fly them over to be with us.

I lean against the bench as I wait for the jug to boil, my mind wandering to places where it shouldn’t on a morning like this, but sometimes it can’t be helped. My eyes stare absently at the floor, my mind drifting, wondering how different this morning would have been if our daughter had made it.

“Morning my darling” my mum enters the kitchen, thankfully alone, and catches me, tears escaping my eyes.

“Wh... Whats the matter?” she fusses, rushing to my side and wrapping her arms around me, pulling me into her side and rubbing circles into my back. “It would’ve been her first Christmas, Mum” I choke, trying my best to stop the sobs from taking over and ruining Christmas morning for everyone else. The thought probably hadn’t even crossed any of their minds.

Mum just holds me tight and soothes me, for once, not really knowing what to say to make it all go away.

“It happens, more than you’d think. It happened to me twice before I finally got you” she confesses, and I stop blubbering. "Wh-Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper, letting her wipe away my tears with her sleeve. “It wasn't about me, I had to be there for my baby” she tells me, her voice strong.

It was agony enough having to go through it once, but twice?

And she tried again, she kept trying until she got me. I’m the one that survived. “Just promise me, you won't let this discourage you, try again, and again. Because you’ll get there, you were worth the pain and the heartache, Blair Hazel Waters. The other two will always hold a special place in my heart, but you... you made it so our suffering wasn't for nothing.”

My throat is tight as I bite back the lump forming.

My mother amazes me, I swear mothers are just the most incredible creatures that were ever put on this universe. She knows exactly what to say to make everything better, to make the pain feel like it is going to be worth it in the end.

“Thank you” I murmur, hugging her tight and burying my face into her shoulder, inhaling her scent that encompasses me in a feeling of complete comfort and safety that one can only feel from the embrace of their mother. “You’re a fighter, Blair, you’ll come back from this. Don’t forget your little girl, but don’t let it stop you from trying again.”

I want to tell her everything, I want to tell her about the promise Harry made me last night, the pact we made to try again, to get it right this time. But I can’t get her hopes up, I’m too afraid of getting my own hopes up yet, we need to take it step by step.

She stays with me, chatting away about mindless things until my sadness subsides, and I crack a smile for her that isn't forced. We make cups of tea and special hot chocolates, with cream and marshmallows piled on top.

We join the rest of the family in the lounge, Harry perched on Anne’s lap and Gemma’s back resting against Robin’s knees. Harry jumps up and moves to sit beside Anne, patting his knee for me to sit there, he pulls me down and I rest against his chest, sniffing the last of my sadness away, determined to make this a happy day, and not a sad one.

***

Once everyone is seated at the table with a drink in front of them, and all the food served in the middle, Harry stands at the head of the table, to my side, he taps his knife gently against his champagne flute, gaining attention from everyone at the table.

We’ve got a full house, and as man of the house Harry takes it upon himself to make the toast.

“Well er... We’re really happy everyone could be here, we’ve made it through the year - bit of a rollercoaster if I’m honest - but we’ve come out alright I reckon!” Everyone smiles at him, he’s doing a great job, I grab his hand and squeeze it in encouragement. We’re a team.

“None of this would have been possible - and I mean that, I’m useless at decorating and all that - without Blair. She’s... well she’s made this place our home and honestly don’t know what I would do without her, she’s saved my ass, she's saved me Mum’s ass, she’s definitely saved Sav’s ass on more than one occasion-”

“Harry Edward you say ass one more time and I’ll-” Anne interrupts, but she herself is interrupted by Clarice.

“Assss”

Niall drops his fork on his empty plate, staring at awe at his daughter in her high chair between him and Sav.

“Assss” she repeats, and Sav glares at Harry “I’m teaching your kid to say fuck” she vows, not realising the error in her words as Clarice repeats that word back to her too, causing Harry to burst out laughing at the sound coming from our goddaughters mouth.

“Stop fucking swearing you lot” Niall’s mum slaps her hand on the table, laying down the law.

Harry clears his throat once everyone is quiet again, and finishes his toast.

“Where was I...”

“Ah, ass, yes. Blair saving everyones anuses. Yes, well I think we can all agree I’m far too good for her-”

“Harold! Get on with it” Gemma yells, impatient.

“Alright! Christ. I love Blair, I love you all, thank you all for being here - tuck in... Grace?” he finishes, confused. Plonking back down into his seat and looking to me for approval, I raise an eyebrow at him. His speech resulted in our Goddaughter learning two new naughty words.

Niall stands up abruptly, his chair scraping against the wooden floors, making an unpleasant sound, but his eyes look wild.

“WE’RE HAVIN’ ANOTHER BABY” he shouts, “NIALL!!!!” Savanna screams at him, clearly not ready to tell everyone.

Harry spits his mouthful of wine all over the peas and Niall’s mum just about falls out of her chair.

“Niall Horan you tell me the truth right now” his mum demands, pointing her knife at him threateningly.

Savanna grumbles and holds up her champagne glass “It’s sparkling grape juice, he put another damn baby in me” she confesses, met by the scraping of chairs and cheering.

“No don’t cheer him on my tits are going to be ruined” she cries, as everyone floods to her to kiss and hug them in congratulations.

Harry’s hand finds mine under the table and squeezes it, offering me a knowing look. We could never take away from their happy moment, but God, how we wish it were us.

I hope you all have a Merry Christmas! Thank you for reading, see you in the new year xxx

[lolbtsaus]

(1/14) another long one but I quite like this one, not sure how you feel about it tho! hacker and thief au with jimin. BTS is a crew of thieves who steal anything and everything for anyone who had the funds to hire them. They live a lavish life from the riches they earn off their crimes, indulging in partying, exotic cars and of course Gucci for th. you on the other hand, is a legend within the cyber world as one of the top black hat hackers who also works for hire. So when a kingpin of a

(2/14) syndicate hires both you and BTS for a joint operation, you meet jm for the first time through the cctv footage displayed on your desktop. Meeting at some secretive warehouse, BTS was expecting to be introduced to their employer and co-worker for this assignment, but was however met with a stack of files in an empty room and a huge computer screen. With the use of voice distortion, you briefed the crew on their hit job and monitored from your screen. But what had caught your eye was this    

(3/14) striking young man with silver hair that did not say a single word throughout the whole duration but just continuously and knowingly stared into the cctv camera as if he knew there was someone on the other side watching. tbh it kind of made you uncomfortable but you gotta admit he was cute, I mean it’s not often that you get an assignment with 7 really hot guys. Anyhow, on the day of the mission, you supervise from your den, hacking into security systems and monitoring the surroundings                  

(4/14) while BTS begin to infiltrate and steal the subject. Occasionally you’ll inform them of a bogey through their earpieces and quite often you’ll hear dad jokes (courteously of jin) and video game commentary (who else but jk) from the boys as they move through the building. Tbh they’re quite entertaining and you can’t help but smile a little, by far the best co-workers you’ve had. The boys have retrieved the subject and have all returned to the haven of their cars, except jm & th. th      

(5/14) goes out of sight on your screen and he doesn’t respond to your calling. Your desperately trying to find out whats happened to th and the boys have gone dead silent and nothing can be heard except the sound of your fingers rapidly hitting keys. That is until you hear this grunting from jm’s piece followed by not so pleasant sounds of possibly fractured bones and groaning from a foreign person. and not soon after that, you catch vision of a bloody nosed th and a disgruntled jm dashing out              

(6/14) of the building before joining the boys in their cars and zooming away. You must say, jm took you by surprise, you did not expect that little lump of fluff to have that much spunk, because I mean, last time you peeked *hacked* into their lounge at the top floor of some luxury hotel, you found the mochi curled up in a ball on the sofa playing with jk’s hair as he and th played video games. Basically ya’ll did such a good job that the kingpin decided to get you guys together again for a             

(7/14)another mission, obviously with higher commission because dollar dollar bruh! anyhow, many missions later (commissioned or independant), BTS obviously become curious about your identity and you’ve accumulated enough funds that you have excess for a new apartment. and coincidentally (what a lie), you move into the building adjacent to theirs, where your balcony has a direct view of jm’s balcony. and of course, jm’s caught sight of you a few times sipping on some tea and browsing on a laptop             

(8/14) on a late afternoon and tbh he’s been secretly enjoying the view for a while now. Okay so you guys happen to get another assignment and from the beginning you were a bit angsty for this one because there were just so many inconsistent factors, but you guys decide to go ahead with the plan anyways. So all is going okay until, you hear shots. 3 rounds fired total and your body freezes. The image of jm taking a bullet to the shoulder is fixated on your screen and you’re at a loss for words.             

(9/14) when jm is hoisted out of the building by nj and jin with the rest of the crew scrambling to cover their asses, youre dead silent and focused on solely your job of navigating them to a hospital. At the sound of tyres squealing to a stop, doors slamming close and the gps locator indicating that they’ve arrived at the nearby hospital, you reach out to switch off your entire system. Only after a few days do you find the courage to dial the digits of jm’s cell. A croaky voice picks up and you             

(10/14) freeze for a second. only after the second hello? do you muster up the courage to reply to him and ask in a soft voice how he’s holding up. and tbh he’s shocked, because 1. some random stranger is calling him and knows he’s been shot which probably means they know his identity, 2. this stranger has a really nice voice and 3. - wait hang on, he knows this tone of speech, hang on could this possibly be….? jm’s just like, omg i finally figured out who mastermind behind our missions and oml             

(11/14) it’s a girl, a girl with a really soothing voice and this boy is a bit in love. and jm unconsciously finds himself dialling or texting this number every once in a while when he just needs someone to speak to or after a mission where he’ll brag about his skills like hey did you see the way i shimmied past that laser in the hallway of the museum? and ur just like yeah jm, i saw because i was the one that was monitoring you and making sure your ass doesn’t trigger the alarm. BTS kind of             

(12/14)catch on that their jm is acting a bit strange, often hiding in his room to make phone calls or smiling at his phone. That and the fact that at every assignment briefing, jm seems to be very comfortable with the mysterious hacker. Only one day does jm blurt out your name and everyone is like eh?! and jms just like dude just drop the voice distorter already your voice is beautiful without that stupid thing. and BTS is like EHHH?! and jm is like oh crap that wasn’t meant to come out whoops.

(13/14) but you end up getting rid of the voice distorter and crew is just like holy crap its a girl, and regretting all the stupid shit they’ve said on their missions that you must’ve heard (but we all know yg was secretly regretting that one time he stopped to pet that puppy on the street, completely cooing over it forgetting that he had his ear piece on and that you were sitting on your balcony watching his every move taping the whole thing for future black mail uses). anyhow, one day, you’re                    

(14/14) sitting on your balcony sipping on some tea when you get a text from jm. a lil smile appears on your face and you continue to exchange. But little did you know that jm, who coincidentally happened to be looking out his balcony window, noticed that every time he sent a text to you, the girl in sitting across from him picks up her phone. highly suspicious, he dials and only when you pick up, he opens the door and steps out to his balcony and you guys lock eyes. (I cant write fluff 😅) -🥀     

oh my g o d I love this so much I want all of it rn plz and thnx 

[h-styles-babes]

No Control | Chapter Twenty-Three

Summary: 

Micky Bennett: college student, loyal friend, aspiring nurse, One Direction fan, Harry Styles enthusiast. Her best friend, Trevor, wins tickets to a show in New Jersey with meet and greet passes. Micky expects a quick photo op with the boys and a great night at the concert with her best friend. What she gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.

To read previous chapters, you can go here.

*Please feel free to reblog and send feedback. It’s much appreciated :)*

*Gif is not mine.*

TWENTY-THREE

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” he demands as soon as the door is closed behind us. He’s got his back pressed up against the door, arms crossed over his chest. The jumper he’s wearing is stretched across his shoulder, the fabric pulling against his muscles, and my hormones make it hard to concentrate on anything other than thoughts about what those muscles used to do to me. 

I have no room to think like that now, though, so I snap myself out of it and address his question. I sit on the edge of my bed and rip my hat from my head, tossing it toward my desk.

“I told you, Harry. I tried getting ahold of you for weeks. I had every intention of telling you before you dropped off the face of the earth to me. Might as well have been like I never knew you.”

“You told me you were on birth control.” I can see the agitation in his eyes, and I realize he thinks I lied to him about it. His hands reach up to tangle in his hair, but he makes an irritated huffing nice when he realizes it’s still up in an elastic, so he yanks it out, his hair falling around his shoulders.

“I was. Never missed a shot in the five years I was on it. I would never lie to you, Harry,” I beseech. “I’m not in the business of finding wealthy men and getting pregnant on purpose. You know me better than that.”

He sighs and slides down the door, crouching on the balls of his feet, head in his hands. “Then how the fuck did this happen?” His voice sounds more defeated than angry now, like he’s suddenly exhausted.

I shrug, even though he isn’t looking at me. “Best my doctor could explain, I’m just part of the small percentage who’s birth control failed.” I realize I sound just as exhausted as Harry, but it’s nothing new for me, especially in the last few months. “I wasn’t on any antibiotics or anything that would counteract it. I just drew the unlucky stick.”

He sighs again and finally looks up at me, his eyes red-rimmed and his jaw tense. He looks scared more than anything now, and I’m glad the anger from earlier has seemed to dissipate. “When did you find out? We were still in contact until September, before my phone went to shit.”

“Beginning of October,” I tell him. “Just after my birthday. I thought I got sick and went to the doctor’s to get some antibiotics, and the blood draw always includes a pregnancy screening. Came back positive. Tried calling you later that day, but your phone was out.” I can feel tears welling up in my eyes for no real reason, another lovely side effect of all the hormones coursing through my body. I sniffle and use the end of my jumper to wipe at my nose.

“Mind taking that off, love? Little weird seeing my name plastered across your chest,” Harry chuckles lightly. It’s good to hear him back to his regular self again, even though he still look completely terrified. At least he’s trying, I figure. He did promise Trevor he would never hurt me.

I nod and shrug my arms out of the sleeves. I shimmy the rest of the way out with a little effort, and I’m quick to pull my t-shirt down when it rides up as I pull the jumper over my head. I’ve got a pretty well-developed bump at this point, and I’m not quite sure if Harry wants to see it, so I cover it up as quickly as possible. I toss the material aside, letting it land in a heap by my closet doors. “How far along, exactly?” he asks after an audible swallow.

“Twenty-eight weeks and a few days. Just had an appointment this week. Figuring I’m due around May fifth.” I take a deep breath and look up at him. He nods at me and pushes himself up from the floor. 

He walks slowly over to me and gestures to the bed beside me. “May I?” he asks, and I nod. Harry lowers himself to sit right next to me, our thighs touching. We’re both a little tense from the situation, and I can see the stiffness in his shoulders, but he grabs both of my hands in his and runs his fingers over my rings. I take to looking at his own, a few cycled out and replaced with new ones on his fingers from the last time I saw him. 

“You were just gonna go on with this and never tell me?”

“How was I supposed to tell you, Harry? I had no way of getting ahold of you. And I wasn’t about to make a trip out to Holmes Chapel or London to confront your mum or you. Wouldn’t have been taken very well, would it?”

“I suppose you’re right. But still, Mick.”

“I would’ve done this on my own, Harry. I’m still willing to do this on my own,” I urge. “I don’t want anything from you. Or, rather, I’m not gonna demand anything of you. I told you, I didn’t do this on purpose. I’m not gonna force your hand.” I catch his eye to show him that I’m serious. “I’ve come to terms with being a single mother.”

His brows furrow in a desperate expression. “This is my baby, too, Mick. You’re crazy if you think I’m just gonna go on like normal pretending I don’t have a kid walking around. I never intended to be that type of dad, and it happening like this doesn’t change that. I wanna be around. I’d never just brush that responsibility off onto someone else.”

I shake my head sadly. “But you’re you, Harry. I understand and appreciate your wanting to be there, but you’re an international pop star. I can’t ask you to drop everything in order to help me raise a child. I’d hate myself for that.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve just found myself with all the time in the world on my hands, innit?” he asks rhetorically with a raised eyebrow and a stern gaze. “I’m scared shitless, but I’m gonna be here, Micky. Nothing you can do or say is gonna change that. I’m an adult who takes care of the people who are important to him. You were already important to me, and the little person you’re carrying around just became the most important person in my life, so you’re stuck with me.” 

He smiles warmly at me and raises one of my hands to his mouth to brush his lips against the ring on my middle finger. The tears slip down my face again, unable to hold them back or really control them at this point. I know I must look a mess, but Harry doesn’t seem to care. His eyes sparkle all the same as he gazes at me patiently and oh so kindly. I never expected the conversation going this way, but I’m glad that there was a whole lot less yelling than I was anticipating. My emotions are already shot, and I’m not sure I would have been able to deal with that very well.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask through quiet gasps. 

Harry keeps his smile on as he uses his other hand to wipe at my tears. “If Tommo, the most carefree, silly person I’ve ever met, can do it, I think I’m more than capable.”

I chuckle out a teary laugh. “I forgot he’s a dad now. That’s so fucking crazy to me.” 

He nods. “Me, too, but he’s making it work. Proud of him.”

“I just don’t want you to feel like I trapped you into this. I never wanted that, H.”

He leans forward and presses his forehead to mine, letting out breaths mingle togethers and our hands cradle between out bodies. “I don’t feel trapped. It’s a surprise, no doubt, but I know you, Mick. Know you didn’t do this on purpose. You’re too smart for that.”

“Smart girls aren’t supposed to have unplanned pregnancies with famous men,” I gasp out over small sobs.

“Smart girls are still human, and to be human is to make mistakes. Accidents happen, princess. But smart girls know how to look at them and face them head on, and I think you’ve done that so far. Now I’m here to share that burden. Never think I don’t want to be here. I could just as easily walk away with a court agreement to pay you child support and hush money. But I want to be here for you. For both of you.” 

His hand not gripping my own snakes down to wrap around my waist, pulling my body closer to his, our front touching. While not completely ridiculous yet, my belly does create a bit of a rift between us, but I’ve never felt more secure. Harry’s hand runs along my side, barely grazing my swollen stomach. I can’t tell if he’s purposely avoiding it or if he’s just unsure if I’d allow him, but he’s being tentative.

As I feel the baby kicking at a spot near my ribs, I grab Harry’s hand and guide it to the area. He looks at me quizzically, since the little bumps have died down, but I whisper for him to just wait a second. A few moments later, there’s a strong kick to the same spot, and I can tell Harry’s definitely felt it, given the nearly comical widening of his eyes. I chuckle a little at his reaction, but his face splits into a goofy little grin. 

“Think she realizes it’s you,” I whisper.

His brows raise. “It’s a girl?”

I nod. “Found out a few weeks ago. Didn’t want it to be a surprise. Need to pick names and all.”

“I’m gonna have a little girl?” he asks breathlessly. There’s a love on his face that I’ve only ever seen when he’s looking at his mum, and I realize how incredibly lucky I am to have a man like Harry to share this with. I could have done a lot worse than this kind, gentle, loving man, and I thank God silently that at least if I had to screw up with somebody, it was with him.

Both of his hands move and grip me around the waist. I’m surprised when he lifts me and positions me so I’m laying on the bed, completely stretched out properly.

I watch him curiously as he silently lifts the hem of my shirt over my belly and tucks it neatly under my breasts. I’ve taken to wearing comfortable bras since my breasts have started swelling, just to prevent them from hurting as I move around. Harry kneels over me and softly runs his warm hands over my stomach. He presses his hand to the same spot as before and is automatically met with a few more strong bumps. He looks up at me with a sort of wonder in his eyes that I’ve never seen.

Harry quickly moves us again, laying on his side next to me, but his face down level with my stomach. He gently urges me onto my side as well, so we’re facing each other. He scoots himself close, his nose nearly touching the skin of my tummy, and he rest his hand on he side, cradling my stomach. He looks so reverent and content that I can’t help the tears that well up again. I sniff quietly and wipe away the tears with my fingers as he lays there and begins whispering to the baby.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he begins, his deep voice soothing in such a soft tone. “I’m your daddy. We’ve never met before, but I’m so happy to know about you. I just learned about you, but I’m already so excited to meet you. Hope you look like your mum; she’s really pretty. Though, I’m afraid you’re doomed to end up with curly hair; we’ve both got it. Probably gonna have pretty green eyes, though, so there’s that.”

He goes on for several minutes, just whispering everything that seemingly pops into his head. I close my eyes and just let myself release for the first time since I saw him again. We’ve got a long way to go in figuring this all out, but I’m more than happy to allow ourselves this moment. This whole thing went a lot better than I could have ever hoped for, and I will never forget to be grateful for that small blessing. I’m content for the moment to just let Harry have this time with his daughter and allow myself to finally relax in his presence again. I’m going to have to deal with more pressing matters and adult shit soon, but I’m willing to push it to the side for now and bask in the peace I feel in this moment.

I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until I’ve woken up. The shadows in the room have shifted, so I know it’s further into the afternoon, and I’m curled on my side. It takes my brain a moment to register that there’s another person in the bed with me, pressed against my back. It’s the first time I’ve shared a bed with someone other than Trevor or Georgie since the last time I slept in a bed with Harry, and it’s a comforting feeling, though foreign. Harry’s hand is slung over my waist, his hand resting protectively over my stomach, his body pressed against every inch of mine. His other arm is under my neck, and I feel his breath puff out against the back of my head with every exhale.

Not wanting to wake Harry, I just lay there, taking in everything that’s happened in the last few hours. Waking up this morning, I never thought I’d run into the man who single-handedly flipped my life on its head. And I never in a million years thought we’d be sleeping comfortably and peacefully in the same bed again the same day, after the bomb that I pretty much dropped on his life.

There’s a light tapping on the door before it creaks open slightly. Trevor pokes his head into the room, and smiles softly when he sees that I’m awake. He stays in the doorway, but opens it a bit to lean comfortably against the frame. 

“Everything alright?” he asks just above a whisper, not wanting to stir Harry. I nod. “Yeah, better than I expected.”

“I didn’t hear any violent yelling, so that’s good,” he jokes.

“No shit. I was expecting a screaming match when he first realized I was pregnant. He softened pretty quickly.”

Trev’s eyes roam over to the sleeping man behind me, and his lips quirk up in the corners. “He’s a sucker for pregnant women. And he’s whipped over you. Combine both of those things and he didn’t stand a chance. I’m not surprised.” 

I sigh, choosing not to comment on that. “What time is it?”

“Two-fifteen,” he answers with a glance to his watch. I see he’s gotten dressed into actual clothes, which is strange for him on a Sunday. Sundays are usually reserved for lazing around the flat and getting last minute assignments done. “Gonna head to the library. Figured you and Harry need some alone time. I’ll be back before dinner.”

“Okay. Thanks, Trev.”

“Any time, babes.” He blows me a kiss and creeps back, closing the door quietly behind him with a final wave.

I just lay there for a few more minutes, going over all the things I still have to tell him in my head. I can begin to feel myself overthink and start to freak out, so I back off and take a few deep breaths. I need to stop thinking so hard on this and conjuring up all sorts of ‘what ifs.’ Harry will ask the questions he wants the answers to, and I’m going to let him take this at his own pace. I’ve had roughly six months to get used to the idea of becoming a parent; Harry’s had a couple hours. There’s bound to be some sort of realization/freak out that this is real and there’s going to be a living, breathing baby to take care of in a few months time.

Harry’s legs twitch against mine and there’s a deep draw of breath that indicates he’s waking up. He makes a small groaning noise as his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer to him as he stretches his legs out. He makes a cute little huffing noise as he relaxes and buries his face in the back of my head.

“What time is it?” he asks, his voice gruff from sleep.

“Nearly half two, I reckon.”

He hums as he lets his hand trail lightly over my belly. She starts moving around in there, evidently having taken a nap at the same time we did and now rousing. There’s soft bumps against Harry’s hand, and he pauses his movements over the spot, waiting it out to see if she’ll continue.

“Still so surreal,” he mutters, his voice slightly muffled by my hair. 

“Not freaking out yet?” I wonder, only half-joking.

“May have had a tiny one after you fell asleep,” he admits over a slight chuckle. “The fact that I’m gonna have another person to take care of kinda sunk in all of a sudden. Don’t wanna fuck it up.”

I move my hand to lay over his, resting my fingers between the spaces his have made. “You’re gonna be a good dad, Harry. You’re already great with kids. Can only imagine how great you’ll be when it’s your own.”

He quietens behind me, drumming out an unfamiliar beat with his fingers against my side. “Gonna have to tell my family. Mum’s gonna be a wreck.”

I groan. “Your sister is gonna fucking skin me alive.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She already didn’t like me. It’s only gonna be worse now.” I adjust myself so that I’m laying facing him, our noses nearly touching with how close we are. His hand curls around my back, his fingers drawing abstract patterns there as we speak.

“Gemma’s just not easy to trust anyone around me so quickly,” he reasons. “She’s just apprehensive. Looking out for her little brother.”

“Maybe I’ll just not see her until after the baby’s born. Can’t be too focused on me with a niece in her arms, yeah?”

He chuckles lightly. “Guess we’ll find out. Need to go back to England soon to tell them. Not something you tell your family over the phone.”

“When’s the last time you were home?” I wonder. I haven’t been back since the holidays, but that was only a couple months ago.

“Just a couple weeks ago. Early birthday celebration with my family and friends at the end of January.”

My eyes widen as I pick up my phone off the nightstand (not really sure how it got there). I quick look at the date tells me it’s only been nearly a week since his birthday.

“Holy shit, you just turned twenty-two. Happy belated, Harry,” I tell him with a smile. “Forgot you were younger than me, honestly.”

“Only by a couple months,” he argues playfully, a pout pulling at his bottom lip. “What’d you do for your birthday?”

“Went home for the weekend. Spent time with my family and Georgie. Trev came with.”

“Hope you weren’t drinking that weekend,” he says, eyebrows furrowed.

I shake my head. “I was already having morning sickness, so I didn’t feel well. Told you I thought I was sick. Just waited to go to hospital until I was back in the states.”

He hums contentedly. “How’s it been so far? Your pregnancy?”

“Morning sickness lasted for a few months. Thought I had a stomach bug for about a week.” I roll my eyes at myself. “That passed after the first trimester, though, thankfully. Since then I’ve just been having cravings. It’s been pretty smooth, honestly. Boobs hurt and my back will get achey every once in a while, especially when I’m at work, but it’s not bad. Doctor says I just need to keep my blood pressure in check, so I’m not allowed to be the one doing chest compressions when a patient codes, but I’m fine otherwise.”

He rears back a little in surprise, eyebrows raised and eyes slightly widened. “You’re working already?”

I nod. “Have been since December. That’s why I moved to LA. Got offered a job at Children’s Hospital before I even graduated. Trev transferred to USC for his last semester. He’s got an internship at the hospital, as well.”

“That’s not bad for the baby?” he asks, obviously a little startled.

I give him a deadpan look. “No, Harry. Women can work while pregnant. I’m fine. As long as I’m comfortable, the baby’s comfortable. Can work basically up until I go into labor.”

“How much time maternity leave do you get?”

“Three months.” 

His brows furrow as he falls silent. He looks like he’s doing some thinking as he eyes dart back and forth unseeing, like he’s doing some sort of math. He finally sighs and his eyes focus back on my face. “We’ve got some things to work out.”

TWENTY-FOUR