#and was passed down to him by his father by his father before him

[dilf-docs]

I Can Fix Her (No Really I Can)

jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: jackson's loud mouthed spoiled princess has suddenly gone quiet. what or who could be behind such miracle?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (20s/50s), pwp, p. in v., oral (m. and f. receiving), brat taming, dacryphilia, pussy spanking, fingering, humiliation kink, dom!joel, sub!joel if u squint, soft!joel (look at that switch sandwhich fr), brat!reader (she's annoying and v mean, you've been warned), denial is a river so take this before the world mourns joel miller again

word count: 5,391 words

side note: new layout my citizens! will eventually update all of the blog but as for now, enjoy this one and the masterlist. quick thing, i just wanted to say that i had a very shitty week and for the life of me, can't find a way to make ttdik pt. 4 not oversaturated with angst bc i wish all men a very pleasant die or how to connect what i've written so far. note that this was kinda rushed; i feel confident of some parts and not the whole thing. just hoping it works for y'all! (based on this request)

Joel Miller isn't who he used to be before.

Life in Jackson has made him... soft. This version of him, tired of a life of killing and running, tainted with blood and regret. But he's now an uncle and a father. Well, used to be. Ever since Ellie had found out the truth and wanted nothing to do with him, he had somewhat become downright pathetic. Joel could be both Jackson's most useful man, even at his age, while also being their biggest wretch. Ah, yes: Joel Miller, the man who lived in the house down the street, alone and certainly worth the townsfolk's pity.

Maybe that's why you couldn't bother to be nice to him. In your eyes, a man like Joel just didn't deserve your time or respect.

But it wasn't personal, really. He happened to, unfortunately, be in charge of your patrol. That, in your eyes, made him your enemy: a person to be defied and picked apart. And the worst part is, in his current position, Joel just didn't have the energy to fight you back.

"You want me to cross that wearing this?" your protest comes in the form of a whiny pitch. "Ew, no. I'd rather be dead"

At least dead, you wouldn't be a bother. He rolls his eyes, rubbing his face tiredly. The rest of the group watches the interaction in silence, expressions pretty much the same.

"I promise 'cha, princess. Ya' wouldn't want that"

The nickname should irk you, but you let it pass. It is no news to anyone that you are indeed a princess: Jackson's resident little spoiled brat.

Sheltered from early starts of civilization's downfall, maybe your parents had done more bad than good trying to protect you and settling early on in Jackson. You had grown to be a pampered bitch who made Joel's patience wear thin. Of course, to keep him busy and distracted, Tommy had assigned you to Joel. And while he'd rather not spend his days on a house too big for a person, he too wasn't exactly excited about having to deal with you on your patrol shifts.

(If you could call them that. You did anything but patroling)

You cross your arms, petty. "I'm not moving unless you carry me"

Maybe your need to defy him also came, partly, because of this: the way he's looking at you right now, a quiet rage simmering in those big round brown eyes that remind you of a kicked puppy, but when they burn, they seem like a forest fire, old remnants of the hunter that had been tamed by domestic life and a broken relationship resurfacing.

It excites you.

All your life, people seemed to bend to your will-- a force of nature: to your cruel harsh icy wind. You kept Jackson down at their knees, but it wasn't kindness, rather your shoe up their throats what put them to your feet.

Yet, Joel... he could be a loser to you, but he was probably the only one you'd met to be insane enough to defy you. The only man who didn't succumb to your fluttering eyelashes, pink lips and princess manners. No, he ignored the way you looked at him and your constant begging for attention, leaving the job to those men who seemed to follow your every step, ready to be themselves a carpet for you to step in. He'd roll his eyes and walk past you like you were the most bland, boring and uninteresting thing in the world: not worth a second of his attention. Joel simply wouldn't entertain your spoiled attitude past replying to a few snarky comments.

And that revolted and aroused you in equal parts.

It's not like you could escape your obligation, but perhaps, the bigger reason you chose to not skip patrol like you used to before his arrival, is to see Joel Miller's sinking ships for eyes try to wash over your rebel flame.

"Be free to stay then" he replies, but you don't miss the way his grip on his rifle turns white. "I ain't carryin' no one"

"I can carry you" one of the guys from your group offers.

(You can't remember his name)

"Sure" you chuckle, victory smile dancing on your lips at the sight of him looking above his shoulder in a barely stolen glance, thinking you won't notice.

But you do.

Joel Miller fucking hates you.

After five decades alive, he simply can't stand the idea of breathing the same air as a spoiled little brat like you.

Joel's seen destruction, loss, hopelessness and blood up close, and the thought of you walking around like the world owes you a favor fills him with vitriol.

He's been alive for fifty-six years so he's simply just tired. Too tired to give a damn about your attitude, despite how you manage to press all his buttons every time you open your mouth.

He still remembers the first time he met you, how you laughed like people did before all civilization was destroyed. You walked with a confident strut, boots clicking against Jackson's streets, every step made with determination. Like you knew just where you were going.

He envied you, in a way. After Salt Lake City, he seemed to have lost his path, all in the name of love. Then, that warm feeling had turned cold and cruel like all things in this world ravaged by pain, and he felt even at more loss than the first time he experienced grief.

But you? You lived everyday with a dismissal so cold it seemed like nothing could hurt you.

He missed that part of him who just survived: hardened by the world around him.

But Jackson tamed him. Ellie made him soft.

And then you brought up that old dark part of him: the putrid black liquid that spewed through the cracks of his new character that made him loved by Jackson. The same one that made people fear one of Boston QZ's most brutal smugglers. It was that vicious anger, red on his vision like the ichor that would splatter on his clothes or cover his bruised knuckles.

He hated you for it.

But that was in the past, and Joel Miller simply didn't care.

Yet, you made him care. Outright forced him to.

In a way, it seemed like you enjoyed this: the banter of contained rage and practiced patience, dripping as a leak until it overflew. You'd shot your bratty remarks and petty complains until he'd turn around and see you. Then, you'd smile, like that's all you needed to feel better. Far superior. And he hated it. Knew your little game, and fed into it, even as he told himself he wouldn't. Like a drug: a destroying addiction.

Joel didn't understand why you took the time to enrage him, having even heard once when he was late for patrol (he overslept), how you talked bad about the, in your words, Lonely Pathetic Man From The House On The End Of The Road.

Joel Miller has been patient. God knows he has. But he isn't religious, and was never the type to let things pass by.

No. Joel Miller was born with impel, and no matter how many love he had to give, the world around him constantly reminded him of the power hidden behind the exertion over others, how alive he'd felt with the gift he'd been given by heaven.

He isn't patient. He isn't a fool. He isn't pathetic: and Joel Miller will take matters between his rugged hands.

Tommy had arched an eyebrow first, looking at just his and your name on the patrol schedule.

"What's going on?" he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his brother.

"Found a cabin deep on the forest" curt, "I'ont need lot'a people to scavenge the place"

In the end, he agreed. Who didn't? You, obviously, the reason so many before him had gotten rid of their obligation of you. To flirt with you at the Tipsy Bison? Hell yeah. To have you in their patrol team? God, no.

"Where is everyone else?" you cross your arms above your chest, bracing yourself because of the weather. "Also, isn't this climate not patrol appropiate?"

Joel's not dumb, of course he knows that-- he can feel his aching joints shiver and bones creak because of the temperature. But he also knows he's sick of your shit.

"Ain't you little Ms. Know it all" he mocks, brushing past you, shoulders clashing with the same harsh force the icy breeze does to your face.

"And you're an asshole" you're quick to counter, "bringing us out here in the cold. If you wanted to kill me, you could've made it easier for both of us and done it way back in Jackson"

He rolls his eyes at your incessant bickering.

"Watch y'er mouth" is all he says, the brat hanging dangerously close to the tip of his tongue.

"I'd rather watch my step, thank you very much" you purse your plush pink lips, annoyed. "Have you seen the size of this roots? I will trip and break myself"

He chuckles at your hyperboles and the way you jump in a rather exaggerated manner, more in amusement than irritation.

"Don't think ya' can handle all'at?" Joel taunts. "Gon' break like a doll?"

Doll. It hangs in the air, like the snowflakes that fall into your hair and his eyebrows, the white fusing with his own.

"I'm strong" but it comes out weak.

"Don't seem like it" he's laughing at you again, a sharp annoyed edge to it. "With all that complainin' ya' do"

You huff, your incredulity condescing in the air.

"What's wrong with that?"

"With bein' annoyin'?" Joel quips.

"With voicing out my concerns"

He's walking ahead of you, yet you see his shoulders slump, like he does when he disagrees.

"Those ain't concerns, jus' moanin' and bitchin'"

It's still inside the fun banter you're carrying, harmless, but for some reason, it strikes you in the face.

"If you can't stand me so much, why don't you quit on me, like the others?"

You may seem cold, but there's that cut that always bleeds. Or it may be the need for something that blurs the line between you and those survivors out there who've outlived the worst a man can endure.

Like Joel.

You just can't help wanting it all.

Joel stops on his tracks at your words, response barely above a whisper:

"'Cause I ain't a quitter"

As if that could bring any sense into what had started the moment he layed eyes on you.

You finally reach your destiny in silence, the old cabin hanging by a thread.

"This looks like shit" you comment out loud.

Joel lets out a laugh, a deep rumbling sound coming out of his chest. For a reason, red dust makes it's way into your warm cheeks.

"No, doll. In this world, this ain't shit. It's decent"

You don't miss the way your breath hitches and heart skips a beat at the petname. He doesn't miss the way his tongue burns and his jeans squeeze at the sight of you: powerless.

God, Joel could go to hell for this. (But he'd probably be fine)

"Decent? You're one to talk" it spills out, your fear attacking the only way you know how when you're nervous.

Bite.

You hate feeling weak. You hate how your own game has turned on you.

It seems, Joel Miller isn't just a pathetic man but one who knows how to play.

(You knew this. But now, it's real, not the image you touch yourself to during nighttime, and it's equally both exciting and scary)

The red desire for hunger is there on his eyes. "What's that s'pposed to mean?"

You tilt your head, tone feigning innocence. "I think you know what I mean"

He paces around the room, like your floral scent is too suffocating and the cold isn't enough to shake the fire that burns inside him.

"Spit it" he dares, stopping midtrack. You remain silent, so he walks over to you, face so close, some spit lands in your face. "I said, spit it"

"I think you're pathetic, Joel Miller" yet, for some reason, your heart wavers. What were you even doing? Never had you doubted yourself once, sometimes even finding pleasure in the wicked cutthroat words you'd spew, but today, as his face stands dangerously close to you, his breath ghosting over your lips as his eyes roam over them and you count his wrinkles, it feels wrong.

"'S that what 'cha think, doll?" he chuckles, leaning forward. His lips barely brush against yours by mistake, yet it's enough to send shivers all over your body. "Wanna know what I think? I think you're da' real pathetic burden here. Fucken annoyin' and unuseful. All you know how ta' do is complain' and be a bitch"

"A bitch?" your voice is loud as your roar back, probably because it's coming into your face with the force of a train. But that's how truth feels, and it hurts like hell. "Did you just call me a bitch?"

He laughs, bitterly so, equally irritated as fascinated by how easy it's to see you crumble.

Joel made you out to be this unbreakable force, but at the end of the day, you're human, just like him.

"And y'called me pathetic, s' I guess we're even"

You look crazy: hair disheveled by the wind, chest going up and down and that same craze look on your eyes.

"Fuck you, Joel Miller" you seethe.

It's a simple comeback. No witty retort, no elaborated plot. Just four words, yet it's the way you said it, venomous, with such hostility, like his presence alone made you sick. Your skin crawl. Like the thought alone of being equals couldn't pass through your thick skull, and you had to get rid of just the concept; an ofense.

You pull back, realizing how truly close you were. You then march to the bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

With Joel, there's always a first when it comes to you.

(The first man to catch your attention. The first man to show lack of interest or amusement to your well-known tactics that worked every time. The first man to make your skin crawl like seeing yourself in the mirror. Like you would stare until your image would imprint on your brain, and you'd pick apart every small detail you don't like about you. That was Joel fucking Miller, rolling like thunder, ready to strike over your walls, like he knows where to hit to make you crumble, as if the façade you've built is as much in vain as the hate you carry even with the easy life that's been given to you)

He may be the first man to make you cry.

"Come here!" he shouts, roaring voice reverberating against the walls of the cabin. He swings the door of the bedroom open, finding your satisfied expression as you sit over the old worn out mattress, wiping your tears quickly with a harsh tug of your sweater, coat lying on the dirty floor.

"What?" you ask, as if you hadn't started the fight five seconds ago.

"Ya' think y' can shout and then leave like that?" he spits, "you fucken brat!"

A weird wild spark settles in the pit of your stomach.

"I can do whatever I want"

(The fire. It burns)

He scoffs at your childish response. "Not when y'er under my watch. Like it or not, y'r ma' damn responsability, kid"

Now it's your turn to sneer. "Don't call me that. I'm not a kid"

Of course you fucking weren't: he's got eyes. But goddamn, didn't you act like one all the time?

"Good" his voice adquires a weird tone to it, dropping. "Then strip"

It's like the air's been knocked out of your lungs.

You scoff. "Excuse me?"

"I know you ain't deaf" tone stern, "nor stupid. Are you?"

"Did you just call me stupid?" you raise your voice. Was he going to pull out every single insult from the book? Fair, you think, after you had told him to fuck off in the way you did.

(You were aware your words shoot to kill when you were mad. You had a lot of regrets about that)

"I asked 'cha if ya' were. If there's no answer, I s'ppose that's it"

"I'm not stupid" you counter.

"What?" he's asking you to say it again, like he hasn't heard you.

"You aren't deaf" you repeat his earlier words, eliciting a chuckle out of him.

The windows of the cabin rattle, the cold winter slipping inside the cracks. You shiver yet stand still, not wanting him to misinterpret your body language.

As if you'd ever surrender to him. As if.

"I'm sick of your bullshit" he seethes, "thinkin' ya' can make a clown outta me infront of everyone else, and then look at me like I'm sum piece of meat. Now it's your turn"

"My turn to what?" but this time, your voice wavers. You walk closer, eyelids fluttering.

His uneven breath condensces in the air with a shaky gelid exhale.

"Y'e don't know what you're gettin' into" he warns.

You smile at his barely contained temper. "I think I do"

Joel's body is completely surrounding yours in the bedroom. Before you register, he pulls you by your jaw with his hand.

"Still thinkin' that?" he mocks, thumb pulling your bottom lip down, forcing your mouth open. "Answer me"

But he's pressing his finger on your tongue. You feel yourself starting to drool.

"Ya' really want 'tis, don't 'cha?" his eyes darken, "droolin' like a fucken cockstarved slut. Now strip" his grip tightens, "I won't ask again"

Your body shivers, but no longer because of the temperature drop. A treacherous jolt runs in between your legs at the very first instance of someone putting you in your place. It feels too good to backtrack, but the last remaining drops of sanity plead you to quit.

"Joel" you say his name like a prayer, and he thinks he'd like to see you beg. "I was fucking around-"

"Don't make me repeat myself"

You sit on the edge of the bed, getting rid of your clothes. It's like your mind has stopped working and your body belongs to someone else.

But you want this. Fuck, you had begged for this: sharpening your knife to make your words cut deeper with him until the bleeding was too big to ignore.

You wanted this. Craved it. Needed to satisfy whatever foreign feeling you'd now attribute to your rebellious and spoiled nature.

(You had never been denied anything, and even now, Joel knows this, but can't help and too give in)

"Not so loud now, are we?" he jests, "but 's worth the view, lettin' 'cha run your spoiled tongue off"

He hums with approval at the sight of your body, your pliant energy making his hard cock twitch in his pants.

"You like what you see, Joel?" you ask softly, despite your resistence.

He groans at that, calloused digits grazing the soft skin of your virgin collarbones.

"I do, princess" he answers, lifiting your chin up. "I'll show ya'"

He takes your hand into his bigger one, moving it right onto the spot between his legs.

"You've been bad, little spoiled brat" Joel's voice rasps as your thighs rub together. Y'er lucky I like that"

He pats your cheek. "Wanna make it up to me?" you eagerly nod, desperate for Joel's approval. You hate not having the upper hand, and a part of you thinks you'd get it back if you behave well. "Good girl. Now sit"

He sits next to you, patting his thick thighs. You salivate just at the thought, moving your body over his denim clad lap. "Right'ere"

"Look at 'cha" he parts your legs, a hoarse tks falling from his lips. Joel chuckles at the wet mess that's created. "So fucken wet and I ain't even touched yet"

You feel his rough digits ghost over your dripping cunt, just as his lips had done minutes ago. The teasing sets you on edge, thrill coarsing through your veins. Without warning, his big palm slaps against your cunt, and you feel yourself soaking your folds like you had never ever before.

"Fucken dirty whore. You ain't no princess, gettin' wet to 'tis" he mocks, "what would daddy say"

"Shut up" you sneer, but your body is full of hormones and treason.

"Not when I'm above 'cha, darlin'. Wouldn't wanna piss me off when I'm the one who decides if 'tis pretty pussy comes or not"

"What makes you think I'll take shit from you?" but it comes out as a whimper. Smack. A jolt runs straight from your pussy, stinging from the contact. "Didn't take it when we where in patrol, why should I do now?"

He laughs, darkly. It's haunting.

"'Cause you want 'tis. And I know you'll be a good girl for me to get it"

You feel yourself dizzy, head spinning as you land on the floor.

"Let's see if I get 'cha to shut up if that dirty bratty mouth of y'rs is stuffed full of ma' cock"

He pulls down his worn-out jeans, getting rid of his belt on a harsh pull. The clinking sound makes you rub your thighs together in a new found anticipation, instead of taking the time to run away from this, whatever the hell this is.

No. He's right.

You want this as much as he does.

(Isn't that the scariest part?)

"Ya' like what 'cha see, y/n?" he's smart to use your same words back, but it's the way he's said your name, like he was always meant to say it, or the angry throbb of his cock, what makes you drool at the red furious tip, dripping with rage and need.

"I think it's your dick who's more excited than me" you taunt, tracing the inner soft skin of his thick thighs. "Practically begging for me to lick it"

His adam's apple bobs.

"Tell me, Joel, when was the last time someone made this pretty big cock feel good?"

"Enough" his fingers grab your hair, pulling you harshly until he drags your mouth onto his cock. "I'm tired of y'er bullshit"

You aren't a stranger, he thinks, with the way you kiss his tip, tongue making a wet circle through the head of his cock. You take him into your mouth, pulling out in a second.

"W-what you do that for?" he asks, breathing rapidly. Strained voice.

You smirk.

"To watch you"

To watch how his eyes had closed as soon as your breath ghosted over his leaking cock, how he threw his head back and gripped the sheets viciously at just your shameless lazy circling. Joel Miller could be in charge, but God, wasn't he touch-starved?

(And for a reason, that was so fucking hot. And, in a way, adorable)

"J-just 'cause I'm-" he cuts himself off, probably out of need or out of embarrassment. "You're not in charge, so don't fuck around with your chances, slut. Imma show you y'r place real quick"

His grip tightens in your hair, forcing himself back into your mouth. Joel was punishing, with the way he's pushing your head down until it was at the base of his cock. You gagged for a moment, eyes closing at the weight of his thick girth on your tongue. 

"Takin' it like a champ, princess. Usin' that mouth of y'rs for good" and then, with a softer tone he adds, "like ya're made for me"

You moan around him as he starts fucking into your mouth, pulling you off quickly, saliva slipping out of your mouth as you gasp for air. 

"Joel" you whine his name, legs pressing together in order to get any friction. 

"Now you beggin'? 'S gonna take more than jus' that, doll" he taunts, but there's a certain wicked softness to the way he traces your cheek as you scramble an attempt. "Try harder, princess"

"I'm sorry, Joel-"

He moves his head, clearly dissatisfied.

"Not Joel. Ya' call me sir when I fuck you"

A mewl escapes your lips.

"Sir" comes out like a faithless prayer, begging to be heard. "I'll do anything, sir, please, touch me"

"Al'ight, but still, it ain't 'nough"

Oh.

The hot tears in the corner of your eyes shouldn't arouse him this much, but the watery promise makes his cock twitch.

"I-I'll do anything, I swear" you beg, the salty tears stream down your cheeks in cascades. "It hurts, Jo-" you whine, "sir, please. Just fuck me goddamit!"

Your once poised voice, now reduced to a whimpering begging mess. Your red rimmed eyes, beginning to puff. It's the way a gloss seems to coat over them, making you look like a doe-eyed deer and not the brat who challenged his every decision and word.

Fuck, isn't he aroused.

"Lookin' so pretty when you cry" he smiles, but instead of wiping the tears, it's his tongue that licks them off your face. "You beggin' that bad to take my cock"

You nod, eagerly so.

"Please, Jo- Just, please. D-don't make me beg" your face feels hot and wet again, "I-I can't take it anymore. Just fucking give it to me!"

"Easy, baby. Can't understand a thing you sayin'" Joel teases. "Where your manners at, besides?"

"Please, sir" he gently pulls you up, humming in satisfaction.

"Goin' crazy over my cock, baby? Y'sure have a nerve to call one pathetic if you gon' act like this, you little brat"

But he is the one moaning when his lips cature your mouth with a fierce impulse, like he wants to devour you whole and swallow your vocals, as to never speak up again.

(But then, he wouldn't hear his name on your sweet albeit snotty voice, and that's a privilege he can't forbid himself from, no matter how annoying you can get sometimes)

"Please" you whisper one last time. He wipes a stray tear with his rough thumb. "I'm yours"

"See, baby? It ain't that hard to shut that mouth of y'rs"

He guides you to the old bed while renewing the kiss, tongues now engaged on a battle for dominance, like even without using your words you'd still need to assert your power over the other. You moan into his mouth when your body slams against the mattress and Joel lands on top, his weight sinking you in the old bed, that creaks.

"I just want to be a good girl for you" you whimper.

"You sure of that? Not gon' be a brat?" and despite his harsh tone that seems to humiliate you, his wandering fingers are gentle with each touch, like if he were to put any more force, you'd break. Joel thinks it's not necessary with you: just with you begging for his cock, he's broken you.

"No, sir" and then you whimper as his mouth dives to the collarbones you had taunted him with before. Joel takes his time, inhaling the musk and savoring the sweet of your skin. Needy whines leave your lips, and he's having the time of his life seeing you surrender so easily, like you had no idea what limits to push, where they'd take you and how you'd pay for that.

"C-Can I touch you?" you whisper, hands itching to tangle on his grey parted hair. He chuckles at the eagerness and tenderness you don't seem aware of.

"S' you can be sweet if ya' want to, huh?" he leaves a fluttering kiss to your chin. "Needy and desperate too. Do ya' want to touch, princess? Remember to use y'r words"

"Yes, sir. I-I want to touch you"

"Thought I disgusted you, hmm? I take you've learnt y'r lesson now?"

"Yes, I've learned. Please, sir, won't do it again" you plead.

"I'll allow ya' to touch, doll" he gives you a smirk, "but 'ts all you get for now"

He lets your hands cling to his coat, taking it off. Then, you proceed to his buttoned shirt, fingers flidding with buttons until you grown annoyed and desperate, pulling the fabric over his head with need.

"Look at 'cha" but there's only adoration, proven so when he starts to kiss the trail of soft skin that goes from your neck to your stomach, making you squirm. "Easy, baby. 'M gettin' down there"

He finally reaches your core, kissing the inner side of your thighs with wet and sloppy lips. His hot breath tingles over your clit, and a beat later, his mouth presses into your cunt, your back arching at the cold contact of his chapped lips against the humid hot of your folds.

You muffle a moan, embarrassed at the whole situation.

"Ain't need to worry 'bout nothin', doll. Nobody can hear us" he grins, tongue flicking your clit. "Wanna listen to your pretty whimpers as I make 'cha feel good"

You cry out of pleasure, the sound escaping past your lips. Joel has a laugh.

"Good girl"

Joel rewards you with another series of minstrations on your bud, licks made with determination only the expert man knows of. He then slides one finger into you, slowly moving it in and out of your soaked trembling heat. 

"M-more" you beg, eager to get more fingers inside you. "Please, more, sir"

You buck your hips to try to get closer to him, meeting his thrusts.

Joel tuts, "What're you doin', spoiled brat? Did I tell ya' to move? You were doing such'a great job... guess I gotta punish you-"

"No!" you shout. "Do anything you want, but touch me, please- touch me!"

He introduces a second finger, raising his brow at the immediate way you clench around him. Joel curls them, robbing another moan out of you.

"Feels good?" you can't answer, as a hard thrust robs another moan from you. "But I'ont want 'cha to think we done, princess. Think I'd let you come, jus' like that? After all's happened?"

"Need you" you tug him closer with your arms holding onto his. "Joel, sir- please"

"Oh, princess" he smirks, "I think you don't know what you askin' for"

Joel grabs his hand around his length, coating the tip in your slicky juices, and then, he presses his length into you in one thrust.

"You're big-" you pant as he gives you time to adjust to his size. Joel then picks up an unrelenting pace that makes moans spill out of you like a fountain, the pace of his thrusts sending you closer and closer to the edge. 

"N-need to-"

"Don't" he seethes. "Ya' won't 'till I tell ya' can"

All you could do is moan, helplessly pinned between his body and the bed. Your whole body shakes in an effort to contain as his hips loose their rhythm, his groans louder as he gets closer and closer to the edge. 

"Al'ight. 'Cause you've been good" his cock drives through your walls with rhythmic melodies. "Cum, princess, but when ya' do, look at me"

You're seeing stars the moment your toes curl and his head falls to clash against your forehead.

(The beads of sweat roll down out of him like trails to follow, and his scarred rugged skin doesn't compare to your soft one, painted with the maroon of his bites and kissing at the skin of your collarbone. The dried up trails of tears. Your begging and desperate voice. His name on your lips)

It only takes a few more thrusts before he spills in you, cock twitching until every last drop of thick hot white cum is pumped into you.

Joel then pulls out gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead before flopping onto you, the mattress dipping even further. With his hand, he removes a stray strand of damp hair, putting it behind you ear with such tender kindness, your heart strings pull.

"In fact, I want ya' to look at me next time y'even think 'bout defying me. See if that mouth of y'ers can talk after 'tis"

A week later, you're back at patrolling.

"Anyone got anythin' to say?"

The group looks at you. You're about to open your mouth, but Joel cocks an eyebrow.

Just like that, and you're gone. Great job, y/n.

"Whatever" you sound meek as you push past him, yet he catches a glimpse of your warm cheeks. "Let's go"

The rest are too stunned to speak, the silence only cut off by Miller's laugh.

"Would 'cha look at that?" he whistles. "Ain't nobody tell ya' miracles don't happen anymore on this goddamn world!"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @chappellsroans

[the-offside-rule]

Lando Norris (McLaren) - One Day

Requested: yes

Warnings: none

The sun was blazing over the Abu Dhabi paddock, casting long shadows and lending an air of anticipation as the F1 season’s final race weekend got underway. For Lando Norris, though, this weekend was special for more reasons than racing. Standing by his side was Y/n, his fiancée, and in his arms was their newborn son, Charlie—only a few weeks old and already stealing the show.

From the moment they’d arrived, Lando hadn’t let go of his son. As they strolled through the paddock, it was as if nothing else existed. He held Charlie close, gazing down at him every few steps and rocking him gently, careful to keep him comfortable. Lando felt a warmth he hadn’t known before, a sense of pride and love he could hardly describe. He’d missed so much of Charlie’s first few weeks, having to race across continents, and he wasn’t going to waste a second now.

“Look who’s here!” Came a familiar voice. Carlos Sainz strolled up with a wide grin, his eyes lighting up when he saw Charlie. “Ah, little Norris! Already looks like a future racer. I think he’d look quite good in red, don’t you think?” Carlos teased, gesturing to his Ferrari colors. Lando shot him a playful smirk, shaking his head. “Not a chance. Charlie’s a papaya man, through and through.” He looked down at his son, bouncing him slightly. “Right, buddy? McLaren all the way.”

Carlos chuckled, patting Lando’s shoulder before leaning in to say hi to Charlie. “We’ll see about that. They all end up in red eventually.” He gave Y/n a warm smile before wandering off, waving goodbye.

The rest of the drivers and team members passing by couldn’t help but stop, some cooing at the tiny baby, others congratulating Lando and Y/n on their new addition. Every time someone made a comment or admired Charlie, Lando’s chest swelled with pride. He felt like the luckiest man in the world, and he didn’t mind showing it.

When the time came for Practice 1, Lando knew he’d have to hand Charlie back to Y/n. He was reluctant, giving his son one last cuddle before reluctantly passing him over. But just before he turned to leave, an idea sparked. “Y/n!” He called, looking at her with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. “How about we get a picture of Charlie in the car with me? Just for the mantlepiece?” Y/n’s face lit up as she laughed, charmed by the idea. “You sure? Won’t he steal all the attention?”

“Let him. It’s only fair.” Lando chuckled, carefully guiding her and Charlie over to the car. He slid into the cockpit, taking Charlie back and cradling him against his chest, all while looking down at his son with pure adoration. He looked up at Y/n, his eyes soft and full of love.

Y/n pulled out her phone and snapped the photo, capturing the image of father and son, both in papaya colors, sharing a quiet, intimate moment before the chaos of practice. She took a few shots, but it was hard to tear her eyes away from the scene in front of her—Lando looking at Charlie like he was the most precious thing in the world.

“Perfect.” She murmured, tucking her phone away and smiling softly as she took it all in. Lando gently kissed Charlie’s forehead, whispering, “One day, buddy, you’ll be in a car like this. But until then, I’ll race for the both of us.”

As he finally handed Charlie back and turned toward the track, he couldn’t help but glance back at his fiancée and his son, waving before stepping forward. Knowing they were there gave him an extra push, a reminder that while the race was important, his heart belonged to them.

[scriptseekstories]

Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 1- Drone

A/N: I see a handful of people like this, so I’m going to take it and run lol

P.S- the artist of the cool redesigns are s3tok41b4, give credit where credit is due.

The Honeybee is one of the most hardworking insects in the world. Always pushing themselves to please their Queen, producing honey with the pollen they scavenge for, always having a high risk of dying the moment they are conscious of what their purpose is.

Your mother taught you that bees have a hierarchy: The Queen, the Worker Bees, and the Drones. The Queen was meant to control the strength of the colony, maintain the hive’s behavior. The Workers were meant to go out and provide for the colony, defending the hive from danger. And the Drone, was only meant for one simple thing; reproduction.

And right now, you didn’t felt like anything.

Your mind was fuzzy, vision blurry as you tried to collect what Mr. Gordon told you. Your mother was dead. She was dead and you couldn’t even got a chance to say goodbye to her, how could you accept grief when the last words from her was: “I’m going out for a bit, my little bumble bee. I’ll be back for dinner,”

Not even an “I love you”.

“Hello young master,” The fuzziness and numbing sensation wore off just a bit to hear a gentle accent, one that was filled with comfort and pity. Lifting your head up you saw an old man, in a clean sharp suit with eyes that told so much stories yet nothing.

“My name is Alfred Pennyworth, I am here on the behalf of your biological father, Bruce Wayne,” That name. You heard it all about that man. Wayne Enterprise was the first companies that funded your mother’s Project: Honey, they were the one that helped her group reach to the sun.

Yet the project burned like Icarus, never fully knowing the feeling of the warm feeling of success. She never mentioned him again, never once talked about Wayne Enterprise after that.

Alfred noticed the look of confusion, so he crouched down in front of you as you clutched the edge of the GPD waiting chair.

“I assure you, Master Bruce will be the best father you will ever know,” He reassured, lending out a hand for you. You stared at him for a moment, eyes filled with emotions you couldn’t control or understand just yet, but one was overpowering than the others. Hope.

“Really?” You mustered out, voice small and confused. Alfred nodded before noting how your eyes were tearing up. You realized you weren’t going back home, you weren’t going back to have your mother making your favorite meal, you weren’t going back to your toy filled room that you played for hours, you weren’t going back ever again.

“I want my mommy…” You whispered out, voice cracking at the end as globs of tears flowed down your cheeks as your mind fully understood what everything meant. You lost your mother, but maybe you will gain a father.

“My sweet dear,” Alfred hushed you gently as you clutched his hand and burrowed your face into his chest, his smooth suit now crinkled and stained with tears. Gordon closed his eyes and looked away, knowing the feeling of losing who you couldn’t save.

Alfred led you to the limo, where you hesitated as you never actually saw a limo in real life before. He explained that you will be able to collect your personal items when you officially meet Bruce.

You stared out the tinted windows, watching the buildings pass by, citizens of Gotham living their lives, yet they all were connected in one way. Gotham was their hive, and they all work to survive in a hive invaded by wasps and other insects that dare to harm each bee.

And a wasp got your mother.

You were in awe at seeing the massive Wayne Manor. Are you really going to live there? You pray that Bruce Wayne will be as nice and kind as he is on the news, someone who will give you warmth and a place to call home.

Alfred held your hand as he let you along the long driveway, and inside felt like it was bigger than the outside. You felt out of place, like an outsider bee searching for refuge in another hive.

“Come along now, Master Bruce is in his office,” You’ll have time to demote everything later, you thought. It was time to meet Bruce Wayne. You fixed your hair and clothes as you walked, as if you were ready for a bunnies deal with him. You hoped you were good enough just as you stopped at a giant two way door that led to his office.

“Master Bruce, your young child is here to greet you,” Alfred announced while pushing the door. Your eyes widened at the well dressed man sitting at his desk. His eyes piercing and strong, as if he saw the dangers of the world and still held hope.

‘He could be the Queen bee mom was talking about,’ You thought with a small smile. You took a step back, hand slipping out of Alfred’s. Here you go, the moment of bonding with your father, your smile widened ever so slightly when he looked up from his work to make eye contact.

“I’m (Name)-,” Just as you held your hand out, Bruce grabbed his papers and walked past you and Alfred, only giving a small smile and nod to Alfred. Not looking at you.

“Oh…” You dropped your hand, standing there in the office awkward of the lack of welcome, greetings, or even warmth in his eyes. It was as if he didn’t even know you were there. Alfred called out for him, slightly appalled at his zero acknowledgement towards me.

‘A Queen Bee would never ignore her worker bees’

“I’m sorry, Master (Name),” Alfred was going to give Bruce a great scolding of his life for ignoring you, but when he stood up, your small hands grasped his long fingers, where you gave a bright smile, so sweet yet so sad.

“It’s… okay Alfred,” You smiled, “Things are going to be okay,” Alfred knew that the look in your eyes told him everything. You were shattered when your father hadn’t said anything to you, yet you were still hopeful that you will belong in this hive.

You will be his Worker Bee.

You had help from Alfred to collect things from your old home… is the manor really your new home? You stuffed as much photos of you and your mother into your bag, along with your favorite plush your mother got you, a fluffy Minecraft bee plush she got for your birthday.

You walked around the empty house, a feeling of grief yet nostalgia filled your stomach. You stopped at your mother’s door, slinking to see everything the same as if she wasn’t gone. When you turn to leave, you stumbled back into her working desk, papers scattered.

Your mother’s papers to Project: Honey. You couldn’t just let her hard work die. You may have not understood what the appears meant, but you know how much her researched meant. You stuffed them into your binders before letting Alfred know that you were ready.

That was the day you met Bruce’s eldest son, your new big brother.

Dick Grayson, the son of Bruce Wayne. Not biological, yet he was cherished. You were happy, excited even, to have a big brother that you can count on, someone who will comfort you and playfully bother you, someone who you can tell many secrets too.

And it started out great! At first… He smiled brightly and patted your shoulder, looking sad and walked off. yet it didn’t felt all too genuine. That still didn’t stop you, your little kid brain thought maybe it was because he was busy at first! And he was, with Bruce.

Everytime you showed up from school with drawings and assignments that is covered with bees, you would always show Bruce first, but when he simply hummed and went back to his work. You went to Dick, who gave a very exaggerated “Wowww!! Amazing!” Before walking off. Disheartened, you went up to Alfred and showed your drawings, to which he framed it and placed it on your wall.

It made you smile just a bit.

When you ran up to Dick with great news that you wanted to see a movie, and begged for him to go while holding his hand, he looked a bit uncomfortable and gently peeled your arm away, saying that he had urgent business with Bruce.

“Sorry kid, maybe next time, okay?” There was never a next time, it you didn’t have the heart to ask again.

You moved your stuff into a spared room, however Alfred insisted to have yours connected to the family hall, as the one you chose was much too small. The room was the nursery Martha and Thomas Wayne has set up when they brought Bruce into the world, yet it was only temporary as they moved him into his own personal room to grow.

“I like it,” You beamed at Alfred, clinging onto your bee plush as his grip to the doorframe tightened. It seemed that your sweet smile of yourself was something he hasn’t seen in a while, not even from Dick. Seeing you in that nursery room felt like as if Bruce was a baby once more, happily jumping around while wanting to play.

The same sweet smile you both held. You had a cool window that views into the garden, insects flying around with their lives.

A bee. A single honeybee buzzed on your windowsill, perched down as if inspecting the area. You admired it as it began to dance around as if trying to communicate with you, making you giggle and show off your bee plushie. It didn’t appreciate a giant object in its face however, and flew away to the top corner, making you smile with the knowledge of one thing giving you attention.

Barbara Gordon visited often, and you were in awe at how amazing and smart she was, as expected being the daughter of the man who held you and carried you in his arms when you were told that your mother died.

You wanted to thank her dad, to talk to her and maybe make a spark between you both. However, it didn’t matter as she gave you a look of confusion, as if silently asking what was your purpose in the manor.

She merely ushered you out of her way before running to Dick and Bruce, the three of them gone. That’s okay! You still had Alfred, and you spent your free time talking about bees and cooking together. Alfred loved seeing you beam.

Jason Todd arrived not long after, and you were mesmerized at how tough yet sweet he was. He might have been older than you, but you didn’t care, he actually gave a damn about you. You were able to share your rants about bees and other things, and he shared books and stories.

The only downside was the fact he was always so busy with Bruce. You wanted to follow, you wanted to stay close to your brother, yet Bruce didn’t even spared you a glance as Jason gave you an apologetic look before leaving with him.

You didn’t know where they went, but you didn’t care as you just wanted to have every moment with Jason. Why is Bruce taking things away from you when you began to be happy?

“I’ll be back before you know it, bumble,” Jason grinned. That never happened, as he passed away from a Joker attack that day. The manor was filled with thick grief, Alfred cradled you as you sobbed into his chest once more, a familiar feeling of loss building up inside your heart.

You confronted Bruce, begging him to let you see Jason for the funeral, but out of guilt and grief, he aggressively shoved you away with the look of sadness with a hint of disgust.

“Go away,” He didn’t even utter your name, yet that wasn’t the thing that hurt the most, it was the fact you were never told that the funeral happened. Not even Alfred could give you a reasonable excuse, and only apologized over and over as you numbly walked back to your room.

You held onto the bee plush tightly as you cried for hours, only stopping when you felt like passing out. Days in school never felt as joyful and pleasant, teachers were concerned of the lack of energy, yet never was concerned enough to contact Bruce or Alfred.

But you knew Bruce didn’t even want to come when called from the school, as you heard from your small room that he didn’t want to be part of the parental contacts for the school. Another sign that he doesn’t care.

Tim Drake was the next to be adopted, or rather, the one who forced Bruce to adopt him. He was a smart kid, very tech savvy that followed Bruce for a while to the point of actually managing to hack into a computer system that was locked down with security.

Fourth times a charm, right? You quietly slunk over to the boy, curious as to what he was furiously typing away. The moment you opened your mouth, he immediately stopped and turned to look at you with bemusement, and even disgust.

“Do you mind? I’m too busy to deal with this,” And he went back to his typing. You simply closed your mouth, feeling embarrassed as you scurried away. Tim was a year older than you, and you gave up on trying to befriend someone older, knowing it won’t be the same with Tim as it was with Jason.

Jason… he was back! You thought you were dreaming and believed to be fake, yet there he stood. Tears welled up as you ran to hug him, crying that you missed him and was so happy to see your brother again.

But the happiness was gone when you felt pain your eye. You tumbled back and looked up at him with shock and fear as his eyes glowed green. They weren’t green, they never were, and they were filled with rage and hate. He was different appearance wise, and you guessed personality wise too.

You touched your eye when it became clear that he punched you. He punched you as if you were a stranger who attacked him. Your body shook when he scoffed and stalked passed you, only giving you one last glance.

“Just stay the hell away from me, and we won’t have issues,” No mention of your name, or playful insult, no Bumble. You knew it wasn’t the Jason that smiled when you reenacted your favorite scene in a story, the Jason that tried his best to have Bruce talk to you, the Jason who you grew to love as a brother.

He became the outcasted bee that still clung to the hope he’ll be accepted again. And he was.

Bruce still clung onto Jason, he still loved his son that he would do anything for him to forgive him. You watched from a corner as Bruce actually cried for a child, his child.

You were even his kid? You stayed in your room for most days if you weren’t in school, laying by the window as you watched the beehive that was made next to your window, admiring how these honeybees would land on your finger and buzz.

These little insects gave you more attention than others, and you were fine with it.

Barbara was back. She had to go into a hospital after another Joker attack. She remained in a wheelchair, yet was still as smart and tough as before. Even though she didn’t care for you, you thought this was a perfect time to talk to her. A foolish move, as you mistakenly touched the bars to her wheelchair, and she pushed you away with a glare.

“As if I need any help from you!!” You knew you made a mistake, you knew if you were her you also wouldn’t want someone make you feel incapable of moving, yet you felt sadness when she yelled. You could only muster a “I’m sorry”, before running off to your room.

Stephanie Brown arrived not long after. She was bubbly, always grinning, and was mischievous as a fox. You bumped into her while she was laughing with Tim, who didn’t give you a glance. You said hi and wanted to say hi, but she only waved you off while smiling.

“Yeahhhh, sorry. Just too busy with something else, bye!” That smile felt forced and condescending, that she knew I wasn’t worth her time. You knew that tone very well from Tim, so you didn’t even bother being sad about it.

Cassandra Cain wasn’t even worth tears as she didn’t even spared a glance after staring intently at you when she arrived and walking away. It felt like she was judging you before even knowing you, and she deemed you as someone not worthy of even acknowledging.

You only saw her when the others hung out together. You didn’t care that you weren’t included (of course you cared), but it was the fact they all looked so happy talking to one another, having the best time of their lives without you.

Damien Wayne, the younger biological son of Bruce, arriving with the same scowl and attitude at his father. A little brother, you thought. Maybe this time…?

No, of course not. Every member of this family doesn’t ever give you a chance and immediately deem you as an inconvenience. Damien gave you a clear sign he didn’t like you when he gave you a defensive and deadly glare before drawing one of his katanas and you barely managed to avoid it hitting your face, merely slicing a mean and clean cut on your forehead.

“You’re not worthy to refer to me as your brother. You are simply a result of a one night stand with a low class civilian! You’re not equal to us to be deemed as a Wayne,” He sneered, attempting to strike again before Dick held him back, scolding him for having his katanas out.

Not scolding of attacking you, no worrying about your gash on your forehead, nothing. You began to tear up as you stumbling to stand as Dick gave you a sympathetic shrug before dragging Damien away.

“You have to understand he has a rough time growing up,” You should’ve known Dick didn’t come to stop Damien because he saw you, it was because Damien was “acting out”, and it was his duty as big brother to calm him down.

Duke Thomas arrived as a newly adopted son of Bruce, and for once, he gave you time to say hi. You were in the library reading about Entomology, where he was lost in the giant halls of Wayne Manor and stumbled into the library.

“Hey! If you don’t mind, do you know where the kitchen is?” He sheepishly asked you, and you were caught off guard at his interaction with you. He acknowledged you? Your smile couldn’t have been any bigger as you excitedly walked to him and introduced each other.

You showed him the ropes of how to guide himself through the manor, even daring to show him the secret passages that only you and Alfred know. He was amazed that no one mentioned you, to which you gave no heed to that comment.

It wasn’t long when you showed him the kitchen where Stephanie and Dick grabbed Duke and took him a way to have a hangout with the others, leaving you standing there with your smile gone and Duke confused as to why you were following.

You should’ve known the others would take him away from you, and alone you were again. No Duke, no Jason, no Alfred, no one.

Bruce spent all his attention to other kids, ones who begged for his love, others who weren’t even grateful. Alfred tried his best to include you, yet it was in vain as he had his hands tied when it comes to you, always rushing to other’s aid when they need him.

You were alone in a hive with a father who doesn’t care or love you.

He wasn’t a Queen… he was nothing yet meant everything to this hive.

Your so called siblings were his worker bees, protecting each other and Bruce. Alfred was more than a worker bee, he was the one raising and tending to the family hive. And you…?

You weren’t even worthy of being a drone.

You never belonged to this hive.

You were an intruder.

Buzzzz

Well… you’re not completely alone.

A/N: I’ll give Bee!Reader more personality soon, just wanted the relationships with the Batsiblings out of the way.

Also this kinda gives off Mirabel vibes from Encanto, living in a nursery room, you just really like the alone space for you and you alone.

Tag list: @pix-stuff @jellystar-star (girlie is ain’t letting me find ya 😭) @moom0goddess

[lilliankoo]

play you like a game, boy 🗡️ jeon jungkook.

chapter 3/8

genre: antagonist tribe leader jk x princess reader.

word count: 4.9k

previous chapter link chapter 2

synopsis: he looks like an angel but is a devil- well that's what your kingdom thinks. he is also the blessed leader of tribe "lav"; even a leaf cannot move without his permission but here he was in-front of you on his knees. while the whole tribe bows to him- he only bows to you. now, there are two paths presented to you- marry him & return his love or refuse & watch him conquer your father's kingdom. power is an evil yet a tempting apple-and now its in your hands- are you going to take a bite; taste the sweet poison or will you use it to tempt others? its an evil world with evil options.. do you think you can handle him?

warnings: emotional manipulation, power dynamics, forced marriage, mystical elements, manipulation, secrets, made-up culture and traditions, jealousy and possessiveness, mysticism and divine Intervention. made up goddess, tribe etc. calling the leader “mother” (clears throat), i made the reader a french princess caus…im french :D aayyyyyeeee, let me know if i should anything else

———————————-

You pass through the long hallways, heading toward the chambers you now share with Jungkook. The steady hum of the villagers' voices and the overwhelming weight of the day's rituals still echo in your head, leaving your mind dizzy and disoriented. The palace feels too grand, too foreign, and every step you take only adds to the suffocating sense of being trapped in a gilded cage.

But as you walk deeper into this side of the palace, something shifts. The air seems to change. The space opens up, revealing a vast courtyard that stretches out before you, bathed in the soft glow of the fading evening sun. The scent of lilies—your favorite flowers—floats in the air, and you pause, blinking in surprise. Could Jungkook have known? But no, that's impossible. You dismiss the thought with a shake of your head.

A gentle breeze lifts the soft pink curtains that adorn the arched windows, making them flow like ribbons in the wind. The sight makes you smile, a small, fleeting moment of peace in an otherwise overwhelming day.

“We are here, Mother Y/N,” one of the helpers says, pulling you from your thoughts.

You blink, confused. You’ve heard this word far too many times today. "Mother?" you repeat, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. "Why is everyone calling me that? I’m not a mother."

You yank at the ribbons tied around your wrists, frustration bubbling inside you. The bracelets, delicate and intricate, unravel with a soft rattle, scattering beads across the floor. The helpers gasp, rushing to gather them, but your focus remains on the older woman who spoke to you.

She stands with quiet composure, the first person besides Jungkook who dares to meet your gaze instead of staring at the ground. Her eyes hold something; calm yet unwavering.

“There are things only Jungkook can explain to you,” she says, her voice steady.

You straighten, the defiance in you rising. "So bring him here," you challenge.

The helpers freeze, the air thick with tension. You take a few determined steps toward the older woman, now standing face-to-face with her. The distance between you feels like the space between two opposing forces and you refuse to back down.

“If there are things only Jungkook can tell me," you insist, your voice firm, "then bring him here.”

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver. "We cannot do that," she responds calmly. "The men are celebrating. They’ll be drinking tonight. There is a reason why all the women are kept here, away from the common ground. It can get dangerous."

For a moment, you consider backing down. You’ve never wanted to trouble others you're not that cruel. But everything about this marriage, these rituals, this forced life, weighs on you. You can't ignore the way you've been shoved into this new world, without answers or choice.

“I won’t enter the chambers until Jungkook comes here,” you declare, folding your arms across your chest.

The helpers insist again, but you stand firm. As they begin to leave, you turn away, frustrated and exhausted. The door to the balcony stands before you, an open escape from the chaos inside. You walk toward it, your thoughts swirling with questions. You gaze at the now visible moon, a silent witness to the mess of your life.

You close your eyes, a prayer escaping your lips, soft and desperate.

“Do you hear me?”

A voice behind you breaks the silence, and you whirl around, heart skipping a beat. Jungkook stands there, but he’s different now. No jewels. No elaborate mantle. His hair, usually tied back with precision, flows freely around his shoulders. He’s dressed simply; a vest and pants, casual and unadorned. He looks more human, less like the grand tribe leader from the ceremony.

Your heart races, and for a moment, you forget to speak. You square your shoulders, trying to steady yourself, and finally ask the question that’s been gnawing at you since you first stepped into this palace.

"Why does everyone keep calling me 'mother'?" you ask, the words slipping out in a mixture of frustration and confusion.

Jungkook’s eyes meet yours, but he says nothing. He simply stands there, admiring you with a gaze that lingers, like he’s memorizing every detail. You’re taken aback by the intensity of his stare. His silence feels like a puzzle you're not sure how to solve.

You wait for him to respond, but when the seconds stretch on, you can't help but snap, the tension in you breaking. “What? Drank too much already?” you ask, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jungkook’s lips curl into a small, amused smile. Without warning, he steps toward you and pulls you into him, his hands settling at your waist. His touch is confident, almost possessive, as he meets your gaze with that same quiet smile.

“I know you don’t like men who drink,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I gave up drinking a year ago.”

The words hit you like a cold wave. A year ago. He’s been plotting this for longer than you thought—since before you ever met him. Now you are sure that He knows about the lilies. He knows everything. And that realization sends a chill down your spine.

Before you can say anything, Jungkook takes your hands, leading you toward the chambers with quiet determination. You’re too stunned to speak, the weight of the situation settling around you like a heavy cloak. There’s so much you don’t know, and for the first time, you wonder; what else has he planned? What else does he know?

You can feel the walls closing in, but for now, you're too scared to ask any more questions.

—----------------------------------

The door closes softly behind you, the faint echo of it clicking into place still reverberating in the quiet chambers. The room feels warmer now, more intimate, with the fading light of dusk casting long shadows across the stone walls. Without a word, he gestures for you to sit on the bed. The silken covers shimmer in the low light, soft and inviting. You comply, though your mind still churns with the many questions Jungkook left unanswered. As you settle on the bed, he stands before you, his eyes dark with an intensity that makes your heart flutter nervously.

Without hesitation, he begins untying the delicate ribbons of the bracelets on your wrists. His fingers are surprisingly gentle as they work through the knots, each movement slow, purposeful, almost reverent. The bracelets fall away, beads scattering across the floor like tiny fragments of your old life. You can’t help but notice how his touch lingers, just a moment longer than necessary, before his hands move to your shoulders.

“Let me help you,” he murmurs, his voice low and calming.

Before you can respond, he guides your arms out of the intricate layers of clothing, leaving you in the delicate chemise that clings to your form. The thin fabric feels cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room and his presence. You suddenly feel exposed, both physically and emotionally, as his eyes scan you, though there’s no judgment in them; just an unspoken understanding.

His hands move to yours, gently cupping them, "I cannot tell you much just yet,” he begins, his voice soothing but laced with something else, something you can't quite place. “You will start to understand with time. This forest is blessed by a goddess, even though I am the leader, it is she who watches over us. She gave me this role, but she works with women. It is a woman’s power that sustains everything here.”

You listen carefully, though the words don't entirely make sense. Your mind reels with the implications. He continues, unaware of the storm of thoughts brewing inside you.“I am the leader, and you are my wife,” he says, his grip tightening on your hands ever so slightly. “People call you ‘mother’ in respect and because your presence will… fix everything.”

You blink, confused, your mind struggling to make sense of what he’s saying. The idea of being a 'mother' here, in this strange place, feels completely uncomfortable to you. But there's something about the way he says it—an undeniable weight to his words—that makes you wonder if there’s more to this than you understand. Still, you’re glad he’s finally spoken, giving you a sliver of an answer, even if it only raises more questions.

“I don’t understand," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t offer further explanation. Instead, his expression softens, and he tilts his head slightly. "In time, you will."

You’re still processing everything when a wave of exhaustion hits you, the weight of the day finally catching up to you. You rub your temples, your body suddenly craving rest.

“I’m tired,” you murmur, your voice heavy with the need to retreat from the storm of emotions inside you. “Where can I take a bath?”

Jungkook’s eyes soften at your words, his expression a mixture of understanding and something deeper you can’t yet read. He gives you a small nod and stands, his movements fluid as he gestures to a nearby door.

“There,” he says simply, leading you toward a door that opens into a private bathing area. The sight that meets your eyes is breathtaking—soft light from hanging lanterns spills over a marble tub filled with steaming water. The air is infused with the scent of lavender and eucalyptus, and you feel the tension in your muscles begin to loosen just by the sight of it.

Before you step into the bath, Jungkook pauses, his gaze shifting to a large wardrobe standing against one of the walls.

“Before you rest,” he says, a slight smile tugging at his lips, “let me show you something.”

You follow him over, and he opens the doors inside, you find an array of clothes—dresses, corsets, and fine fabrics, each one more beautiful than the last. In colours of deep emeralds, soft pinks, and silvery blues. The gowns are intricate, rich with embroidery and lace, while the corsets are designed with a delicacy that suggests they were made specifically for you. It’s clear that every item here has been chosen with care, each one fitting with the taste you’ve never even shared with him.

You run your fingers over the fabrics, astonished at how perfectly they seem to suit you. It feels like he’s known your preferences before you even had a chance to voice them.

“I know this is what your women wear…I mean back at your kingdom,” Jungkook says quietly, watching you with a hint of pride, “I made sure everything here was to your liking.”

You can’t help but feel a mixture of gratitude and unease. How much does he know about me? The question lingers in the back of your mind, but you push it aside for now. This isn’t the moment for doubts.

Instead, you turn back to the bathing area. “I’ll bathe now,” you say softly.

Jungkook doesn’t respond with words, only a quiet nod as he exits the room, leaving you in the privacy of the sanctuary he’s created for you. The bathwater envelops you in warmth, soothing your tired body. The tension slowly melts away as you sink deeper into the water, your mind drifting as you close your eyes.

But just before you can fully lose yourself in the bath, the door to the room opens again. You start, but it’s only Jungkook, now standing in the doorway. He walks toward you, and this time, there’s no command in his step, only an undeniable warmth. his eyes softening as he cups your jaw with his hand, the touch gentle but firm. He holds you there, looking at you as though he’s memorizing every part of you. Then, without a word, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a slow tender kiss. His warmth lingers, a contrast to the coolness of the bathwater. You can feel his breath against your skin, steady and calm, and in that moment, you almost forget the weight of the world outside this room.

He pulls away just slightly, still holding your face in his hands, and his voice is low, almost intimate. "You have a long day tomorrow, Y/N. I’ll be here to help you settle in—make sure everything is alright. I’ll make sure you feel at ease here."

His words carry a sincerity that catches you off guard, but the quiet reassurance settles something deep inside you. He doesn’t wait for a reply before stepping back, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he turns to leave.

—--------------------------------

The soft rustling of the curtains drags you from sleep. Sunlight filters through the delicate fabric, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. You stretch, feeling the lingering weight of yesterday’s emotions, but the restfulness of the night brings a brief sense of peace.

Then, a gentle knock on the door interrupts the quiet.

“Come in,” you murmur, not entirely awake.

The door creaks open, and one of the helpers enters, a polite smile on her face as she approaches you. Her presence feels like an invitation to begin the day, though you’re not sure you're ready for it just yet.

"Good morning, mother Y/N," the helper says softly, her voice carrying a hint of reverence. "It’s time to get you ready for the day."

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes as the helper begins to assist you, bringing you fresh clothing that seems to shimmer under the soft light. The gown she presents to you is stunning—something that would be seen during Marie Antoinette's time: a dress with a fitted bodice, flowing skirts, and delicate lace trim. The pale blue silk contrasts beautifully with your skin, and the fabric feels like a dream against you.

The gown is unlike anything the women in the tribe wear, and the realization fills you with quiet relief. Jungkook, despite his power, respected your wishes. He didn’t force you into tribal attire, the way most of the other women in the village wear. Instead, he gave you the freedom to wear something that resonates with your own heritage, something that speaks of who you are, not just where you are.

As the helper adjusts the delicate lace around your neckline, you notice that your hair is left loose. The lightness of the fabric and the freedom in your appearance feel like a small rebellion against the rigid rules of the tribe, though you know this could all change in time.

Once you’re fully dressed, the helper nods approvingly and gestures toward the door. “It’s time to meet with the council. Jungkook is expecting you.”

The thought of seeing Jungkook again after yesterday’s revelation fills you with a mixture of dread and curiosity. You follow the helper through the winding halls of the palace, your footsteps echoing against the stone floors. As you reach the entrance of the common ground, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself for whatever comes next.

—-------------------------------------

The common ground is bustling, filled with various figures of importance. When you step in, you spot Jungkook immediately. He stands tall and composed, wearing traditional tribal clothing, but there's something different about his attire. The materials are exquisite embellished with intricate beadwork and luxurious furs, signaling that even though he embraces the tribe’s customs, his status is unmatched.

He turns when he sees you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His eyes soften as they meet yours.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Jungkook greets you warmly, stepping forward. “You look beautiful.” You offer him a small smile, though it’s tight around the edges, and nod in acknowledgment. There’s an underlying tension between you, but for now, you don’t speak of it.

As you walk further into the gathering, your eyes scan the room. You notice a few familiar faces, a handful of the tribe’s elders, and someone holding a stack of papers and a quill. The man looks at you and Jungkook, motioning for both of you to sit at the long table in the center of the room. There’s an air of formality to this meeting, and as you sit down, the weight of the situation presses down on your shoulders.

The man speaks first, addressing you with a calm, measured tone.

“Miss Y/N," he says, his words laced with an odd mix of politeness and condescension. "You are an outsider, I mean even though you are Jungkook's wife. You are still the daughter of a French king. Unlike us, you have strong connections with the people outside of this forest. You must want to stay in contact with them. Even though women hold superiority here, it is still the husband’s decision if he will allow you to leave the forest.”

The words hang in the air, and your stomach tightens. Your heart races, and you glance at Jungkook, but he’s looking straight ahead, his expression unreadable. The man turns his gaze to Jungkook, his next set of questions directed at him, his voice official and blunt.

“Do you allow your wife to visit her kingdom?” he asks.

Jungkook glances at you, and for a split second, you think you see a flicker of something—maybe hesitation, maybe understanding—but it’s gone before you can fully grasp it.

“Yes,” Jungkook says, his voice unwavering. “But only once a month, and I will accompany her.”

You blink, surprised by his words, but something inside you stirs. He still intends to control even that, though the small concession feels like a victory. For now, anyway.

The man doesn’t hesitate. “Do you allow her to stay overnight in her kingdom?”

“No,” Jungkook responds firmly, his eyes still on you, but the words feel like a physical blow.

A cold anger coils in your chest. The thought of never being able to visit your family without his watchful eye is suffocating. You never wanted this. Never asked for it.

The man pauses before asking, “Do you allow her parents to visit here?”

The question feels like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t even thought about that possibility, but now it feels like another sharp cut into your already wounded heart.

“No,” Jungkook says, without hesitation.

The room grows silent, the weight of the conversation pressing down on you. You can feel the anger building within you, the frustration at being trapped in a place that feels more and more like a gilded cage.

The meeting wraps up quickly after that, and without a word to Jungkook, you stand and make your way toward the door, your legs moving on their own accord. Your heart beats faster, every step toward your chambers feeling heavier than the last. The cool air outside is a welcome relief, but it doesn’t quiet the storm raging inside you.

Just as you’re about to step into the privacy of your chambers, Jungkook catches up with you, his hand gently grasping your arm.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice calm, though there’s a hint of frustration beneath the surface. “Like I said, you’ll understand with time. I still allowed you to visit, even though the forest forbids it. I’ve done more than what was required of me.”

You look at him, and for a moment, it feels like your heart might shatter. Tears threaten to spill, but you swallow them down, biting your lip as your frustration boils over.

With a short, bitter laugh, you turn away from him, your voice thick with emotion as you mutter, “Understand? I don’t think I’ll ever understand.”

—------------------------------------------------

You don’t go to your chambers.

Instead, you walk past the familiar halls and the rooms that have become a cage, pushing yourself deeper into the forest. The tall trees stand like silent sentinels, their shadows stretching across the ground, offering the solitude you desperately crave. you find yourself outside, near a quiet lake, the ripples of the water mirroring the turbulence inside you.

You stand there, staring at the still water, and allow yourself a moment to breathe. What now? You don’t know the answer. But you do know one thing: you won’t stay here quietly. You won’t let this place swallow you whole.

The peaceful stillness of the lake settles around you as you sit by its edge, lost in thought. The air is cool and calming, and the ripples of the water are the only sounds that fill the space.

Then, a voice breaks the silence.

"Ah, look at this angel."

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts, and instinctively turn your head toward the source of the voice. Across the lake, standing on the opposite bank, is a woman. Unlike anyone you’ve seen before, her presence is both serene and striking.

She has two earthen pots resting at her feet, their earthy tones contrasting with the pale blue of the lake. Her beauty is ethereal, almost otherworldly, and it draws you in. Her long, dark hair is partially hidden by a delicate veil that drapes around her head, but unlike the veils of the women in the tribe, this one doesn’t cover her face. Instead, it simply rests gently on her head, flowing with a soft elegance.

You can’t help but stare, captivated by her. Her green eyes—bright and vivid like the heart of the forest itself—hold your gaze, steady and unwavering.

She bends down gracefully, her movements fluid, like a dancer. You watch as she fills one of the pots with water from the lake, her hands steady and sure. The way she moves seems effortless, as though the world around her is just an extension of her being. The tension you’d felt earlier seems to ease just by watching her, and for a brief moment, you forget about the complications of your new life here. Her presence is so calming, so completely different from the chaos you’ve been swept into.

The air between you two feels thick with something unspoken, a connection you can’t quite place. As she fills the second pot, she never breaks eye contact with you, her gaze never faltering. There’s a quiet understanding between the two of you, as though she sees more than just your outward appearance.

A soft breeze moves through the trees, rustling the leaves, but still, the woman stands perfectly still, her green eyes locked with yours. You want to speak, but the words catch in your throat. There’s a strange pull in the air, a magnetism that makes your heart race in a way you didn’t expect.

The silence stretches, and you wait for her to speak, for her to break the connection. But she doesn’t. She simply looks at you, her expression unreadable yet full of something profound, as if she understands your confusion, your turmoil, perhaps even more than you do. After a long moment, she turns her gaze toward the water once more, adjusting the pots, as though nothing unusual had passed between you two. But the moment lingers in the air, settling in your chest, as if she’s left a mark on your soul.

The air is thick with the unspoken tension between you and the mysterious woman, As she adjusts the earthen pots on the ground, you finally gather enough courage to break the silence.

“Who are you?” you ask, your voice steady but curious.

She lifts her gaze to meet yours, and a soft, musical laugh escapes her lips. It’s not mocking, but rather a gentle, knowing sound. “I am not from here,” she says simply, her tone calm and smooth. “I am merely here to fetch fresh water.”

You nod slowly, taking in her words, but there’s something in her manner that makes you feel there’s more to her than she’s letting on.

“Is he troubling you?” she asks, her voice low but pointed.

Your brows furrow, a twinge of confusion passing through you. “Who?” you ask, not sure if you’re hearing her correctly.

Her lips curl into a faint, knowing smile. “Your man,” she replies, her gaze unwavering. She watches you carefully, as though reading the turmoil in your eyes. There’s a silent understanding between you two, though neither of you speaks it aloud. She doesn’t press further, instead turning her attention back to the pots she’s preparing to carry.

“You think you are defenseless here," she says, her voice low and cryptic. "But it’s him. He is at your mercy, not the other way around. He cannot hurt you like you can hurt him, he worships you."

Her words hang in the air, each one heavy with unspoken meaning. You try to make sense of them, but they only leave you more confused than before. There’s something about the way she says it—something in her eyes—that makes your skin prickle.

Before you can ask more questions, you hear a voice calling out your name. You freeze, and your heart skips a beat. It’s Jungkook’s voice, unmistakable and close.

You quickly glance back toward the sound, your chest tightening. When you turn around to speak to the woman once more, to ask her to elaborate, she’s gone. she vanished without a trace. There’s no rustling of leaves, no footsteps to mark her departure. She’s simply gone, as though she was never there at all.

Your breath catches in your throat as a strange feeling settles in your gut. You stand frozen, staring out over the lake, the strange woman’s words still echoing in your mind. The stillness of the water reflects the cloudy sky, but inside, your thoughts are a storm. What did she mean? What did she know? Who was she?

Suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching, and your heart skips a beat. You turn just as you see Jungkook breaking through the bushes, his eyes searching the area for you. The look on his face is a mixture of relief and concern. Without a word, he reaches you and pulls you into his arms, enveloping you in his warmth.

"Are you okay?" His voice is low, thick with worry.

You nod, still lost in your thoughts, but he doesn’t release you. His hold tightens as he pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes searching yours, trying to read what’s hidden there. He asks again, softer this time, "Are you sure you're okay?"

For a moment, you’re still, not knowing how to respond. You had run from him earlier, angry, confused, needing space but now, standing here in his arms, it feels like the fury is draining away, leaving behind a strange emptiness. Your thoughts linger on the woman by the lake, the cryptic things she had said. The words she’d spoken, they haunt you.

You suddenly forget why you ran. You forget the frustration and the anger. All you can focus on now is the unsettling feeling she left you with. You turn your gaze back to Jungkook, his steady, concerned gaze pulling you back to the present. Without realizing it, you reach for his hand, holding it as you ask, "How many other tribes live in the forest?"

Jungkook’s expression shifts, his brows furrowing slightly. His gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, the world feels suspended between you two. He studies your face, his own expression unreadable. Finally, he answers, his voice steady.

"One. Only one." He pauses, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "The Devti goddess only blessed the Jeons, and we are the last ones standing."

You don’t know what to say to that, but something feels off. You look away, distracted by the thought of the woman. She had said she wasn’t from here, but she didn’t seem to fit with the tribe, either. She had a familiarity about her, but it was different from the others.

“I saw someone, a woman,” you finally speak, your voice hesitant.

At the mention of the woman, Jungkook visibly tenses. His body stiffens, and his eyes narrow with suspicion. He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel the change in his energy, the way his gaze sharpens.

You continue, your words slipping out before you can stop them. “She said she is not from here, she’s here to get water.”

Jungkook’s eyes darted around quickly, as though searching for something or someone. His hand immediately drops from yours as he reaches around to his back, pulling out a knife from the sheath hidden beneath his cloak. He doesn’t look at you as he holds it in his hand, but his voice comes out low, almost urgent.

"Sometimes we have neighboring tribes come through here," he says, still looking around, his attention divided. "Picking fruits, collecting water... The Lav Forest is blessed, but other tribes don’t have enough to eat or drink. It’s not safe, they’re not always friendly."

Jungkook doesn’t say more, his eyes still scanning the perimeter as he begins to move you back toward the palace. He walks with purpose, guiding you quickly, but gently, back toward the safety of the palace walls. As you move through the trees, you can’t help but feel the weight of the unknown pressing against you—what did Jungkook know that he wasn’t telling you?

The forest around you seems to grow darker, more ominous with every step. And for the first time, you feel the real weight of what it means to be a part of this forest. You don’t know what to expect next, but the feeling in the air has shifted.

You’re no longer just a “visitor” here. You’re entangled in something much bigger than you thought.

———————————————-

next chapter: march 19

———————————————

taglist 💌: @jincapableoflove @voitier @koocreampie @kookxin @mysticprincessstrawberry @imwutim @synamon @withmuchluv-tannie @taekritimin123 @somehowukook @jungshaking @junecat18 @ilyjhseok let me know if u would like to be added to the list.

———————————————-

author’s note: thank u so much for the love on my silly fanfic, im glad so many people are enjoying it. due to the nature of the story i have to wait a little before i write smut, hope da freaks understand >_< muaaah.

[moonymeloncholymoney]

- love Joaquin :))

summary: what happens when Y/n stark, who has given up on love, meets the physical embodiment of sunlight Joaquin Torres only for her father to find out what they were doing ;) warnings: nothing just pure awkward fluff. Also please don't judge this is my first fic i have ever written but i am always open to constructive criticism :)). English is not my first language please don't mind the grammatical mistakes. word limit: 12.1 k (i am sorry 😭)

To say that the war was tiring was an understatement because not only did it put everyone’s life at risk but it also left everyone exhausted. Some bound with the trauma of fighting with extra-terrestrial beings like Peter and some just tired of war like Bucky. But the wait was over and so was the war. Everyone you ever loved was right beside you, standing strong as ever. Your dad was fine and so was Natasha. Yes, Steve was gone and yes, you did miss him a lot but you understood why he left, he left for love. Love that you had never experienced, love that never found its way to your heart. You saw love everywhere around you. You felt it lingering in the silent glances that your dad gave Pepper, the way Wanda saw home in Vision and in the way Clint fought for Laura. You craved for that love, the one where the noise numbs down and the only thing ringing in your ear is the echo of sweet nothings whispered by the one you love, by the one who loves you. But after years of trying to find that love in one-night stands, open ended situationships and an unhealthy amount of time on dating sites, you gave up. There is a saying that love finds you once you stop looking for it, well you didn’t know how much of it was true until you met him.

You were working on a new A.I system with your father in the tower when his presence hit you like warm sunlight on a bitter winter day. His skin was the color of honey, his eyes hues of coffee brown and a smile brighter than June summer. He came in with Sam, who after taking up the mantle of the new cap had to pass down his legacy to someone younger and that someone being him. Joaquin was his name. “Joaquin”, you said quietly to yourself as he and Sam conversed with your dad. His name rolled off your tongue with such ease almost as if it belonged there. “Yes?”, Joaquin answered at hearing his name. Even though it being just merely above a whisper, your voice caught him and latched onto him. Both Sam and Tony turned to look at you. You were not one to be anxious, especially for a boy but something about how his voice turned out to be even sweeter than you had imagined and that both your dad and Sam’s attention was on you, made you a little weak in the knees making you almost trip on your step as you tried stand straighter. “Oh umm nothing, I- uh I think you have a very beautiful name that’s all”, you said while removing the glasses perched on your nose. The statement raised eyebrows of the two silghtly older men in the room and smile from Joaquin. “Thanks- uh thanks a lot. I am sorry you are?” said Joaquin as he took a few steps in your direction “Y/N” you said as you smiled at him. “Y/N, as in the Y/N Stark? The one who helped in making vision? And so much of the stark industries tech during the battle of earth?” “in the flesh.” Your introduction sure made him raise his hand forward to greet yours but clearly your father had other plans. “ I am Joaquin, which already you know by now, I really appreciate your work.” But before you could shake his hand you dear father had already appeared between the two of you. “Okay birdboy, you better show me what you got before you continue to do whatever it is you’re doing with my daughter.” He said while pointing at Joaquin. “oh my god dad please” you said whispering into Tony’s ear, for some reason you felt like a teenager in an adult’s body trying to make sure your dad doesn’t embarrass you in front of your new found crush. “Sure sir, will do” he said while staring directly in your eyes and winked as he followed Tony into the lab across where you were working. “Looks like someone’s got a little crush…” said Sam in the most sing song voice ever while making his way to the lab, making you jump slightly. “Stop seriously, not funny” you said while harboring the small smile on your face as you got back to work, “Whatever you say nerd, whatever you say” Sam said while raising his hands in defeat and receiving the most unserious glare from you ever causing him to chuckle his way out of there. Looks like you had developed somewhat of a crush.

Both Joaquin and Sam had started to spend most of their time in the stark tower as they were working on both of their new suits and trying to get intel on a new group of rebels which were trying to steal admantium from the American government which therefore required a lot of your help. You could feel his stare on you sometimes but the moment you looked back he would be quick to glance away. He thought you were…ethereal. He had been attracted to people before but this was different, he couldn’t get himself to not look at you at least 50 times a day. He was drawn to you in a way he couldn’t understand and he couldn’t stop admiring you anytime you came into the lab. The way your hair fell in front your face when you worked, the way you bit the top of your pencil when you had to really focus and the way your laugh echoed through the walls of the lab when his eminent ant-man fanboy came out. He liked looking at crease that formed between your eyebrows when you concentrated, oh and he loved the dimple that formed when- “You’re gonna burn a hole into her face if you keep staring at her like that.” said Sam startling Joaquin out of his lovesick gaze. “pphhf, please I was not-I wasn’t staring”, “Sure, you were totally not looking at her like she was a damn piece of cheesecake.” Sam said as his eyebrows went flying to the ceiling. “look man, you are a great guy, pretty decent looking too so you better man up and ask her out cause you’re not the only person in the queue who would want to go on a date with her.” Joaquin listen to Sam’s advice while he mustered up the courage to ask him, “how?...i mean how do I even ask her out dude she is…y/n you know? What if I am not up to her standards man? I mean she is after all Tony stark’s daughter” he said while shutting his laptop down and turning completely to face Sam. “Just be yourself dude.” “be yourself? What kind of garbage advise is that!”, “You know what kid? Figure it out yourself. I’m out of here” Sam pointed his pencil towards joaquin before getting up from his chair and walking outside the room, “HEY, hey man don’t leave me hanging here! Sam! Come on bro…great” joaquin popped back into his seat when he was startled once again by a new voice. “He’s not wrong you know?” said Nat. “OH MY GOD, wow umm miss-no uhh ma’am. hello black widow ma’am, hi I am” “Joaquin I know, tony told me about the new falcon” Nat entered the room with an apple in her hand and pointed towards Y/N, “she likes danishes, strawberry ones specifically.”, “yes ma’am” he said while taking out a worn out small notebook form his back pocket. “iced coffee, room temperature and no ice, also try to get more cream on top if you can” she said while swirling her hands in the air, “mhhmm” he said while scribbling into his notebook. “Oh and one more thing” she says while leaning towards his desk in front of him, “don’t hurt her. I haven’t retired yet.” Joaquin gulped a little before violently nodding his head, “Good” Nat said while walking out of the room. Joaquin sighed and slid back into his seat after checking if no one else was in the room this time.

It was nice working with someone your age, someone who understood you a bit better than people who even though you loved were way older than you. He was sweet, really sweet. It was funny cause it was generally you who had to make sure if everyone was doing fine. If Sam had his morning coffee or not, if Tony took his meds, If Nat hadn’t overworked herself and Bucky was regularly going to his therapy sessions or not. So, it was an unexpected but extremely sweet surprise when you found a note stuck to your laptop with a box of strawberry Danishes and an iced coffee on the side. You read the note, ‘Danishes, strawberry ones specifically. For when you work those extra nights for us. Thank you so much Y/N we couldn’t have done it without you. - Joaquin :)) ps: also just for general knowledge, what exactly would be your favourite kind of flowers?.’ You let out a breathy chuckle while reading the last line when you felt your vision getting blurry. You knew people appreciated the work you did but it wasn’t every day that people acknowledged it. “Thats sweet”, you jumped when you saw Nat behind you staring at you with a cheeky look on her face. “oh my god Natasha you really got to stop doing this” you say as you put a hand to your chest and look beside you where Nat was now standing. “What helping my dear friend find love because she deserves it?”, “No, scaring people by appearing out of nowhere”, you stood up straight and picked up the box of strawberry danishes and offered one to her. “So…you told him I like strawberry danishes didn’t you?”, “I have no idea what you’re talking about”, “mhhmm shure” you said with mouth full of danishes. “he is a good kid you know…a hot one too” Natasha said while picking a Danish up and popping it in her mouth. “NATASHA” you almost choked on your Danish and had to take a sip of the coffee you were bought. “what don’t act like you haven’t been undressing him with your eyes” she poked your shoulder and went to sit down on your rotating chair. You coughed violently before speaking up, “First of all, what is wrong with you and secondly no I haven’t been undressing him with my eyes” you said quietly trying to avoid her gaze. Nat stood from her chair and faced you, “Look sweetheart I know how feel, you don’t want to get your heart broken like before but that doesn’t mean you devoid yourself of ever experiencing love again and who is telling you to marry him? Just one date, try it out. He might turn out to be the Ron to your Hermione, you know what I mean?” you laughed loudly as you asked, “You’ve read harry potter?”, “yeah who hasn’t read harry potter dude I am a proud slytherin”, “okay Nat well for your information I consider you the Ron to my Harry”, you said while you engulfed her into a hug from the side and kept your head on her shoulder, “I told myself I would never cry but I think this moment might be worth it”, said Nat while hugging you back. “think about it okay?” she said quietly while getting out of the hug and walking towards the door. “mhmm I will” you said as you slowly sat down on your chair with a slight smile on your face. “also y/n” Nat said suddenly appearing from the hallway, peeking through the door, “yes?”. “I love you” she said looking into your eyes, “I love you too nat. so very much”, you said as you went back to your work feeling a little bit happier than before.

Days passed and Joaquin's nervousness increased day by day as there was no reply to his note and because he knew that the moment his suit was made he would have to stop coming by anymore and most probably miss his chance of ever asking you out. That was until today when after a slight malfunction with his suit he came to visit the stark tower. “umm Mr stark, I actually wanted your help with…” You were working in the lab when you heard him enter the room and looked up from your files when you saw him in his suit and you may or may not have been undressing him with your eyes in that moment. Damn it, Nat. “I can help you with…” you said as you took slow but deliberate steps towards him. “umm the wings, the wings are very tight- a bit a bit tight actually” he said stuttering a bit as he somehow managed to look into your y/e/c eyes. “the wings right” you stood exactly right in front of him only a mere inches apart as you raised your hand and put it right behind his shoulder and unclipped his suit. His eyes flickered right down to your lips wondering how they must feel against his exactly when your eyes scanned his face, all his freckles and spots coming right into view. “Lilies”, you whispered into the small space between the two of you, “what?” his eyes widened as he realized that he had finally gotten a response out of you, “general knowledge.” you slowly went behind him and hugged him from behind only to unclip the front portion of his suit, “right…”, he said while turning his head to the side to face you. “I also like dinner, Italian preferably.” You said as you came back to face him as the upper portion of his suit falls onto the ground leaving him in nothing but the lower portion of his suit and the dog tags that dangled from his bare chest. “yes ma’am” he said in a voice that made your stomach do a strange flip. He looked straight at your lips and asked while leaning in to your ear with a sudden new found courage, “and desert?” you turned to face him, brushing his nose in the process of doing so and did not waste time in closing the distance between the both of you. One hand finding its way to his hair and one remaining steady on his chest as one of his arms found your waist and the other one cupped your face. The kiss was anything but rough, it was slow, passionate a little messy but it was worth the wait. He could taste the slightly bitter taste of coffee and certain sweetness as you gave him access to your mouth. The both of you fit like pieces of a puzzle, moving in unison like a single entity almost as if you could be morphed into one. Joaquin smiled into the kiss when- “OH MY GOD WHAT” Tony screamed as he stopped mid-way covering his eyes with one hand while peeking from his fingers. The two of you sprung apart as you fixed your hair and Joaquin tried to hide his bare chest by picking up his fallen suit from the ground. “Dad listen”, “Mr stark i-,” “nope, no I don’t want to hear it, I go for five minutes to eat a burrito and you both are already trying to make more stark babies yeah no not under my watch.” He said while holding up a finger like an angry mother hen. “Chicken head you’re out and you miss are going to help me in the lab instead eating people’s face off”, you covered your head with your hand, “Dad oh my god”, you turned to Joaquin to help him get the rest of his suit form the ground as you whispered a quite bye. Joaquin picked his suit up and walked out of the lab when he felt something under one of the parts of his suit, a note. ‘I’ll be ready at 8 birdboy ;) - Y/N <3 ' A small smile appeared on his face as he turned back to look at the lab only to find you already looking in his direction. He raised the small note in his hand, waving it gently and received a wink from your side. He laughed and turned back to walk out of the lab with a certain jump in his step. Looked like he had some thanking to do, oh and date to plan.

taglist: @fioooweeooweeeoo @cruel-seduction @buckyytorres @halliejaade @fireinmoonshot @sunsburns @murdrdocs @joaquinwhorres @brittnicki @chansburgah

[omgitskaii]

love that y’all liked the hc’s so i’ll bring some more to the table:

sam sometimes ask castiel to check if his soul is intact; no matter how many times cas assures him it’s there, sam always doubts himself

cas gets phantom pain on his shoulder blades from his wings

when dean has nightmares, he often gets violent with himself or things around him; there’s occasions he’s woken up with deep scratches on his arms or his fingernails stubbed and bloody from abuse to his wall. he tries to hide them when he wakes up.

dean sometimes flinches whenever cas raises an arm to him. he tries to play it off when it happens, but cas will always notice and assure him with a gentle touch afterwards.

when dean was still hosting michael in his head, whenever he’d fall asleep, dean would unintentionally visit him in the bar. michael would taunt him through the door, so often that dean has come to believe some of the stuff he said. he doesn’t tell anyone.

there’s a pillow in the library dedicated to sam for whenever he falls asleep/passes out reading lore books or cataloging

dean will get someone else to hand him painkillers, saying he’s too lazy to get them himself. but it’s really because he doesn’t trust himself.

cas will intentionally seem “dense” just to make dean laugh and does it mostly to fuck with sam.

sam and dean will play mystery puzzle games together to try to do “normal things,” but both of them will just apply hunters lore to it, which makes the game 10x more complicated, and then both give up.

it’s a habit he picked up when he was a kid hunting with john, but dean will still try to hide his injuries no matter how bad they are. it’s gotten him into trouble on multiple occasions.

sam bites his nails when he’s nervous or stressed out.

sam keeps an old jacket that dean gave him once when he was a kid that was way too big for him, even in his teens. it was a ratty thing from the thrift store and dean picked it out for him because he was too cold in the motel their dad set them up in. sam still wears it sometimes. it finally fits now that he’s older.

dean is soft on jack and claire because he sees himself in them, but deep down it’s also to reconcile how he first failed ben. he thinks of him sometimes, and on one occasion has sent him an anonymous birthday card. he believes he’s not father material and wasn’t made for it, no matter how badly he wants it.

dean has turned tricks in order to fend for him and sam when he was young. he’s never told sam.

cas makes rounds in the bunker to make sure both brothers are safely asleep

sam hates needles

dean has spent a lot of his time alone studying spell books to find some way to safely see cas’ true form, or some extension of it. later on, when he finds a way to make it possible, assures rowena with a quick text that he knows what fifth base is now.

sam and cas make an effort to hang out one on one. they go out for coffees sometimes when dean is off on a solo hunt, trade notes on different pieces of history and lore, or they’ll watch lengthy documentaries together.

dean goes to visit bennys grave in louisiana

whenever cas is pissed off he’ll mutter things in enochian

both dean and rowena actually do make an effort to be friends. they both just pretend to be insufferable for the sake of appearances, even though they did initially hate eachother. they’ll occasionally meet up for drinks, and rowena calls it ‘girls night’ despite deans annoyance.

cas gets pissed (and/or jealous) whenever someone touches deans shoulder

sam will sometimes jump on dean on the couch or throw shit at him when he’s relaxing in his room to piss him off, because he’s an annoying little brother. in older sibling fashion, dean will always chase him around the bunker at least once when he gets fed up before inevitably giving up to grab a drink or when cas yells at them for being idiots

dean lets jack, claire, and cas put on their own music in the impala. sam is furious about it when he finds out, but also secretly happy for him knowing how personal that actually is for his brother.

they used to do this when they were little, but sam and dean will still share clothes sometimes, even though they are sometimes too big/small. dean will lend cas his clothes too. it’s more of a comfort thing.

dean buys fidget toys for sam. sam has a collection of fidget spinners in almost every room in the bunker and multiple laying around in the impala for when they have to do stakeouts.

selectively mute dean. there are times where dean will go a few days without talking, usually due to rough nightmares or hunts gone wrong. he’s tired of taking his anger out on people, so he keeps to himself.

cas has robotically perfect handwriting, even when he needs to write something down quickly

dean likes to sing when he’s alone and he’s very good at it, but will purposefully sing off key when anyone comes in. he’ll usually sing whenever he’s cooking or working on baby, using his tools or utensils as a microphone.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

House of Shadows

Pairing: Task Force 141 x DiplomatsDaughter!Reader

Summary: Task force 141 breaks into your father's house looking for intel on Makarov, but instead of the diplomat in question they find you, his overly helpful daughter.

The morning air was crisp against the grand windows of the dining hall, the golden light filtering through sheer curtains. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air as you made your way downstairs, dressed for the day, unaware that your quiet morning was about to be violently interrupted.

As you stepped into the dining room, you froze.

The air was heavy, charged with something electric and unseen. It took half a second for your eyes to register the men standing in the room—armored, masked, their weapons raised but silent. The kind of silent that made your heartbeat slam against your ribs. They moved like shadows, precise and calculated.

Your hands shot up instinctively, eyes flicking from one soldier to the next. They were good. The best. You recognized their tactical gear, the deadly efficiency of their stance. Task Force 141. You weren’t naive to what your father did. You knew the weight of his dealings, the kind of enemies he made.

And yet, despite the very real danger, you couldn’t help but notice them. The sharp blue eyes of the one with the mohawk—Soap, you thought. The way Gaz’s jaw was set, smooth but firm. Price, commanding with an effortless authority. And Ghost, the mystery wrapped in black and bone, unreadable behind his mask. It was maddening that in a moment like this, you found them attractive—though you weren’t stupid enough to dwell on it.

"He’s not here," you said, voice steady despite the way your breath hitched.

A figure stepped forward. Captain Price. His gaze was sharp beneath the brim of his hat, assessing you as if peeling back layers of pretense. "That so?" His tone was skeptical, unreadable.

"Yes. He left last night. I don’t know where he went."

Another man, taller, broader—Ghost. His skull mask made it impossible to read his expression, but the way he shifted his weight told you they weren’t buying it.

"We’ll be the judge of that," Ghost muttered, his voice a low, gravelly warning.

"I’m telling you the truth," you said, lowering your hands slightly. "I know what my father does. I know who he associates with, but I don’t have the kind of information you’re looking for."

Soap exchanged a glance with Gaz, then turned his attention back to you. "No offense, but that’s not good enough for us."

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to stay calm. "I might not have what you need, but I can show you something that does."

A flicker of interest passed through them.

"Go on," Price urged.

You nodded toward the study. "My father’s safe. He keeps files there—transactions, contacts. If he’s working with Makarov, there will be something."

Ghost’s eyes narrowed. "And why would you help us?"

You looked at him, unflinching. "Because I might not be like my father, but I know what kind of man Makarov is. If he’s involved, you need all the help you can get."

Price studied you for a beat longer before nodding. "Lead the way. But know this—if you try anything, we’ll know."

"I’m not an idiot," you muttered, turning on your heel as they fell into step behind you.

As you passed by Soap, you felt it—a ghost of a touch against the small of your back. Barely there, but enough for your skin to prickle. You turned your head slightly, only to find him smirking, eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach dip.

You led them down the hallway, your steps careful, aware that any sudden movement could be misinterpreted as a threat. Ghost trailed a few steps behind you, his presence silent but looming. Soap stayed closer, almost too close, but you weren’t in a position to complain.

Pushing open the door to your father’s study, you stepped aside to let them in. The room was immaculate—rich mahogany shelves lined with books, an old-fashioned globe sitting in the corner, and a desk that looked more like a museum piece than a workspace.

"The safe’s behind the painting," you said, gesturing toward a framed landscape above the fireplace.

Gaz moved first, lifting the painting off the wall to reveal a sleek, modern safe embedded into the paneling. He gave a low whistle. "Fancy."

Price turned to you. "Code?"

You hesitated. "I don’t—"

Before you could finish, Ghost had already moved, producing a small device from his tactical belt. He knelt by the safe, attaching the device to the keypad.

"Give me a sec," he murmured, fingers tapping a few commands. The device beeped, numbers flickering across its small screen as it worked its way through possible combinations.

Soap leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "So, what? You just happen to know your dear old dad is funding Makarov and didn’t think that was worth mentioning before now?"

You shot him a sharp look. "I said I wasn’t naive. Doesn’t mean I had proof. He never told me anything outright, and I wasn’t exactly in a position to demand answers."

"You live in the same house," Gaz pointed out.

"And that means what? That I automatically know every secret he’s keeping?" You scoffed. "You think people like him just leave classified documents lying around the dining table? He kept things compartmentalized. All I had were suspicions."

Ghost’s device beeped again, and the safe clicked open. He pulled the door back, revealing stacks of neatly arranged files, a few USB drives, and bundles of foreign currency. Price stepped forward, flipping through one of the files.

"Bingo," he muttered. "Transfers, offshore accounts, direct links to Makarov’s network."

Gaz exhaled. "Looks like we just hit the jackpot."

Soap gave a low chuckle. "Maybe she’s not as useless as we thought."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond. Instead, you caught Ghost watching you, his gaze lingering a second too long before he turned back to the safe.

Price snapped the file shut. "We’re taking everything. But we’re not done here yet." He leveled you with a look. "Where does your father go when he doesn’t come home?"

You swallowed. "I don’t know exactly. But there’s one place he always talks about. A private estate outside Prague. I’ve never been, but… if he’s hiding, it’d be there."

Price nodded. "That’s our next move."

Ghost shut the safe, standing to his full height. "And what do we do with her?"

A tense silence followed. You suddenly felt very aware of how exposed you were. Price exchanged a look with Soap, then Ghost.

"We can’t leave her here," Gaz pointed out. "If her father comes back and finds the place torn apart, she’ll take the fall."

Soap smirked. "Guess she’s coming with us, then."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You said you wanted to help," Price reminded you. "Congratulations. You just enlisted."

Ghost’s voice was quieter, but sharper. "That means you do exactly as we say. No questions."

You crossed your arms. "I don’t think I have much of a choice, do I?"

Soap grinned. "Smart girl."

You exhaled, heart pounding. There was no turning back now.

[tovibeornottovibe]

Before Someone Misses You

Eris Vanserra x Healer!Fem!OC

As a result of his father's heavy-handed parenting style, Eris is mere moments away from death. He can't think straight; the faebane and the blood loss is making him delirious. With what little strength he has, he winnows to Cleo's backdoor and practically collapses into her arms. Unfortunately for him, his usual restraint is severely impeded and yeah, he's so fucking in love with her, even if he can't admit it to himself. [4k words]

warnings: implied/referenced torture, swearing, implied sexual situations, mentioned Beron Vanserra (yuck)

Prefer to read on Ao3?

“Eris, Eris, you need to breathe. Just look at me, okay?”

He’s trying. Really, really trying. His eyes don’t seem to want to stay open, his head feels full, heavy, and his saliva is thick in his mouth like molasses; he can’t swallow it. He can’t tell if he’s going to throw up or pass out. All he knows is that he’s bleeding on Cleo’s floor and leaving a gory trail behind him as she props him up and leads him to her sofa. And now he’s bleeding on her sofa too.

Shame. The cream-coloured cushions suited her living room so well.

Eris is vaguely aware that she’s positioning him so she can get access to all of the lacerations across his torso, and that her dog is sitting patiently beside him, out of the way but close enough, worrying after him. He winces when she grips his chin and moves his head, lets out a ragged, wet breath when he tries to shift.

“Don’t move,” she says. He figures she talks like this with the fae she treats on the daily. Very to the point, but with a touch of tenderness. Delirium has hit him so hard that he manages to convince himself that she might actually save said tenderness just for him. Well, it’s a nice thought to go out with if this does turn out to be his last day alive. Ah, and he still had so much more to do. 

“You need to stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

Cleo has a soothing voice. It’s rich and has none of that sycophantic tartness that the females of his own court tout at every opportunity. When she berates him for not taking care of himself—namely, for not seeing a damn healer immediately, for the love of the fucking Mother—she might as well be singing a lullaby…

“Please, Eris.”

He hums what he thinks might be some kind of response and makes the effort to open his eyes. Sometime between him falling into her arms and him falling onto her sofa, she had removed his shirt and started cleaning his wounds. They’re mostly cuts from a knife, but it’s the faebane making him feel so fuzzy. He can feel how his magic putters out in his veins. Courtesy of his father. Something, something, researching the effects of high dosages. What little he had managed to regain in the hours between being dumped in his rooms and now had been used up winnowing to Cleo’s doorstep at daybreak. The Dawn Court is further away than he thought and it had felt like wading through mud.

Usually, her cleaning him up hurts. The alcohol she uses burns but it’s effective and the blinding sting helps keep him focused. This doesn’t even register. He can’t feel where she’s pressing the cotton to his skin. Can’t feel where she’s holding him down to keep him from thrashing. Doesn’t even know if he’s capable of thrashing.

The dark waves of her hair fall over her face and she uses her bloodied hands to brush it out of the way. She hasn’t had it cut for a while and the length suits her. It probably reaches her mid-back now.

“What did he give you?” she asks, that slight tenderness hidden beneath a roiling, constrained kind of anger which makes him equally pleased and sickened. If it were anyone else, them seeing him in this state would have been mortifying, worthy of threats and promises never to tell a soul, but it’s Cleo, so it’s fine.

Eris attempts to form the word faebane, but his lips won’t do what he tells them and his teeth are suspiciously static. Whatever he chokes out registers with her, and she leaves him for a moment, presumably to dig through the cupboard under the sink where she keeps miscellaneous substances like selenium solution. Keenly, he feels her absence. He closes his eyes.

This is a quaint, little middle-of-a-terrace house in a quiet part of Thesan’s city, mostly untouched by Amarantha. Small, but comfortable. A kitchen made for no more than three, a dining table with tasteful chairs, a clean living room, artfully furnished and perfect for her. Though he has never been upstairs, he imagines her bedroom is similarly decorated with classy, understated furniture. There’s a patch of a back garden where she grows herbs and her dog, Dartagnan, can bound about in the sunshine. Here, even he can see the benefit of seasons. He’d go as far to say it's idyllic. 

Perhaps she’ll construct a funeral pyre for him somewhere nearby. Dart will find sticks for her to add to the pile. The birds will sing while his body burns. It could be worse. He could be at home.

Nudging at his hand which hangs off the sofa limply—his muscles aren’t doing much for him at the current moment—has his head lolling to the side and his eyes fluttering back open again. Dart is sniffing at the blood on his forearm. He slowly pats him on the head, running his fingers through his fur, and even in his state, he can hear his tail start to swish against the floor.

Dart makes for a good distraction, and Eris stays awake until Cleo returns and kneels at his side. 

“Am I going to have to force this down your gullet?” she asks, though a response doesn’t come to mind. Anything she says right now feels like coming in from the cold and sitting in front of the hearth. “Fuck, okay, fine.”

She pulls his jaw and opens his mouth and he lets her. One of these days, she’ll cup his face and it won’t be to pour medicine down his throat. Even when she’s treating him, particularly if it’s his face that needs healing and she gets so close to him that he can feel her breath against his neck, he thinks about whether or not she’d let him seduce her. Eris knows she’d suit burgundy. He wonders if she knows how to dance. If not, he could teach her—ack!  

As soon as the foul-tasting antidote hits his tongue, he feels his magic begin to purge the faebane from his veins, burning it out of his system, and for the first time since yesterday afternoon, he can breathe properly. He lets out a sharp sigh which catches in his throat. He flexes his hands, bends his knees, the feeling coming back to them, and manages to sit himself up despite the stinging of his wounds. At that, Cleo’s relief becomes evident on her face and she sits back on her calves, looking up at him. Dart, visibly brightening from Eris’ movement, rests his chin on the sofa cushion and nudges his side again. He goes back to fussing him.

“If you had left it another hour, you would be dead. You understand that, right?”

For a moment, he pauses. His imminent death isn’t even top five on his list of things to worry about.

He flicks his attention to her, and her short-lived relief has been replaced by a quiet, seething kind of rage which somehow makes him feel guilty. It’s not something he’s used to and he decides that he fervently hates it. Cleo is so open with her emotions. She has no mask. No ulterior motive. She just is who she is. They would eat her alive in Autumn, but here, in Dawn, it’s normal not to exploit your neighbours’ weaknesses. You wouldn’t even gain anything but a sour reputation if you tried.

“It’s a good thing I came when I did then, isn’t it?” he says without any of his usual sneer. She would kick him out of her house. Has kicked him out, on more than one occasion, for being an asshole.

“Yes, very good,” she spits, pushing herself up, gathering the bloodied rags littered across the sofa. “You need to get inoculated if your father is going to keep poisoning you.”

He can’t do that and she knows it in the same way she knows not to heal his wounds, only to stop them bleeding or getting an infection, because his father likes to see the results of his handiwork. She’s smart enough to have worked that out without him needing to tell her. She’s smart enough to be able to do a lot of things and he wishes he could steal her away for himself, kids himself that he wants her only for her mind. If only he could convince her that she’s wasted here, but even he knows that she isn’t. Cleo does good work. Cleo helps people. Cleo is far too good a person to be in his consistent company.

“I doubt he’d use the same poison twice,” he says. Dart huffs at him as he swings his legs over the edge of the sofa, almost relishing the subsiding ache in his joints. He leans back against the cushions while she cleans her equipment with a flick of the wrist and sends him a glare. 

“One of these days, he’s going to kill you,” she says gently, like she was breaking some bad news he wasn’t already aware of. She perches in front of him on the coffee table and tilts her head, assessing the way he moved in case she needed to heal some unseen injury. Internal bleeding is a favourite of his father’s. “Or else you’re going to die on my sofa and trust me when I say that will be a difficult one to explain to the guards.”

“Shall I provide you with a note to let them know it isn’t your fault?” he drawls, but it’s tinged with something sincere. All of this frank discussion makes Eris uncomfortable. The idea that she might actually be upset if he died sits uneasily in his chest and makes his stomach flip. 

Dart hops up on the sofa, which he isn’t allowed to do, and rests his head in Eris’ lap. When Eris scratches behind his ears, his tail starts again. His smokehounds would eat him alive too. Or else protect him within an inch of each of their lives. Softie.

Cleo drags a hand through her hair, pulling at the tangles she finds. In turn, he shakes the thought that, even when she’s worried, annoyed, angry, she is incontestably beautiful. These are unhelpful things for him to spend his time on. He shouldn’t even be sitting here. He should have already winnowed back to the Autumn Court. Should be preparing to make a miraculous appearance at breakfast and scare his father into thinking that he can truly recover by himself. Should be attempting to reassure his mother that no, he really is fine, no need for concern. Alas, he’s here, lavishing her dog with attention and ignoring the fact that he likes the smell of her living room now that the coppery tang of blood has been cleared away with her magic. 

Eris Vanserra considers himself to be many things, but a fool isn’t one of them. Perhaps he should start reevaluating.

She winces when he shifts and it pains him. “You don’t need me to lecture you,” she says, “but for the love of the Mother, Eris—”

“—see a healer immediately. Yes. I know,” he finishes for her. 

With the haze of the faebane gone, his body recuperating however much blood he lost, he can look at her, really look at her. The tan of her skin seems a little deeper compared with the last time he was here. The definition in her muscles is just a bit more pronounced. She wears a frown which he wants to wipe off her face, and a matching set of a pale green vest and pair of shorts which reveals so much skin he reasons that she simply cannot be meaning to wear that in public. In Autumn, just the fit of her shorts around her waist would be indecent, let alone the cut of the vest. Truly, Dawn Court fashion confounds him.

“You’re in your pyjamas,” he says. He needs the normality of a conversation before he can steel himself to go home.

She raises a brow at him and he takes that as a victory. No more of that frown. “You’re shirtless.”

His state of undress suddenly becomes very, very apparent to him. It’s so pleasantly warm in here that it doesn’t make too much difference to him. It must be summer in the Solar Courts. “I take it my shirt is thoroughly ruined?”

She shrugs. “I’m told ‘tattered and bloodied’ is very in at the moment.Torture-chic.”

He huffs a laugh despite himself; Cleo has that kind of morbid, absurdist humour which appeals to him. It probably has something to do with the fact she deals with dying fae every day.

“Do you want another one or are you planning on scandalising your servants?”

“Firstly,” he says, emphasizing his point by putting up a finger, “they’re maids.” She rolls her eyes as if to say, like that makes any difference. “Secondly, I don’t think any of your shirts will fit.”

The corners of her lips tip up into a ghost of a smile. “Ah. Hang on.” She stands and Dart promptly does the same, meaning to follow her around like a lost puppy as usual. Eris, for just a second before he gets a hold of himself, misses the comfort. In his absence, his cuts start to throb. Cleo calls that the placebo effect and it is infuriating that he’s susceptible to it (“Everyone is, Eris. That’s why they did research on it. If it was only the case in insufferable, idiotic, half-dead—” “Okay, enough. No need to injure me further.” ). She stretches and he averts his eyes from where her vest rides up and shows her midriff. “I’ll be back in a mo’,” she says.

And she disappears upstairs, Dart padding after her. Unequivocally, he does not watch her go, busies himself with taking in the full-extent of what his father subjected him to. It’s not a pretty sight, and though Cleo cleaned him up as much as she could, he’s going to gain some more fairly unpleasant scars. By his guess, it’s going to take a week, maybe more, for these to heal. It was either him or Caelan, and he somewhat finds Caelan tolerable, so he took the knife for him. He had better remember that when the time comes, he thinks.

Though Cleo knows far, far too much to be safe, she doesn’t know anything about his plans to overthrow Beron, and she certainly doesn’t know it’s mere months away. With the coming Autumn equinox, he will crown himself High Lord. Dramatic intent never hurt. After that, he can visit her any time he likes. Maybe she could even come to him…

Cauldron, he’s fucked, isn’t he?

This is all for afterwards. He can’t think like this now. Not when his freedom is so close he can almost taste it and one wrong move will spell not just his death but those of everyone who is counting on him to depose his father. Every spy, every guard in his employ, every maid, cook, and gardener who warn him of his father’s whereabouts and look after his mother when he can’t. Every damned faerie in his damned Court who are sick of Beron’s rule. And Cleo. They’ll probably come for her too for daring to be kind to him all those years ago. 

So, failure isn’t an option.

Eris is broken from his reverie by a white shirt hitting him in the face. He might hate himself for noticing, but it smells like her: freesias and ginger. It is concerning that he has that piece of information tucked away in his brain somewhere. 

He pulls the shirt off his head and glares at her while Dart settles himself next to him. She shoots him the kind of smile that would make his heartbeat dangerously fast if he had the blood to spare. Just as he’s about to pull the shirt over his chest, he hesitates, because this is another male’s shirt. He swears if Cleo has some horribly charming and horrendously attractive partner/lover/whatever else in her life he is going to—

“Relax,” she says, drawing out the word. “It’s my brother’s. He left it here a couple of months ago.”

Damn her for reading him so well. 

Damn himself for being so obvious. And damn the Mother Herself for making him feel so happy about it. He’s the Heir to the Autumn Court and a general threat to anyone stupid enough to cross him—it’s a wonder no sentry of Thesan’s has picked up his presence in the Court—he cannot and will not carve out time in his day to feel content. 

Instead, he starts doing up the buttons and stands, maybe just a little too close to her to be friendly. The slight height advantage he has makes it so she has to look up at him. He enjoys the angle more than he cares to admit. 

“You shouldn’t go around telling members of other Courts when Thesan’s council members sleep on their sisters’ sofas,” he says, working out the roughness in his voice. 

“Why?” she laughs, then she gasps. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on kidnapping my brother and holding him for ransom.”

Eris leaves the top two buttons of the shirt undone. “I hadn’t been,” he says, “but now that you mention it…”

“He’s always wanted to see the Autumn Court, you know.”

“Yes, he’ll get a splendid view from a dungeon cell.”

“You had better give him the finest rags money can buy.”

“They’re all woven from the finest jute, I assure you. The rats who chew the holes have three square meals a day and the shackles are covered in the most exquisite rust that only severely cuts into the skin.”

“Excellent,” she says. “I’ll be sure to tell him you have a surprise for him next time I see him.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Frankly, Cleo’s brother is a prick, so, if she wanted him put in a dungeon, he would do it for her. Not that he’s offered. Yet.

She lets out a little chuckle and some kind of irresistible impulse wracks through him. 

They’re so close he can see the flecks of green in the blue of her eyes.

If he doesn’t leave soon he’s going to do something stupid like leaning down and kissing her. Then, if he got that far, he might do something even worse like slipping his hand under that fucking vest and finally, finally finding out what she feels like, tastes like, sounds like if… No. So what if he finds her attractive? So what if he hasn’t had a dalliance in years because he can’t stomach the thought of it? It won’t matter if his father kills him or scents her in his hair and goes to great lengths to find her and make him suffer for opening himself up, for being weak.

He tamps down every lingering, heated thought his brain bombards him with and tightens the defenses Cleo so easily pulls down every time he sees her.

“I should return before anyone notices I’m gone,” he says, but he doesn’t quite reach his desired level of harshness. In fact, he almost sounds disappointed.

It irks him that he can’t tell if Cleo feels the same. Instead of perhaps confessing her undying love for him, or calling him some profane name he’s never thought to imagine, she slips past him, straight to the backdoor which leads out to her garden, and gestures outside. “After all this time,” she says, “you’d think you’d know where the door is.” When she opens it, the songs of early-morning birds float through.

The walk feels too short, and he’s finding himself on the threshold of the house far too soon. 

Eris takes a deep breath, inhales the pleasant scent of mid-summer in the Dawn Court, of the flowers which border the back wall of her house and the wisteria tree which hangs over the brick separating the garden from the alleyway in cascading violet. 

He turns back. Slightly. Doesn’t fully turn his body. Their eyes meet.

“Thank you,” he says. Any other words die on his silver tongue. 

Cleo leans against the doorframe. For a moment, she flicks her gaze to the garden, then back to him. She swallows. “You know you don’t have to thank me, Eris,” she says softly, then she smiles again. “Just bring a good bottle of wine next time maybe?”

“You say that like I plan on these visits.”

She exhales a laugh and crosses her arms. “You know what I mean. Now, go, before someone misses you.”

Right. 

Mask on. He wears his ego like armour and his arrogance is sharp like the finest blade in his repertoire. Anyone who makes the mistake of being in his way, of impeding his progress, meets the business end of his endless influence, and no one will find the skeletons in his closet unless he wants them to. He takes what he wants and makes no apologies. He’s a Vanserra; blessed by the Mother with fire and the coppery hair to prove it; he’s born to scheme and lie and cheat his way to the top; he’s built for blood, to betray, betray, betray until he gets what he—

“Eris.”

 Cleo’s hand wraps around his arm before he can take a step. 

This is… they don’t do this. There’s rules for touching each other within the exclusive context of making sure he survives the night. On her sofa, there are no boundaries. Cleo does what she needs to and he lets her because he knows what’s good for him and she’s terrifying when she’s disobeyed. But, this, her hand, on his arm, stopping him, this is stepping over the line. The heat of her seeps through the shirt and it takes a lot of effort not to shiver from the contact.

“I meant what I said,” she continues, her touch lightening a fraction. “Be careful.” He opens his mouth, but she cuts him off. “Promise me you won’t get yourself killed.”

Oh.

Someday, not today, but sometime in the near future, she’s going to say something like that and he’s going to kiss her senseless. For now, he’s settling for her hand on his arm. 

So much for taking what he wants.

“Do you truly think I’m stupid enough to—?”

She narrows her eyes at him and he shuts his mouth. He shuts his eyes like the idea physically pains him.

“You really want me to promise, don’t you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs a long, heavy breath. Composes himself.

“I promise you,” he says, leaning toward her slightly, his voice low, “I won’t get myself killed. Happy?”

Whatever she searches for on his face, she seems to find. Satisfied, she lets go of him. The lack of pressure around his bicep feels wrong.

“Very,” she says. “Okay. Go.” A nod to the little wooden door that leads to the alleyway and out of the wards which surround the house. “And take pain tonics if it gets too much. I don’t care if they’re illegal in Autumn. That’s a shit law and you should repeal it.”

He plans to.

They don’t say goodbye. They never do. Some traditions will never change. There’s too much finality in the word, and they settle for no farewell at all, like the next time they see each other will simply be a continuation of the previous meeting. On-going. A constant in the background. 

With every step, he rebuilds his mask. By the time he’s home, it’ll feel normal again. Like second nature.

Even as he enters the alley, Eris doesn’t look back. Still, he knows she’s watching him go, and she won’t go back inside until she’s sure he’s winnowed away. 

a/n: am i potentially going to make this a series of one-shots? maybe

[thelonestarinthesky]

words left unsaid

────୨ৎ────

a/n: wrote this to celebrate 100 followers !

────୨ৎ────

Laying down on Senku's bed, you stare up at the ceiling of his bedroom, munching on a stick of pocky, thinking to yourself before rolling over to look at Senku who was busy on his laptop.

"Go on a date with me." You exclaim loud enough for him to hear.

He's well aware of your romantic feelings towards him. You didn't feel any shame hiding them from him since you always thought these feelings were something precious because they were about him.

"Pass."

You sighed heavily at this, but his response was always the same since you two were children.

"I'll definitely get you to say yes to my question someday." You say pouting slightly.

Senku only shrugged his shoulders at this, but you were unaware of the way his cheeks flush pink slightly; the tip of his ears red as he stared ahead at the screen of his laptop.

"Not in a million years." He replies.

"Even if it takes a million years, I'll wait for as long as possible." You argue back at him, "because you're worth it, Senku." Rolling around a bit to get comfortable before giving up.

Senku turns to look back at you, only to see you smiling at him softly with that same gaze that held only the softest look reserved for him.

"..." His lips part slightly, not sure what to say before he lets out a quiet 'hmph' and turns back around. "...don't get your hopes up, idiot."

────୨ৎ────

He remembers the last conversation he had with you before you left Japan with Byakuya. There was a worldwide contest, the prize being a passenger of the International Spacs Station, going alongside Lillian Weinberg.

And you had won.

You won.

You.

Won.

Won.

...

you died 3700 years ago.

Senku knew that, of course, he heard your voice in the record Byakuya had made and left behind for him in Ishigami Village.

A tear or two were shed, but he moved forward because humanity still needed to be saved.

It wasn't until they reached Treasure Island, where the original island the 7 sole survivors lived—

and died.

He stared down at the record in his hands. He didn't know what he would hear, the context behind making a second record. Why did Byakuya make a second one.

Unsure, but he built another record player. There had to be a reason, right. The sound of fireworks was heard outside, and everyone else wanted to hear, but one look at the expression on Senku's face as he stared down at the record, it was clear that maybe he wanted to listen to this alone.

Gen and Kohaku stood a bit away from where Senku was listening to the record.

"...you think it's about the girl he's never mentioned." Kohaku says quietly to Gen, who lets out a quiet hum. "The message in the record."

"From the way they spoke of her, she must have been extremely close to Senku. It's just bad fate that she won her seat on that trip."

The two stood there for a bit as Gen gathered his thoughts, "Yuzuriha and Taiju spoke about their childhood friend who was a part of the survivors who once lived on this island."

He sits down, staring at the stars. "Even I know not to bring her up to Senku. It's clear that he's still not over her despite her passing away thousands of years ago. His father, too. In a sense, he's got no family left. All alone."

They say nothing else, Kohaku hadn't thought about it like that.

She couldn't imagine being alone, her family dead years ago, truly alone.

────୨ৎ────

The record player starts, and Senku stands before it.

"....there we go, it's a miracle this still works." Byakuya's voice is heard, and then Lillian's, "i reckon the old thing wouldn't hadn't have and we would have to make another one."

"....we'll let you talk in private, okay [Name]?" She says quietly.

It goes quiet before a faint voice is heard. ".....senku."

Senku flinches slightly, his fingers twitch as he places his hand next to the record player.

"....senku.." She calls out again in a hoarse voice. "...we never got to say goodbye....just a see you later...at the airport, remember?"

A cough is heard, [Name] speaks after a few seconds, "....I wished I hugged you tighter...if i had known..."

A sickening cough leaves her lips, and Senku could only hear it happening, gripping his fist as he struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to roll down his face.

".....space was everything you said it would be..." A tear rolls down his face as he now realizes that the record was meant to be [Name]'s last words.

"....I want to see you... even if it's just one last time...." her voice is getting more tired and raspy. He could hear it.

"....I can feel it...you know?"

More tears rolled down his face as he gripped the table, shoulders trembling.

"...don't," his voice cracks, "...don't say goodbye, you idiot." He doesn't care about the tears rolling down his face and onto the record player.

"...senku...." He's brought back upon hearing his name.

[Name] says in that sweet voice that gentle tone with such affection breaks his heart. To know that he wouldn't hear her call his name again or ask him out on a date that he always declined. "...as long as you're happy...my dearest wish in life will come true so....please."

"....[Name]." Senku calls out as he falls to his knees, shoulders trembling as he cries. Tears refuse to stop as he hugs the record player.

The anguish cry that leaves his throat as he holds onto the last piece he has of the girl he loved. He thought they had more time, he thought they had all the time in the world...he wanted to be the one to ask her out on date instead of her asking him.

"[Name]!"

He thought that he had enough time to confess his feelings.

".....you want to go on a date...senku?"

He breaks down even more.

The record went quiet before the sounds of footsteps are heard "[Name]? [Name]!?" Byakuya's voice is heard. "Stay with us, sweetheart." Lillian says.

Before the record ends, Senku's anguished cries only continued even more, "....she's gone, Lillian." Is heard before the room is filled with his cries.

"...yes...I should've told you yes earlier."

────୨ৎ────

[justmeinadaze]

Take It Out On Me: 5 Years Later (Steddie X Plus Size Y/N)

A/N: I usually don't post this late (Pfft Late. Its like 9pm.) But I'm going to because I can. Idk why I've been attached to these weirdos as of late so I wanted to write a little thing. Please enjoy <3

Warnings: Daddy Steve/Sir(Master) Eddie & Sub Fem Plus size reader, SMUT, smacking, light dirty talk, DP, very light degrading, semi public (no ones there), light spanking, light choking. FLUFF, mentions of steddie and Y/N with their kiddos.

ANGST, the boys travel a lot for work and Y/N feels lonely. Mentions of her missing them and how she sees it affecting the kids. She struggles to voice her concerns because she knows they work hard. Mentions of feeling unappreciated, mentions of some insecurities (Y/N briefly mentions how her body doesn't look how it did before they had kids; also brief talk about feeling like a burden.) Y/N does kinda disappear but not like the times before. She's trying to get their attention.

Word Count: 6447

Series Here/Donate to me <3

1999

You sigh lightly under your breath before smiling at the sound of your ten and soon to be six-year-old playing in the pool outside. 

The cold weather had begun to dissipate with spring just around the corner which meant it was about time for that feature of your two-story home to be utilized. After putting your things down, you quietly watched by the back door as your kids laughed at each other’s antics. 

Molly was an incredibly smart girl who exceled in almost all of her classes. Like you, she decided to play basketball and was actually pretty good at it, winning trophies that you displayed in the living room next to the pictures of her fathers embarrassing her while she showed off her triumph for the camera. 

Steve rarely if ever missed a game, cheering her on enthusiastically from the sidelines, clapping his hands and shouting her name even while still wearing his suit after his long workday at the office with Robin. 

“That’s my girl! You got this, Mol! Don’t let them pass on you!”, he shouted extatically before placing his hands on his hips as he watched her play. 

Because of their experience with you, both men would visibly panic if she got hurt on the court, sometimes even running to her to make sure she wasn’t hurt. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”, Eddie asked kneeling down to pet her head. 

“I’m ok, dad. I just tripped.”, she giggled, taking the hand he offered her to help her get to her feet. 

Steve dusted her off while the metalhead checked her over to make sure she genuinely was alright. 

“Gentlemen, we’re going to need you to sit back down.”, the referee instructed. 

“Excuse me while I make sure my daughter is ok! What did she even trip over? It’s your job to—”

“Ok, ok, guys. Come on.”, you coo softly as you grab both their arms to tug them back to the stands, turning to wink at Molly who chuckled at her dad’s overprotective nature.

Eddie did his best to be there at as many events as he could but struggled when he was on tour or promoting Corroded Coffin’s new album. Ozzy seemed to gravitate towards music as well even at his young age having you constantly finding him fiddling with one of his father’s guitars. At his preschool, his teachers always told you they found him in the corner strumming the tiny ukulele like it was an electric guitar. 

Your son gasps as he tears open his wrapping paper on Christmas morning to find a guitar that was just his size. 

“Mama! Is this for me?”

“No, we just thought we’d mess with you before I use it on tour.”

You narrow your eyes Eddie’s way as you playfully hit his arm. 

“Yes, baby, that’s all yours.”

You were thankful that neither man never missed a holiday given how busy all three of you were but where your schedule was consistent as a teacher, theirs moved all over the place. While Eddie was dealing with things band related, Steve and Robin traveled from place to place either looking for new investors or providing support with their non-profit. Their office and the rockstar’s label were both in Indianapolis where you moved to have more space for your growing family but you missed them terribly every time they were away especially when they were gone at the same time.

“Mommy!”, your son shouted as he waved his little hand in your direction. 

Beaming wide, you stepped outside where your best friend was sitting along the edge of the pool as designated babysitter. 

The first few months after your move were rough because your family and Wayne were no longer close by so when Masie and her boyfriend moved to your town, you were so elated. Since her designer business was run mostly through her home, she offered to watch the kids until you or one of the boys got off work. 

“Hey Oz. Are you two having fun with Aunt Maze?”

“Yeah! She won’t swim with us though.”, Molly jokes, selling out her aunt.

“Look, I’m here to tan not be a mermaid.”, she replies regally as if she’s royalty. “How was your day?”

“It was good.”

Your best friend narrows her eyes skeptically over her sun glasses and yanks on your wrist so you can sit beside her. 

“Don’t act like I haven’t known you since kindergarten and can read you like a book. What’s going on?”

  She waits patiently while your eyes flick to your children who were now once again preoccupied playing in the water. 

“I don’t know why but this whole long-distance thing has been really hard lately. I miss them both so much.”

“Have you talked to them about it?”

“I can’t do that, Maze. This is their careers. What? Am I going to ask Eddie to give up touring and Steve to not talk help those kids with what that do?”

“No but, sweetie, it’s not selfish to ask for more time with your husbands.”

You grin at the title still loving the sound even after all these years. For your ten-year anniversary, the rockstar surprised you and his friend with a trip to a tattoo parlor to get a more permanent ring inked on your fingers just above the rings they bought you and each other. 

“Oh, don’t be a baby, Harrington.”, Eddie teased as he watched Steve close his eyes and wince. “After this you’re going to want more, right sweetheart?”

You giggle from your spot in the chair knowing he was right. You yourself had surprised them with their initials on your chest near your heart a few years earlier. 

In casual conversation, they referred to you as their wife especially the rockstar who let it flow freely from his mouth during interviews and corrected anyone who said otherwise. 

“We’re here with Corroded Coffin guitarist Eddie Munson on Total Request Live. How are you, man? How’s the girlfriend?”

Eddie chuckles sassily as he places his palm on the man’s shoulder.

“Wife, Carson. I’ve known and been in love with Y/N since our junior year of high school. Come on, dude. I shouldn’t have to remind you every time.”

Steve had actually turned down an investor not only because he referred to you incorrectly but disrespected you as well. 

“Wife…Yeah, alright, Mr. Harrington, I’ll indulge your little fantasy.”

“It’s not a fantasy, sir. She’s the mother of our children, she saved both our lives, and we love her. Y/N is our wife.”

“Hm, ok, sure. Whatever you say.”

Steve sighed as he smirked and rose to his feet. 

“Come on, Robin. We’ll look elsewhere.”

“Mr. Harrington, be reasonable!”

“Honestly, sir, our entire non-profit is about taking care of children and people who have been bullied, demeaned, and cast aside by society or their parents because of who they love. We protect them from people who mock them or are dismissive of who they are and who they love. People like you, Mr. York. Thank you for your time.”

“Just talk to them, Y/N. When are they coming home?”

“Tomorrow. Eddie’s flight connects to where Steve is so they will both board there and come home together.”

##############

“I don’t see them, mom.”, your daughter whines as she pushes up on her toes to search over people’s heads. 

“They’ll be here, babe. The lady said their flight had a bit of a delay so it may take a bit more time.”

After a couple more minutes, a hat came into view you immediately recognized as the one Eddie wore so he wouldn’t be easily recognized walking side by side with a fluffy head of hair that could only belong to Steve Harrington. 

“Is that them?”, you ask as you point towards the figures walking down the hall and as soon as Molly confirms she sprints towards with her brother close behind. 

“Hey…hey guys.”, Steve greets in a gravelly voice filled with sleep deprivation as he lifts his daughter off her feet to hug her tightly to his chest while an equally tired Eddie bends down to pick up Ozzy. “Oh my God. We missed you so much.”

“Hey sweetheart.”, the rockstar whispers as they switch kids and he presses her head to his shoulder. “You definitely got some sun yesterday.”

“We, we went swimming yesterday cause Aunt Maze said it was ok cause it wasn’t so cold.”, your son declared making the pretty boy smile as he tried to place him on his feet. “No, dada!”

“I know, buddy, but I want to give mommy a hug to.”

“Ah too late.”, Eddie jokes as he wraps one arm around you and pulls you into his embrace. “Hey, pretty girl.”

You smiled as you craned your neck to kiss his lips before leaning over to do the same with Steve as he wrapped his arm around your neck. 

***

You kept your arm looped through Eddie’s as you rested your head on his shoulder, inhaling his smell that you missed so much. 

“This is amazing, honey, and you made this all by yourself?”, Steve inquired as he took another bite of the spaghetti on his plate.

“No.”, she giggled, blushing at his praise. “Mom and Ozzy helped me. We’ve been talking about me taking some cooking classes over the summer though.”

“Yeah, then Robin can hire you as her personal chef since she hates using the stove.”, the rockstar joked making his son cackle with the same wide smile that mirrored his own. “What about you, Oz? Taking a carpentry class so you can build us stuff we don’t have to pay for?”

“Noooo. T-This summer I’m going to play Spyro on the PlayStation with you daddy.”

Eddie beamed with pride at the notion that his son wanted to spend so much time with him. Both men loved being fathers and were grateful for every moment they got to spend with them. 

Steve absolutely adored reading with Ozzy and while on trips would call him on the phone so he could hear him read out loud. 

“The princess…sc-screamed in t-t-ter…”

“Terror.”, you help as he looks at you with wide, expectant eyes.

“…terror when the witch apurd…”

“Close, bud. Appeared.”, Steve guided as he continued to follow along with his own copy of the book he bought before he left. 

“…appeared but suddenly the kite…”

“Knight, baby.”

“That’s fair, Oz, but remember the K is silent. You got the sound for the I-G-H-T right though.”

One night when Molly was eight, the school was having a father daughter dance and she was utterly devasted both of her father’s weren’t allowed to come with the school claiming only one parent could go. Mirroring what they did for your prom, you took her dress shopping insisting she wear it home. 

When she walked through the door, the lights were low and some soft music was playing on the stereo. Above the fireplace was a banner that read “Daddy/Daughter Dance” with both boys standing underneath it in their suits. 

“May I have this dance?”, Eddie asked as he offered her his palm which she eagerly took before Steve did the same with you as you watched them sway. 

The rockstar lifted her by her hands so her feet were on his and she laughed as he led while trying to make sure they both didn’t stumble.

“You look gorgeous, princess.”

She beams as she wraps her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly to her. 

“I love you, dad.”

“Alright, freaks, get out of here so we can talk to mommy.”, Steve instructed. “We’ll do the dishes, sweetie. You guys just go watch some tv.”

Once they were out of earshot, the pretty boy shifted his gaze back towards you both to find his friend smirking as you nuzzled your face deeper into his bicep. 

“Everything ok, baby?”

“Yeah, I just miss you guys so much but it hurts even more when you’re both gone.”, you whisper trying to control the urge to cry. 

“I know, sweetheart.”, Eddie sighs as he lifts his arm to pull you closer to his side. “We talked with our agent and supposedly we won’t be traveling for a while so I’ll be here.”

“Robin and I don’t have any meetings coming up any time soon so I’ll be here as well.”, Steve cooed before getting up to sit on your side of the table. “I know, baby girl. I hope you know we appreciate everything you do and how supportive you’ve been when it comes to all this.”

You softly smile his way as silently nod. 

This isn’t normal for you but they both know how hard it is for you when they are away so both men let it go. 

***

That night you stared at the men you loved, running your nails down Steve’s back while playing with Eddie’s hair, as your mind went into overdrive which was nothing new for you. Being a full-time teacher and full-time parent wasn’t easy for anyone. Thankfully thanks to Eddie and Steve’s careers, money wasn’t something you needed to worry about but trying to make sure your kids had everything else they needed filled your mind. 

You desperately needed Daddy and Master but you had zero idea how to ask for them. You knew they were busy working around the clock to achieve their goals they worked so hard for and quite frankly you didn’t want to be a bother. 

“That I’m a burden damage.”, Eddie’s voice echoed in your brain. 

You knew Maze was right; if you just talked to them and told them how you felt everything would be ok but the little subby girl inside you kind of wanted them to take notice without you having to tell them what you need. 

“No, no, no. That’s selfish and not fair to them.”

“Eddie…Steve…”, you whispered, gently shaking their shoulders to no avail. Something inside your chest cracked as a few tears began to involuntarily fall. “Daddy…Sir…please…”

“Hmmm…what-what’s going on? Baby, are you crying?”

At his friend’s question, the metalhead promptly pushed up on his elbow to scan your features. 

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s wrong, sweetheart? Did you have a nightmare?”

“I…miss you w-w-when…you’re away.” As you really began to sob, both men sat up, bringing you with them before Steve reached beside him to turn on the bedside lamp. “I’m sorry.”

“Y/N, honey, it’s alright. Calm down and talk when you’re ready.”

They’re kindness was hitting your heart in the best way making you cry harder while the boys exchanged a worried glance. 

“I’m sorry…I don’t know why I’m acting like this…”, you breathily laugh at your expense. “I just… when you’re both gone I miss you so much and I feel like these trips are coming closer together… I get worried that this will be the trip that you miss something important with Molly or Oz. I know how much being alone hurt you, Steve, when your parents were gone.”

“Then…I miss…us. I miss hanging out with you two and talking to you about everything without a phone being in the way. I miss Daddy and Master. It’s been over a year since we played like that. I’m scared—”

“Ok, sweetheart, breathe.”, Eddie tries to comfort as he scoots closer to you and continues running his palm along your head. “How long have you been feeling all this?”

“A while. I know you guys are working and I can’t ask you to give that up—”

“But that’s not what you’re asking for right, honey?”, Steve inquires, wiping your eyes with the tissue he retrieved. “You’re asking for time.”

You aggressively nod your head and both men can’t help but chuckle. 

“We understand, Y/N. I love, LOVE, being on stage and playing my guitar especially after everything we went through to get here but in our tour bus or hotel, I’ll pull out pictures of you guys and keep them by side.” Pausing, he grabs his wallet and pulls out the little laminate where he keeps his photos. “I always have these on me.”

You smile at the images of him holding baby Molly and Ozzy. There’s another of you in your wedding dress at the reception you planned for them and another with the three of you at your makeshift prom with them kissing your cheeks as you grinned. 

“Ah you bastard. You took the prom one.”, Steve teases, taking out his wallet to hand you his own set. “These are the ones I carry.”

His first two are the same except with him holding his children but the one he has of you is from New York where you posed in your dress in front of the theater at the play you went see with your arms open wide towards the sky. Behind that was the picture you had taken when they took you to the beach for the first time almost 15 years ago. 

“Which ones do you carry with you?”, the pretty boy asked just as Eddie came back to bed from collecting your own wallet from your purse. 

Steve beamed at the newborn photos they took of your kids that day they were born along with one you had of him holding Molly as she blew out her candles on her cake at her first birthday. The rockstar smiled and kissed your temple at the image you snapped of him and a two-year-old Ozzy sitting on the floor while he strummed his guitar. 

They weren’t surprised when you flashed the photos they had found in your room when they went to get your things after your parents kicked you out senior year; Eddie asleep after the Dio concert and Steve kissing your cheek after a date. The last picture was from prom night as well except it was the one they took right before it started to rain with Steve holding the camera high in the air to get all 3 of you.

“I love being able to save all these kids and traveling with Robin but, baby, I wouldn’t even be doing it if it wasn’t for you. You inspired me to be a better man and those kids are my everything. If you need us here more, honey, then we can do that.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course, and I know it’s been a while since we got to play but remember what you told me, sweetheart, at Molly’s baby shower?”

“Those titles never go away even when I’m saying your name.”

“Good girl.”, Eddie praises comforting you immediately. “Maybe, the three of us can go on vacation…like a second honeymoon or something. I know Wayne wouldn’t mind watching them.”

“I’d like that.”

Their smiles widen as they pull you back under the covers and hold you to them as you drift off to sleep. 

#################

You were angry.

Both men said they wouldn’t be traveling anytime soon yet neither had been home that much the last couple of weeks. Eddie had suggested planning a vacation but nothing had been set in motion and you were getting antsy. 

Grabbing your children, you left a note and headed back to Hawkins. 

“Gran-ma!”

“Hey, Oz. How’s my little man?”, your mom cooed as she lifted him into her arm while your father hugged Molly.

“Are the guys coming later on?”

“Most likely not.”, you growled causing your parents to exchange a look. 

“Well, I was about to watch that movie about the volcano that destroys the town on tv. Wanna watch it with me?”

You son cackles almost devilishly while his sister nods and your dad shakes his head with a smile following them to the living room. 

“Ok, talk to me, sweetie. What’s going on?”

You sigh as you sit with your mom at the dining room table and tell her your woes. She listens patiently occasionally nodding her head while allowing you to finish. 

“I can see why you’re upset but why don’t you talk to them?”

“I tried, mama, and look where that got me.”

The phone in their kitchen blares but for some reason it feels louder than normal as if scolding you to answer. 

“Hello?” Your mother listens to the person on the other end before her eyes flick your way. “It’s Edward.”

“I’m not here right now.”

“Y/N, come speak to the man you love.”, she scolds eliciting an eye roll from you as you get up and take the receiver from her grasp. 

“Eddie.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”, he asks with an edge as if he’s trying to control his temper. “How dare you take them out of town without fucking telling us.”

“I’m surprised you noticed. You two have barely been home.”

“We’ve been working, Y/N. When we talked, you said that’s not what you were asking us to stop doing.”

“You’re right. I was asking for time which I or the kids have yet to receive. You promised me!”

“So what, little girl? You thought you’d just punish us by disappearing to Hawkins for the weekend?”

“I didn’t disappear. I left a note.”

The chuckle that left him paired with the soft echo of Steve’s beside him had a pleasurable chill running down your spine. 

“Is that really the game you want to play right now, Y/N? You think semantics are going to save you from the punishment you’re going to get for what you just did?”

“I’m not afraid you or Steven, Edward. Daddy and Master are gone and you both are too fucking busy for us so who cares.”

“You think Daddy and Master are gone? Oh, baby.”, he laughs. “Trust me, they’ve been right here watching and taking in everything their little whore does. It’s been a while since she’s needed to be put in her place.”

“Hm. Well, she’s been practically screaming for your attention but you never seemed to notice that.”

“You wanted our attention, babe, you got it.”

“Yeah and with how things have been you won’t fucking do anything so I’m not scared. I have to go. We’ll be home by Sunday.”

“Don’t hang up that phone, Y/N Y/L/N. We are not done here.”

“Yes, we are.”

***

You told your parents after your kids went to bed you were going to go for a little walk. To no surprise, your feet ended up taking you back to Hawkins High. 

You dragged your feet through the parking lot where Carol had spray painted your car and in return you punched her. Steve shouted at them to leave you alone almost getting into a fight himself. Your fingers grazed the lockers as you heard yourself telling your tormentor she had no ass; the act landing you in detention where your life was forever changed. 

Part of you expected to find them waiting in the classroom you met them in and your heart broke when they weren’t. You sat on the teacher’s desk as your eyes ran along the entirety of the room, sifting through memories good and bad. You could still feel Steve’s intense stare as he watched you talk to his friend and Eddie’s even stronger personality as he tried to get you to talk. 

Laying back flat, you could still see the metalhead’s belt buckle in your peripheral before he knelt down to talk to you in that husky tone that drove you crazy. Shifting your gaze to the ceiling you could still feel Steve’s fingers digging into your hips and the taste of his lips when you surged forward to kiss him. 

As the feelings began to overwhelm you, you slid off the furniture and continued your journey around the school, passing the lunchroom where you smiled at the memory of Eddie on top of the table telling the students you were theirs. Finding the stage in the theater, you sat in the same spot the three of you had sat in while you were painting. 

The first time Steve threatened to spank you making a heat rise in your bones you had never experienced before. Five years later, you would have your roleplay here making you cum harder than you ever had.

After a while, you knew you needed to get back home but on your way out, you noticed the gym remembering where you became jealous and threw a basketball at where they were in the stands. You entered the girl’s locker room and leaned against the lockers where you felt Eddie for the first time. When they were done, they took you to the showers where you talked about Stephen King and they invited you to dinner. 

Sighing, tears began to fill your eyes and you hastily dried them as you powerwalked back to the gym. 

“It’s kind of amazing how in almost 15 years this school has yet to get better security.” Eddie’s voice startled you as you squeaked, your gaze finding theirs from their place on the bleachers. “Or at least a fucking lock.”

The metalhead rises to his feet and his shoes bang loudly against the wood as he makes his way to the floor. 

“It’s also amazing how in that time some of your habits haven’t changed, little girl. Running away, hanging up on me, coming here…you not listening.”

“YOU not listening.”, you hissed his way. “You said you appreciate everything I do but you have no idea what that actually entails.”

“I see we’re doing this the hard way. Steve.” 

The man himself silently stomps down the bleachers and strides towards you before reaching for your forearm. You try to fight back, pushing at his chest but he’s much stronger, lifting you off your feet and slamming you down against the hardwood.

Keeping one palm firmly on your throat, he utilizes the other to pull down your sweatpants and underwear but when your hand flies, hitting him across the face, he raises his own to do the same. 

“I told you this isn’t a game you wanted to play.”, Eddie sneered leaning down with his palms on his knees beside you where you and Steve were glaring at each other. “Now, where were we during our phone call. Ah yes, you said Daddy and Master are gone and we’re too fucking busy is that right?”

“Yes.”

Again, Steve’s palm rears back and smacks you hard across the face. 

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, SIR!”

This time when his hand connects with your cheek, you moan at the sensation. 

“Yes, Sir.”, you answer with zero sarcasm. 

“I told you, little girl. Daddy and Master are always watching and taking note. They fucking notice how hard you work when we’re out of town. How you and Maze work together to get things done.”

“We hear how much you all miss us when we call.”, Steve added. “And we feel how lonely you get when we can’t fall asleep with you. We feel it to.”

When your eyes roll, Eddie kneels down and replaces his friend’s hand around your throat.

“Do we need to use the fucking belt, Y/N!? Has it really been that long?!”

“You don’t understand!”

“Then help us to!”

Your bare feet push the pretty boy off you and even as the metalhead tightens his grip, you manage to flip him over on to his back where you straddle his waist.

“Molly started reading Lord of the Rings because she knows you like it, Sir. Sometimes she waits up hoping to talk to you more about it but by the time you come home from the label she’s already in bed.” Eddie blinks as he rests his hands on your hips while you turn your attention to Steve. “Ozzy has been practicing his swim time and wants to try out next year for the community team. He asks if when you’re not busy with Aunt Robin if you could give him some pointers, Daddy, but your never home in time.”

“They tell me they don’t care because ‘Dad and Dada’ are singing or saving people but I care. I care that I see that sad look on their faces when you’re not there. I care that they get their hopes up and you disappoint them! Just because you’re home doesn’t mean your home!”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

Eddie sits up and firmly pinches your cheeks with his fingers. 

“I know you know what he’s asking, Y/N. Don’t play coy. What about you?”

Your head starts to hang but his grip won’t allow it. 

“We…we’ve spent almost everyday together since senior year when our parents kicked us out and we moved in with you and Wayne. After your careers took off i-it was hard but you both made up for it, taking us on vacations or just being home more in general. These p-p-past couple of years…you’re just…gone.”

“Sweetheart.”, the rockstar coos as he pets your head and dries your eyes. 

“I don’t care about dates, gifts, or any superficial stuff like that when it comes to me. When you aren’t there to hold me at night, Sir, I feel so alone. I miss your smell and the way your lips feel against mine.”

Guiding you with his hands, he brought your mouth to his and you reveled in the taste. 

“What else, baby, tell us.”

“I miss choking on your cock while Daddy’s tongue plays with my pussy—”

Steve’s hands yanking you down Eddie’s frame has a smirk flickering across your lips as he positions you on all fours over his friend’s waist. You make quick work of the metalhead’s belt as he lifts his hips to help you pull down his pants allowing his dick to spring free. 

As soon as your mouth enveloped him, one of the former jock’s palms held on to your lower back as he utilized his other to allow his fingers to slide into your entrance while his tongue flicked along your clit. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, I missed this to.”, Eddie groans as his fingers run through your hair. “W-When I jerk off in our hotel room before I crash, I see those big, beautiful eyes looking—shit—looking up me while your mouth is full.”

You gag as your throat constricts around him and his head falls back against the hardwood as he grunts in pleasure. Your lips come off him with a smack as a string of drool follows you and you continue to pump him with your hand as you whimper at the feeling of the man’s motions behind you. 

“P-Please, Daddy. It feels so good!”

A sudden warmth encases you as your hair is tugged back and Steve’s fingers hasten between your legs. 

“No one told you to stop sucking his dick, did they, little girl?”

“N-No, Daddy.”

“So why did you fucking stop?”, he growls in your ear. “Open.”

At his command, you do what he says before he pushes you down onto his friend’s cock once again. 

“Fuck! That’s it, Steve. D-Don’t let her up till she fucking cums.”

Felling your pussy clench around his fingers, he lets you go and you cry out as the coil snaps. 

“Atta girl. Daddy’s good girl.”, he murmurs, praising you as he lifts your shirt and uses it to wipe the spit from your face before fully removing it to toss near your other clothes. “Come here, honey.”

Effortlessly, Steve lifts you and carries you to the bleachers, placing you on top of him to straddle his waist. 

“I m-miss your warmth when I hold you and rest my head on your chest.”, you whimper, watching as he fumbles with his own belt while struggling to keep his composure over his own desperate need to feel you. Cupping his face in your hands, you lean your forehead against his and he heavily exhales at the notion. “The way your fingers bruise my waist while you’re fucking me. You both hold me so tightly still…l-l-like I’m gonna disappear.”

As you push up against him, his palms glide along your back to support you while his lips open mouth kiss along your chest. His breath warms your skin as you gradually sink down onto his cock and he grunts at the sensation. 

“Shit, baby girl, I dream about you on top of me like this. I wake up in the middle of the night in my hotel fucking hard as a rock wishing I-I could feel your—mmph—gorgeous body against mine.”

His amber irises glance behind you before he swivels his body around so his back is lying flat on one of the wood benches. A palm takes hold of your shoulder and you crane your neck just in time to see Eddie’s jaw drop as he guides himself into your ass. 

It was absolutely euphoric feeling them both again after so long. They thrust their hips in sync as if no time had passed and every emotion hit you simultaneously as your body went limp against them allowing them to take over. 

Steve grabbed your limbs and bent them behind your back and the metalhead seamlessly took hold of at your wrists using them as leverage as he slammed into your harder. 

“Hey, hey… look… look at Daddy, baby.”

You whimpered as you struggled to do what he wanted but when you did your eyes locked with his, silently begging for them to push you over the edge. Eddie’s free hand tangled in your hair, pulling firmly while the other boy spanked your behind.

“I love you, Steve.”, you whispered.

“I love you to, baby. Oh f-fuck.”

His lips crashed to yours as you felt his spend warm your insides. Pressing up with one of his palms, he pushed you into the metalhead’s chest so both their foreheads could rest against your skin. 

“I love you, Eddie. Fuck, I’m coming.”

As your orgasm washed over you, ringed fingers gripped your chin and turned you so he could kiss you as he thrust his release into your behind. 

“FUCK! I…I love you, sweetheart.”

The three of you pant heavily as you hold each other, you with one arm around Steve’s neck and the other reaching behind you to do the same with Eddie as your fingers thread through his hair. 

“I miss Eddie making me laugh or just sitting on the counter talking to me while you watch me cook. I miss Steve pulling my legs over his while we watch tv or you comforting me after I have a bad day. I miss the little touches, soft kiss, and whispers in my ear… We used to handle everything together and lately… I feel like…it’s just me…”

Steve’s thumbs caress your cheeks as Eddie kisses your shoulder. 

“And I know things are different. I know you’re both handling your careers and we have two little monsters to handle… I know…I’m…physically not the same…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What does that mean?”

“I just…I’ve had two kids—”

‘And?”, Eddie cuts you off before spanking your ass. “Are you implying that you aren’t still as fucking gorgeous as you were when we first saw you?”

“Look. I’m not like you two, ok? Mr. Popular Jock and I’m in a rock band—”

“Alright, well, that’s enough of that.”, Steve replies with a mocking tone as they rise to their feet and he throws you over his shoulder. “Seems like pretty girl has lost her mind.”

You laugh as they take you to the locker room and turn on the showers to clean you. 

“If I suddenly turned into Wayne and lost all my hair, would you still love me?”

“Oh my God. Wayne has hair.”, you giggle. “And of course I would.”

“Pfft suuuure he does.”, he teases as he runs the soap along your skin. “What if Stevie got like a beer gut and lost his luscious head of hair?”

“Why do I get the gut, Mr. Rockstar? You get drunk way more than I do!”

“I would love you both no matter what.”, you coo as you keen into his chest and kiss his cheek making him smile. 

“Then, honey, why do you think that would be a factor when it comes to you?”

Once you were clean and they collected your clothes, you allowed them to dress you before Eddie suddenly paused taking in your shirt. 

“Not that I’m complaining but your drool is still clinging to this thing. Um…” Snapping his fingers, he grabs his own shirt and tugs it over your head, startled him when your arms wrap around his neck and you passionately kiss his lips. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. You’re right. We’ve been working too much and we promised you we would do better.”

“But we didn’t. I guess we thought since we still came home at the end of the night, it evened things out…I’m sorry to, Y/N.”, Steve apologizes and you lean forward to kiss him as well.

***

You smile as you hear your son’s loud footsteps bang around upstairs telling you he was awake. 

“Yup, he’s got your genes, Edward.”, your dad joked with a grumble as he sipped his morning coffee. 

“You know, sir, as much as I would love to have the nature vs nurture debate…” Right as he points towards the ceiling above, Molly laughs loudly as her feet bang against the floor before following her brother into the bathroom to brush their teeth. “Yeah, they’re both awful.”

Steve lightly hits his arm while he and your mother laugh. 

Halfway down the stairs, both children gasp in excitement at the sight of their fathers making you grin wide as they jump into their arms. 

“Ay, it’s too early for so much love. Love me in like…”, Eddie pauses as he looks at his watch, subtly winking your way when your daughter giggles. “…two hours.”

“Hey after breakfast, why don’t we go to pool and I can show you guys some tricks I learned on the swim team.”

Ozzy’s eyes widen as he claps his hands. 

“Yeah! I was thinking…dad…about joining the swim team like you did. I’ve been practicing!”

“No way.”, Steve feigns shock as his own wide eyes shift your way. “Well then let’s finish eating the food grandma made and then you can show us all some of your new moves.”

“I’m surprised with how late you came back, you’re awake enough to do anything.”, your mom addresses you with that faint hint of sarcasm that has your dad rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, Bev, those aren’t insinuations Grandpa needs to hear about at any time of day.”

“What insinuations?”, Molly asks. 

“Nothing.”, all five adults respond in unison causing your children to erupt in a fit of giggles. 

###############

@manda-panda-monium @eddiesguitarskills

@needylilgal022 @local-stoner-bitch @katethetank @nailbatanddungeon

@sidthedollface2 @justanotheryn @pedropascalslilbaby

@marsupiooo @mandyjo8719 @bexreadstoomuch

@chelebelletx @perdopascalslilbaby @shayeddie @anaibis

@wroteclassicaly @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

@siriuslysmoking @raptorbait529 @miarosso @micheledawn1975

@paleidiot @mrsjellymunson @dashingdeb16 @hardladyheart

[sturniololuvz]

could you make a fic where chris is STRUGGLING really bad to be a single dad and when he’s sleeping (bc he barely gets ANY sleep) nick and matt try to take his like 8 month old daughter but she just wants chris and keeps CRYING for chris?

“Sleep-Deprived and Stubborn”

Sturniolos x Chris’s daughter

Chris was running on fumes. No, scratch that—he had run out of fumes weeks ago. His eight-month-old daughter, Lily, was the light of his life, but she was also the reason he hadn’t slept in what felt like a lifetime. Every night was the same—waking up every couple of hours, feeding her, rocking her back to sleep, only for her to start crying again the moment he set her down.

Now, he was passed out on the couch, dark circles under his eyes, mouth slightly open as soft snores left his lips. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but exhaustion had finally taken him down.

Nick and Matt stood nearby, watching him with concern.

“Dude, he’s gonna kill himself trying to do this alone,” Nick muttered, arms crossed.

Matt nodded. “We have to help. He won’t ask, but that’s what we’re here for.”

Lily sat in her playpen, babbling to herself before her big, round eyes landed on her father. She let out a tiny noise, like she was testing if he’d move. He didn’t. That’s when the first whimper came.

Matt sighed. “Let’s just take her for a bit. Let him sleep.”

Nick hesitated. “You think she’ll let us?”

“She’s a baby, bro, not a bouncer,” Matt scoffed. He carefully reached into the playpen and scooped Lily up. At first, she blinked at him, surprised. Then her face twisted.

“Da—da…?” Lily’s lip wobbled.

Matt shushed her softly, bouncing her in his arms. “It’s okay, baby girl. Let’s let Daddy sleep, yeah?”

But Lily was not having it. Her little hands pushed at Matt’s chest, and her whimper turned into a full-on cry.

“Da! Da-da!”

Nick winced. “Shit.”

Matt kept bouncing her, but she only screamed louder, her tiny body wriggling like she was trying to escape. Her sobs grew frantic, and she reached toward the couch.

Chris stirred, groaning. “Wh—what…” His voice was rough with exhaustion. His bloodshot eyes barely opened before he registered the sound of his daughter wailing.

Matt, still holding Lily, sighed. “Dude, we were trying to let you sleep. Just take a nap—”

“Da-da!!” Lily screeched like it was the end of the world.

Chris let out a breath, sitting up and holding out his arms. “C’mere, baby.”

The moment Matt handed her over, Lily latched onto Chris like a koala, her tiny hands gripping his shirt. Her cries softened into hiccups as she tucked her head under his chin, breathing him in.

Chris kissed the top of her head, rubbing her back. “I’m right here, Lil. You’re okay.”

Nick ran a hand down his face. “Bro, you look like a zombie. Let us help.”

Chris sighed, adjusting Lily in his arms. “I appreciate it, but she just… she only wants me right now.”

Matt sat down next to him. “That’s ‘cause you’re her whole world, man. But you gotta take care of yourself too.”

Chris nodded, exhausted but unwilling to let go of his daughter. “Yeah. I know.”

Lily, now calm in his arms, let out a soft sigh, her little fingers clinging to his shirt.

Nick chuckled. “She’s obsessed with you.”

Chris smiled down at her, running a hand over her soft curls. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[pineconepie]

Since option 1 won the poll results, here you go!! <3 two yandere dads and their kiddo who is back after a long abduction! Will write a part 2 eventually if anyone wants to see that.

TW: Past mentioned kidnapping, implied child abuse (not by the yandads), infantilization, hospitals

...

Several years went by since your disappearance, and both parents handle it differently.

For the first few years, Cullen began drinking more regularly and destroying his own things in anger. He took his pain out on everything he could except for August. If he weren't being self-destructive, he was driving all around town, including your favorite places, just to have even the tiniest hope of seeing you again. Even with the odds against him, he didn't stop.

August, on the other hand, went practically catatonic as his heart shattered inside of him. Everything reminded him of you in some way. If he were at the grocery store, he would remember your favorite snacks. At home, he remembered the times you'd bake together or make dinner together.

Years passed. You'd be an adult by now. It broke both of their hearts to dwell on the fact its been so long. Would you remember them? What if...

That was the worst part to dwell on. The possibility you may never be found again. Each time someone even suggested such a horrible idea, Cullen would get thrown into a rage, while August would break down crying.

Even though, eventually, life went on normally, there was a void that remained where you used to be.

August blamed himself for it all. For just one second he was distracted when taking you out of the car to go shopping, and then...

You were gone.

But just an hour ago, an officer had shown up on their doorstep and revealed to them that you'd been found and rescued from your captors. Their elated screams of joy and sobs could surely be heard by their neighbors. Even before the officer finished their explanation, both husbands hugged each other tightly, laughing as they cried in each others arms.

And now they're rushing to the front desk of the hospital where you were taken for examination and recovery.

"Where is our child?!" August cries. "(Y/n) Zimmerman!"

The nurse at the desk looks between the two, then over to the police officers who guided them through the door. Upon seeing the men nodding in confirmation, she opens something up on her computer. "Room 618," she says. "Elevators are right around the corner."

"Thank you," Cullen quickly responds. He then tugs his husband along before he bursts into tears again.

The elevator ride is painfully long, or at least that's how it felt to August and Cullen.

When the doors open, they race out of them, looking for the sign indicating where your room is. The numbers pass by quicker than they do until they stop right outside Room 618. They're breathing heavy and quick, full of nerves and excitement.

They open the door, too happy to even consider knocking.

Cullen gasps quietly upon seeing you awake, sitting on the bed with blankets over your legs and a tray of food next to you. You look up and watch the two men approach you.

August can barely contain himself, crying loudly as he walks forward. "My sweet baby!" he wails, moving to cup your face, kissing you on the forehead over and over again. It overwhelms you, but he's too emotional to notice. "I missed you so much, never leave us again...!" he cries into your hair.

"Honey," Cullen chuckles lightly, pulling his sobbing husband back by the shoulders. "Give them space." His smile turns towards you, his eyes watering with held back tears. "Do you remember us, baby? We're your dads." His voice breaks on the last few words.

You take a moment to assess your fathers.

The one who was just sobbing all over you a moment ago, has long auburn hair tied up in a loose bun with a couple strands falling from it. He has blue eyes and is slightly taller than the man who had pulled him away.

Speaking of, the other man has mid-length black hair and brown eyes, with a tiny bit of facial hair if you squint. While both seem happy to see you, he seems a bit more composed and calm, even with the tears staining his cheeks.

Hesitantly, you shake your head no, watching as August breaks down further as Cullen rubs his arm to soothe him.

"But—!"

"(Y/n)'s been through enough today," Cullen reminds his partner gently. "We should give them some space."

"But I want my baby!" August continues to sob. "After all these years!"

"I know, hon, me too." Cullen kisses August on the cheek. He then looks at you. "Your papa and I missed you so much. It's going to take a lot of time getting used to everything. But don't worry," Cullen says. "We will be by your side the entire time."

August sits on the edge of the bed and grabs hold of your hand, kissing it several times. "I've missed you so much," he repeats. He holds onto your hand as though he believes you'll be taken away again if he lets go.

Cullen wipes his own tears. "I'm gonna talk to the police and doctors." He gives you an encouraging smile. "Don't worry about anything. Papa and Dad have everything covered."

August nods, not taking his eyes off of you for even a second. As soon as Cullen leaves, he says, "Let me help you eat, alright?" Without waiting for you to respond, he reaches for your spoon. When he sees your eyebrows furrow, he smiles sadly at you. "Please, darling? Let me baby you a little after being away from you for so long."

Something in you just couldn't bring yourself to refuse his plea.

...

Several days pass.

August refuses to let go of you for long periods of time, holding your hand as you both walk through the hospital halls, feeding you when you get sleepy during your meals, and constantly keeping you within his grasp.

Cullen isn't much better. He's more subtle, but still tends to crowd around you. He just tries to be more subtle about it compared to his husband.

When you're finally discharged from the hospital, both parents keep you between them as they lead you to their car. Your arms are hooked in theirs as August gushes over you.

"When we get home, I can cook you any food you want!" he grins. "And—and we ordered you a new bed, since your old one is too small. I think all your new furniture should arrive in a day or two." His voice trembles, giving away how hard he's trying to keep himself together. "But while we wait, you'll sleep between Papa and I! We don't want to let you out of our sights yet."

"Or ever," Cullen mutters.

It causes you to shiver, but you brush it off. After so many years of being captive, why wouldn't your parents be clingy?

Even though they're already starting to feel like captors themselves...

As soon as you step foot inside of the home, August and Cullen lead you around, pointing out where everything is as you go.

"And this," August sings as he opens the door to your bedroom, "is your room!"

Despite never seeing it before, it looks familiar to you. Perhaps from pictures shown to you during your hospital stay.

The walls are painted soft lavender with a white accent wall. The plush rug by the small bed matches the wall color, and has frilled edges. The curtains covering the window next to your bed are white with faint purple polka dots on them.

Everything about this room looked beautiful, but childish. Which makes sense. You were a child since the last time you used this room.

"We kept everything the same," Cullen explains. "Your favorite stuffed animals are still sitting on your dresser, and—here—" he pulls you towards your bookshelf, "—all of your favorite books!" he exclaims. He pulls out a worn copy of he Rainbow Fish and offers it to you.

You can tell it's well loved from just looking at its spine and pages.

"This one was your absolute favorite," August informs you as you carefully take it in your hands. "Whenever we finished reading it to you at bedtime, you would always cry, begging us to read just one more time."

"Not just for that book," Cullen interjects. "For any of the ones in this row," he adds, tapping on a section of books.

"I can't wait to read to you again," August sniffles. He's cried so many times, you're wondering how he can possibly have more tears left to shed.

"Now now, dear," Cullen says softly, pulling him close to kiss his temple. "No more tears. We have our baby back now." He then turns his attention back to you. "Isn't that right, kiddo?" he grins.

You wordlessly nod and hand the book back to him.

"How about some cartoons while Papa and I fix dinner? A movie?"

"I'd rather sleep," you inform them. Both parents visibly deflate at your words, and you feel a little bad. "...or maybe a quiet dinner would be nice."

August's mood brightens a little upon hearing you say such a thing. "Yes, yes," he chants in agreement, nodding. "Dinner with my beautiful family... Nothing could be better right now." He gives Cullen a tender smile.

"That sounds wonderful," Cullen agrees. "Oh, and I'll give you some of my clothes until your new ones arrive, okay?"

Before you can ask what he means, he goes to his and August's bedroom and returns with some pajama pants and a t-shirt for you.

"Thanks..." You look between them and they get the message.

"We'll be downstairs while you change," Cullen answers. "Do you need any help?"

"No, I've got it," you insist, prompting both parents to leave your room.

They shut the door behind them, but you don't hear their footsteps descend the stairs. Did they simply want to give you the illusion of privacy?

Still, you're free to change, you suppose.

After dressing in Cullen's clothing, you open your bedroom door. On the other side stands your parents.

"All ready?" Cullen asks.

August is beaming once more at the sight of you. "Oh, darling, you're absolutely adorable!" he cries. He hugs you tightly, squishing you against him and rocking you both gently. You blush, unsure what to make of his praise. Forcing an awkward smile, you try hugging him back. Immediately, he kisses the top of your head. "My sweet baby, oh, Papa loves you so much!"

Cullen ruffles your hair. "We both love you very much."

The rest of dinner is awkward for you. Even though they let you feed yourself this time, you can see them staring, like they're prepared to witness you choke just so they can come to your aid.

Once the meal is done and over with, they set you up on the couch with plenty of blankets and pillows. It feels so soft against your skin that you're already fighting sleepiness. As you adjust in your spot on the couch, the TV begins to play old cartoons—all nostalgic.

There's no doubt your dads chose those programs on purpose.

Eventually, August and Cullen join you. One sits on either side of you.

Before the first episode of the show ends, you feel August's fingers start to massage your scalp, trying to lull you into slumber.

You subconsciously shift your position, so your head is against Cullen's shoulder.

His body stiffens, and when you turn your head to look up at him, you see unshed tears in his eyes. He wraps an arm around you to pull you closer before you can even question it.

"G'night," you mumble, already half-asleep.

"Sleep well, baby," August coos, after Cullen kisses your forehead. "We love you so, so much."

[paperstorm]

Thanks for the tags @ladyknight1512 and @nisbanisba!

From Somewhere in a Song chapter 15, coming tomorrow :)

The only person in his orbit who he doesn’t hear from is the one person TK wants to talk to more than any of them. He loves his band. He loves Grace and Judd and Mateo and he appreciates their prayers and their relief that he’s going to be alright. He’s grateful for the public support and the messages from his fans. But all of it pales in comparison to how desperately he wants to hear Carlos’s warm, resonant voice.

Owen had said Carlos sounded relieved when he relayed the news of TK’s regaining consciousness. Owen said Carlos confirmed his father wasn’t seriously injured in the car accident and he passed on Carlos’s wishes for TK’s speedy recovery, but had winced as he admitted Carlos ended the call quickly. TK’s left voicemails and countless texts in the days since, the last one as recent as yesterday afternoon, and Carlos hasn’t answered a single one.

TK dreams about him. He wakes up hugging a pillow, dreaming of Carlos’s arms around him, Carlos kissing his forehead, Carlos singing to him softly. Carlos was such an enormous presence in TK’s world, despite the short length of time they’ve known each other. TK’s so used to him being there, used to waking up next to him, used to Carlos’s smell and warmth and the poetry of his laugh. His sudden absence is almost more jarring than having woken up in the hospital weeks after he arrived there.

“Could you do me a big favor?” he asks his dad, as he’s wheeled in a chair out of the hospital and then stands as soon as they’re through the sliding glass doors and he’s legally allowed to walk on his own.

“Of course, name it.”

“Could you drive me to Austin?”

Owen eyes him in the brilliant sunshine. “What’s in Austin?”

TK wants to ask if Owen can just do this with no questions asked, but he knows that wouldn’t be fair. Reluctantly, he admits, “Carlos.”

“Oh.” Owen sighs. “TK, I …”

“I just wanna talk to him. We were … I mean, I thought …” The words get stuck in TK’s throat and he shakes his head.

Owen is quiet for a moment, looking at TK with sad eyes.

Defensively, TK asks, “What?”

“What about Alex?”

“What about Alex?”

“What about what happened when he turned you down?”

“That was years ago. I’m serious about staying sober this time, Dad. I know you’ve heard that before but it really is different this time. And Carlos didn’t turn me down, his dad needed him.”

“I’m not saying it’s the exact same situation,” Owen says, “I’m just saying … why don’t you try calling him, first? Before you show up on his doorstep?”

“I have called him. And texted.”

With an even sadder expression, Owen replies, “Maybe that’s your answer.”

TK shakes his head. The logical part of his brain knows his dad is right, and the person he was only months ago would have shifted much faster into self-preservation mode and run as far as he could in the other direction at the first hint of rejection.

TK Strand doesn’t chase people. He doesn’t openly beg for love or affection, he doesn’t debase himself to pleading for approval from people who aren’t interested in giving it to him. He’s confident, successful, envied, stubborn, fiercely independent. He sells out shows. He’s more honest in his lyrics than he ever has been with another human being. He hooks up with guys he meets on tour and leaves before either of them can get attached. He drowns his insecurities in booze and pills and then he writes another platinum album.

But maybe that’s who he was before. TK isn’t the same, anymore. Rehab changed him. Second chances changed him. Spending the summer with his friends and hearing thousands of people sing his lyrics back changed him. Carlos changed him. TK can’t go back. He can’t be who he was before, and he doesn’t want to.

“What if he regrets us?”

Owen reaches over and squeezes his shoulder.

“I thought …” TK sniffs and rubs under his nose with the back of his hand. The words hurt his throat on their way out of his mouth. “I thought we had something real. He sang a song about us to thousands of people, and now he’s just gone?”

“I’m sorry, son.”

TK shakes his head. Maybe it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever done, and that list is long and storied, but he can’t accept that it’s over just like that. If Carlos is going to break his heart, the least he can do is really break it – instead of just disappearing into the darkness and leaving TK haunted forever by what might have been.

“I just need to see him, okay? If he doesn’t want this anymore … I need to hear him say it. And not over the phone.”

For a moment, it looks as if Owen is going to keep arguing back. Then, instead, he just nods. “Okay.”

Tagging @theghostofashton @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @eclectic-sassycoweyes @carlos-in-glasses

@bonheur-cafe @actual-sleeping-beauty @herefortarlos @heartstringsduet @alrightbuckaroo

@goodways @lightningboltreader @emsprovisions @freneticfloetry @liminalmemories21

@reasonandfaithinharmony @ladytessa74 @never-blooms @sanjuwrites @orchidscript

@lemonlyman-dotcom @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @honeybee-taskforce @hereghostslive

@just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @ironheartwriter

@butchreyes @anactualcaseofthetruth @ditheringmind @thisbuildinghasfeelings @whatsintheboxmh

@irispurpurea @nisbanisba @chicgeekgirl89 @nancys-braids

@carlossreaders @denizoid @everlastingday @rangersoup @ambernotember

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

[onlybeeewrites]

Easy to Blame

Request: Darling....can I request a fic of xaden ....where the reader is her sister and he and other marked ones don't like her due to some reason...but then she's a goddamn badass and yeah make it angsty as hell(I don't know if this makes sense)

Pairings: Xaden Riorson x sister!reader, Marked ones x Reader, sort of Sawyer x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: IRON FLAME SPOILERS, cannon accurate violence, targeted hated, cursing, life threats, past deaths, misdirected hatred and grief, bad parenting.

A/N: This is where my mind went with this request! Hopefully you all enjoy it ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~

The weight of the guilt clung to you like a second skin, thick and suffocating. A burden and weight that seems to be placed rather unfairly onto your shoulders. As each and every step through the halls of Basgiath War College was met with narrowed eyes, cold glares, and the ever-present whispers that followed like a specter.

It didn’t matter who you passed in the halls. It didn’t matter when. Didn’t matter who you sat with in class or in the dining hall. The other cadets in your year would see the swirling dark tattoo on your left arm and lift their noses at you. While other marked ones would do the very same thing.

They didn’t trust you.

No one trusted you.

He didn’t trust you.

Xaden Riorson had made sure of that.

Your older brother—the only family you had left—had turned his back on you the moment you arrived at the college when you were old enough. His expression carved from stone, his voice sharp enough to cut. You had known it would be difficult. You had expected anger, the frustration, even the resentment.

But this? This was something worse.

You wasn’t just unwanted. You were avoided. You were the enemy. To everyone.

“Stay the hell out of my way.”

His voice was ice, cutting through the tension between them like a blade. And cut through you like shards.

You had found him in the training yard, surrounded by the Marked Ones in his squad, his second-in-command Garrick, your old friend, leaning against a post while Bodhi, your cousin, didn’t even look at you. While Imogen crossed her arms, regarding her with a mixture of distrust and disdain.

But ever so determined, you lifted your chin. It had been almost two months since you had gotten there. Almost two months and he still refused to even give you two minutes of his time. And yet you refusing to shrink under their scrutiny. “I’m not your enemy, Xaden. I’m your sister. You’d think after six years you’d know that. I’m not here to cause trouble, I’m here to,”

He scoffed. “A little late for that, don’t you think?” Interrupting your sentence

That had hurt. Had it been too late? You could feel your stomach twisted. You had prepared herself for hostility, but hearing it aloud—from him—still hurt. Hurt more than expected. That was your brother.

But in that moment you had never more like a stranger.

Garrick sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, it’s not personal—”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Xaden cut in, his jaw clenched. He took a step toward you, his voice lowering to something dangerous. “Because of you, our father is dead. Because of you, our mother walked away from us. Had you just been a little more helpful, things wouldn’t be this fucking difficult,” he said. His voice filled with pure distain, pure hatred and anger.

His words hit like a punch to the ribs.

You had only been fourteen years old, just barely understanding what was even happening when their father was executed for his rebellion along with the other leaders. You had stood there, frozen, tears streaming down her face while Xaden held her hand so tightly it hurt.

But it was your mother who shattered everything.

It had been before the rebellion. Years before. Right after Xaden’s birthday. She had tucked you both in at bed that night. Told you both how much she loved you. Kissed you both so lovingly and softly. And the next morning?

Gone.

No note. No explanation. Just a home that felt empty and wrong.

Xaden had never forgiven her for that. Neither had you.

And now, surrounded by the people who would die for him, who would follow him into battle without hesitation, he made sure they all knew where she stood.

“She can’t be trusted,” he had told them. “Keep your distance.”

And they had listened.

The isolation was suffocating.

It was a permanent weight in you chest that was always threatening your mind constantly.

You were used to whispers, but the silence was worse. The Marked Ones didn’t speak to you unless necessary. They didn’t train with you. If you tried to spar, they found someone else. If you sat down at a table, they left.

Even the others followed their lead.

Even your squad. They put up with you when they had to. But that was it.

Sawyer was the only one who seemed indifferent, watching her with something like curiosity rather than outright hatred. At least she had him. Sawyer was sweet.

But Xaden?

Xaden didn’t look at you at all.

And that was worse than all of it.

It was months past, presentation and threshing was just around the corner—or just over the gauntlet.

The Gauntlet loomed in the distance above them, an unforgiving structure of swinging beams, crumbling platforms, and gaps that seemed impossible to cross.

Failure meant death.

And you weren’t about to fail.

The morning of the run, whispers followed her as she strapped on her training leathers. Echoed whispers surrounded them around the dining hall and through the halls out side.

“She’ll fall.”

“She won’t even make it halfway.”

“She should’ve never been allowed here in the first place.”

“She won’t make it past threshing.”

“Let’s hope not.”

You ignored them.

You had to.

You couldn’t allow those thoughts to take over. You couldn’t let them be right.

All the odds were against you. Abandoned and ignored by your brother. Ignored and shunned by your family from a decision that you truly had no part of. It wasn’t your fault. In the big grand scheme of things, it was not your fault. But that didn’t matter.

Because in their minds, and in Xaden’s, it was your fault. Everything. Was. Your. Fault.

And that guilt? That unfair burden? That would always remain as long as Xaden blamed you for everything.

It had been months now after parapet. Threshing was in a few weeks. Presentation. But first was the Gauntlet.

Xaden stood at the top with Garrick, arms crossed as he surveyed the cadets. If he heard the murmurs, he didn’t acknowledge them. His dark eyes narrowing down the course at his wing as the other sections and squads prepared to do their practice runs before the timed trials.

Practicing for when threshing was finally around. The test for a chance to prove themselves worthy. Worthy enough to make it past presentation, they’d need all these skills. To ride your dragons. If you made it that far, at least.

The course was grueling. Designed to push cadets past their limits. Designed with dragons in mind for each obstacle. Designed to weed out the weak ones.

And so here you were. Standing in the front of the line for your squad, just behind Sawyer. First squad was finishing up ahead of you. The first few competitors barely made it over the first swinging bridge before slipping to their deaths. Others hesitated at the crumbling stones, losing precious time.

Then it was time for your squad. Sawyer went first, his agility unmatched as he maneuvered through the course with a speed no one could match. It was probably because he had done this before.

Sawyer was a repeat, as you had learned. He had gone through all this last year.

Then it was your turn.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, but you shoved the nerves down. You didn’t have the luxury of fear. You couldn’t afford to feel. Not now. Not in front of the rest of your Squad, the

As the signal to begin echoed through the training grounds, you launched yourself forward with unwavering resolve.

The first obstacle, a towering vertical wall, stood as an imposing sentinel. Without hesitation, you sprinted toward it, you steps light and measured. Utilizing your momentum, you leaped, you fingers gripping the edge with practiced precision. With a controlled pull, she swung her leg over and descended smoothly, barely pausing before advancing to the next challenge.

The rotating wheel loomed ahead, a notorious obstacle that had bested many cadets. Timing her approach, you synchronized your movements with the wheel’s rotations. With a swift, calculated jump, you grasped a handle and swung yourself to the other side, landing in a crouch before springing forward without losing momentum.

A series of balance beams awaited, each narrowing mean. You navigated the beams with grace. Your arms subtly adjusting to maintain equilibrium. Your focus was absolute, gaze fixed ahead, blocking out the murmurs of onlookers and the weight of expectations.

Next came the rope climb. Seizing the coarse rope, you ascended hand over hand, you movements fluid and efficient. Reaching the summit, you tapped the marker and descended in controlled slides, your feet touching the ground with barely a sound.

The next challenge, the chimney climb, required both strength and strategy. Positioning yourself between the narrow walls, you used opposing pressure to “walk” upward, your movements steady and controlled.

The final challenge was the huge steep wall. The one to run up, the challenge that simulates climbing up the dragon leg to ride. And just above it was where your brother was.

Taking a deep breath, you backed up. Backing up as far as she possibly could. This was where she proved them all wrong. And then. Suddenly, you bolted forward. Using all the strength she had, she spent it into and bolted up the wall. Your feet pressed against the wall as you pushed yourself up and up and up until your hand reached the lip of the curve.

With all the strength you had left, you pulled yourself over the edge. Your body was pulled over with the last bit of your strength as finally your right leg got pulled over. And a soft click of the stop watch sounded in your ears.

A stunned silence fell over the crowd as you finished hauling yourself over the edge.

Garrick’s voiced cleared before he read your time aloud.

Second place.

Second place.

Only second to Sawyer.

The silence stretched, heavy and stunned, before someone let out a low whistle. And then some hushed mumbling.

You got to your feet before you turned, locking eyes with Xaden. Onyx eyes, locking with onyx eyes. Sweat dripping down your skin.

For the first time since you had arrived, he was looking at you.

Really looking at you.

And for a moment—a single, fleeting moment—you saw something crack in his expression. Something uncertain. Looking like you big brother again. But there was something else.

Something like doubt.

But then he turned away, jaw tightening.

He didn’t congratulate you.

Didn’t acknowledge what you had done.

But he couldn’t ignore it, either.

You weren’t weak.

Just like Xaden, you were a Riorson.

And you were a goddamn force to be reckoned with.

[artisiumstudios]

You ARE BRILLIANT YES- Perhaps Ford sees Fidds in soos since soos does seem to like to fix stuff so he takes him under his wing, not exactly father and son figure, but more like an uncle since Stan’s still the father (except soos doesn’t remember, yet). Imagine Stan’s surprise when he sees their fathers fez on soos for the first time, at first it does kinda send spikes of anxiety to see that thing, but then he realizes that honestly it’s good for something so valuable in the pines family to be passed down to such a noble kid.

And the zodiac wheel? CHEFS KISS imagine Stan just coming into view, long hair (I imagine it got a bit harder for him to do haircuts since the barbers kept turning around mid service and kicking him out), black cloak, a determined look on his face. And everyone else (minus the kids and soos) are confused, didn’t ford tell everyone else to run before they got caught? And just they begin to say something he steps on the question mark takes soos and Wendy’s hand and begins to glow like everyone else. Ford goes to ask who he is when the zodiac begins to work ( I did always wonder what exactly was supposed to happen).

Soon everybody finds themselves on the floor (I like the idea that the ax/something only appears to mabel and dipper since they were the ones trying to break the curse, so the curse just lifts without Stan realizing for the first few minutes). Ford finds himself awake, the memories, every interaction he’s had with his brother over the last three decades just rushing to his head a blend of emotions swirling through him. And out of the corner of his eye he see Stan making sure the kids are alright and starts to leave after glancing at ford, when all of a sudden he’s tackled to the ground and thanks stan for everything

Au where Stanley makes I deal with a powerful entity (not bill, maybe the axolotl) to bring ford back safely but in return, and this could go either way I’m not sure which scenario I like better, he either has to cease to exist completely (no one would remember him) or he could work for the entity for a certain amount of time but during those years no one would be able to remember him until he returned.

[yeonmuse]

SYNOPSIS — Park Sunghoon doesn’t usually like involving himself with those at Chaconne academy, but when he finds out his little sister’s music teacher attends and she starts getting a little too close she forces him to let his guard down. Now he’s gotta juggle new people and new emotions entering his life and she’s got to face her past in order to hold tight to him and her future.

ᥫ᭡ f!reader x Park Sunghoon ── 𝒢enre. Uni au. fluff, angst non idol enha. feats. ot7 [reqs are closed] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary 🎻

⍣ ೋ AUTHORS NOTES . Strong angst themes, slow burn but mostly fluff. I’m not sure where this idea had come from considering I have 4 unfinished series out right now but I wrote this in 4 days so lets fucking go i guess??? Includes Choi Yeonjun, Bae Jinyoung, Kim Sunwoo, Jung Wooyoung, Shen Ricky, Xu Jiaqi and Asaya Jurin. Wc is 4.1k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | ENDING

After what felt like the longest weekend ever you’d finally be starting your official first day. It had been nice getting to know Jurinand the others but now it was time to actually get to work, you were sure your father had worked hard to get you into the school and you wouldn't waste the opportunity. While you were making your way down campus, heading towards building A you tried your best to follow the steps you’d previously taken with Sunwoo. You had eventually made it to the entrance when the man himself had also been entering the building the same time as you.

“Well look at you made it all the way here without me i'm impressed.” he teases

“Yes yes, once I finally seemed to learned that it’s literally just a straight shoot from the girls dorms.’’ you being annoyed at yourself for finally having come to that obvious realization earns a laugh from him.

“Well after you then.’’ He opens the door allowing you to slip inside, you’d found that you both had been heading in the same direction so it only made sense that the two of you would walk together. You’d been completely invested in the conversion, so invested you failed to recognize the person blocking your path in the hall. Before you knew it your body collided with a broad back sending you straight to your ass, though some people did choose to mind their business and just pass up the two of you in the hall a few onlookers observed the scene.

‘Fuck this is so embarrasing.’ you thought to yourself as you looked up to apologize to the person you’d bumped into only moments ago, your eyes widened as they landed on none other than Park Sunghoon, the guy you'd met only yesterday. As Sunwoo helped you up you stood up dusting your clothes. At first you said nothing but neither did Sunghoon, you’d been too busy struggling to find the words to say. Sunghoon on the other hand, as shocked as he was to see you, just chose to remain as stoic as ever. Last night he’d told himself that maybe you weren’t so bad, that maybe you were someone good for his sister ( maybe also good for him) but seeing you here at this school of all places he was starting to think he was wrong.

“I’m sor-” before the words could properly leave your mouth both him and his friends had already walked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall watching him leave like an idiot.

“Well you met Sunghoon. I wouldn’t dwell on what happened just now too much, he acts like an ass with everyone here.”

But dwell you did, you spent the entire day thinking about the interaction. Did you say something wrong friday night? Or maybe it was that he didn’t remember you? You’d spent the entire day thinking about what you could have possibly done wrong for him to just completely ignore you and walk away.

Eventually the time came for your next lesson with Yoari and she’d been excited to see you, her brother on the hand not so much. You’d greeted him as you caught him walking up the stairs when you entered the house. A greeting he had simply chosen to ignore which made you slightly disappointed.

“I want to show you what I practiced.’’ Yoari instantly takes your hand into her own and drags you to the scene room where the two of you had practiced days prior. Yoari had practiced so much over the weekend while you were gone she had been more than excited to show off everything she learned from you. You found it endearing, not only did she learn fast but it was obvious that she had a passion for music, it reminded you a lot of yourself when you were younger. Taking a momentary pause as you spotted Sunghoon making his way into the kitchen, you allowed Yoari to take a short break, pushing yourself up from your seat and you decided to join him in the kitchen. When you’d stepped in and opened your mouth to speak you realized you hadn’t exactly thought through what it was you wanted to say to him, so you simply stood there in silence until he decided to break it himself.

“Shouldn’t you be with Yoari?’’

“Well yea but I just- I didn’t know that you went to Chaconne..? Earlier I didn’t mean to-”

“You should get back to my sister. My parents pay you to teach her not to talk to me.’’ and with those words he left you standing there.

That night you went home feeling worse than when you had arrived there. You weren't sure what you had done to piss off Sunghoon but it bothered you nonetheless.

Eventually Jurinand Jiaqi joined you where you sat in the living room with a pout on your face and bowl of ramen in hand.

“What’s got you so pouty?’’ Jurin questions as she takes a seat next to Jiaqi, flattening out the face mask on her face before taking a handful of Jiaqis popcorn.

“Do you guys know Sunghoon?’’

“Uh as in Park? Sunghoon Park?’’

“Yes? I teach his little sister music and I thought that he was warming up to me a little before I left their house Friday, but today we bumped into each other in the hall and he just completely ignored me like he didn’t even recognize me. Then today when I went over for Yoaris lesson he just completely shut me down.’’

“Oh honey, he’s like that with everyone. You’re no different than anyone else on this campus he completely ignores.” Jurin responds before stuffing her mouth with popcorn.

“What do you mean?’’

“Other than Jake and Jay he doesn’t talk to anyone, no matter who flirts, no matter how many party invites he gets he doesn't accept. He’s been like that since he came to the school. Don’t know if he’s one of those loner types or if he’s just a dick but it’s not even worth figuring it out. I wouldn’t think too much about it’’

-

A week had gone by since then, you’d go to Sunghoons place every day for the lessons. Yoari had grown so used to you coming over and being there that she’d often stand right outside the door and wait for your arrival. Your lessons had become the highlight of her days and yours as well. And though Sunghoon wouldn’t admit it he’d gotten used to you being there as well. Though the atmosphere between the two of you had been quite tense lately, Sunghoon would occasionally come down to eat with you and Yoari or watch her play, you’d even see him crack a smile every now and then at the smallest of interactions between you and his sister. Even though Sunghoon was still completely unsure about you he knew one thing for sure, you made his sister happy and for that he was grateful to you.

Sunghoon had now been so accustomed to you having been there that he even let Yoari convince him to wait outside with her, five minutes turned to ten and ten turned to twenty. Eventually Yoari realize you weren’t coming and Sunghoon was finally able to convince her to come inside. Seeing the disappointment on his sister's face, Sunghoon wasn’t sure what to think. Right when he had begun to warm up to you again you’d bailed.

-

The next day at school Sunghoon had found himself unintentionally looking for you, he’d only been snapped back to his senses once Jake and Jay had arrived.

“Were you expecting someone or something?.....Did you finally ask out Yuna?’’ Jay can’t help but snort at Jake's instant need to jump to conclusions.

“I was looking for the two of you you idiot.’’

“Oh how sweet he missed us.’’ Jake teases, making kissy faces at Sunghoon at which Jay just shakes his head and Sunghoon pushes his face away.

“Anyways are we still on for tonight?’’ Jay interrupts, pushing Jake off to the side.

“That depends is your cousin Jungwon still coming down from seoul.’’

“He’ll be down with a few friends of his, Niki and Sunoo I think.”

“Well yeah we’re still on, other than my sisters music teacher my parents will be gone so the house is ours.’’

“Your sister has a music teacher? Why didn’t they just ask you or Jay?’’ Jake questions earning a shrug from Jay.

“Some bullshit about wanting me to pay attention to my own studies.’’

“Well is the teacher hot, wait is she on the older side. You know what it doesn’t even matter if she’s both?’’

“Dude?’’

“What? For all we know she could be old and wrinkly.’’ While Jay and Jake continued to go back and forth their voices had eventually drowned out into background noise as Sunghoon got lost in his thoughts once again. Thoughts of you and how you had already disappointed his sister once yesterday night.

He’d expected his sister to already be waiting outside the door as he arrived home, yet she wasn’t. In fact she wasn’t home at all. He found his mom sitting at the island counter of the kitchen, laptop placed in front of her and phone to her ear as she munched on a bowl of grapes. As he stood on the other side digging his own hand into the bowl his mom gave him an adorning smile before finishing up her call.

“Hi sweetheart, how were your classes.’’ Sunghoon shrugs in response, giving her the same answer as usual. “They were okay.’’

“Wheres Yoa, I thought she had a lesson?’’

“Of course your father didn’t tell you, He took your sister out to get a few things for yn.’’ Sunghoons brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“Yn called in sick yesterday, we told her to take a few days off until she was feeling better and Yoari wanted to get her some things to cheer her up.’’ There Sunghoon was feeling like a complete asshole, He’d been ready to judge her again, thinking she simply just bailed on Yoari when in reality she wasn’t even feeling well enough to show up.

Now there Sunghoon stood outside your dorm, his sister's hand in his after having been forced to cancel his plans and take his sister to give you all the things she had bought and made for you.

-

You had been locked in the confined space of your room, as Jiaqi wouldn't allow you to step out of bed to do anything other than pee. The last two days have been completely miserable for you. Stuffy nose, sneezing and coughing, headaches, fevers and throwing up almost non stop. You’d felt so terrible for having to call and cancel on Yoari but Jiaqi and Jurin had refused to let you step foot out of the dorm the moment they found out you were sick.

A knock at the door followed by Jurins loud screaming down the hall woke you from your sleep.

“I got it, it might be Yeonjun and Wooyoung with the-’’ She stops mid sentence upon seeing none other than Park Sunghoon outside the door.

“Did they bring the movies.’’ Jiaqi asks, making her way to the door only to freeze on an instant upon seeing Sunghoon.

“Hi is yn here!?’’ Yoari asks, pulling Jurin and Jiaqis gaze off of Sunghoon and onto her.

You hadn’t known if the sick brain had finally gotten to you and you were full on hallucinating or if you’d actually heard what sounded to you like Yoaris voice coming from the living room. Poking your head out the doorway, only then did you realize that not only was Yoari here but so was Sunghoon.

“Yn!’’ Before they could even be invited in, Yoaris hand slips from Sunghoon and she runs inside immediately running to you, catching each of you by surprise. You and her sat in your room for an hour, Yoari having shown off everything she made for you and brought you to feel better. She had even gotten Sunghoon to record videos of her practicing in just those two days you hadn’t been there. Sunghoon on the other hand just sat on the couch quietly unsure what to say to you or the other two girls that had also been watching the videos of her playing. It went without saying that although they couldn't say the same for her brother, the girls were completely smitten by Yoari. Another knock at the door interrupts them, this knock being who all of you assumed to be Yeonjun and the others. As Jiaqi gets up to let them in Sunghoon found that as the perfect excuse to leave.

“We should get going Yoari, we should let her rest.’’ he interrupts, earning a pout from Yoari who hadn’t been done telling you about how she’d learned two new songs while you were away.

“But i’m not dome showing her.’’ At that time the others came flooding in, all of them seemingly just as confused as Jurin and Jiaqi had been when they first saw Sunghoon standing outside the door. Jurin gave a look that said I’ll explain this all later before looking at Sunghoon.

“You and Yoari are welcome to stay, we were just about to eat dinner and watch movies, today's disney night, since Yeonjun won Uno last night.’’ Sunghoon was confused as to what the correlation between the two topics had been but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Before he could open his mouth to refuse his sister interrupts.

“Can we please!?’’ He couldn’t say no to her, he could never tell his sister no, no matter what it was she asked of him. So that was exactly how he ended up spending his night eating and watching disney movies with you and your friends, a night he’d actually come to enjoy.

Eventually everyone had returned to their dorms, Sunghoon finding himself being one of the last ones there and the only one awake. Jurin and Jiaqi had passed out on the floor and as his eyes fell upon you he found you fast asleep wrapped in the blanket Yoari had gotten you. Yoari had been clinging to your side, her head resting on your shoulder as she slept peacefully. It was then that Sunghoon realized he was royally fucked. He could no longer avoid being close to you because you were starting to mean something to Yoari, and though he didn’t realize it yet you’d soon mean something to him too

🔖 @jwonistic @bubblytaetae @pkjay @heesallure @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @lillotus17 @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @sol3chu @st4rryst4r @firstclassjaylee @right-person-wrong-time @riribelle @gaytron3000 @heesunghooney @i03jae @blackhairandbangs @sunooqvrlsx @addictedtohobi @enaile23 @ivyvioletcarson @kristynaaah @starbyeol1512 @tinyteezer @jkslvsnella @brianashiftz @starbyeol1512