#and the four of them are big on Sunday dinner

[jonathanbyersphd]

Thinking about her (the mid-90s double Byler NYC apartment) again

[briarscreek]

mafia boss price in the 40’s and how you both meet

you moved to the city to get away from a toxic family and start a new life. becoming a career woman, that they chastised you for. you attend a new church because the ones back home were full of hate but you wanted to at least give this one a try.

it’s not a big one, probably has more seat rows than people on a busy sunday service but it’s incredibly welcoming. a pack of four old ladies come up to welcome you to the church, ask to take you to lunch and ponder more about your life.

no husband? that’s alright dear. you are an exceptionally intelligent young woman who they can’t wait to see flourish in her career. you start to grab lunch with them more throughout the next few weeks after sunday service; a new routine for you while they gossip about their sons. something about the family business but you never understood what that particular business was.

you ran into mary on a late wednesday evening at the grocery store, running out of a cooking ingredient you forgot to grab earlier in the week. she had as well, claiming that she’s baking a large batch of cookies for the youth center with a 25 lb bag of flour in her hands (that you tried to help her with while she almost scolded you about it). you’re both making small talk as you hear a deep voice from behind her.

“there you are, mum. you can’t go wandering off like tha’.”

a bulking man of 6’2 with a mutton chop beard and bright blue eyes came right around behind mary and took the large sack of flour from her hands onto his shoulders.

“darling, i’d like you to meet my son john.”

it was like sparks between you but you couldn’t be sure if he felt them too.

“hello, love.”

smooth man. just like the playful mirth in his eyes and the grin on his lips.

“john? mary, is this the same john who actually slipped on a banana peel and ruined his grandmother’s birthday cake, right?”

the grin dropped and the tips of his ears turned red.

“mum! you told her that yet i don’t know anything about her?”

“then get to know her john”

he turned back to you as he heard you quiet giggles.

“would you like to go to dinner with me, love?”

“i would love to.”

“i’ll pick you up at 7 on Friday.”

“wait, you don’t know where i live.”

��no but my mum does, i’ll ask her for directions.”

mary and john had both walked out of ear shot before you could say anything else.

“thanks for helping me find my wife, mum.”

“of course dear. anything to help get me my grandchildren!”

[blingblong55]

New bodies- John Price// Alex Keller NSFW

Based on a request: Ok hear me out… this girl has been absolutely fighting for prices attention for years and Price being stubborn gives it to her in fleeting moments. He thinks she’s just gonna wait forever for this old man to finally settle down. He’s always making her think she has a chance, only for price to always choose some random chick from the bar. The rest of 141 convinced her to just give up and she slowly does because the rejection makes her stomach sick. Well unfortunately for price Alex Keller is absolutely smitten with her. And Alex noticed that price is clearly not going to fuck this poor girl like she deserves. So being the absolute gentleman Alex is he makes a makeshift date out of some MREs and a sunset. They don’t even realize price is watching them as things get heated. I mean Alex is making a mess of this poor thing, hickeys all over her neck, soaked from her squirting. Alex is going to absolutely destroy her and price is there is the shadows, hard as a rock, barely quiet as he strokes himself. ---- F!Reader, MDNI, smut, 18+, P-in-V, unprotected!sex, unestablished!relationship, voyeurism, unrequited!love ----

There is no I love you. There are just fleeting moments, moments where all you can feel is butterflies when he smiles at you. It's dumb, it's quite stupid but it's him. Were you a fool to believe that one day you'd be more than a body to him? Maybe you were but love makes us all blind and surely your silent prayers would be answered and he'd come knocking on your door and say, "You were right, I do love you." 

He would never say those words. 

There were days he'd tell you sweet nothings. Hope...fucking false hope. Was there a day you just wanted to wake up to him? Yes. Did he tell you specifically he wanted you? No. But there was hope. Hope in the way he looked into your eyes and smiled. Laughed at your silly jokes. Listened intently to your words, fucking active listeners. And for a moment then, you saw a future. 

A kitchen with a window so you could look out and watch him chase around the dog. Giggles surrounding the home. Dinners where he could hold your hand under the table and then bring it to his lips.

What a vision for the idiots who believe. 

You turn around, watching as he walks into the pub. Your eyes meet and while your heart races, his doesn't. There's no real feeling for him there. But for you there is. Your heart races and the world stops as you look at him. Your eyes are soft and full of hope, full of everything in this world but his love. Why must you be such a fool?

Damn Elvis song. 

Slowly as Price makes sure you know there is no hope for you and him. He brings in random women or rather meets random women at the pub. He makes sure you see it. Make sure you know he won't love you. You won't be the one to be held in his big arms as he watches the game with the lads. No Sunday dinners, no family dog and no giggles as he runs around with the kids. 

There's no him and you. 

Four months ago, Alex was brought in for a special mission. Well, missions take time, training and making of plans. In his downtime, he took his precious time getting to know you. To know every crevice and all those things that make you tick. 

Well, soon enough you're in his arms. On his bed and in between kisses, you shiver as Alex's lips trail fiery kisses along the column of your neck, his stubble deliciously rough against my sensitive skin. Strong hands roam your curves, mapping out every dip and swell, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You can feel the heat of his gaze, intense and hungry, devouring you like a starving man presented with a feast.

"Fuck, you're breathtaking," Alex growls, voice dripping with lust. His fingers tangle in your hair, tugging lightly as he crashes his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss. You moan into it, melting under his touch, surrendering yourself completely to the inferno he's ignited within you.

Alex breaks the kiss, only to blaze a scorching path down to your neck, licking and nipping at the tender flesh. He sucks hard, marking you, claiming you, as his hands grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. You can feel his hard length pressing insistently against your core, separated only by the flimsy fabric of your panties.

"So fucking perfect," he rasps, voice strained with desire. His fingers dance along the waistband of your panties, teasingly dipping beneath the lace. "Fuck, baby, you're dripping already," Alex groans, fingers slipping beneath the drenched lace, stroking your slick folds. "I can feel how much you want this, how badly you need my cock."

His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nub, as two long digits plunge deep into your core. You cry out, back arching off the ground, hips bucking to meet his hand. Alex works you mercilessly, fucking you with his fingers, curling them just right to hit that perfect spot inside you.

"I'm going to ruin you," he promises darkly, voices rough with lust. "Wreck this pretty little pussy on my dick until you're fucking ruined for anyone else. No one will ever make you feel as good as I can."

He seals his filthy words with a brutal kiss, swallowing your moans, as he tears your panties off, baring you completely to his hungry gaze. The cool air kisses your heated skin, your dripping slit on a lewd display, as Alex looms over you, eyes wild with primal desire.

"So fucking gorgeous," he rasps, free hand palming his rigid cock through his pants, giving it a firm squeeze. Alex settles himselfq between your thighs, the thick line of his erection pressing hot and heavy against your weeping core. He grinds against you, coating his length on your slick arousal, the rough denim of his pants deliciously abrasive against your sensitive folds. You whimper and writhe beneath him, desperate for more, craving the feel of his bare skin against yours.

"Patience, baby," Alex chuckles darkly, amused by your desperation, "I will give you exactly what you need. Gonna fuck this greedy little cunt so hard, you'll be feeling me for days."

He sits back on his haunches, hands gripping your hips as he holds you still, preventing you from chasing his touch. With a wicked grin, he reaches for his belt, unbuckling it slowly, drawing out the anticipation. The clink of metal against metal fills the air, followed by the whispered rasp of his zipper as he lowers it, inch by torturous inch.

Finally, blessedly, his cock springs free, long and thick and perfect, the swollen head already glistening with beads of moisture. You lick your lips, mouth watering at the sight, hungry to taste him. With a grunt, Alex sheathes himself inside you, hitting his thick length in one powerful thrust. You scream, back bowing off the ground, your nails raking down his muscular back as he stretches you wide around his girth. He's so big and he's in so deep, you can feel him in your throat, your lungs. 

"Fuck, so goddamn tight," Alex snarls, hips rolling in a slow grind, stirring his cock inside your fluttering walls. He pulls nearly out, before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing obscenely in the still night air.

You're lost in sensation, drowning in the pleasure radiating from where we're joined, your body clenching greedily around him, trying to hold him deep. Alex leans down, capturing your mouth in a filthy kiss, tongue delving deep, swallowing your screams of rapture. His stubble scrapes your jaw as he devours you, drinking down your ecstasy, revelling in the sounds of your pleasure.

"Take it, you perfect little slut," Alex growls against your lips, one hand fisting in your hair. Alex pistons his hips, fucking into you with deep, powerful strokes, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each brutal thrust. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, mingling with your wanton cries and Alex's guttural grunts of exertion. Your trembling, writhing beneath him, your body shaking apart from the force of his fucking.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me," Alex rasps, voice strained with pleasure, "Gonna make me fucking bust so hard in this tight little cunt." His words send a bolt of electricity through you, your core clenching hard around his pistoning length.

Unbeknownst to you both, a dark silhouette shifts in the shadows, John Price standing motionless, eyes glued to the debauched scene before him. The wet slap of flesh against flesh and our coupled moans reach his ears, his cock straining against the confines of his pants, an obvious tent forming in the fabric.

Price reaches down, palming himself through his pants, biting back a groan as his hand closes around his rigid flesh. He watches Alex pound into the woman with increasingly rough, animalistic thrusts, grunting and cursing. Price unzips his pants with fumbling hands, freeing his aching cock. He wraps a calloused hand around the throbbing shaft, giving it a firm squeeze, biting his lip to stifle a groan. His thumb swipes over the swollen crown, smearing the bead of moisture that's leaked from the tip.

He strokes himself in time with Alex's brutal thrusts, tight fist-pumping along his thick length, revelling in the filthy scene. Price's heavy sac draws up, balls churning with pent-up release, as he watches Alex rail you into oblivion, your body shaking like a rag doll.

Alex snarls a litany of curses, hips slamming forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his orgasm crashes over him. "Fuck!" he roars, voice echoing through the night, as he explodes deep inside you, flooding your spasming cunt with jet after jet of hot seed.

You scream, back arching like a bow, as your peak slams into you, vision whitening at the edges. You milk Alex for every last drop, greedy cunt rippling and squeezing, trying to wring out his release.

Maybe Price could use you some time... maybe this was something he did want with you.

A/N: this was written between my best friend and I, so if you notice a change in words, that’s why.

Tags: @liyanahelena @johfaam0 @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @Krinoid24 @frazie99 @spicypicklesoh @viomast @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @tiredmetalenthusiast @luvecarson @nellsbobells @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @Llelannie @Macnches2 @talooolaaloolla @honestlyhiswife @konigssultwithghost @lovelyvqer @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @thegreyjoyed @marshiely @noodlezz-bedo @azkza @mariededenie

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (7)

previous | next

cw: bad attempt at accents

Gaz watches the door slam behind you and turns back to Price, eyebrow raised. "Well, that was'n part 'a the plan," he says dryly. He looks to Soap and Ghost then back at Price. He drops his gaze to where Price still holds his wrist and, voice laced with sadness, says, "Maybe we were too much."

Price angles his head to catch Gaz's eye. He sees his own guilt reflected there. He sighs and runs a hand over his face. "Ya might be right," he admits.

"Wot 'appened?" Ghost asks, looking from the chair you abandoned to the door to Price.

"Think we might-a come on too strong," Price says. "She'd been skittish at dinner. Who knows wha' she thinks 'a wha' you an' me told 'er seein' what we did tonight." He drops his head into his hands. He knows you need to know about them, but when they first tried to explain their relationship to Laswell, it took months to make her see. To understand. They simply don't have that time with you.

Price knows actions speak louder than words. But it seems they shouted when a whisper might have worked just as well.

You sleep fitfully, chased through your dreams by soft lips, deep blue eyes, a desperate plea, and a broken heart. In the morning, when you hear the others getting ready, instead of rolling over and going back to sleep, you pull your things together. As the door to the barracks closes behind them, you head to the bathroom to get ready. You've paid attention to their routine and know they do their first round of training before they eat. If you head to the mess now, you can pick up some coffee and food to take with you, thus avoiding them for now.

You run quickly through the line in the mess, grabbing some fruit before you go. You carry it and a big tumbler of coffee to your office where you proceed to barricade yourself in with all the current intel you have. You check and double-check and triple-check the travel itinerary; the boys leave in four days, and despite your own emotional turmoil, you want them safe. You ignore the text you get from Laswell asking how you're getting on with the boys. Does she know something about them you don't? Instead you respond with a comment about how you know how to get to town if you need to and about Corporal Avery. You keep your thoughts about the 141 guarded.

By lunchtime, you're deeply invested in some older intelligence on the organization the 141 is taking on. It's a series of wire-taps between some of the organization's presumed leaders and local underlings from months ago. You know the audio has been scrubbed six ways from Sunday, but you wouldn't be the best if you didn't follow every hunch, and something tells you there's important information here. If you can find it.

You're so deep down the rabbit hole you don't hear the knocking on your door. You focus on your job and don't realize you've skipped lunch.

You work through to dinner, stopping when your growling stomach reminds you it hasn't had quite enough fuel to keep going at this rate. A glance at the clock shows it's 7:30, far later than you've seen the boys eat. Maybe you can eat in the mess in peace and slip into the barracks unnoticed, but you doubt it.

It's really John you're avoiding. It's not Kyle's fault he kissed his friend? lover? partner? in front of you. He couldn't know what John insinuated earlier that day. He couldn't know the kiss just about broke you. Even Simon, though he said he wants you, didn't do anything to make you feel like he was putting you on. It was Soap who snuggled close. Sure, Simon didn't stop him, but maybe that's how they comfort one another. You know their jobs are harrowing. Maybe this is something they do to cope.

You aren't thinking about food when you walk into the mess, mind still stuck on the 141, so you're surprised to see Soap sitting alone at a table. You consider ignoring him - he hasn't seen you yet - but when he glances up and sees you, his whole demeanor changes. You didn't realize how sad he looked until you think about how happy he is to see you. He waves an arm and starts to rise, looking like he's going to start shouting at you in a moment.

You hurriedly make your way to him, sitting in the space across from him as he takes his seat. "Och, Oz, was thinkin' you'd taken off." It's part tease, part scold. "We didnae knoo whare ye were. Gaz couldnae feend ye for brekkie, ahnd Ghost said no one answered yoor door at lunch."

You bite your lip and look away, torn between being ashamed and frustrated. You finally settle on curious. "I'm a big girl, Soap. I can, and do, take care of myself."

He waves a hand at you. "Aye, we knoo. But we're all keen on spendin' time wi' oor best girl now tha' yoor here." He blushes a bit at this admission but still meets your gaze. "We only have a few days, and I fer one doan wanna miss out on ye if I can help it "

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks. Soap has always been a sweet talker, but this feels definitively more like flirting than anything he"s said over comms.

He starts talking again, barrelling through your silence. "An' I hope I didnae make ye uncomfortable when I was restin' las' night. He doesnae look it, but Ghost makes a right fine pillow." He winks at you. "I bet you do too. Yoor soothing like tha'."

You hurry to respond. "No, no, I wasn't... uncomfortable? A little surprised I guess. Didn't know it was, well, I don't know what I thought, but it's fine. I'm fine." You know how you sound, tripping over yourself. In an attempt to deflect, you say, "I still need to eat, so..." You trail off and hope he gets the hint to leave, but it seems he's stubborn because he doesn't react. In fact, he leans forward and levers him up when you do.

"Lemme come wi'," he says. "We all had oor scran, but I can keep ye company. Pay ye back for all those nights ye made things less lonely."

You can't really say no when he puts it so sweetly. So you let him accompany you through the line, pointing out what you should try and what to avoid. You don't fail to notice the sounds he makes when you grab your selections, the hums and snickers and scoffs and questioning noises. When you're sure you have a fairly balanced plate - with some extra desserts because it's been one of those days - Soap deftly pays, ignoring your reminder that, "I get a daily meal allowance as part of this placement. It isn't even my money I'm spending." Then he snags your tray, carrying it for you back to your table.

As you eat Soap tells you more about himself, especially his family and how they want him to "settle doon wi' a nice girl." And just as John did the previous morning, Soap looks directly into your eyes as he says it. "Ne'er thought I'd feend one Ah wanted to settle doon wi'. No' really. No' until yoo, Oz."

You sputter for a moment, but really, who wouldn't. Three admissions of desire? love? in two days, and though you aren't quite as shocked by Soap's after both John and Simon, you're still troubled. "What about last night? You and Simon...you seem...close."

Soap nods his head. "Aye, we are. But it doesnae mean my heart is too full for ye." He looks at you so earnestly the recriminations die in your throat. You have feelings for four people all at the same time, after all. Who's to say the same can't be true for Soap. Is that what's going on with John, too?

You take a deep breath and force yourself to meet Soap's eyes. "What, exactly, are you saying, Soap? Are you playing around? Is this a game, or-"

He hastily cuts you off. "No! No no, nothin' li' tha'. I like ye, Oz. Have for a long while." He reaches across the table to hold your hand. "And yoor right. I have feelings foor...Ghost too." He shrugs and focuses on the table, collecting his thoughts. "Guess Ah don't see the point in limitin' mah love when each mission could be mah last." He spears you with his ice blue gaze and drives the point home when he adds, "An' Ah knoo Ah'm no' the only one who thinks tha' way."

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write @thriving-n-jiving @madsothree @silly-starfish @danielle143 @beelzebee @nova-willow-541 @alchemyfreak321 @lilynotdilly @eternallyelvish @viylikescats @erintaro @hidden-treasures21

[cottonlemonade]

Hi hi!! I saw your lemonade stand and I LOVE the concept omg. Can I request a medium watermelon lemonade with pomegranate seeds for Asahi?

Thank you so much if you write it !! I hope you have a great day 🩷

Sharing A Tent With His Crush

word count: 1926 || avg. reading time: 8 mins.

pairing: Asahi x chubby manager!Reader

genre: fluff with spice

warning: mdni, spoilers

request: fluffy-spicy, sharing a tent with pining friend Asahi

“One, two, three, four…”

As Takeda counted in the background, Coach Ukai studied his clipboard, listening with a content smile to the hollering and laughter that was carried up from the beach by an easy sea breeze. The kids were off swimming and building sandcastles and trenches, enjoying their hard earned freedom after weeks of studying and practices.

“Oh no.”

Ukai turned to the teacher.

“What is it, Sensei?”

“Oh nononono - no!”

“What? Did we forget a cooler? What?”

“We are one tent short!”

“What?!”, Ukai’s booming yell made some birds fly out of a tree top, “I double checked it! Are you sure?”

The men stood shoulder to shoulder, counting. Again. And again. But even after the fifth time, Ukai had to admit his mistake.

“What are we gonna do?”, Takeda asked, panic rising in his voice.

“We just… gotta rethink logistics.”, Ukai said, grabbing the clipboard once more and flipping to the page of the sleeping arrangements.

One of the boys was supposed to sleep alone anyway. And one of the girls, too, because both numbers were uneven.

“Maybe we can squeeze Nishinoya, Hinata and Yamaguchi into one and then have y/n take the free boys’ tent.”

“Sensei, we can’t just sort them by size. I think… hm, y/n is a third year. If we put her with one of the other third years they should have the presence of mind not to try any funny business. The first years won’t get a wink of sleep having a girl so close to them at night and the second years are as girl-crazy as they come.”

“How about Sugawara then?”

“Don’t be too trusting, Sensei. I don’t think he is as innocent as he seems.”, Ukai said with a frown, “And Sawamura might do something without even realizing he is flirting. - I hate to say it but … Azumane will be too chicken to even go near her. I think he is our best bet.”

Asahi went pale when the news broke over dinner. He looked at you and was quite relieved to see you equally as shocked.

“It‘s just for one night.“, Ukai said quickly, “Not a big deal.“

Both the ace and third manager would very much beg to differ but the coach already made his way back to Takeda and his plate of chicken.

“No big deal.“, you repeated under your breath.

“No big deal.“, Asahi agreed.

It was, in fact, a big deal to Asahi. He didn‘t know exactly when he started to be hopelessly in love with you but if he had to take a guess, it was probably somewhere around the time when he noticed all of his sketches and doodles of various outfits becoming chubbier until they eventually matched your figure. Skirts for a lovely Sunday date, pantsuits for eventually kicking butt at an office where you undoubtedly would end up as CEO sooner or later, dresses for imaginary galas you‘d attend and even an elaborate gown for a daydream of a royal ball he had during a boring physics lesson. (He also came up with his own outfit for that occasion to match you.)

Noya was the only one he confided in. The libero had sworn on his honor to never hit on you and ever since tried to push his best friend to make a move before graduating and possibly losing sight of you. And after much pushing and pestering and strategizing, Asahi, under threat of violence, had agreed to confess his feelings before graduation - as an out, Asahi didn’t tell his friend that he hadn’t actually specified whether it was graduating high school or university so he still had time either way.

After dinner the team gathered around a bonfire to roast marshmallows and make up completely ridiculous, yet confident, remarks about constellations in the clear night sky.

Asahi was torn between wanting to play for time until curfew or savor every second of the increasingly appealing mishap - to share a tent, all night, alone, side by side with his crush.

But of course, as with every good beach episode, there had to be a game of truth or dare involved.

Daichi was forced to admit that he was deadly scared of mice, Hinata had to sit still for a whole minute and, in the meantime, Tsukki was dared to not insult him once. It was fun until Noya turned to you and the glint in his eyes made you gulp.

“So, y/n-san. Truth or dare?”

Quite frankly, both of these were dangerous coming from him but maybe truth wouldn’t be so bad.

Noya gave a victorious grin.

“Who, of the people here, do you have a crush on?”

Asahi wasn’t sure if it was the light of fire that made your cheeks look so pink. His heart quickened. You stammered, kneading your fingers in your lap.

“Alright everyone.”, Daichi said when an alarm went off on his phone, “Let’s get to bed. Lights out in 15 minutes.”

Noya groaned and began to argue but one look from the captain had him crumble. So instead, he and Tanaka pushed each other out of the way, eager to be the one to accompany Kiyoko the few steps to the tent she shared with Yaachi.

Suga and Daichi gave Asahi a nondescript nod Goodnight before heading to bed themselves.

It was quite miraculous, you thought, how Asahi’s massively tall frame could fit next to you, when your plump form occupied a good part of the truly pathetically crammed tent already.

You sat cross legged on your sleeping bag, in your pyjama shorts and oversized t-shirt. Given the sleeping arrangements you decided to keep wearing a bra.

“Just for one night, right?”, you said in a (failed) attempt to make your voice sound light and airy.

You pumped some oil into the palm of your hand before running your fingers through your hair. The pleasant smell filled the tent. You caught his eyes and smiled, then both of you looked away again. The atmosphere was somewhat stiff, even though you’ve been on friendly terms with the fellow third years ever since you switched over from the Sewing Club about a year ago.

“Do you think-“

“So what would you-“

You said at the same time and broke off, laughing awkwardly.

“You first.”, he said.

“Do you think it’s okay if we keep on a light?”, you asked.

“Sure. Do you have one? Cause otherwise, I brought-” Asahi reached for his backpack and so did you.

After a moment’s rummaging you produced a small panda bear figure and turned to see a thing in his hand that looked suspiciously like a round little rabbit with a leaf umbrella.

“Is that… is that the official Totoro night light with 8 different color options and dimming function??”

Asahi nodded and you clasped your hands in delight, leaning closer to inspect it as he held it out to you. You let out a small gasp. This was one of the best night lights on the market right now after all!

“I wanted one of those for ages! But they're always sold out! How did you get it?”

“I set myself an alert for when they’re back in stock.”

He basked in your impressed “Ohhhh” and a few minutes later you both lay on your stomachs, looking at the two soft glowing figures in front of you.

Outside the tent, Ukai nodded approvingly on his last checkup before turning in himself in the room he shared with Takeda in a guesthouse on the border of the camping grounds.

“What was your question?”

“Hm?”, Asahi turned to look at you.

“Earlier when I asked you about the light. You wanted to say something as well. What was it?”

“Oh, not important.”, he said and moved the Totoro night light a little closer to your panda.

“Come on, I wanna know.”, you lightly pushed his leg with your foot to encourage him.

“I was just… I-i was wondering what you would have said if Daichi’s alarm hadn’t gone off.”, he mumbled.

“When? Oh, the game. Uhm.” The pink from earlier returned to your cheeks. Now would be as good a time as any, you thought and after a deep breath you replied, “You.”

Stupidly, Asahi rolled around to check if there was someone else behind him in the tiny tent before moving his attention back to you.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”, you laughed.

“I- I don't know what to say.”, Asahi stammered.

You regarded him with a thoughtful smile, still somewhat hopeful that what Kiyoko and Suga told you was right.

“Well, you could tell me if you feel the same or not, maybe?”

“Oh right! Yes!”, he said, much louder than intended and ducked his head a moment later, “Yes, I do like you. A lot.”

You beamed at him.

“Nice.”

The following giggles were suppressed in your respective pillows.

When you came back up for air he brushed a few loose strands of hair out of his face and cleared his throat, “Would you like to go out with me once we’re back?”

“I’d love to.”

“Great.”

You both looked at each other, unsure of what to do next.

“So…”, you began, weighing your words carefully, “Do you wanna make out?”

If Asahi had been drinking water, he would have choked on it. His face immediately turned bright red and he needed a minute to put a coherent word together. You waited patiently.

“Yes.”, he croaked eventually.

He didn’t move.

“I’ll be right there.”, he assured you, his voice and face still not quite back to normal.

“That’s alright.”

Asahi’s eyes widened when you scooted closer and your noses almost touched.

“Hi.”

“H-hello.”

It started out with a peck. You pulled back to check if he had any objections but you didn’t get very far. His lips followed yours as if magnetic. He sighed into the kiss and your smile widened if possible even further. His large hand came to rest on your waist and you slotted your leg between his. The kiss soon became open mouthed, your tongue slipping back and forth to test the waters.

You hummed happily against him, making him squeeze your pillowy hips. He was losing his mind. How could one person feel this good? Your hand brushed down his muscular arm to lay on top of his and began to move it. He was so engrossed in your taste that he didn’t notice until he cupped your breast.

“Y/n…”, he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. He stared at his hand, how it went up and down along with your panting. You, in turn, felt him throb against your thigh that was pushed between his legs.

Your chubby fingers closed around his much larger hand, easing him into the idea that he was free to touch you.

“Y/n…”, he whispered again and was met with your lips on his once more. He had never been drunk before but he was sure this was exactly what it must feel like.

Asahi groaned into your mouth when his palm pressed against your hardened nipple, pushing through the fabrics.

____________________

Picking up a piece of omelet with his chopsticks the next morning, Asahi grinned down at his bowl of rice like an idiot. You sat right next to him, so close that your heavenly thighs touched his, just as dazed from the previous night.

Tsukki frowned and said to no one in particular, but loud enough for you to hear, “Do they realize that tents aren’t soundproof?”

a/n: this one got so away from me xD thank you for your request and your kind words! I hope you enjoy it 🌟

Also I apologize for being so inactive. It’s a mixture of writer’s block, summer heat and a twisted back 🥲

[leashybebes]

Congrats on the increased follower count, you deserve it after exes detriments (sorry, I can’t remember the official name) but here’s a prompt for you:

Buck and Tommy struggle to find time in their schedules to see each other

aww, thank you so much! 💛💛 and thanks for the prompt!

Buck knows he should be getting some rest. But if he has to lie sleepless in his bunk and listen to Chim snore much longer, he's going to do something drastic. He creeps out of the bunk room, shoots off a text, and makes his way up to the roof. He's barely sat down by the time his phone rings.

"Hi," he says, and he feels breathless and eager all over again. Still.

"Did you seriously just 'u up?' me, Evan? Aren't you at work?"

"Hey, it was a sincere question. You can tell by the lack of the eggplant emoji."

"You're ridiculous."

"Yeah," Buck agrees easily. "I miss you. And your eggplant."

"Evan!" Tommy's so good at sounding scandalized and delighted all at once and Buck grins.

"What are you doing after your shift on Tuesday?"

"Errands, then therapy, then sleep."

"Gotcha. I'm working Wednesday."

"Me too. Thursday?" Tommy suggests.

"Looking after Jee," Buck says, and while he's never going to regret time spent with his niece, this is starting to get ridiculous. "They should be picking her up by eight?"

"Drinks with the team at nine," Tommy says, and he does sound regretful, but part of Tommy working on himself is trying to let himself have more meaningful connections, both in quantity and depth, so Buck's not about to try talking him out of that. "And you're working Friday."

"Yeah. And you have that private flying lesson Saturday, right?"

"Yeah. Should be done mid afternoon if that's any good?"

Buck rubs his hand over his face. "Video call with Eddie and Chris at four, and then I'm supposed to be going for dinner at Maddie's."

"Ah."

"I could come over after?"

"I'd need to leave before seven for my Sunday shift."

"Honestly, at this point, I'll take it."

"Evan."

Buck sighs. "I know, I know."

They're dating now, is the thing. Not going on a couple of dates and then weaving their lives together without discussing it until it blows up in their faces. Actually dating.

"I could - I could tell them. You could come with me."

There's a long, heavy silence.

"I don't think I'm ready for that."

Because they're also keeping it to themselves for now. They both want to see where it goes without any outside influence, to see what it is they settle into when it's just them. It's honestly - it's kind of fun, having this little secret to themselves, going further afield than they usually would for dates, trying new places and new things. But it can't go on forever, and although he's only referred to it jokingly, Buck knows Tommy's worried what people will think - that he screwed up too bad, that they'll hate him, that they'll tell Buck he's an idiot to give him a second chance. Buck's pretty sure that's not on the cards - Maddie might go a little overprotective big sister with a side of pregnancy hormones, but he thinks that'll be it. And that's nothing they can't handle.

"Hey," he says. "Can we talk about this sometime? Check in, see where we're at?"

"Yeah," Tommy promises. "Of course."

"Okay. Monday, then?"

"Monday," Tommy agrees. "My neighbour's been raving about this seafood restaurant in Santa Barbara if you're up for a bit of a drive?"

"Sounds good. Monday's so far away, though," Buck laments.

"I can hear the pout from here, Evan," Tommy teases.

"Well," Buck says, letting his voice drop deliberately into a tone that never fails to make Tommy a bit wild. "You'll just have to buy me a nice meal and kiss it better, huh?"

"God, Evan - "

"I'm off Tuesday too. Maybe we find a nice little bed and breakfast and make a night of it? I can show you just how you how much I've missed - "

He hears the door open behind him and his mouth snaps shut. "Gotta go. Call you later."

Tommy lets out a huff of laughter. "Bye, Evan. Be safe."

"You too," Buck says, as Bobby drops into the chair next to his.

"Hey, Cap."

"Couldn't sleep?"

"With Chim sawing logs one bunk over? I'm amazed anybody can."

"You don't normally struggle."

Buck shrugs, tries not to meet Bobby's eye. Everyone used to tease him about his Tommy-face, his Tommy-voice, his Tommy-pout, and for all they're taking it slow - and they are - Buck knows he's right back there. If Eddie wasn't in Texas, he's pretty sure their secret would have lasted a week, and Bobby's the next best thing when it comes to reading Buck with a glance.

"You doing okay?" Bobby asks.

"Yep! Real good."

"Hm. Apropos of nothing at all, Kaur from B shift is looking for cover. You interested in Friday off in exchange for a six to six Saturday?"

"Yes! I mean. Yeah, I can do that."

Bobby shoots him an amused look. "Okay, then. Happy for you, kid."

Buck grins up at the dark sky. He can push his call with Chris and Eddie a little later, and still make it on time for dinner with Maddie and Chim.

"You coming back inside?"

"In a minute," Buck says. "Just gotta make a call."

"Uh-huh. Tell him hi from me if you like," Bobby offers, patting Buck's shoulder as he goes.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑯𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔/𝑳.𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔𝒐𝒏

Requested. Based of ‘Happiness’ by Taylor swift.

The apartment was quiet, the kind of stillness that presses heavy against your chest. It was the sort of quiet you could only find after an argument so final that neither of you had the strength to fill the silence anymore. The coffee table between you and Leah was cluttered with a half-drunk glass of wine, her phone, and the ring you'd taken off just moments earlier. It sat there like it was mocking you, gleaming under the dim light as though it didn't represent the end of four years together.

Leah sat on the couch, her head in her hands. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain, hiding her expression. But you didn't need to see her eyes to know what she was feeling. Her shoulders were hunched, her breathing shallow. She wasn't crying, though. Neither of you were. Maybe you'd passed the point where tears felt useful.

It had started as a small argument, one of those little things that always seemed to spiral into something bigger. You couldn't even remember the exact words that had tipped you over the edge, but it had escalated into the same recurring fights—the kind about schedules that didn't align, the feeling of being left behind, and the crushing realization that neither of you knew how to fix what was broken anymore.

"I don't know how we got here," Leah said finally, her voice so quiet you almost didn't hear it. She looked up at you then, her eyes brimming with a kind of sadness that you hadn't seen before. "But I think... maybe it's time we call it quits."

You nodded, your throat too tight to respond. What was there to say, anyway? She wasn't wrong. You both knew it. The weight of her words settled deep in your chest like a stone.

There was no big betrayal, no villain to blame. Leah wasn't a bad person. Neither were you. Maybe that was what made it hurt the most. It would have been easier to hate her, to turn her into some twisted version of herself in your mind so you could let her go. But when you looked at her now, with her tear-stained cheeks and trembling hands, all you could think about was how much you still loved her.

She stood up, rounding the coffee table to come stand in front of you. Her hands, balled up at her sides, clench slightly before she holds them out. You sniffle softly as you take them, allowing her to haul you to your feet. You stared at each other for a quiet moment before she reached up to cup your cheeks. Her touch was soft, reverent, and you instinctively find yourself leaning into it. She smiled sadly as her thumbs linger just beneath your eyes, wiping away the tears, and then she leans in, looping her arms around your waist.

Her hold was tight. Desperate, even, and you could feel the way her hands clutched the back of your jumper. The once fading tightness in the back of your throat returns with a vengeance, and you're forced to swallow heavily as you secured your arms around her shoulders, your chin hooked over her shoulder. She sniffled, adjusting her head so her nose grazes the underside of your jaw. You cup the back of her head, wishing desperately that this wasn't the last time you had the opportunity to do so.

"I love you." A whisper. Barely audible against your ear.

"I love you too." The truth.

"I'm sorry." Please forgive me.

"Me too." I already have.

*

The first few weeks after the breakup were the hardest. You moved out of the apartment you'd shared, packing up boxes of your life together while Leah was away at training. It felt easier that way, cleaner. But as you stood in the doorway for the last time, the emptiness of the space hit you like a tidal wave.

There, in the kitchen, was where she'd taught you to cook her mum's roast dinner recipe. The bedroom was where you'd spent lazy Sunday mornings tangled in her arms, and where you'd laughed until your sides hurt over something ridiculous she'd said. The memories were everywhere, and no matter how much you tried to shut them out, they clung to you like a second skin.

At night, in the apartment you’d rented that felt painfully empty, you’d spend hours on the phone with your best friend, trying to convince her, and yourself, for that matter, that this was for the best. "I wasn't happy," you'd said one night, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. But even as you said it, you knew it wasn't entirely true. There had been happiness. So much of it. It just hadn't been enough.

Months passed, and you threw yourself into anything that could distract you. Work, friends, new hobbies. But no matter how busy you kept yourself, Leah was always there in the corners of your mind. You saw her face on social media, heard her name in interviews, and felt her absence in the quiet moments when there was nothing to distract you.

You tried dating again, but it was impossible not to compare everyone to her. They weren't as funny, as driven, as alluring as Leah. They didn't have her competitive streak or the way she could make you feel like the most important person in the world with just a look. Every time someone asked about your past relationships, you found yourself stumbling over your words, unsure of how to explain the profound, aching love you'd had for her.

One night, you sat on your couch with a glass of wine, scrolling through old photos on your phone. There she was, smiling up at you in a selfie from your first anniversary. Her hair was messy from the wind, and her cheeks were pink from the cold, but she'd never looked more beautiful. You stared at the photo for what felt like hours, the memories flooding back.

There had been happiness. Real, unfiltered happiness. And it felt like a betrayal to pretend otherwise.

It was only a few months later when you ran into Leah at a mutual friend's party. You weren't expecting to see her, but there she was, standing across the room with that same easy confidence that had drawn you to her in the first place. She looked different—older, maybe—but her smile was the same.

You weren't sure what to expect when she saw you, but when your eyes met, she crossed the room without hesitation. "Hi," she said, her voice softer than you remembered.

"Hi," you replied, your heart pounding in your chest.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then she gestured toward the balcony. "Do you want to step outside? It's a bit loud in here."

You nodded, following her out into the cool night air. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and for a moment, you both just stood there, taking it all in.

"You look good," Leah said after a while, her tone genuine.

"Thanks. So do you."

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "How have you been?”

You hesitated, unsure how honest you wanted to be. "I've been... okay. Busy, mostly."

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the ground. "Same.”

There was a long pause, the kind that felt heavy with unspoken words. Finally, Leah turned to look at you, her eyes searching yours."You know," she said after a long silence, "I think about us sometimes."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Yeah?”

She nodded. "I don't regret it," she said finally, eyes flickering to the sky. "Any of it. Even the hard parts. You made me happy, you know? And I hope... I hope I made you happy too."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your chest tight with a mixture of emotions, only some of which you could decipher. "You did, Leah. You really did."

She looked at you then, her eyes soft and filled with something you couldn't quite name. "I'm glad," she said simply.

You often found yourself looking back on your relationship with Leah with a bittersweet kind of clarity. Time had softened the edges of your pain, turning the once raw wounds into faded scars that no longer ached. You'd both moved on, finding happiness in different ways, with different people.

But every now and then, you'd think about her—the way she'd laugh, the way she'd hold you when the world felt like too much, the way she'd look at you like you were her entire universe.

There had been happiness with Leah, real and undeniable. And though it had ended, you knew there would also be happiness again, just a different kind. Because life goes on, and sometimes, letting go is the kindest thing you can do for someone you'll always care about.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[dadvans]

seven (+) sentence sunday

from the continued buck finds out he and tommy have a kid 10 years after the fact timeline

Buck shows Mary how to measure out dry ingredients into one bowl, slide a knife over the top of a cup to make sure each measurement is even, mix in the wet slowly and not all at once. She grimaces at the feeling of rolling the dough into balls between her palms, and Buck probably lets her taste test too many chocolate chips.

Mary likes baking fine. She likes the cookie fresh from the oven that Buck lets her have before dinner even better, while Tommy continues to nap. But while she signals her appreciation for the end product by trying to immediately ask for just one more, after a day of seeing himself reflected in her, the overall experience is one of the first things that reminds him that she’s definitely Tommy’s kid too.

The second thing, the bigger thing, is that she’s figured out how to work his TV, and she immediately searches for ESPN. He can hear the sports commentary from the kitchen while he starts finishing the chili, and when Tommy wakes up and comes back downstairs, he can hear her shuffle shuffle pad pad pad from the living room to the stairs and ask him if they’re going to be allowed to “watch the games” during dinner.

“It’s not our house, kid, it might be rude to ask,” he hears Tommy say, voice sandpaper rough from sleep in a distant, familiar way.

“Daddy, we’re in the final four.”

“I have both games recording at home. We can watch them when we get home tomorrow night, even if it cuts into your bedtime. How does that sound?”

A sigh. “I want to know tonight, though. We’re so close.”

“Nothing’s gonna change overnight. This is Buck’s place, baby, we have to respect that. I don’t know what his rules are.”

Buck puts the lid back on the crockpot and steps out into the hallway to meet them. “Some kind of competition happening out here?”

Tommy sighs and scrubs at his face with one hand, but Mary lights up at the opening.

“It’s the semi-finals for March Madness tonight,” she says, like that explains everything.

“Oh.” Buck knows a majority of the guys at his house do brackets every year, but he usually tunes them out when they talk about it, and checks back into the conversation when it moves to fantasy football in the fall. “College basketball, right?”

“Mary and I do kind of a modified competitive bracket,” Tommy says. “Instead of a traditional bracket, it’s just who gets closest overall wins. With the way this year has gone, tonight is more of the decider than the actual championship.”

“If I win, we’re going to Disneyland,” Mary continues, clearly focused on what is most important.

“I didn’t even rig my bracket this year to let her win, and she’s still kicking my ass.” Tommy looks down on her, radiating a kind of pride and fondness that Buck’s never seen him inhabit before, a new part of himself that was born with her, maybe. He gets a big hand in her curls and messes them up, and she gets her hands up to swipe at his forearm, grab it, try to pull him down by sinking him with dead weight.

It’s cute, is what it is. Hits all of Buck’s weakest, most vulnerable spots.

He wishes there were room between them for him too.

[disillusioneddanny]

If It Makes You Happy (then why the hell are you so sad?)

Tim took a bite of his ravioli and looked around the table at his family. It was Sunday dinner. A monthly tradition where every member of the family adopted or otherwise came to spend a few hours together. It didn’t matter who was arguing with whom, or how estranged from the family you were at the time. You still had to attend the monthly family dinner. However, there were times when Tim wondered if anyone would notice if he stopped attending. If he no longer came to the dinners where he sat mostly unnoticed by the rest of his family. Where he typically sat in silence, having not uttered a single word throughout the entire event. Would they ever realize he was gone? Did they even realize he was there in the first place? 

A part of Tim truly doubted it, if he was being completely honest with himself. Maybe that was why he hadn’t been able to share with the family his upcoming exhibit. 

Tim was in his fourth year of college. Where he was getting a degree in Art, Technology, and Culture. It was a major that allowed Tim to immerse himself in photography, video art, creative coding, and so much more. He had gotten to work in traditional analog and digital photography. Played around with film and art in ways he had never thought of before while also learning about cultural theory, the expression of ideas, and cultural practices which gave him the chance to truly discover himself. It was the first time he had ever chosen something for himself. 

His entire life he had been groomed to run a business. To at first take over Drake Industries one day and then later Wayne Enterprises where he was unfortunately CEO. But then he had learned about the ATC program at Gotham University and he had fallen in love with it.  He had always been obsessed with photography and even film later on as he grew older and spent his days alone in dusty old Drake Manor. And he had always loved to learn about cultures, he ate up the stories from his parents and their trips abroad. Had spent countless nights watching the people of Gotham and how they did things, and had absorbed it all like a sponge to make up for the fact that he was just a lonely boy living in a manor by himself. 

Even when he had joined the Bats and had made his tiny little place with them, he still fell back on his love for learning about others and his desire to tell their stories. It had just become an intrinsic part of Timothy Drake. 

And now here he was, slowly creeping to the finish line. He had his senior showcase coming up. A requirement for all students who were receiving a bachelor of fine arts. He was to show off all of his best work from the last four years. It was a chance for him to show everything he had learned, and to display his work with pride. 

He had toyed with the idea of inviting everyone to it. To let them see the love that Tim had cultivated over the last four years. He was set to graduate in just a few months and the pride he felt for himself was tremendous. And if Tim invited the Wayne family to his senior showcase, then maybe they could come to his college graduation and share the achievement with them then too. 

It was a big time in Tim’s life and he wanted to share it with them. 

He listened as a lull came in the conversation and carefully cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the others. 

“I have a senior showcase this weekend for my BFA. It’s at six in the evening in the Wayne Arts Center on Gotham Campus. I would be happy to see you all there,” he said hesitantly, eyes firmly trained on his plate of food. 

“That sounds nice, Tim. I’ll try to be there,” Bruce said politely before going back to his conversation with Jason and Dick. Tim felt eyes on him, though, and slowly looked up to find his little brother giving him a curious look. 

“What?” He asked, still trying to calm his heart just a bit. He still wasn’t sure why he came to these things, why he was even here. Just talking to the Waynes gave him anxiety. Just being here reminded him how much he didn’t belong. How other he was compared to the rest of the kids that Bruce had adopted? 

Damian tilted his head to the side. “I was not aware that you were getting your Bachelor's in Fine Arts. Will you tell me about your degree program? I have been thinking about getting an Art History degree but have been torn between that and a business degree.”

Tim gave him a small smile and rested his chin on his hand as he started to tell Damian all about his degree and how he was enjoying the program at Gotham University. The rest of the family went on to their own conversations while Damian listened with rapt attention to Tim describing the ATC program at Gotham U. 

The rest of the week was a whirlwind as he prepared for his senior showcase, he had sent out invitations to everyone he wanted to come see his work. The Team had already made a reservation to take Tim to lunch before the showcase before helping him get everything ready. And as the day came to be, they had made good on their word, taking him to his favorite Vietnamese restaurant in Gotham before taking him to the gallery. He blushed as he listened to his three best friend gush over his artwork, as they listened to him explain each piece. They asked questions and made remarks about what their favorite pieces were and even tried to buy a few pieces only for Tim to promise to give each of them prints of his photos. 

The three had left with quick goodbyes, each one giving Tim a hug and congratulating him before they made their way from the gallery. The rest of the evening dragged on as people came by and asked Tim about his photos and the small films that played on the movie screen on one wall. He smiled and explained each photo to anyone who asked. He had wanted to showcase his vigilante photos of the bats and birds but it had been too much of a risk to do so. 

Instead he had shown off his photos that showcased all of his favorite parts of Gotham. From the beautiful gothic architecture, the gargoyles that looked out over the city. He showed the photos from the last time Ivy had thrown a fit in Robinson Park and covered the entirety of the grounds with flowers. He showed the pictures of community from Crime Alley and the beauty of the strength of Gothamites who had managed to survive the worst of the worst. 

He also featured pictures of his family, of Dick hanging from a chandelier, of Damian training Titus to do a trick. He had a picture of Bruce, Alfred, and Jason sitting side by side as they each read a different book. One showed Cass as she posed for the camera in her favorite ballet form. They were some of his most treasured memories, there for everyone to see and enjoy. Tucker between the one of Damian and the one of Dick was a photo of Tim. He had taken forever to set up the camera and get the timer right. Alfred had simply chuckled the entire time as he continued to offer to take the picture for Tim but no one was meant to be behind the camera for that picture. It was the only family portrait of his entire family. Cass, Damian, Tim, Dick, Jason, Bruce, Alfred, they all sat smushed into a single couch together, wide smiles and laughs on each of their faces as Tim beamed from the far side, leaning into Alfred’s side. 

The gallery was meant to showcase culture that was important to Tim. To showcase the life that he loved and treasured. And even if he never felt like he quite fit in the Wayne Family, even though he knew that he was the expendable one, the replacement, he still treasured his family. It was why he had invited them, he had wanted them to see just how important they were to Tim. And maybe they would realize he was important to them too.

Only, the rest of the evening seemed to drag on, and not a single person from his family ever stepped through the door. He waited, shoulders tensed and smile polite. Every bit the gentleman that Janet Drake had trained him to be as he stood with his hands clasped in front of him. He kept glancing at the clock, waiting for Bruce or Dick or someone to walk through the doors, to say hello and look at all the work that Tim had put in the last four years in college. The hours ticked by until it was nearing ten pm and the gallery started to clear out, custodians came in and started to clean up around him. 

Tim cast one final look at the doors before he turned to his photos and started to take one off of the wall. 

“Master Timothy! I am so sorry that we are late,” a voice said and Tim quickly to find Alfred and Damian walking through the doors of the gallery. A small smile spread on Tim’s face as Damian bound forward. 

“I apologize,” Damian said softly, staring up at Tim with disgruntled eyes. “I got into an argument with Father and then Titus scared Alfred the Cat and we spent the last three hours searching for that blasted cat and when we realized the time we came straight here,” he said. “What did the others think of your exhibit?”

Tim’s smile fell and he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “They uh, they didn’t show up,” he said quietly. “But if you’d like, you guys are the last ones to show up. I’d love to show you everything.”

Alfred’s face fell at that as he stepped forward and clasped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “That is their loss, my dear boy. I would love to see your work,” he said. Before he could stop himself, Tim pulled Alfred in for a tight hug, burying his face in the old butler’s chest as he held him close. 

“Thank you,” he whispered before pulling away. He glanced down at Damian and smiled. “How about I show you my work and then if my advisor is still here you can meet her and talk to her about the ATC program.”

The fourteen-year-old nodded his head once. “I would appreciate that,” he said before grabbing Tim’s hand hesitantly. He followed quietly as Tim showed them his pictures of Gotham, explaining the stories behind each one before he showed them his favorite pictures. His pictures of home and both men let out soft gasps as they looked at them. 

“Master Timothy, these are beautiful,” Alfred said, stepping forward to take in the picture of him, Bruce, and Jason. 

“The lighting for this is amazing, I did not know that I even smiled like that,” Damian said softly as he took in the picture of him smiling at Titus. 

“Oh Tim,” Alfred said quietly, losing all strict politeness that Alfred held so dear to his heart as he took in the family portrait. “This is amazing, Timothy. So absolutely perfect. I remember when you took this photograph. It was right after Thanksgiving dinner last year.”

“I was so irritated, Todd had gotten mashed potatoes in my hair,” Damian said with a huff, a small smile tugged on his face. 

“I did not even realize that Master Richard and Master Jason were hugging in this picture,” Alfred said, a soft smile sti on his face as he took in the way Dick had his arms wrapped around Jason’s shoulders, a wide smile on his face as he laughed at something Jason had said. A small smile sat on Jason’s face, his eyes brighter than Tim had seen since the older man had come back from the dead. 

Alfred tore his eyes from the picture. “How much?” he asked. 

Tim blinked. “What?”

“How much for the picture?” Alfred asked him, turning back to the family portrait. 

“For you?” Tim asked, blinking again in surprise. “Free of charge, considering it a thank you for coming to my senior showcase.”

“I would like this one of Titus and me,” Damian piped up. “It would be lovely on my desk in my bedroom.”

Tim sniffed, his chest tightening slightly. “I would be more than happy to give you both the original copies.”

“Timothy,” Alfred said, turning back to Tim, that soft, kind, smile on his face once again. “I am so incredibly proud of you.”

The vigilante’s eyes burned furiously. “I-I thank you,” he said, a soft sob slipped out of his mouth before small arms wrapped around him. Damian hugged him tight, his face pressed against Tim’s chest. 

“I am so sorry that our family forgot to come to your showcase, Timothy,” he said stiffly. “You are incredibly talented and it is their loss for missing out on this.”

Tim pressed a hand to Damian’s back, feeling tears building behind his eyes that threatened to spill over. “Thank you,” he whispered. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he looked around and spotted his advisor. “There’s Professor Maheshawen. She’s my advisor. We can go talk to her and you can ask your questions, okay?”

Damian nodded and pulled away carefully, smoothing down the front of his sweater before he followed after Tim to meet his professor. Leaving Alfred to continue staring at the pictures with a kind smile on his face.

Alfred Pennyworth looked at the smiles on his charges faces and let out a breath. One of these days, Bruce and the others would realize just how important Timothy was to their family, how he was the one who held them all together. He only hoped that they would not realize that lesson too late in life. At the very least, Damian was now starting to understand just how wonderful Timothy Drake was. 

[isalisewrites]

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.”

The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

—

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

—

FIFTY-FOUR EXCERPT:

“What did you wish to discuss?” asked Tom.

“Well, you’re in a world of trouble for one.”

Tom’s mouth slowly dropped open. “I… I beg your pardon?”

“You. You, Tom Riddle, are in big trouble, young man,” said Tina, reiterating herself in a firm tone. “And we’re going to talk about it and make sure this doesn’t happen again. Understood?”

“Uh… Y-Yes, ma’am,” whispered Tom, completely caught off guard.

He still didn’t know what this was about. It couldn’t just be about missing Sunday dinner, right? Had he done something more… Wait… Is she angry about my missing classes and assignments? Surely not. Tina wasn’t a teacher. It wasn’t her concern at all whether or not Tom missed his classes or failed to turn in assignments. Why would she care?

But…

That was the only explanation for Tina’s behavior. What else could it be? Tom had never felt like a little child around adults and especially not like a naughty child who deserved to be scolded. But as Tina gazed down at him with disappointed, yet soft brown eyes, Tom was overcome with that childlike feeling. He shifted in his seat; his ears heated up.

“Tom, I know the attack was traumatic,” said Tina, her tone softening. “It was… very difficult to find both of you covered in blood and…”

Tom’s mouth went dry.

A head exploded. Blood splattered; bone and brain coated his robes.

Tom blinked. He inhaled greedily. The images faded away, but the scent still lingered in his senses.

“And, well, Newt and I are so grateful that you’re both doing okay. If anything happened to either of you, we’d…”

What?

Tina shook herself. She put her hands onto her hips, “But your behavior this past week and a half has been unacceptable, Tom—and you missed our family Sunday dinner.”

Wait, family—

“You avoided Newt and I, no matter how hard we tried to talk to you—” Tina took to pacing back and forth in front of Tom’s desk, wringing her hands together and gesturing wildly through her gentle, yet firm tirade. “—you always ran off and wouldn’t listen to us when we called you back. Your grades have tanked—don’t think I don’t know that,” she added sharply, giving Tom a look. He shrank back in his seat. “I’ve heard you’ve missed eight of your assignments—eight,Tom!”

He sat there, frozen. Embarrassment swirled in his gut and heated his cheeks with shame. Tom swallowed against the rising bile in his throat. 

“On top of that,” continued Tina, still going strong. Tom was met with the full force of her kind frustration. “You’ve gotten two detentions and you skipped both of them. You missed seven of your classes. You obviously haven’t been sleeping well or eating much—you haven’t bothered to hide the dark circles beneath your eyes this time and I can tell you’ve lost some weight.”

Tom had to refrain from touching his cheeks beneath his eyes.

Tina sighed and stopped pacing. “So, what’re you doing, Tom?” she asked. “What’s going on with you? This is so unlike you.”

He couldn’t move. He opened his mouth, but he had no response for her. The heat in his ears flooded into his cheeks. Tom had never been scolded like this before. He’d been yelled at plenty of times when he’d been a child at the orphanage, but he’d always maintained a perfect record here at Hogwarts.

Well, until this year, of course.

Harry, you’ve affected me, for better and for worse, I fear.

This expression on Tina’s face, what a strange thing it was. It wasn’t the condescending look of judgment that came from Dumbledore nor was it the disapproving looks from his teachers he received recently. What kind of expression was this… oh, she wasn’t angry at him.

Tina was disappointed in him.

Oh…

[bluespring864]

Tags by @crossedcourt <3

I will now run with them and write an essay because I am always insane about Novandy ;-)

Specifically I want to talk about the "yes i've beaten you on every surface" part. Because I've had a few messages and seen a few comments to the effect of "Wait, they are starting a partnership at the Australian Open of all places?! How many times did Novak beat Andy there?" To which the answer is: Andy lost four of his five Australian Open finals to Novak, three of them rather badly (two in straight sets, one with a fourth set bagel) and he also very narrowly lost probably the most epic match they ever played - according to both of them - which was the Australian Open semifinal in 2012.

While this would be devastating and a cause for animosity for many tennis players I need you to understand that THEY ARE NOT LIKE THAT. At their first meeting at an under-14 tournament, Les Petits As in France in 2001, which concidentally was Novak's first international tournament ever, Andy destroyed him 6-0, 6-1 (Novak: "You gave me one game!") and they still laugh about it to this day. If and when they do press for this new coaching partnership, expect this to come up a few times.

It has always felt to me like their modus operandi was: us against the world (Novak: “Sometimes we catch up for dinner. It’s good to see somebody you grew up with doing so well in professional tennis and it’s great to show to people that top-five players, who are big rivals on the court, can be really good friends as well.”) And it never really changed, even when Novak took a commanding 24-11 lead in the H2H over the years (I am only counting matches played and leaving out the fucking tragic walkover from Andy that prevented their last meeting from happening), after it briefly almost evened out in 2012/2013.

This attitude, of course, is rather impressive from Andy, who could very well be bitter about how differently their careers have gone, considering that they are such similar players who were born only one week apart and that there was definitely much more hype around Andy at the start of their careers (Novak said when they were both 18 and played doubles at, you've guessed it, the Australian Open, that he would and wouldn't like to be like Andy because on the one hand Andy had much more support than him at the time, on the other hand he had the crushing weight of expectations to contend with).

But instead of being bitter, for the last few years of his career you could hear Mr. Murray say things like: “It would be amazing to see him do it [win the 23d Grand Slam] on Sunday. I will be supporting him. And I hope he can do it. Because it is incredible what he has done.” or plainly "I'm happy for him, he deserves it." Or even: "After Wimbledon [2023], everyone was saying it was a changing of the guard, but it wasn't for me." Oh it wasn't for you? You are defensive over the man who has beaten you more than any other in your career being written off too early?

Even during that crazy year of 2016, when they were the two frontrunners in the rankings by miles and Andy was chasing the number one spot, what did he say after losing the only French Open final he ever played? Well, he started it off with "This is his day today. What he’s achieved the last 12 months is phenomenal." and not only told the audience they had been extremely lucky to see Novak make history once again, but also ended with: "I’m proud to have been a part of today."

Us. Against. The. World.

So that's Andy, but what about Novak? Well, not to be outdone he will mention Andy in almost every interview, even when he was very much not asked about him. He will remember the 2013 Wimbledon final which he lost in straight sets to Andy as "a historic, special moment that I cherish" and, on court at the ATP Finals 2016, after his own second half of the year had been rather dismal, he also explained to the crowd that they were part of history that day and that "It was an honour to be on the court and to be a part of the big occasion. Andy is definitely number one of the world. He is the best player. He deserved to win."

If asked about the best matches he has played with Andy he will readily mention the 2012 London Olympics semifinal. We all know how important the Olympics have always been to Novak (if you didn't before 2024, you certainly know now) and this was a semifinal loss at his beloved Olympics in straight sets. Let that sink in.

When Andy retired this year, Novak explained: “He will inspire many generations to come. He inspires me, and we are about the same age." He, who has just finished his career outside of the top 100 and in a doubles match because his body wouldn't even let him play singles anymore, inspires you, who has achieved more than any other in this sport? That's really lovely, Novak. Oh, and by the way, how about Andy becoming world No. 1 and ending Novak's longest stint at No. 1 in his career? Novak's post at the time: "I am really happy to be in the same era with you."

Us. Against. The. World.

So, to make a very long story short: If I was surprised about the coaching news yesterday it was because they actually went for it, not because it seemed outlandish to me in any way. As you can see, it makes perfect sense. I am really glad we are getting another chapter of this story which - according to Novak - is "A script, a long story. A romance, I’ll call it." after we previously were treated to - according to Andy - "Rivals, doubles partners, friends and lovers?" By the way, he still has that Instagram post pinned. Anyway, before I digress, let me conclude this by saying:

You thought their story was over? Think again.

[ray4hotchner]

Bliss

❀ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: aaron hotchner x reader

❀ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: A short drabble of Aaron being a girl dad🤍

❀ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 1k

❀ 𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣’𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: Hey, my loves🥰 I just saw this video and immediately thought of Aaron and had to write something short and cute. Thank for reading and let me know what you think. Comment if you want to be tagged in other Aaron fics🤍

❀ 𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕒𝕔𝕔: @iyv-ray24

┌─❀*̥˚─❀*̥˚┐

Ao3

└❀*̥˚──❀*̥˚┘

───────── 🍂🥧🕯️🍁─────────

It was one of those lazy Sundays. Aaron sat at the kitchen table, engrossed in his laptop as he tackled his emails. Jack, meanwhile, diligently worked on his science project at the kitchen island. You had just placed a Sunday roast dinner and a pumpkin pie into the oven before joining Jack to help him with his model of the solar system.

The kitchen was filled with a delicious aroma, accompanied by soft music playing in the background. The dark, rainy fall weather outside only added to the cozy ambiance of the room. Even after four years of marriage, you couldn't believe that this was your life now—your home, your family.

Little footsteps echoed through the house as Violet, your 3-year-old daughter, joyfully entered the kitchen. She proudly displayed the fourth outfit she had changed into in the last hour, undoubtedly leaving her room in quite a mess. But that was a problem for later. No one was going to stop her now, especially not when she was so enthusiastically staging a runway show for the entire family. She loved the attention she received from everyone and erupted into giggles whenever she got enough compliments.

Now in a pink, flowy dress, she gracefully walked up to you and her brother, performing a little spin while awaiting your verdict.

"Wow, Vi, this is the best one yet," exclaimed Jack, making his little sister giggle.

"He's absolutely right, sweetheart. This dress looks so pretty," you chimed in. Violet skipped over to her father to bask in some more of his attention. As she approached, he promptly pushed his laptop aside and turned his full attention toward her.

"Oh wow, look at this adorable little princess," he exclaimed.

She twinkled her eyes at him, tugging at the hem of her dress and performing a delicate curtsy before asking, "Will you dance with me daddy?"

"Of course, my angel," he replied, rising to his feet, which prompted giggles from Jack and you in the background. She had him so wrapped around her tiny fingers that he couldn't deny her anything.

"Can you hold me and spin really fast?" she asked sweetly as he lifted her into his arms.

"Of course, pumpkin. What song do you want?"

"Tangled!" Of course, 'Tangled' was her favorite Disney movie, and she never went to sleep without her Pascal stuffy.

"Alexa, play 'I See the Lights,'" Aaron said, and the soft melody began to fill the kitchen. They both started singing and swaying to the music, while you and Jack watched them with big smiles on your faces.

Seeing them together made your heart swell with love. You had known that Aaron was an amazing father from the moment you met him years ago. His gentleness and affection toward Jack had only deepened your love for him.

After getting married, Jack insisted on wanting a sibling, and you were confident that Aaron would be wonderful with your child too. However, he exceeded all your expectations.

Aaron had even reduced his workload to support you during and after the pregnancy and when they found out it was going to be a baby girl, both he and Jack had erupted with excitement.

Jack stood up, turned towards you, and extended his hand, asking, "Mom, may I have this dance?"

"How could I say no to such a handsome prince?" you replied, rising and taking his hand. Jack had grown so much taller since the time you first met him, when Aaron introduced you as his girlfriend. Now, he was a teenager and almost as tall as you, clearly taking after his dad in height.

Now, all of you were twirling around in the kitchen, and as your eyes met Aaron's, all you could see was pure love and bliss. The song was coming to an end when the oven timer went off.

"Thank you for the dance, my love," you said, kissing Jack on the head before walking over to the oven.

Aaron did one last, big spin with Violet in his arms, causing her to laugh cheerfully. With a big kiss on her cheek, he gently set her down, and she instantly ran over to her brother, clearly not finished with dancing.

The two siblings continued dancing while you pulled the pie out of the oven and checked on the chicken.

Aaron came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He buried his face in your neck, leaving little kisses there. You placed your hand on his cheek and tilted your neck to give him better access.

"I love you so much, you know that," he whispered in your ear.

You turned around within his embrace, your hands laced around his neck. "I know, honey, I love you too."

"I'm so grateful that you chose me," Aaron said with a mixture of tenderness and sincerity in his voice.

"Aaron," you began, your eyes welling up with affectionate tears, but he stopped you, his gaze filled with warmth and appreciation.

"No, really. You gave me this," he said, pointing towards the kids with his head, "you gave me a family and a home… happiness."

"And this is only a home and a family because you are a part of it, my love," you replied, kissing his dimple.

He gazed at the kids, a glimmer of nostalgia and love in his eyes, and then back at you, his expression filled with affection. With a mischievous smile, he said, "I think we should make another one."

"Another what?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and curiosity in your voice.

"Another baby," he answered with a grin, a playful spark in his eyes that mirrored his excitement.

"Oh no, Aaron Hotchner. Don't give me that look," you said, trying to pull away, but he held you close and brought you into a kiss. You were immediately lost in the touch of his lips.

"Eww, Jackie, Mom and Dad are being gross again!" Violet exclaimed, pointing with her finger at you, which made everyone laugh.

"Okay, okay. The dance party is postponed until after dinner. Now, everyone, wash your hands and help me set the table, please," you announced, pushing Aaron away after whispering suggestively into his ear, "We'll talk about this tonight."

─────────────────

𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: @callm3c0nfus3d @mrs-ssa-hotch

[feedybot]

It started small.

You noticed the way Victoria lingered over her plate a little longer each night. How she’d finish those last few bites she would’ve once left behind, then lean back with a dreamy smile, one hand lazily resting over her middle. At first, it didn’t mean much. A healthy appetite. A busy week. Maybe Max was just spoiling her more than usual.

You didn’t mind it. Honestly, it was kind of cute.

Victoria had always had this air of elegance about her. Everything measured. Her steps, her voice, even the way she ate—graceful posture, careful forkfuls, polite refusals of anything past full. It was part of her charm. But lately… that control seemed to be slipping.

It wasn’t drastic. Not at first. Just little things. The way she sighed after meals, sinking into the couch, cheeks faintly flushed. The unbuttoned top of her jeans after dinner—“ugh, I’m so bloated,” she’d mutter, tugging her hoodie down to hide it. The soft edge creeping into her face, her belly, her thighs—nothing extreme, just a rounding that hadn’t been there before.

You brushed it off. Everyone fluctuates. Maybe it was stress, or hormones, or just winter settling in early.

But Max… Max always had something ready. Warm pastries on lazy Sundays. “Leftover” pasta for lunch. Late-night snacks “just in case.” Always with that innocent grin, that effortless charm. You knew Max—he never pushed, never insisted. Just offered. Always made sure there was more. Always looked a little too satisfied watching her eat.

“I made lasagna,” he said one evening, grinning as he placed a tray down on the table. It was steaming, golden, way too much food for three people. “Hope you’re hungry.”

Victoria laughed as she pulled her hair into a loose bun. “Max, this is insane.”

But she ate. And then she ate again. A big first portion, followed by a second that made her groan halfway through, cheeks tinged pink.

You watched from across the table, fork idle in your hand. Max was watching her too—only he didn’t look confused.

He looked proud.

It was a week or two later when you saw her tugging at her jeans in the hallway mirror.

You didn’t say anything—just leaned against the doorway and watched as she tried to force the button shut, exhaling hard, sucking in, brow furrowed. Her hoodie was pushed up just enough for you to catch a sliver of soft skin where it rose slightly over the waistband. She finally gave up, muttering, “Stupid laundry,” and tossed the hoodie back down to cover it.

You raised an eyebrow. “Shrink in the wash?”

She looked over her shoulder, face perfectly casual. “Think so. Or I’ve just been really bloated lately. Probably salt or something. Max’s cooking is lethal.”

She grinned like it was a joke, but her eyes didn’t meet yours.

Max passed by a second later with a tray of something sweet smelling. “You guys want dessert?”

You hesitated. She didn’t.

After that, you started paying more attention. Not in a weird way—just enough to notice the little things. The way she seemed more out of breath coming up the stairs. The way she tugged at her tops more often, adjusting them over a midsection that wasn’t sitting quite the way it used to. The faint imprint of a waistband on her skin when she lifted her shirt to stretch.

One afternoon, you walked into the living room and saw her sprawled out on the couch, legs tangled in a blanket, an empty bowl on her stomach. Max sat on the floor beside her, leaning back against the couch, scrolling his phone. Victoria’s hand was lazily resting just under her shirt, fingers pressing lightly into the soft curve of her belly.

She jumped slightly when she noticed you standing there.

“I was starving,” she said quickly, like she needed to explain. “Skipped lunch.”

Max didn’t even look up. “She earned it. We walked to the market.”

You blinked. The market was four blocks away.

It wasn’t anything drastic. Not yet. But you could feel it—this creeping unease, like you were the only one still pretending this was all normal.

Victoria didn’t want to talk about it. Max didn’t seem to see a problem. And you were just… stuck in the middle, watching something shift between them that you couldn’t quite name.

Not yet.

It wasn’t just a few tight clothes anymore.

One morning, Victoria came out of the bedroom wearing one of your hoodies—something oversized even on you—and it barely reached past her hips. The fabric stretched differently now, soft belly pushing gently against the front, sleeves riding up higher than usual. Her thighs, thicker than you remembered, rubbed lightly together as she crossed the room to the kitchen. She moved slower, heavier, still graceful, but like she was carrying something extra.

She grabbed a yogurt from the fridge and looked at you mid-spoonful. “Don’t give me that look.”

You hadn’t said anything.

Max walked in right after with a bag of bagels, tossed her one without missing a beat. “Try the cinnamon one, V. Made them yesterday.”

You watched her hesitate, then tear into it like she hadn’t just been eating. Her eyes flicked toward you once—guilty, maybe. Then back down.

The next day, you opened the pantry and found the shelves packed—pastries, chocolate bars, instant pasta, cookies. Stuff that wasn’t usually there. Stuff Victoria never bought.

Max passed by behind you. “She’s been craving more snacks lately. I figured—why not keep her happy?”

You turned to look at him. “You’re stocking the place like a convenience store.”

He smiled. “She likes it.”

He said it like it meant everything.

You tried to bring it up one night. Just the two of you. No Max.

“Vic… have you noticed your clothes not fitting lately?”

She froze mid-bite. You saw it—barely, but it was there. Her face stiffened for a second before she smiled and rolled her eyes.

“Seriously? You sound like my mom.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’ve been stressed, Jules. Work’s been a lot. I’ve had no time for the gym. It’s not a big deal.”

You stared at her. She was curled up on the couch in leggings that dug faintly into her sides, a bowl of something in her lap. She shifted, clearly uncomfortable, but didn’t stop eating.

“It’s more than just that.”

She bit down on her spoon. “So what are you saying? That I’ve let myself go? That Max is turning me into a pig or something?”

Her voice was sharp, defensive. You hadn’t even said his name.

“No,” you said quietly. “I’m saying something’s going on and no one wants to admit it.”

Silence stretched between you. Then she got up, bowl in hand, and walked to the kitchen.

“I’m fine,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s you who’s acting weird.”

You weren’t sure when it flipped. When Max stopped being charming and started feeling… smug. Like he knew exactly what he was doing, and he wasn’t going to stop. And Victoria—she kept denying, kept brushing it off, but her body said otherwise. Her curves were swelling under the surface, her shirts riding up, her breaths a little shallower.

You didn’t know who to be angry with. Max, for pushing it? Victoria, for pretending? Or yourself, for letting it get this far?

But something was coming. You could feel it. A crack waiting to split wide open.

It happened on a Saturday night.

You were supposed to go out—just the three of you, drinks and dinner, like you used to. Victoria came out of the bedroom dressed in something tight. Too tight.

A black top that clung to every curve, riding up over her belly when she moved. Jeans that looked painfully snug, button strained, zipper fighting to stay up. You watched her tug at the waistband with both hands, twisting from side to side in the mirror.

She huffed and grabbed a jacket to cover it. “Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped without turning around.

“I didn’t say anything,” you said. But your voice was already tight.

Max came in from the kitchen, two drinks in hand. “You look amazing,” he said, handing one to her with a grin.

You saw her cheeks flush, watched the way she tried to smile back—but her arms stayed crossed over her stomach, jacket zipped halfway up.

“We’re gonna be late,” she said quickly. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t even make it to the restaurant.

Fifteen minutes into the ride, you pulled over.

“Julian, what—”

“We need to talk,” you said. “Right now.”

Max leaned forward from the backseat, too calm. “Seriously? In the car?”

Victoria looked between you, suddenly nervous. “What’s going on?”

You turned in your seat, staring at her. “You don’t see it? You don’t see it?”

She blinked, defensive. “See what?”

“This!” You gestured at her—at the jacket she kept tugging down, the belly it couldn’t hide, the button that was visibly digging into her flesh. “This whole… thing. The food, the clothes, the denial. You’re not just bloated, Vic. You’ve gained—a lot.”

Her mouth opened and closed. Her eyes went wide—like she couldn’t believe you’d actually said it.

“I’ve just been stressed—”

“Don’t,” you snapped. “Don’t lie to me again.”

Silence.

Then Max’s voice, maddeningly smooth: “She’s not lying. She’s just not ready to hear it the way you want to say it.”

You turned on him. “You think this is normal? That she can’t go a day without stuffing herself, that she can’t fit into her clothes anymore, and you just keep feeding her like it’s a game?”

“I’m not forcing her,” Max said, calm as ever. “She eats because she wants to.”

“She eats because you encourage it. Because you always make sure there’s more. Because you like watching her get bigger, don’t you?”

He smiled faintly. “Is it so hard to believe someone might actually like her that way?”

Victoria buried her face in her hands. “Stop. Please.”

But neither of you did.

“Look at her, Max,” you growled. “She’s embarrassed. She won’t even talk about it.”

“She doesn’t need to be ashamed,” Max replied. “She’s gorgeous. Soft. And maybe you’re just too uptight to appreciate it.��

“I was trying to be patient,” you said. “But this—this is manipulation. You’re getting off on fattening her up, and she’s too deep in it to see it.”

Victoria finally spoke, voice trembling: “I didn’t ask for this. I just… I didn’t think it was a big deal. I didn’t think it would be this much.”

You looked at her. Really looked.

Face flushed. Belly rising and falling with shallow breaths, visibly pressing into the fabric. The shape of her was nothing like when all this started. She looked overwhelmed. And very, very ashamed.

“I need a break,” you said, quieter now.

Victoria looked up. “What?”

You shook your head. “I can’t do this. Not like this. You two—whatever this is—it’s not healthy. And I can’t just sit here and watch it keep going.”

She stared at you, stunned. Max didn’t say a word.

“I just need time,” you added, almost to yourself. “To think.”

You didn’t wait for a reply. You got out of the car, slammed the door behind you, and walked.

Two months passed.

You told yourself it was over. That whatever was going on with Victoria and Max wasn’t your problem anymore. That you didn’t care.

You lied.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw her. The way her belly rose beneath her hoodie. The way her voice broke in the car, caught between guilt and confusion. The softness in her that hadn’t been there before—and the part of you that had responded to it. Not just with anger.

With something else, too.

You hated how much you thought about it.

So eventually, you stopped fighting and messaged her. Just a simple can we talk?

She said yes.

You showed up at her place a few days later, not knowing what to expect. Part of you hoped she’d gone back to how she used to be. Maybe the break shook something loose. Maybe she’d left Max. Maybe she’d—

The door opened.

And whatever fantasy you had vanished instantly.

Victoria stood there in a cropped hoodie that barely made it past the underside of her chest. A soft, heavy belly peeked out beneath it, pale and unashamed. Her thighs had thickened, her hips wide and swaying slightly as she shifted under your stare. Her face was rounder, cheeks full and flushed, lips parted in surprise. She didn’t look like she’d tried to stop at all.

She looked like she’d kept going.

Your mouth went dry.

“…Hi,” she said, uncertain. Her voice was smaller now. “You came.”

You stepped inside. She turned, and the movement made her hoodie ride up higher—exposing more of the plump curve of her middle, the deep crease forming above the waistband of her stretched leggings. You couldn’t look away.

“What the hell, Vic…” you breathed. “You’ve really—”

She pulled the hoodie down quickly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped, back still turned. “You said you wanted to see me. So just say what you need to say.”

You looked at her again, really looked—and realized she wasn’t trying to impress you. She wasn’t even trying to hide it properly. She was ashamed, yes—but she was used to it. Living in it. Sinking in it.

And something inside you shifted.

“I missed you,” you said finally. “Not like this. Just… you.”

She turned back to you slowly. Her eyes were tired, wary. “I’m not the same.”

You stepped forward. “No. You’re not.”

Your hand reached out, almost without thinking, and pressed lightly to the exposed curve of her belly.

She flinched.

“I’m disgusting,” she whispered.

But your fingers sank deeper, and you leaned in, voice low.

“No,” you said. “You’re huge.”

Her breath caught.

“And I think,” you added, a grin curling at your lips, “you like it more than you admit.”

She stared at you, lips parted, frozen in place. You kept your hand on her belly, palm pressed flat to the plush curve. It was warm, soft, heavier than you remembered. She didn’t move.

“Two months,” you murmured, letting your fingers drift lower, slow, deliberate. “And you didn’t stop, did you?”

She looked away, cheeks burning. “I—I tried.”

You chuckled, low and cruel. “No. You didn’t.”

Her breath hitched as you slipped a finger under the hem of her hoodie, lifting it just enough to expose the full swell of her belly. It pushed forward now, round and undeniable, resting against the waistband of leggings that looked ready to give up.

“You kept going, Vic.”

She winced, as if hearing it out loud made it real. Her hands twitched like she wanted to cover herself—but she didn’t.

“Every day I was gone,” you said, circling her slowly, letting your eyes trail down the plump curve of her thighs, the faint jiggle at each step, “you were stuffing yourself. Letting Max feed you. Letting your body grow softer… heavier… hungrier.”

She sucked in a shaky breath. “Please don’t—”

“You think I didn’t notice?” you cut her off, stepping close again. “That I can’t see what you’ve done to yourself?”

You reached around and grabbed the thick swell of her ass through the stretched fabric of her leggings. She gasped, balance shifting under the weight.

“Max might’ve started this,” you whispered against her ear, “but you let it happen.”

She whimpered.

“Did it feel good?” you asked, voice darker now. “The constant fullness? The attention? Being spoiled, stuffed, praised for every kilo you packed on?”

She didn’t answer.

You stepped back, tilting her chin up. “Look at you.”

Her eyes met yours—wide, ashamed, aroused.

“You’re a greedy little pig, Vic.”

She shook her head. “I’m not—”

“Then why are you still growing?” you snapped, grabbing the soft roll hanging just above her waistband and giving it a sharp squeeze. She gasped again, face flaming.

“Because you love it,” you growled. “Because you love being ruined.”

Tears welled in her eyes. But she didn’t pull away.

“You know what’s really pathetic?” you said, softening your tone into something dangerous. “You kept pretending it wasn’t happening. Even now, standing there, gut hanging out, thighs rubbing together, you’re still trying to deny it.”

She trembled under your hand.

“Go ahead,” you said, voice like velvet. “Tell me you’re not a fat, spoiled, helpless mess.”

She swallowed hard. Her lip quivered.

“…I’m not.”

You smiled. Slow. Wicked.

“Liar.”

You didn’t let her look away.

One hand cupped the soft underside of her belly, the other slid up to her jaw, firm, commanding. “Say it.”

She shook her head again, barely breathing. “Julian, please—”

“Say it,” you repeated, low and sharp. “Say what you are.”

Her eyes welled again. She tried to pull away, but you held her there—gentle, but inescapable. You could feel her shaking, from the weight of her body, from the heat of being seen.

From being known.

You let your thumb trail along the faint stretch mark just beneath her navel, a smirk curling your lip. “You let him spoil you. Let yourself go. You didn’t fight it—you liked it. You liked giving in. Liked every bite, every pound.”

She whimpered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t stop.”

A pause. Then quieter, deeper: “You didn’t want to.”

She closed her eyes.

You leaned in close. “You want to know what I think?”

Her breath caught.

“I think you loved it. Every time your jeans got tighter. Every time your belly peeked out and you had to pretend not to notice. Every time Max offered you just a little more, and you took it without question.” You ran your hand slowly across the full swell of her belly, lifting it slightly, watching the way it resisted. “I think you couldn’t help yourself.”

Her face crumpled, breath shaking.

“And now look at you,” you murmured. “Ruined. Soft. Heavy. Mine.”

She flinched at that last word—and didn’t deny it.

You brought your mouth right to her ear.

“Say it.”

“…I…” Her voice cracked.

Your hand gripped her belly again, firm. “Say it.”

Her body shuddered.

“I’m…” she whispered.

You waited.

“I’m a greedy, fat mess,” she choked out. “I let him—you—do this to me. I didn’t stop. I… I didn’t want to stop.”

The room was dead silent except for her breathing—short, shallow, desperate.

You leaned back just enough to look at her. Face red. Chest heaving. Eyes wet and glassy. She looked like a woman completely unmade.

And so goddamn beautiful.

You gave her belly a soft smack—just enough to make it jiggle.

“There she is.”

She whimpered again, but her thighs squeezed together.

You smiled.

“We’re just getting started.”

You circled her like she was prey.

Heavy, breathless prey too stunned to move.

Your fingers grazed her hips, the soft swell where they curved out wider than you remembered. “So much more of you now,” you murmured. “You used to slip past me without a sound. Now I can hear you coming.”

She turned her face away, mortified.

You grabbed her chin again, turning her back to you—firm, possessive. “No. You look at me when I talk about what you’ve become.”

She obeyed, barely.

“I should be angry,” you said, letting your hand trail from her jaw, down her neck, to the upper curve of her belly. “That you didn’t stop. That you let him feed you like a spoiled pet while I was gone.”

Her breath hitched at the word pet.

“But I’m not,” you said, grinning. “Because now I get to take over.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I’m not sending you back to Max,” you said softly, stroking the curve of her belly like it was something precious. “You’re mine now.”

She looked stunned. Scared. But not disagreeing.

“I’m going to keep feeding you. Not like him. Not sweet and slow.” Your voice dropped, darker now. “You’re going to earn every bite. You’re going to beg. You’re going to thank me while your thighs swell and your belly turns to lead in your lap.”

She whimpered.

“Because that’s what you want, isn’t it?” you asked, pressing your hand deep into her softness, your voice in her ear. “To be pushed. Owned. Stuffed.”

She didn’t answer.

You grabbed the hem of her hoodie and peeled it up without asking, exposing her belly in full now—pale, heavy, the skin warm and tight from steady gain. You let your palm slide over it with reverence and disdain all at once.

“Tell me.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“…Yes, I want it.”

You stepped closer. “Say it all.”

She trembled. “I want you to feed me. To make me bigger. To use me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Use you how?”

She swallowed. “Stuff me until I can’t move. Make me beg. Laugh when I try to stop.”

Your grin sharpened. There she was.

You leaned in and whispered, “Good girl.”

Her eyes fluttered shut at the words.

And just like that, she gave in—completely.

He didn’t even let her sit at the table.

“No,” you said, snapping your fingers. “Couch. Lean back. I want to see how far your belly pushes up when you’re full.”

Victoria hesitated, then obeyed—moving slower than she used to, her widened hips swaying, her soft belly jiggling beneath her cropped hoodie as she shuffled to the couch and lowered herself down.

You watched the way she sat. How she kept tugging her top down automatically, even though there was no point—it barely covered anything. Her belly poured over her waistband now, pale and warm and already soft from days of overeating. You didn’t even have to touch her yet to know she was close to the edge.

Perfect.

You came back with the tray.

Greasy, heavy things. Loaded mashed potatoes. Fried chicken. Mac and cheese oozing with cheese. A slice of pie, already sweating sugar. Two milkshakes—one for the beginning, one for when she slowed down.

You set it all on the coffee table in front of her, watched her eyes widen in horror.

“I can’t eat all that,” she whispered.

You leaned down, close. “You’ll try.”

She shivered.

“Hands behind your back,” you added. “I’m feeding you.”

And she obeyed.

You picked up a forkful of mac and cheese and brought it to her lips.

She opened. Slowly.

You fed her.

One bite.

Then another.

And another.

The first few went down with shame. Her eyes never met yours, and her breathing stayed shallow. But then you tapped under her chin with your fingers. “Chew slower. You’re not choking this down. You’re savoring it. Like the greedy little pig you are.”

She flushed deeply—and obeyed.

You alternated the bites. Sharp salt of the chicken. Rich heaviness of the potatoes. You watched her belly start to rise, watched her back arch slightly as she tried to make room.

You gave her the first milkshake. She drank half without thinking.

By the time the tray was half empty, she was breathing harder. Her belly looked taut now, doming forward, the soft middle slowly giving way to firmness. She shifted, and her leggings groaned.

“I’m full,” she whispered.

You reached forward and pressed your hand against her belly. She gasped—it was tight under your palm, heavy and rounded.

“No,” you said simply. “You’re not.”

You grabbed the fork again. Another bite. You brought it to her lips.

She hesitated. Then opened.

“Good girl.”

You fed her more.

By the time she was licking the last of the pie off the fork, she was whimpering. Her arms still behind her back. Her belly impossibly full now, visibly quivering with each breath. She looked dazed—half-drunk on food, half-drunk on you.

You knelt in front of her, one hand sliding over the tight swell of her stomach.

“You feel that?” you murmured.

She nodded slowly, cheeks flushed.

“You’re not done.”

She whimpered again.

You handed her the second milkshake.

“Drink.”

She drank the second milkshake in slow, shallow sips, both hands pressed to her belly now, as if trying to hold it together. Her breath came in sharp little gasps, each one making her middle tremble.

You took the empty glass from her slack fingers and set it aside.

Then you just looked at her.

Her hoodie had ridden up again, this time for good. Her belly was massive, distended tight and high, like she was hiding something under her skin. Her waistband had disappeared beneath the swell, cutting a harsh red mark into her lower stomach. Her thighs were spread open, helpless, her arms limp at her sides.

“God,” you muttered. “Look at you.”

She groaned softly. “I… I can’t…”

You didn’t answer. You slid your hands over her.

Not gentle. Possessive.

Your palms cupped the heavy round of her belly and lifted, making her gasp. She felt like dough, like a stuffed pastry just barely holding its shape. The weight of her was unreal—warm and taut and quivering under your fingers.

You ran your thumbs over the top, where the pressure was greatest. She whimpered, hips shifting involuntarily.

“You feel what you’ve done to yourself?” you murmured. “This isn’t baby fat anymore, Vic. This is deliberate. This is what happens when you eat yourself stupid.”

Her breath caught.

You leaned in, lips brushing her neck. “All for me.”

She trembled.

Your hands slid down, along the underside of her belly, where it pooled into her lap like a pillow, then traced back up, across stretch marks just starting to form. You pressed your thumbs in—not enough to hurt, just enough to make her feel how full she was.

“Bloated,” you whispered. “Heavy. Ruined.”

She moaned softly, face red, too far gone to argue.

“You can’t even move, can you?”

She shook her head weakly.

“Good.” You let your hand drift further—over her thighs, thick and soft, pushing against the edge of the couch. “That’s how I want you. Useless. Stuffed. Mine.”

Your palm slid back up, resting heavy on her belly.

“You don’t even realize it yet, do you?”

She blinked up at you, dazed.

“You’re not going back to the girl you were,” you said, voice low and dark. “You’re going to keep getting bigger. Softer. Slower. Until this is normal. Until this—” you gave her belly a firm jiggle “—is just the beginning.”

She groaned again, but she didn’t protest.

You leaned in, kissed the top curve of her belly, slow and reverent.

“You wanted this,” you whispered. “You just needed someone to show you how far you could fall.”

And now you were going to take her the rest of the way.

The door creaked open.

You didn’t turn.

Victoria whimpered quietly on the couch, belly heaving, her cheeks burning with effort and shame. You stayed crouched in front of her, one hand still resting on the warm swell of her gut, claiming her.

Then:

“Jesus Christ.”

Max’s voice.

Slowly, you stood.

He froze in the doorway, bag of takeout in hand, eyes locked on her—on the wreckage of her body, on the flushed daze in her face, on the faint sheen of sweat on her brow.

“Julian,” he said, stunned. “What the fuck did you do?”

You didn’t smile. You didn’t gloat.

You stepped toward him.

“What you started,” you said calmly. “I just finished.”

He blinked, visibly shaken. “She looks—she looks sick.”

“She looks full,” you corrected. “And gorgeous.”

Victoria moaned softly, unable to sit up. Her belly was high and tight, her shirt completely rolled up too now. The waistband of her leggings was visibly biting in.

Max’s jaw clenched. “You used her.”

“She asked for it.”

Max stared at her. “Vic? Is that true?”

She tried to answer, but only managed a strained breath.

“She’s too full to talk,” you said, stepping in front of Max now. “Because I made sure of it.”

Max dropped the bag on the counter, jaw twitching. “You think this is helping her?”

“No,” you said, voice sharp. “I think it’s exposing her.”

Max laughed bitterly. “She was never like this before.”

“No. She was hiding,” you said. “You kept her wrapped in comfort and sweet talk and little snacks. But you never really saw her.”

You looked back at her—her belly quivering with each breath, her thighs parted, her eyes glazed.

“I do.”

Max went quiet.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, from the couch, a faint voice:

“I’m still hungry.”

Max’s head whipped around. “Vic—”

But you were already moving—picking up the bag of takeout, pulling out one of the wrapped burgers, unwrapping it slowly as you walked back to her.

“See?” you murmured, crouching again beside her. “She’s not broken.”

You brought the burger to her lips.

“She’s just finally honest.”

She opened her mouth without hesitation.

And Max watched her chew.

Speechless.

Max stood at the edge of the room, fists clenched at his sides, eyes fixed on Victoria. The way her mouth moved, the way she eagerly accepted the burger, barely even tasting it. It was like watching someone slip further and further into the depths of a bad dream, but the worst part? He was still here, still in the picture.

You didn’t even look at him. Your attention was entirely on Victoria—on the soft, slow way her belly expanded with each bite, on the way she shifted under your touch. Your thumb traced the side of her waist, pushing gently on the fullness there. She let out a soft whimper, and your grin deepened.

“You’re doing so well,” you murmured to her, leaning in close, lips brushing her ear. “Keep eating. You’ll need all of it.”

Max’s jaw tightened.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a hiss. He stepped closer, but still, you didn’t move. You held the space, you held her, while Max just watched, helpless. “You—you’re letting him do this to you.”

Victoria didn’t answer. She was too focused on the burger, eyes glazed with hunger, her soft belly trembling as it filled again.

“You’re letting him turn you into a fucking pig,” Max spat, his voice rising with anger.

At that, you finally turned your eyes to him. Cold, dark—like you were assessing an annoying fly. “She’s not a pig, Max.”

Max’s face twisted. “This isn’t you, Vic. This isn’t the person I—”

“Shut up,” you said, low and threatening, before returning your attention to her, your hand sliding back to her belly, pressing softly. “You’re so full already, baby. But you can take more, can’t you?”

She barely responded—just another soft whimper as she nodded, still chewing.

Max’s breath quickened. He was visibly sweating now, eyes darting between the two of you. His hand balled into a fist, but there was no way to stop this. No way to break in. The jealousy was bubbling up, bitter and hot, eating him from the inside.

“What the hell are you doing, Vic?” he said again, voice shaky. “You’re just letting him use you like this. Like—like some fucking experiment.”

You didn’t give him a second glance. “You’re not allowed to talk to her like that anymore,” you said quietly, but there was steel in your voice. “She’s past that point. She’s mine now.”

Max’s eyes shot wide, mouth open. But the words didn’t come.

“I think you need to leave, Max,” you said, taking a step toward him, voice low but insistent. “You’ve had your turn. She’s chosen.”

The weight of your words hit him harder than anything physical could. His chest heaved with frustration. “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t do shit but keep her locked in denial,” you spat. “She wasn’t living before. She’s free now. Free to eat. Free to grow.”

Max’s lips pressed into a thin line. His fists were trembling at his sides now, knuckles white. He wanted to reach for her. Wanted to pull her away from you. But something in his gut—something deep and primal—told him he couldn’t.

Not anymore.

He turned, angry, defeated. But before he could leave, his eyes flicked back to her—back to the way she sat, soft and heavy, her swollen belly pressing against her leggings. Her cheeks flushed with fullness, her chest rising and falling in a haze of lust and shame.

And he hated himself for it—but a part of him was pulled to her.

You saw the look, caught the hesitation in his eyes, and smirked.

“I think you’re not as sure about leaving as you think, Max,” you said, your voice smooth like honey, but with a bite underneath. “You can walk out that door… or you can watch me finish what you started.”

Max’s gaze flicked to Victoria again.

She met his eyes, just for a moment. It was clear now—she was gone. Lost to this. To you.

Max’s chest tightened, but he didn’t move. Instead, his hand fell to his side in defeat.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked her quietly, voice breaking.

Her gaze flickered. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to do.

“Go,” Julian’s voice cut through the silence, still calm, still cold. “She’s mine now.”

Max gave her one last, pained look, then turned, slamming the door behind him.

And all that was left was you and Victoria. Alone.

Max was gone, the door slamming shut with a finality that echoed in the empty room.

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything. You just stood there, watching Victoria. Her body, heavy and full, pressed into the couch. Her belly was swollen and taut, still heaving from the relentless feeding. Her breath came slower now, like she was trying to regain control of her mind. But the haze—the addiction—was already there.

She looked at you, not with shame this time, but with something else. Something dangerous, needy. Her eyes flickered between fear and something else—a want. A need.

You stepped forward, no hesitation, and reached for her swollen belly.

Her body tensed under your touch. Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. You’d broken her down to the barest parts of herself, the parts she tried to keep hidden.

“You’re mine now, Victoria,” you said softly, your fingers pressing into her soft flesh. “I own every inch of you.”

She let out a soft whimper, but didn’t protest. She was too far gone. Too full. Too desperate to pull away.

“I’ll keep feeding you, until there’s nothing left of the girl you used to be,” you continued, your voice low, dark with possessive certainty. “You’re going to grow for me, every day. You’re going to beg for more. You’re going to stay full—always.”

She nodded, slow and reluctant.

Your hand moved lower, feeling the weight of her, the soft jiggle of her thighs, the full curve of her hips, her belly softening with each breath. She was bloated, yes. She was stuffed beyond belief. But she was yours.

“You won’t stop eating,” you whispered. “Not for anyone. Not for him.”

She trembled under your touch, cheeks flushed as she fought to keep her composure. She was afraid, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not with you in control.

“I’ve already ruined you,” you murmured, lips brushing her ear. “And you love it.”

She gasped, a breath caught in her throat. “I… I do.”

You smiled, cruel and satisfied. “Good girl.”

Her body relaxed then, sinking deeper into the couch, her gaze becoming distant as she gave in fully to the weight of what she had become—and the weight of you.

You stayed with her for a long while, watching her, your hands tracing over her body, savoring every inch of the transformation you had orchestrated. She was beyond the point of return now, and so were you.

And as the silence hung heavy in the room, you knew one thing for certain:

This was only the beginning.

[tgmsunmontue]

You look like a bad idea... 5/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - based on this idea here. Bradley is not a naval aviator. Canon deaths (it starts at Ice's funeral). Addiction and alcoholism (and recovery) mentions.

PART ONE TWO THREE FOUR

PART FIVE - BRADLEY

                He changes out of his suit, changing back into jeans and long-sleeved tank, then shrugging on one of his trademark shirts over the top. Sarah doesn’t like seeing all his ink and he’s happy to compromise on covering them up when he visits. As well as getting his hair cut for the funeral. He hooks his sunglasses into the neckline and studies himself in the mirror. His lips are swollen and red and his lips twitch in amusement and fondness as remembers, the low cut of his top means he can see the marks the guy left on his chest and Bradley’s glad he hadn’t held back at all.

                Bradley doesn’t regret it exactly, and he refuses to feel guilty as such, but he can already imagine the disappointed look Tom would give him if he were here. But he’s not here and never will be again, and he’s been grieving Tom for months already, but it doesn’t make it any easier now that he’s actually passed. He heads outside, notes the guy talking to Pete and he knew there was a chance they’d know each other. The Navy is one big family after all. Not that he was allowed to be part of it. He sees Sarah and makes a beeline, needing to head home now, definitely ready for his own space and to also be away from Pete before he tries to talk to him. Again.

                “Hey Sarah…”

                “Hey Bradley. Everything okay?”

                “Yeah. Everything’s fine. Just… you know,” Bradley shrugs, lets his eyes slide a little to the left in the direction of Pete.

                “I know. You know you don’t need to talk to him.”

                “I know. It’s just… a lot. With everything.”

                “I know sweetie. Are you going to stay here tonight?”

                “Nah. I’ll head home. I have work tomorrow.”

                “Well, family dinner on Sunday. Natasha will be able to make it, so it would be nice to see you too…”

                “Yeah. Okay. I’ll be here.”

                “Thanks. I’ll make your favorite.”

                “Then I’ll definitely be here.”

                She laughs and he gives her a quick hug, grateful that she’s always had his back, supported his choices even when she didn’t like them. Everyone else has been treating him with kid gloves, certain he’s going to trip and fall at the first sign of it being difficult and he gets where they’re coming from. Mostly. However, he’s worked fucking hard to get where he is and he’s not going to through it all away now because of a rough patch. He knows it’ll pass. Knows it’ll get better. That the answers aren’t found in using, or drinking. He’s allowed to feel.

                And okay so giving some random guy a blowjob wasn’t exactly healthy, but it was still a better alternative than drugs or alcohol. Still not something he’s going to share with anyone unless they somehow saw or know what he did, and he’s kind of banking on them being too embarrassed to say anything. Bradley is known for liking sex, and that was definitely a distraction he needed today. Still. Something he should probably bring up with his therapist and counsellor when he talks to them next. They’ll no doubt have some thoughts on the matter.

                After pressing a farewell kiss to Sarah, he walks out to his truck, something he’s refused to replace, although he does have another car for when he’s trying to look more professional. Right now though he needs the comfort of driving around in something which is filled with more happy memories than sad ones.

                “Bradley!”

                He immediately stiffens, the voice and tone expecting an answer and he already knows he won’t be dealing with this well. He’s not prepared for it despite everything.

                “Could we not do this right now?” Bradley starts, doesn’t bother turning around, just says the words as flat and as calm as he can. Doesn’t want to face him. He’s dealt with the anger and disappointment, but he can’t bring himself to forgive Pete. Especially when he’s never asked for forgiveness. Doesn’t seem to think he’s ever done anything wrong. Has at times made Bradley’s life so much more difficult and judged far too harshly. Tom and Sarah were much more understanding, Tom’s own struggles making him feel a lot less alone in even his darkest days.

                “You’re not the only one hurting…”

                Oh for fucks sake he swears internally, like grief is somehow a competition. Like Pete has been here driving Tom to medical appointments, or making meals, or comforting Sarah. The anger hits him sudden and intense and he sucks in a deep breath. Reminds himself that violence is never the answer. It still doesn’t stop him imagining laying Pete flat and breaking his nose.

                “Bradley…”

                Pete’s moved closer, he can see his shadow.

                “I don’t have anything to say to you Captain Mitchell.”

                He uses the rank and last name to provide distance, the very clear and distinct boundary he has placed around their relationship. Pete steps closer and Bradley can smell the alcohol on his breath and he steps back, shaking his head.

                “Bradley…”

                “Until you actually have something I want to hear I don’t want to speak to you. Especially when you’ve been drinking.”

PART SIX

[superblysubpar]

Princesses Can Slay Dragons Too:

dad!eddie munson x mom!fem!reader

an Easy Like Sunday Morning story

summary: you're overworked and stressed, Eddie's an oblivious but well meaning husband & dad, and a trip to the cabin with familiar faces might be just what you all needed. | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is

7.7k words (listen, I know it has no business being this long. I worked on it for a year. Idk what happened, okay?)

warnings: please read the new "general warnings" on the masterlist linked above - "reader" has a "name/nickname", mentions of Ronance, mentions of alcohol, mom stress and a little bit of description of some blood/injury and parental panic/ descriptions of shock about it. There is a twinge of "poetic", quick descriptions of smut as well as brief discussion of "unplanned" pregnancies.

This started from an ask last March, which I've since lost (so sorry anon if you're still out there), and it grew and sat and grew some more and then sat some more and now here it is. I've grown very, extremely, emotionally proud and fond of it. Hope ya like it! 💛

Summer, 2004

“Baby, volume,” your voice calls out over the faint music playing, the thrum of wheels against the highway and the wind. Eyes remain shut, but furrowed lines form above your brows when you hear the familiar ding of a coin being grabbed. A palm rests on your thigh, fingers squeeze gently around it as the music of the level starts its loop again. 

You need a coffee. Or thirty. Yes, thirty is good. 

“Squirt,” his tone full of warning, yet somehow still sounding sweeter than the syrup that clings to all of their fingers and the gray fabric of the old van’s seats.

Despite the early morning breakfast stop at McDonald’s being nearly twenty-four hours ago, and your insistence on packed sandwiches and veggies for lunch, and a stop for a sit down dinner - the stale scent of greasy food feels heavy in the air. Which has your brain cycling through the list that will rid your family of the trip when you reach your final destination - get out of the car, wrangle them into pajamas, teeth brushed, fight about sleeping when it’s already almost morning, clothes into washing machine, air out the car, make the grocery list for the week…

Screw coffee - you need a shower, you need a shot of alcohol, you already need a vacation from your vacation. 

A particularly loud grunt and the sound of something hitting or fighting or shooting has you opening your eyes, blinking away the sleep in them to find the dark highway lit by two gold headlights, showing off the yellow lines flashing past the driver’s window. Your mouth parts, ready to be the one to tell them no, like you always are, when he stops you. 

He grabs your hand, his thumb soothing over your knuckles as his voice drifts gently into the backseat, “Come on, I don’t wanna take it away…”

It’s endearing, the way he always tries, the way he gives them a couple of chances. Because at this point, you’re ready to take the damn game and chuck it out the window. This level is haunting you, all you’ve heard every second of every day, even when you’re peeing or trying to shower. You’re pretty sure you’re dreaming in the pixelated graphics, the sound effects now accompanying your daily tasks. 

A loud sigh falls from the backseat and with it, you’re certain the console is nudged one level lower. 

You hate that of all of your children, the one most like him is still awake. 

Sure, they’re all little gremlins, heathens, as he likes to call them - little tenacious mini monster versions of him that drive you up the wall but somehow make your chest ache with too much love. 

But this one, this one takes the cake every time. 

Eddie beats you to it again, the silver of his rings glinting in the green light of the dashboard as he lets go of your hand to reach into the back without looking. Out of the corner of your eye you see his bicep flexing, gently shaking the tiny knee in his big hand as he talks to the road sternly, “Lace. Volume off completely until I say otherwise, or Mario and Luigi are my best friends the rest of the week, capisce?”

“Caposh,” she grumbles, big red chucks swinging up towards the console and back down, her little legs don’t quite touch the ground yet, much to her dismay. 

You keep reminding her that she has lots of time to be as big as her siblings, that her ever growing shoe size and the jeans you bought for the upcoming school year (which she’s already complaining are too tight - remember, you need to ask Katie about hand me downs from Liv, or shit, maybe even Grace, this weekend) tell you she is going to keep growing - and fast. Part of you can’t wait, and the other part wishes she’d slow down. 

The sound vanishes completely and Eddie’s hand finds its way to your thigh again when you sigh. The part that wishes she’d grow up faster stirs, lit by the flicker of resentment when she listens to him so easily and not you. 

Eddie’s fingers run up your thigh, then back down, skin beneath the denim buzzing as he squeezes softly and clears his throat. 

“I think someone deserves an apology though, don’t you? ‘Cause I believe I heard you were asked already…”

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks and you can’t help but look over your shoulder at her when she does. 

For once, her eyes are on you and not the game, big and brown - just like his - and truly sorry. You smile softly as her brows furrow under bangs that just refuse to stay straight. She blows them away with a big huff as she whines, “It’s just so hard.”

Your head nods, temple resting on the seat as you murmur, “Yeah, I know. Thank you for turning the volume off when your dad asked though, I really appreciate it.”

Eddie swallows, his finger aimlessly circles over the skin above your knee as he blinks at the road. 

He’s always amazed when you do that. 

Far more patient than anyone deserves, far more understanding than any of them appreciate, and much too good to him. For him. Especially with how things have been lately. 

Eddie knew it’d been a little rough, with him being gone so much and the kids’ schedules just growing more cramped as they got older - summer was no longer the lazy days of kids riding around on their bikes and doing squat. It was full of sports and clubs, friends, all requiring a constant need to be dropped off, picked up, carted too and fro on seemingly hellbent on never lining up schedules. He’d been trying, he really had, to help you balance it all, but he had tunnel vision for things at work, he was so focused on his own shit he didn’t realize how much everything was affecting you. 

How much being alone with three kids, two goldfish (scratch that, one, but still), a dog, and a house that seemed to have endless tasks to keep it running was breaking you. 

He finds your hand and pulls interlaced fingers to his lips, kissing your knuckles, your wrist, your palm, all while keeping his eyes on the road. You close yours again, trying to focus on the soft press of his lips to your skin and not the reason why he’s doing it. 

You know he’s thinking about last weekend.

On Friday, Caroline had complained that you only sewed new straps on her ballet slippers instead of getting new ones altogether. She was practically in tears because all the other girls in class had new leotards, new skirts, and new shoes and you promised you’d figure something out. She retreated with red cheeks and a slam of the bedroom door, stereo blaring behind it, the cusp of terrible teenage years promising to be worse than the twos. 

After that, Michael shoved you off when you tried to hug him as you dropped him at the school for a baseball practice with an exasperated, “God, mom, stop!” - nine was grown up and he was much too cool to be a momma’s boy anymore apparently. 

And to top it all off, Lacey had been following you around the house, that stupid game dinging and singing everywhere you went, one of the fish died and Lacey asked when it was coming back, and you somehow burnt the hamburger helper for dinner.  

When Eddie got home, he found you hunched over the coffee table next to a precariously placed glass of red wine, a sock in one hand and a shirt in the other, piles of laundry neatly folded around you and your favorite movie playing on the TV. If it weren’t for the position that was sure to have your back feeling rough tomorrow, your soft, even breathing revealed you were dead asleep. 

He had tried to ease you up, move you to the bedroom while trying not to wake you like he used to when his body was much younger, but you had shot up at the touch of his hand, the lightest sleeper of a mother of three. You blinked heavy eyelids while mumbling through sleep thick words about lunches for the two eldest who would be gone all the next day. Eddie had assured you he’d make them, and you were fairly certain you were back to sleep before your head touched the pillow. 

The next day though, something inside of you snapped. 

It had been better than the one before, but not great. You hadn’t showered, there was a leak in the kitchen that hadn’t gotten any better all week. The only break you had all day was picking the kids up from their activities, and making them a snack as soon as they dropped gear in haphazard piles in the entryway. 

After hours on hold, you just started clanging around with tools you didn’t know how to use, your head throbbing from the lack of coffee or water and the sound of Mario grabbing another coin somewhere to your right. 

Where was the real plumber you had asked Eddie to call? Maybe, if you concentrated hard enough, Mario would leap out of Lacey’s console, climb down the drain, and fight off the little mushroom guy who was-

You smacked the wrench against the pipe, repeatedly, like it had personally threatened you. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Sweetheart, stop! You’re gonna break it!” 

Eddie grabbed your wrist, pulling you up to see him standing with pizza boxes and staring at you with wide, blinking eyes. For a second, the sight of short curls starting to gray on the ends and lines next to eyes that were constantly squinting because he was smiling or refusing to wear sunglasses, had you forgetting you were mad, or stressed or…maybe you were just tired?

He cocked his head, trying to catch the gaze you let fall to the floor quickly as the kids shrieked about him being home. Eddie didn’t even get his question of if you were okay out before arms were wrapped around his waist and legs, all vying for his attention. 

You had swiped at your nose to ward off the familiar sting, pulled down plates and started filling glasses of milk and juice, before shoving the casserole you’d had prepped into the freezer. 

Then he snapped his fingers, smoothing a hand over Caroline’s hair and said, “Oh, hold on. I think you’re gonna like what else I brought home a lot more than the pizza.”

He left for the hallway, returning quickly, holding something behind his back that she tried to peek at and he tsked, singing, “Uh-uh-uh. Hold on. Your mom told me you were upset about your ballet slippers…”

Your shoulders rose, the pour of apple juice freezing over the glass. 

He didn’t. 

He smiled at you, oblivious, then at Caroline’s squeal of excitement and he kept going, “These aren’t new, but my co-worker’s daughter barely used them and…Ta-da!”

Eddie held out a shoebox with essentially brand new shoes and your body felt numb as you listened to her scream how much she loved them and him, squeezing him in a fierce hug as he kissed her temple. 

Caroline held them up to you, proudly, and you smiled, nodding, saying something, you don’t even remember what. You ushered everyone to the table. 

Lacey stood next to her chair, eyes darting over the hand-held game clutched in her fingers. 

“Lacey, put it away, time for dinner.” 

Ding! Bloop, bloop, bloop blah-bloop-de-bloop. 

Eddie slapped pizza onto plates, licking stray sauce from his thumb, “How was everyone’s day? What’d you do?”

“Lacey, I’m not telling you again. Put the game away.”

Her eyes flew up to yours, something fiery and far to recognizable behind them that made you blink as she just said, “No.”

“Oh!” Eddie passed you pizza, oblivious, “How was lunch? Did dad do as good as mom?” He ruffled Michael’s hair as your daughter and you glared at each other. 

Caroline nodded her head enthusiastically around a too big bite and Michael turned to you, pizza in his mouth on display as he talked, “It was so good. Can dad make our lunches every day? His was way better.”

You stood up from the table, without warning and without a word, walked to your bedroom, and slammed the door. 

Were you having an adult tantrum? Maybe. Were you proud of it? Absolutely not. But the rush of tears that fell down your cheeks and the sob that overtook you was the kind of angry crying you simply do in private and you had needed to get there quick. 

Footsteps jogged down the hallway behind you, the sound causing you to turn the lock on your bedroom door through blurry vision and gasps around your tears. As the knob tried to turn, you moved away with a hand over your mouth until the back of your knees hit the bed. 

“Babe, open the door.” Eddie’s voice was soft as the knob rattled again. 

“Liv, what the hell, open the door.” 

You choked on a sob, fingers still over your lips so you barely got out, “I’m fine, Eddie, just…have dinner without me. I’ll eat later.”

The handle spun back and forth again, the sound of his forehead hitting the wood and his pained tone slicing through you, “Olivia, please open the door.”

You curled yourself on top of the bed, watching the handle through blurry vision slowly stop moving. Closing your eyes as the tears fell swiftly, you prayed it was the kind of crying that would just knock you out and put you to sleep, because god, did you need to sleep. 

Only a few minutes later, maybe not even, the door swung open to reveal Eddie on his knees with a flashlight between his lips and a screwdriver in his hands and you, sobbing on the bed. 

He jumped up at the sight of you curling your arms around your waist harder, at the way you rolled away from him and pressed your wet cheek into the pillow. At the way your hoarse voice called out, “Please leave me alone Eddie.”

The door closed, the lock clicked, and there was a distinct sound of both items he held dropping to the carpet with thuds. The bed dipped and the heat of his body curled behind you, fingers gently brushed over the damp skin of your cheek and neck. 

Your body shook with more tears, eyes squeezing closed tighter when he pressed his nose to the back of your head while his arm wrapped around your waist, and he waited. 

The tears eventually slowed, your chest started to fall and rise more evenly, and the light filtering in through your curtains started to turn lavender, then blue. Eddie managed to remove your jeans without waking you, and he pulled the duvet up over your shoulder as he bit his lower lip raw. Your face still didn’t look relaxed, like it was crying and worrying even in your sleep. 

He left the room with with his fingers rubbing at the back of his neck, walking past the bathroom where water sloshed over the counter and soap slid down the-

Taking several steps backwards, his mouth opened, then closed at the sight in front of him, before he finally found his words and quietly asked, “Whatcha doing?”

His three children stood in a line in the mirror, looking at him in the reflection. Lacey held a stack of plates and silverware on the left, on her toes, pink socks (that were supposed to be white, but there must have been a laundry incident he was unaware of) fully submerged in bubbles, her little arms hoisting them to rest on the counter halfway. Caroline stood in front of the overflowing, sudsy sink, her hands invisible inside it, and Michael next to her with a rag and plate. 

“We’re washing the dishes,” Caroline shrugged, like it was obvious. 

He leaned against the doorframe, rubbing at his jaw as he hummed, “I…see that. Why are you doing that in here?”

The three kids blinked at him, and he tried not to smile, because you weren’t kidding that they eerily looked like him when they did that. They were all clearly confused, and then Michael said, “The kitchen sink is broken. It has been all week.”

Eddie closed his eyes, your cursing under your breath and beating up of the pipes when he got home making much more sense now. 

All week? Why hadn’t you told him? 

Shit, had you told him?

He cleared his throat and he tapped on the frame. “Right. Well, thank you for doing them. Try to stay quiet, mom’s sleeping.”

His body had barely turned out the door before Caroline called out, nervously, “Is she okay?”

Eddie wasn’t a fan of lying, even if it was to protect feelings. But the sight of his three kids with concern evident on each of their faces told him they’d know if he did anyways. Something told him they already knew she wasn’t and it was him who didn’t know the answer. 

He sighed, entered the room deeper and kissed the tops of each of their heads, before he threw some towels over the floor that had puddles of water accumulating.  

“I think she really needs to sleep, and I’ll talk to her later. But I think you guys doing the dishes really helps. Thank you.”

So while his kids did the dishes in the bathroom sink and you slept, the dog and…one…? goldfish kept him company in the kitchen where he inspected the sink. 

It was an easy fix, but he didn’t have the part, and his stomach tensed with guilt as he thought about how you probably, definitely, asked him to look at it or call someone right away and he forgot. A simple drive down the street to the hardware store tomorrow, he’d have it fixed in less than an hour. 

He put the tools away in the garage, above the label for them that you must have made and he went into the small office space in search of a post-it to put on the sink. The office was intended for you, but years and kids and projects went by and soon it became a dumping ground of all things house. 

When he reached the desk, he found what he was looking for. There were plenty of post-its, in a variety of colors, lined up in a neat row above a large, tightly and neatly filled calendar. 

Eddie swallowed as his fingers brushed over the names of his kids, him, the fucking dog and fish - all with their own color. The house, the bills, the errands…all of it had colors, schedules, a science, a system.

But the thing was, you weren’t a part of the system - you were the system.

There was nowhere, in that entire calendar, that had anything remotely relaxing for you on it. No dinner or wine night with any of the girls. No book club with Nancy anymore, maybe because they moved, but he had a feeling it still wouldn’t be there if they hadn’t. No dates with him. He couldn’t remember the last time he took you out, or hell, made you dinner - when was the last time he even cooked dinner for the whole family?

He swallowed as he read over the entire month, and the next and the next. Anything that would have been considered free time, or your time was full of laundry, grocery shopping, dusting the fucking baseboards, because apparently you do everything? 

And Eddie knew he had colosally, monumentally, brutally, fucked up. 

So when the kids were in bed, and the kitchen was clean, and the lunches for the next day were packed, and the laundry was folded and put away, Eddie crawled back into bed behind you. 

He didn’t think you were awake, carefully letting his arm curl around you and his lips brush your shoulder in a wordless goodnight, an apology, a promise to talk about it as soon as you woke up. But then your words floated out and hung in the dark room and a tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie sniffled, trying to reign it in, he cleared his throat, but you were already rolling to face him and he had his palms pressed to his eyes as his words left him all scratchy and on the brink of a full blown sob. 

“Sweetheart, don’t you dare fucking say it again.”

Your fingers had curled around his wrists and tugged gently, until watery eyes were blinking at your own and you shrugged and whispered, “But I am.”

His lips found yours in a bruising kiss, noses squished together and gasps of air between parting mouths, fingers clutching at hips and necks as your legs tangled. 

When was the last time he fucking kissed you like he meant it? Like it wasn’t a quick goodbye, goodmorning, or a hey, doll, how was your day as he half listened? 

He shook his head, mouth catching yours in quick kisses between each softly spoken word, “No, I am.”

Your palms pressed to his cheek as your leg hitched over his thigh, breathless as he traveled over your jaw and down your neck for the first time in what felt like months. 

Maybe it had been. 

“Can you,” you tugged on short curls behind his ears as his tongue traced your collarbone which made you both groan, “Jus-just let me apologize?”

Eddie practically growled out the word no before his lips were back on yours. 

It was fast fingers pulling at clothing and sharp teeth nipping at lips and skin, no foreplay, ‘just fuck me’ quick, and quietly because of the kids, kind of sex, until it wasn’t. 

It only took him three thrusts to realize it wasn’t what he wanted. Quickly becoming memorizing touches that glided over skin and held with care, it was lips that whispered apologies and all the things he loved about you into yours, quiet and passionate pushing and pulling with each other, and hands gripping the others as you came together and said everything you couldn’t with intense eye contact, fingers deep in the curls at the back of his head as his name left your mouth only to be swallowed by his.  

His lips brushed down your shoulder and back up, over your collarbone and chest as your fingers scratched at his scalp gently. 

He hummed against your throat before whispering, “I think we should go to the cabin next week.”

“Eddie…” you started softly, already panicking about the missed events the kids would have to make up, the packing, the-

“Stop,” he kissed your jaw, then hovered over your face so his big, brown, sweet eyes could look down at you, “I can hear the stress coming out of you, and I just got it all out.”

You laughed quietly, fingers pressing to your eyes as you shook your head. Unconvinced, and if you were tired before, he’d just made you even more so.

Eddie kissed at your fingers, your nose, your cheek until he was nudging at the fingers again with his nose. 

“Baby, I promise, it’ll be a good vacation. I think we could all use it. And I swear, I’ll be the parent. You kick your heels up and get drunk on shitty wine with Katie, okay?”

And here you were, doing just that. 

The late/early morning arrival was not the shit show you were sure it was going to be. The kids listened immediately about being quiet entering the cabin at the late hour, especially after Eddie said if everyone woke up, the entire day on the lake would be ruined. 

You woke up, without an alarm, for the first time in…you didn’t know how long. Greeted in the kitchen by Steve’s wife, Katie, quietly squealing and grabbing you in a hug that seemed to melt the tension from your shoulders. Eddie handed you a steaming cup of a coffee accompanied with a kiss on your temple and a swat to Steve’s chest when he tried to do the same. 

The kids were already showered, dressed, fed - fruit and waffles and minimal syrup thankfully - and outside playing. You had your suspicions this was all largely due to Steve and his wife’s doing. If you dwelled on it too long, the comparison to how much better they were at the whole parenting thing than you could drive you insane, so you tried to ignore it. 

There was only one argument with Lacey about the Nintendo, and Eddie snatched it and pocketed it and simply shrugged at her scowl when he did and said, “Told ya, babe.” Michael complained about lunch, but only until Nora, Steve’s eldest and seventeen, said “Oh, I love chicken salad” with a wink in your direction. You’d never seen Michael eat so quickly before and he was a garbage disposal on a good day. 

And now, your heels were “up” leaning against the deck’s railing from your spot on the floor, a wine glass was in your hand. Katie was telling you all about Nora’s new boyfriend, Charlie, who Steve positively hated, as Eddie and him stood nearby, with beers and watching meat on the grill or whatever men do. 

“Charlie is the least of our worries though,” she waved her hand with an eye roll, sipping the pink wine with a grimace, “I mean, you know. They’re monsters. Why’d we have them again?”

You laughed, shaking your head, “If you think yours are monsters, mine might literally be the devil incarnate.”

She snorted into her glass and you laughed, swiping at your lips with a shrug, “Okay, too far. But god, they’re…I don’t know. But, seriously, you and Steve…”

Your voice fell as the boys yelled over the grill at two of the girls doing cartwheels dangerously close to the fire pit. 

“You guys, you really know what you’re doing. You’re a good team.” You smiled sadly, looking at the back of Eddie’s head and then at her. 

She was watching you closely, a tilt of her head like she was trying to figure you out, before she grabbed your hand and squeezed it and admitted, “I yelled at him about loading the dishwasher wrong last week. We didn’t talk for three days.” She frowned and shook her head and looked over at him and he flipped his spatula and winked at her and she smiled and turned back to you. “Things aren’t ever what they seem on the outside. We all have shit. It just matters if your shit is something you can trudge through together. If you can help clean it off each other.”

She frowned at the wine she started pouring. “I don’t think this wine is helping with my metaphors, but you get what I mean?”

You nodded, taking in Eddie’s profile as he talked with his hands and got louder as he told a story to Steve. 

“Yeah, yeah I do.” 

It was silent as you both stared at the guys, sipping your wine, until you whispered, “So he loaded it wrong, huh?”

“So wrong!” She exclaimed, grumbling, “Who puts plates all willy-nilly? They go in a straight, neat-”

“I said I was sorry!” Steve shouted from the grill, his hands on his hips as he glared at the two of you. 

Katie stuck her tongue out at him and he shook his head with narrowed eyes and she grinned, a quiet and not as silent as they thought conversation about her paying for that later. 

You looked away, smiling into your wine glass when you caught Eddie’s gaze. He looked a little shocked when you made eye-contact, his cheeks flushed pink and you cocked your head with bunched eyebrows at him. 

An unanswered silent question though, because the kids all shouted as a black SUV pulled up the long, gravel driveway. 

A tall, lanky body jumped out of the backseat of the car before it was even in park, a head full of bouncing red waves shooting across the grass towards the literal swarm of children screaming, “Aunt Robin!”

She was down, on the ground, in literal seconds, the children forming a nice heap on top of her that the four of you all yelled about getting off at the same time, sharing grins that only parents who grew up doing the same thing and feel wrong for telling them not to could. 

Your eldest, was bounding over to the car, along with Olivia, ready for the third to round out the little trio of three musketeers - Zoey Wheeler. 

As they hugged and squealed about being back together, you all started down the steps to greet the late arrivals. 

You couldn’t help but notice Caroline standing a touch away from Olivia as the two other girls gossiped about something from school. 

But then Nancy was enveloping her in a tight hug, “Hey kiddo, hear you’re gonna be in the windy city pretty soon.”

Too preoccupied with your own waving of arms to tell her to stop talking, you didn’t notice Eddie whip his head over at Steve, who blinked with his hands raised. 

Your head fell as Caroline turned to you with curious eyes and a quiet, “What?”

Eddie opened his mouth to explain, but you were already talking, him blinking behind you. 

“I…I haven’t even told your dad. It was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday. You and me, driving to Chicago to go to this dance store that Zoey and Olivia go to. It’s not new stuff, but their dance troop shops there and it’s all really nice stuff and - oof!”

Caroline’s arms were squeezing you harder than they ever had, face pressed against you as her words got lost and muffled, but didn’t lose their meaning when she said, “Thank you so much mom.”

Your fingers ran over her hair, lips pressed to the top of her head as you enjoyed the hug for as long as she’d let you. “Of course, honey. Happy early Birthday.”

The girls quickly started discussing what they’d do on the trip, and Nancy winced out an apology you told her was unnecessary as you hugged, all while Eddie gulped down his beer and Steve narrowed his eyes at him which made Eddie wave him off, grabbing another beer out of the cooler. 

“I am in need of assistance,” Robin called weakly, from her spot on the ground, now abandoned by all the children who were quick to return to their activities. 

Nancy sighed and drawled dramatically, “Coming, dear.”

Robin groaned from the ground, but giggled. “Thank you, sugar-pie.”

“Robs, I’ll leave you down there…” she warned. 

“Fine,” Robin shrugged, blue eyes staring up at the matching sky, “Dingus will-”

He was already hoisting her up, and grabbing her in a big hug only the two of them could find comfortable from the amount of squeezing suffocation. 

Nancy looked at you and Katie and sighed. 

“Wine.”

You were both already handing your glasses over with smiles before she could finish the word. 

She was thoroughly tipsy by her third glass, and the stress you could sense when she arrived - maybe it was a thing all you mom’s could sense, or maybe it was because of being old friends - was melted from her face as she called out, loudly, excitedly, “Robin!”

“Yes, my love?” 

Robin’s legs swung as they dangled from her hoisted up spot on the railing by the men. A baseball hat turned backwards over waves tinted red and silver and a sly smirk resting on her lips as she looked at her wife with more love than should be possible in a human. 

Nancy’s cheeks flushed and you all snickered into your glasses, because you all knew what was coming next. 

“I, uh,” Nancy cleared her throat, as big, blue eyes tried to blink innocently, “I need to talk to you. Inside.”

Robin grinned and nodded, “Lead the way, Wheeler.”

Nancy frowned, but clumsily made her way inside with a giggle. 

With a hop down, a salute, and a quiet, “Duty calls, boys,” Robin followed, all of your “boos” and “ow-ow-ow’s” slammed on by the door. 

Katie pulled out a stack of cards, the boys finally came over and joined you, and your legs crossed over Eddie’s lap as you hid your deck from him with a terrible poker face. 

He soothed his thumb over your ankle bone, wet his bottom lip before he grinned at you. “Baby, remind me to never take you to Vegas.”

“You have taken me to Vegas.” You touched your cards to your nose, hiding your grin.

Eddie sucked his teeth as he nodded, “Right, right, how could I forget.”

“Seriously dude,” Steve moaned at his cards, frowning, “Vegas was a mistake.”

Katie smacked the back of his head and he flinched, but with a glint in his gaze at her, “What the hell was that for.”

“They got Lacey because of Vegas,” she scolded, “It wasn’t a mistake.”

“Believe me, I remember. I don’t remember much, but that I do. It’s sort of hard to forget the results of that trip. What with the children who came out of it. Lacey, Annie and-”

“Luke is stupid!”

Steve sighed at the now sherbert colored sky. He groaned, “I knew it was too good to last.”

You rolled your eyes as you dropped your legs from Eddie’s lap as Lacey stomped up the stairs, huffing. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Eddie sit up, but you were already grabbing at your daughter’s crossed arms and pulling her towards you. 

“Woah, super mean word, let’s think of a better one.”

“A buttface!” She frowned, but didn’t resist your embrace as she climbed onto your lap, a privilege that was fleeting. 

“Nope, try again.” You shook your head, letting your chin rest on the top of her head as a hand soothed up her spine, while hers gestured wildly in search of the right word. 

“He’s…he’s…impossible!”

You hummed, great word - especially for a seven year old. 

“Why is he impossible?” You asked quietly, Katie taking the hint and getting Steve and Eddie to go back to a semi-normal conversation and their cards. 

Lacey fiddled with your shirt collar, grumpy and big lips pouting just like her dad. “We were playing Dragons, and he said that I had to be the princess and stay in the tree house while he fought the dragon and saved me! I don’t want to just sit there!”

Steve smiled around the lip of his beer and Katie rolled her eyes, looking at you with a mouthed, “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Ah,” you adjusted in your seat, hugging her closer as her fingers roamed to the necklace around your throat. “I would be frustrated by that too. I like helping. I don’t want someone to come rescue me, either.”

You glanced up at Eddie who smiled softly at you, watching intently. 

“Right. So I’m not playing. I don’t like him anymore,” she huffed, breath warm on your already sweaty skin and fingers leaving something sticky and smelling like pine trees all over you. 

“You don’t, huh?” 

“Nope,” she popped the ‘P’, but her gaze wandered over to the yard where the boy in question fought his sisters with sticks. 

It took you a bit, and maybe you were just soaking up the smell of her strawberry shampoo, or the way she fit perfectly in your arms, but you finally asked softly, “Hey, you remember Dimitri and Anya?”

Lacey shifted with a dramatic sigh, but she nodded. 

“I’m pretty sure they didn’t like each other either. But, then Anya showed him she could do anything he learned to do, right? And he listened to her? She helped save him in the end, remember?”

“Spoilers!” Steve grimaced and Lacey giggled which he smiled and booped her nose at. 

“So,” you lifted your daughters chin, big eyes that reminded you of someone else peering at you unwaveringly as you continued, “You go tell that Harrington boy that Princesses can slay dragons too.”

“They can?” Lacey asked, unsure, unconfident, in a way that melted your heart, put it back together and melted it again. 

You nodded and cleared your throat, trying not to cry. “Absolutely.”

She started to climb off of you, but you tugged at her waist, brushing a curl behind her ear as you smiled, “And baby?”

“Yeah?”

You kissed her forehead and whispered, “It’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help, kay?”

She nodded, kissed your cheek, and hopped off, bounding down the stairs with a sing-song call to her tone, “Ohhhh, Luuukkkee!”

Lifting the cards from the table, you smiled at the sound of your daughter antagonizing a Harrington and before you could make a jab at Steve, fingers were under your chin, and Eddie was tilting your head, lips on yours and stealing all of the air from your lungs. 

His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and his hand cradled your jaw as you opened for him without thought, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt until loud clearing of throats came from your right. 

You broke away with a gasp, but Eddie pulled you back in for one more press of his lips and a whispered, “Sorry,” as he sat back down looking not sorry at all. 

Steve tried to hide his grin as he threw a chip into the pile and Katie grinned at you as she quipped, “Wow, guys, you’re worse than the lovebirds inside.”

Eddie didn’t look up from his cards, but he raised his eyebrows. “I seem to recall an incident in my home on my kitchen counter on my daughter’s first birthday, Katherine.”

“Touche, Edward, touche,” she beamed as Steve choked on his beer. 

He quickly changed the subject, swiping beer from his lips as he looked at you. “You’re gonna have to show me how you did that.”

Your wine glass froze halfway to your mouth and he laughed, coughed, covered his mouth with his fist. “I meant the talk with Lace. Not the kissing. Now that you guys’ll be closer we can…”

Eddie hung his head as Steve trailed off and you quirked an eyebrow. “Closer?”

Katie took a large gulp of her wine and Steve gestured to the grill with a hook of his thumb over his shoulder, “I’m gonna…”

“I’ll help!” Katie jumped up and followed. 

“Eddie, what’s going on?”

He sighed, set his cards down, scooted his chair closer to you before his hands grabbed yours.

“I got a promotion, sort of.”

“Wh-what? Eddie, that's great!” You squeezed his hands, your heart hammering in your chest because he wasn’t looking at you still. The knowledge that there wasn’t really room for a teacher to get promoted stirring in your brain. “Wait, how…”

He grimaced, thumbs swiping over your knuckles as he nodded. “Right, yeah. So, it’s not so much a promotion, as it is a completely different job, at a completely different school. Or um, University.”

“In…in Chicago?” You were starting to piece it all together.

“Mhm,” he hummed, biting at his bottom lip that you instinctively reached up and pulled away from his teeth gently. He finally looked up at you, worried, and apologetic, but hopeful. “It’s, it’s a really great job. Tons of benefits. At the university. Way more pay. Flexible hours. I’d-I’d be home so much more. And I know, I know that moving is insane. But I just…”

He rambled, and you got lost, because you were thinking about telling the kids, about uprooting your entire life, about never seeing the patch of wall that the kids heights were on again. Your routine, your system, your grocery store, all pulled out from under you. 

But then you then thought about how you’d only been on this vacation for a day and how much less stressed you were. How Steve and Katie and Robin and Nancy would be in the same city as you again. About how happy your kids were with all of them, how happy you were with them. The support you’d have. The promise of more time with Eddie. The adventure.

“Okay,” you said softly, interrupting whatever he was saying.

Eddie blinked at you, mouth parted in surprise. 

“Okay? Okay what?”

You shrugged. 

“Okay, let’s do it. Let’s move. Take the job.”

Eddie swallowed, he scooted closer and he cupped your jaw, thumbs grazing over your cheekbones as he murmured. “Okay, let’s do it, like you’re excited and want to, or okay let’s do it, like you don’t think you have a choice and you’re stressed and sad and I’m gonna have to unlock the door with the screwdriver again?”

“I mean,” you laughed, brushing over the worried lines of his forehead as you did, “Okay let’s do it. It’s gonna suck to move and tell the kids, but I think…”

They always tell you, you see stuff in slow motion in moments of panic, fear, but you never really believe it until it happens to you - seeing it all happen before it did. 

“Oh my god!” 

You were pushing back from Eddie, yelling your daughter’s name as she climbed up a tree, her foot about to step on a branch that looked dead and rotting even from this distance, and then she was falling. 

There was a boy shouting beneath her, and his older sister’s shouting at him, screams of mom and dad that all four of you raced towards. 

Everyone’s footsteps except Eddie’s slowed when you saw the eyelids fluttering over brown eyes pooling with big, crocodile tears and the leg already swelling with bright red trickling down from it. 

Katie was shouting about grabbing the girl’s from inside, about ambulances and driving. Steve was pulling at all the other kids, reassuring them it was fine, and Eddie was focused on Lacey and Luke. 

You don’t really remember what you did. You had arms around you and you spoke, but you don’t know what you said. Ushered into a car by big hands and a little one grasping yours tightly. 

In the end, all it was, was a deep gash in her leg, nothing broken. Luke a little worse for wear with a fractured wrist, but he beamed when Lacey signed her name on the cast and asked you how to spell Princess before it, then kissed his cheek and told him thank you for saving her. 

The rest of the week was the same as the first day after that, save for the two kids who huddled next to each other on the couch on the deck, their temples pressed together as they shouted at the screen of the Nintendo Eddie gave back almost immediately. Day three of watching his kid that close to a Harrington boy made him rethink the whole move and said it wasn’t happening anymore, which Steve promptly replied with, “Dude, they’re seven. Wait till she’s seventeen and dating a guy named Charlie.”

Nora’s head had perked up from coloring with the younger kids, an expression almost identical to her father’s as she scowled. “I thought you liked Charlie!”

“I do, I do sweetie.” Steve rubbed at his temple and gave Eddie and you a look that said he really did not like Charlie. 

Time moved too quickly, and the light-hearted moments turned to memories, and soon bags were packed by the front door, and everyone was restlessly sleeping, not ready to say goodbye just yet. 

Which is how you found yourself quietly making your way down the stairs to the kitchen, when you woke up to the empty bed and cold sheets. 

You found him in the living room, eyes glued to the hand held device, his thumbs jabbing at it while he frowned. 

“She wasn’t kidding,” he whispered, the girl in question tucked into his lap, her leg propped up on a pillow and drool spilling down his white shirt. 

His arms flexed with each press, tattoos that were rarely on display anymore dancing under each movement. Short curls that the flecks of gray in stood out in the moonlight. Lines of worry and laughter all over his face, brown eyes gifted to all of your children because of the same ones maintaining their gaze on the console. 

You slid onto the couch next to him, curling into his side with a yawn and a gentle rearrange of Lacey’s legs onto your lap. Fingers gesturing for him to give it to you. 

Eddie handed it over, his arm scooping Lacey closer to his chest while his other wrapped around your shoulders. 

You kept your eyes on the game as you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The breath huffed out of his nose hit your jaw as he quietly laughed, “Babe, what?”

Mario leaped over blocks as you told him again, “I’m sorry. I froze, I don’t know what happened. Thank you for taking care of her, of all of them, I don’t-”

“We’re a team,” he kissed your cheek, his smile stayed pressed to your skin, “You know, a wise woman once said, ‘it’s okay to need some saving sometimes. If you want or need the help.’”. 

A hum from your lips that fought a smile as his fingers squeezed your shoulder. You couldn’t help but grin at the screen though, when you pressed A for the final time. 

“I think I know her. Same lady who said Princesses can slay dragons, too, right?”

The screen lit up with little fireballs, trills and chimes coming from the console signifying you beat Bowser - this time, all of which you quickly tried to cover up as Eddie shushed. 

“Mommy,” her sleepy voice muffled in his chest.

“Yeah, sweetie?” You whispered, console silenced. 

“Volume,” word almost lost to the yawn she gave before she was snuggling back into the crook of Eddie’s elbow and was out again. 

Eddie tried not to snort or let his laughter shake her as your mouth fell open in shock and he took the Nintendo back, moving on to the next level. 

You shook your head at your daughter, and glanced down at her wrapped and injured leg, at the peaceful features of her sleeping face. 

“Man, you’re lucky you’re so cute,” you sighed. 

It was silent for a while, and your eyelids started to flutter closed too, when Eddie spoke again. 

“I totally thought Bowser was a turtle.”

[chbnews]

WEEKLY NEWS 4/20/25-4/27/25

Join the CHB News Discord!

Camp Announcements:

- Happy Easter for all the campers who celebrate! Even if you don’t, some of the Demeter, Dionysus, and Athena kids have arranged an egg scavenger hunt! Some eggs have drachma, cash, and other cool things inside- as well as candy from the mortal world! Have fun! (Please remember to play fairly, some of those eggs are in some really weird places..)

- Chiron has asked us to inform everyone that there might be a night of rain while he works with Dionysus to readjust the barrier. He also asks for campers to remain in camp during this time.

- Cabin Summer Games Championship sign ups are opening on Wednesday! One camper from each cabin can sign up for the different activities during the week-long even in June! (I will not be participating in this, but I am a referee. Also, I won’t be accepting bribes.)

- The alert about a Sphinx in the woods was investigated and revealed that there was no Sphinx, it was simply spell practice from some of the Hecate kids.

Camper Updates:

- The Poseidon camper that was injured in the arts and crafts incident is now cleared to join back in camp activities!

- Nyssa Barrera and Miranda Gardiner (spelled Gardener in the original draft?) are working on building a greenhouse so that we can grow new herbs, fruits, and veggies here at camp!

- Tyson the Cyclops is visiting camp this week! If you see him around, don’t be alarmed! He’s very friendly!

- Felix Pearce from the Nemesis Cabin has finally departed from camp after a whopping SIX years of being here! Good luck, Felix!

Game Winnings:

- A few campers banded together to create a one-on-one sparring bracket. The winner was Maxwell Vance from the Ares cabin! He won a brand new sword from the Hephaestus cabin!

- The Hephaestus Cabin took the win in the Chariot Race! (Will had a lot of overtime in the medical wing following that chariot race, but no deaths… this time.)

- A small group of campers held some Pegasus races. The winner was Arlo (Hebe Cabin) with their Pegasus, Artax. (… I just watched the never ending story. Please don’t let that poor Pegasus near a swamp.)

- Blade Sparring tournament sign ups are open! So far Lukas Fraust (Zeus Cabin) is holding the crown!

Upcoming Events:

- “Lightning Strikes and Sky Etiquette” hosted by the Zeus Cabin, Sunday night in the Cabin Green.

- “Illusions vs. Reality” hosted by the Hecate Cabin, Monday afternoon at the Beach.

- “DIY: Shieldmaking” hosted by the Hephaestus Cabin, Monday afternoon in the Forges.

- “Water Combat Tactics” hosted by the Poseidon and Athena Cabins, Tuesday afternoon at the Canoe Lake

- “Poisonous Plants and Monster Antidotes” hosted by the Demeter Cabin, Tuesday evening at the Big House. (Just hope you won’t be turned into a corn plant. Or any plant. It’s not fun.)

- “Battlefield Chess: Strategical Moves for Combat” hosted by the Athena Cabin, Wednesday morning in the Arena.

- “Dress It Like You Mean It!” hosted by the Aphrodite Cabin, Wednesday evening in the Amphitheater.

- “Basic First Aid for the Adventerous” hosted by the Apollo Cabin, Thursday afternoon in the Big House. (Will asks me to urge you all to come to this.)

- “Faux-lympus: The Trojan War” hosted by the Apollo and Dionysus Cabins, Friday Night in the Amphitheater.

Camp Gossip:

- Apparently some Iris messages are being interrupted by weird koi fish. (We don’t know if it’s a camper or Iris just messing with everyone. It’s fun t though. )

- The Hermes Cabin has been uncharacteristically quiet, and we like to think it’s because one of them is harboring a pet. (We all know it’s Roman with that raccoon he nonchalantly mentioned at dinner four days ago.)

- Connor and Travis are accused of swapping out the camp dessert of cherry and strawberry jello with red pepper jello.

- An unnamed Aphrodite kid said that the Poseidon cabin has.. apparently been moving rocks around as some sort of “building Atlantis” project?

- Despite getting into an argument, an Aphrodite and a Hermes kid have been seen together at the canoe lake.

Weekly Question:

What is your favorite color? (Doesn’t have to just be like red, or green. Can be something wildly out there like Mountain Dew Baja Blast teal)

Last Week’s Question:

If you were stranded on a deserted island, what TWO things would you bring with you?

Camper Answers:

“Probably seeds and neverending water” - Tyler Rosemary

“Neverending sunscreen and a music player that never runs out of battery” - Lyric Kennedy

Thank you to Nico di Angelo for helping with this week’s news!