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helaintoloki · 3 months ago

Note

the other Hargreeves siblings being absolutely teary-eyed on the day of y/n and Five’s wedding. they like to think of her as an adopted member of the family, because she’s gone through so much with them, gotten so close to death in multiple occasions while trying to save them. after everything, they never thought to see her live out the happy life she deserve, much less getting married to Five.

a/n: i am a sucker for found family tropes and wedding pieces so this was fun for me to write

warnings: none i think ? mostly fluff

Your stomach feels as if it’s tied into a million knots, and you can’t bring yourself to even touch the plate of fruit Klaus had fetched for you to nibble on as you got ready for the big day. Allison works diligently to perfect your look despite her insistence that you should have just let her hire a professional to get the job done, but you were adamant about keeping everything as simple as possible. Neither you nor Five wanted some big extravagant mess when it came to your ceremony, and if it had been up to you both you would have just settled for a courthouse marriage, but his family wouldn’t have it. You were finally becoming an official Hargreeves, and they deemed it necessary to celebrate with a proper wedding and reception despite the fact that there really would only be about ten guests at most.

You met Five in the apocalyptic ruins of the world while scavenging for food. Despite everyone you knew and cared about perishing in the gale of fire that blanketed the earth, you had miraculously survived. Call it pure luck for being at the right place at the right time, but you had been searching for a flashlight in your underground basement when the moon had been struck, and the reinforced steel structure of the room had kept you from suffering the same fate as everyone around you.

Neither of you trusted each other in the beginning, but you both were smart enough to realize that sticking together was necessary for your survival, and so you put aside your differences to travel the apocalyptic wasteland together. That’s not to say there weren’t times when you got on each others nerves or wanted to strangle him with your bare hands, but with time your partnership evolved into an actual friendship, and perhaps it could have evolved into more if not for the constant distractions that arose during your fight for survival.

Allison accidentally poking your eye with a mascara wand interrupts your moment of reminiscing, and she merely gives you an apologetic smile when you shoot her a look of annoyance in return.

“I told you we should have hired a professional,” she reminds you matter of factly only for you to lightly swat her hand away.

“And I told you I wanted to go down to the courthouse and pick up a sheet cake at the grocery store,” you counter with a raised brow. Sensing defeat, Allison relents with a small sigh and takes a step back to look at her masterpiece.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just our family doesn’t get to do these sorts of things very often, and it’s not every day I get a new sister.”

Your shoulders slump guilty at her admission, and you find yourself now feeling less combative against her than you initially were. Though you mentally are in your 50’s and no longer see a need to have a big wedding to marry a man you’ve known for basically your whole life, you still physically look like a young bride, so it’s only natural for Allison and the rest of Five’s siblings to want to treat you as such. From what Five has told you along with the stories that have been recounted in your presence, their lives have always been less than normal. You of all people can relate to that- growing up in an apocalypse, becoming a glorified secretary for a time-ordinance bureau while your only friend is out on assignments, risking your life to save the world, ending multiple apocalypses. The list could go on forever. They’re only trying to experience normal family milestones, so who are you to get in the way of that.

“No, I’m sorry,” you relent with a remorseful sigh. “I know you’re just trying to be nice, and I’m grateful for how quickly you and your siblings have welcomed me into the family despite how unconventional this all is. I really appreciate it.��

“Good, I’m glad you see it my way,” Allison teases playfully before finishing up the final touches on her masterpiece.

“Knock, knock,” Klaus singsongs from outside your dressing room before letting himself in. Proudly holding up the plastic wrap bag from its hanger, he announces, “Here I am with the dress, and as promised, nothing happened to it under my watch.”

“Thank you, Klaus,” you smile gratefully only for him to return the gesture with an affectionate pinch of your cheek.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart. I’m just so excited to finally have a little sister!”

“You know I’m technically older than you right?” You retort with a raised brow only for him to press a finger to your lips.

“Shh, don’t ruin this for me,” he gently corrects you before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You don’t miss the way his eyes begin to water at the sight of you with your hair and makeup done, but you’re kind enough not to point it out. Klaus had been the easiest of Five’s siblings to warm up to, always treating you like one of his own and roping you into his mischief despite your fiancé’s protests. The Seance couldn’t even count on one hand how many times you had been there to lend a shoulder for him to cry on when his addiction became too much or offer a supportive hand when his siblings had been less than eager to do so. He adored you, and he could nearly burst with pride at finally being able to call himself your brother.

“Alright, we have thirty minutes left to get you into that dress and down that isle,” Allison announces with a determined clap of her hands before snatching the dress from Klaus. “Are you ready to officially become Mrs. Hargreeves?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you announce with a resigned sigh before immediately being pulled every which way by the two siblings to finish your ensamble.

You can’t wait to get this over with.

~~~

“You nervous?” Viktor whispers with a gentle nudge to Five’s side. Quiet chatter drifts through the air as the handful of guests that are present make conversation to pass the time before the ceremony begins. Neither of you exactly have big families; Five has only ever had his siblings, and your family isn’t exactly supportive of your choice of groom. It’s an intimate affair, but you both prefer it that way.

“Hardly,” he scoffs indignantly, though his need to readjust his tie for the millionth time says otherwise. Five knows that this probably should have happened sooner and promoting you from his partner to his wife has been long overdue. He was honestly surprised you had said yes when he’d finally bit the bullet and asked the question. He loved you, cared for you in a way he never thought possible and in a way that honestly wasn’t quite like him. But you were different, and he hadn’t risked it all trying to end multiple apocalypses just to not marry you once the world was finally safe.

“I’m glad you’re happy, we all are,” his brother notes with a kind smile. “She’s good for you, and she’ll be a good addition to the family.”

Five can’t argue with that. It honestly pains him to think about just how many times you’ve thrown your own life on the line for not just him but his siblings as well. You’ve been there for them even when it wasn’t your responsibility, when they technically weren’t your family yet, even when Five himself wasn’t the best brother to them all. While Five could at times be brash or crude, you were patient and understanding, and this balance helped make their team stronger. You’d make a fine Hargreeves; he wouldn’t be standing here today if that weren’t the case.

Behind the wooden double doors you nervously readjust your veil as you wait for your cue to enter the room. Diego holds your bouquet patiently on your left while Luther fluffs out the skirt of your dress for you on your right. Having no real family present for your big day, you were left without anyone to give you away to your new husband. Diego and Luther had both been eager to throw themselves at the chance to be at your side down the aisle, constantly at each other’s necks arguing over who deserved the right more. Of course, as the bride it was you who got the final say, and the choice couldn’t have been more obvious. You picked them both.

Both men had been put through a lot by your fiancé, from having to carry his drunken form out of a library to dealing with his fits of rage at their inability to meet his deadlines for important tasks, but they had always been kind to you despite the unorthodox nature of your relationship with their brother. Luther had taken several bullets for you before, and Diego hadn’t shied away from being a supportive shoulder to cry on whenever you and Five couldn’t see eye-to-eye. It would feel wrong not to have them both by your side, and they were honored.

“You scared?” Diego questions after noticing your tight grip on his bicep when the music begins. He has to hold back a wince from the way your manicured nails dig into his arm and distracts himself by handing you your bouquet.

“A little,” you answer honestly, harshly swallowing down your nerves when Luther opens the doors for you to walk through.

“You’ve got this,” Diego encourages after pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “If anyone is brave enough to marry my brother, it’s you.”

“Brave or maybe a little insane,” Luther adds under his breath.

You can’t help the small huff of air that pushes past your lips in response to his quip, but you’re given no time to respond as your soon-to-be brother-in-laws escort you to your awaiting husband.

No one can deny how absolutely breath taking you look in your elegantly simple wedding gown, your smile nervous as you make your way towards Five who looks so handsome in his perfectly tailored suit. All day you’ve wanted nothing more than to see him, but now that you’re here you find yourself full of nerves and anxiety.

Luther and Diego give you away at the end of the isle (not without sternly warning Five to take good care of their new sister), and you finally find yourself face-to-face with the man you’ve loved for years.

“You ready for this?” He whispers under his breath as Viktor begins his officiant speech, subtly reaching for your hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“This won’t be the worst thing we’ve done together,” you note cheekily with a shrug as you hide your smile behind your bouquet, and Five can’t argue with that.

Though his siblings have been better at showing their excitement for this day than you or Five combined, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy to finally be marrying the boy who had been by your side through thick and thin, good and bad, and life and death. Perhaps your love story was a bit unconventional, but unconventionality is a Hargreeves speciality.

You’re going to fit right in.

#request #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #number five #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #number five x reader #number five imagine #five x reader #five imagine #tua #tua x reader #tua imagine

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hauntedbythefanficsofmypast · 3 months ago

Text

Not so Fake

Masterlist

Tim stationed himself in the third sitting room in the Manor. It was the closest to the kitchen, and furthest from the bedrooms and entrance of the manor. In other words, the perfect hiding spot from his overactive family that have united to try and make Tim rest. The only member that would find him right away would be Alfred, who already left him a cup of tea with a few of his cookies along with one of his laptops.

A note left on top stating that Alfred expected him to actually relax, and spotting the stickers Tim could tell this was his personal laptop. Taking Alfred seriously, Tim booted up YouTube and decided to watch his new favorite, GalacticPhantom, or Danny. He had found the channel a few months ago when one of his search engines caught a mention of Tim Drake and Red Robin being the same person.

The video in question had started off with a very well made video of the camera zooming down from a space view of the Earth to Danny’s home town, through his window and coming to a screeching halt in front of Danny and his friend Wes. The opening was highly impressive to Tim and the twenty-five minute video that followed had Tim wanting to pull his hair out.

Everything Wes said was true, completely true.

Tim was absolutely stunned and terrified because the other teen had managed to fully pull together who Red Robin was without even being in Gotham. The only thing that stopped Tim from calling a meeting about it, was that no one in the comments believed him. Instead Wes was mocked with the tried and true, ‘what do the butts match?’. He ended up watching every video under the playlist, ‘Wes the Detective’ and every single video hit right on the money but absolutely no one believed him.

Well, no one but his friends it seemed. Tim had a couple theories about it and if it wasn’t for the fact that Wes has his identity clock he’d be staking out the town now. So he chose to stick to the theory that Wes was incredibly smart, but cursed in some way.

However today Danny had posted a new video and Tim could barely wait to watch it. The title was called ‘This thing wont leave me alone.’ and the thumbnail showed a screaming Danny holding a broom with a humanism but clearly not human girl spiderman to his ceiling seemingly hissing at him.

Tim grinned as he pressed play and settled back into the couch to watch. As the intro came to an end it found Danny in the closet of his bedroom speaking into the camera as if he was documenting his last moments.

“Hello everyone and welcome back to my channel.” He whispered softly only stopping at a noise outside the door that sounded like nails scratching against something. “What the—” the chittering of a badger interrupted him to cover his curse. “Today I’m hiding in my closet because this demon thing showed up and won’t leave me alone.” Something being knocked over in the background was heard causing Danny to freeze again. “I am taking my stand though, I have my makeshift weapon and-and I’m gonna face it. In the event that I don’t come out of this alive, Tucker you can have my Doomed character, Sam just ask them out already, Val you can sell all my stuff, and Wes I’m sorry I gaslight everyone in school that one time into thinking you weren’t real.”

“That was—you Danny, oh you better hope you don’t survive after this!” Wes snapped from behind the camera, his curse being covered by bird chirps, and a second later Tucker’s head popped up from the bottom right screen.

“You’re focusing on that rather than the fact Danny said that all to the screen like we weren’t even here.” Danny shushed them all dramatically holding his broom in front of him like a weapon.

“It is time. Remember me views, remember me.”

“So—dramatic.” Sam is heard but not shown on camera, soon after Danny is shown bursting out of the closet startling the humanoid creature with white hair and bright neon green eyes.

Tim assumes the creature is one of their little siblings decked out in a creepy cosplay, a really creepy one that Sam definitely had to have a hand in making.

The girl immediately starts screeching and hissing at Danny who starts screaming back before starting to swat at her with the broom. Only for her to drop on all four and start crawling around to dodge him.

“Why won’t you stay still!!” Danny cried out as he panted slightly out of breath. The girl let out an evil cackle starting to crawl toward him and the others fast as he head began to turn to the point that it was upside down. Everything was silent before Danny began screaming hysterically while hitting the girl with the broom before she managed to jump on him and they began to fight. The video cut off right as the girl got a good hit on his nose, only to come back to Danny back in the closet with a bloody nose.

“You okay man?” Wes asked from behind the camera as Danny just stared dazed ahead. Danny turned to him, eyes unfocused as he stared at the camera.

“Do-do I call an exorcist? Do we have exorcists around us? Bro I have a demon in my house, and my parents who are ghost hunters can’t even detect it. What do I do?”

“Danny, I think she might have broken your Lego space shuttle.” Val was heard and seconds later Danny was shown back outside the closet in a screaming match with her while fist fighting and rolling all over the ground.

“THAT LEGO SET COST ME FOUR MONTHS ALLOWANCE!!”

“I’M GOING TO MAKE YOU REGRET BREAKING IT!”

“ALL I DID WAS HIT YOU WITH A BROOM!”

The girl seemed to be responding to him in either gibberish, or a language they created. Which only seemed to anger Danny more.

“ENGLISH! SPEAK ENGLISH!!” The girl paused, stopping herself from landing a solid punch to his cheek before grinning at the confused teen.

“No.” Danny seemed stunned before anger took over again and the fight continued.

“You can_____speaking english! You____daughter of a______!!” The feed cut off before returning to Danny who was sitting on the bed of his wrecked room. The girl in question nowhere to be seen as Val cleaned some blood off Danny's cheek with a grin.

“I don’t know where she went, but I know she is still in my house. Tune in next time I find her because she better have some money to pay me back for my lego set. Thanks for stopping to watch this episode of mine and until next time, don’t let the ghosts get ya.”

“That was pretty interesting.” Dick said as he stole a cookie from Tim’s plate. “Are all his videos like that?” Tim didn’t even blink at his brother's sudden appearance as he moved to type out a comment.

“For the most part, ya. He’s a shit poster, his content is just a tun of stuff that is so outrageous and realistic but clearly not real.”

‘That fight gave off peak sibling energy. It’s giving, I’m gonna fight my sibling to the death because of one slight inconvenience.’

Jason hummed as he picked his book back up, dropping down in front of the couch to reread Pride and Prejudice. “Ya he was definitely fighting his little sister. He held back too much and she wasn’t pulling her punches.”

“Only Drake would spend his time watching pointless videos.” Damien huffed, causing Tim to roll his eyes.

“Awe Dami, you know Tim is on mandatory rest. No work of any kind.” Dick grinned before jumping up, wrapping his arms around Damien and dragging him down onto the couch.

“Richard!! Let me go this instant!!” Damien screamed struggling to get away from his octopus of an older brother.

“No! I need my little brother cuddles and I need them from my Dami! No escape for you now.” Damian kept fighting Dick’s hold for the next twenty-five minutes while Tim put another of Danny’s videos on and rewatched it with Jason and Dick watching as well. The video in question was one where Danny went through a locker with his friends and went back in time to when his school first opened. Jason snorted, commenting on them making everything black and white. Danny meets a seemingly see-through kid named Sidney Poindexter and it ends with the two of them having a dance off.

“Bruce, why the fuck are your kids watching a video of a kid dancing with an Infinite Relams ghost?” Tim paused, staring blankly at his computer screen before turning to look at Bruce and John Constantine. “Wow holy shit, the Infinite Realms rarely interact with us since Luthor let the Anti-Ecto Acts pass. Yet that kid is interacting with one like their friends.”

“You’re saying this shits real?” Jason asked, closing his book looking at the screen more interested.

“Language Master Jason.” Alfred said as he walked in from a tray of tea for everyone.

“Sorry Alfred.” John nodded as he moved closer, eyes trained on Poindexter.

“If it is not real it is still more similar than could be possible. They’ve definitely had interactions with the Realms.”

“Wait, what are the Anti-Ecto Acts?” Tim asked his attention zeroing in on John.

“Well fuck, you don’t know? It affects like all of you, thought for sure you’d know. Shit this is gonna take so long to explain. We’re gonna have to call a JL meeting for this explanation because I’m not doing it twice.”

Of Meetings and Musings

#danny phantom aus #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc au #dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #batman #tim drake #dc universe #dcxdp

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tightjeansjavi · 10 months ago

Text

warm me up

A/N: the voices won this round! @strang3lov3 & @speckledemerald also, this was my first time writing game!joel 👀 this could also be show!joel if that's what you're into! This fic really got away from me today and I didn't think it would be nearly as long as I planned it to be..but that's just sometimes how things work out 😉 huge thank u to Bug for making me this cute lil mood board and I LOVE the deers!!🤍

~word count: 3.3k~

Summary: while on patrol, you and Joel find yourselves caught in a treacherous snowstorm.

Pairing I game!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: smut (explicit & implicit) enemies to lovers, implied age gap (non-specific) consent, cock warming, one sleeping bag trope, close proximity, using one's body warmth for survival, denial of feelings, mean!joel, grumpy!joel, reader is a spitfire and gets under Joel's skin easily, joel has a big cock! He is a big big man! teasing, banter, sexual tension, fluff, foul language, pet names: (darlin, sweetheart, and princess) reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING!

Joel is freezing, shaking like a goddamn leaf. It’s ironic, given his disposition. You should have tried to retrace your steps back to Jackson hours ago, but the winter was unforgiving, and the two of you have found yourselves in a real pickle; a frozen one.

“I told you that we were going to end up getting lost out here, Joel.” You grumble alongside him with your arms crossed over your chest. Your teeth are chattering, and it’s grinding his gears.

“We ain’t fuckin’ lost, sweetheart.” He gruffs back and adjusts his rifle strap along his shoulder. “I know where I’m goin.’”

You scoff at this because if he did know where he was going, you wouldn’t be fucking lost in a fucking blizzard right now!

“Right. I’m sure you do know where you’re going, Joel.” You mutter sarcastically under your breath.

He whips around to face you, cheeks speckled in red from the cold and even in the lowlight, you can see individual snowflakes sticking to his lashes.

“Alright, miss ‘I know everything.’ Which way do you think we should go?” He awaits your answer with a cocked brow and his lips pursed together. They’re severely cracked and on the verge of bleeding from the bitter cold.

“Not the direction we’re currently headed, that’s for damn sure! Let’s just fucking turn around and retrace our steps.” You bite back and watch the way that his jaw ticks from your tone. God, you’re a real thorn in this man’s side.

“Retrace our steps?” He laughs, shaking his head to the side and sucks in a harsh cold breath of air into his lungs. “The snow has covered up our tracks, you idiot.” He’s so fucking condescending, and you’ve just about had enough with his shit attitude for one day. Your blood is positively boiling under your thick layer of clothes, and you’d much rather succumb to Mother Nature and her wrath than spend another minute with this insufferable, annoying, mean, and painfully handsome man.

“Fuck you, Joel. I’m retracing my steps whether you have a say in it or not!” You snap and turn on your heel before you feel a rough, gloved-clad hand grasp your upper arm and yank you back towards a hard and very solid presence at your back.

“Quit your fuckin’ yappin!’” He barks against the shell of your ear. His voice is rasped, crackling like a roaring fire. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere without me, you got that?!” His grip around your arm only tightens when you tried to shove him away, but he’s built like a fucking steel fridge, and you’re no match for him.

“Then stop being a fucking asshole, Joel! I’d rather freeze to death out here than spend another minute with you!”

You mean every word. Well, you think that you do.

He sneers at your attempt to wound him with your words, as if a man with a heart made out of pure concrete can possibly be affected by the means of your figurative little daggers. They ricochet off his body and fall to the snow, disappearing under a sheet of white. “I wouldn’t have to be an asshole if you would just fuckin’ listen for once in your life! God, when we get back, and we will, I’m tellin’ Tommy that I ain’t ever goin’ on patrol with your ass again.”

His steel-like grip loosens when you don’t immediately bite back like he expects you too. He wants you to fight back, to call him names and send his own blood boiling because at least then he feels alive.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way.” You nearly whisper and bite down on the inside of your cheek, tasting harsh copper on your tongue.

“Fine.” He agrees and finally releases your arm. “We’re gonna wait out this damn storm for the night, and then tomorrow we’ll retrace our steps home. Who knows, sweetheart. Tommy might have already sent out a search party for us.”

“Let’s fucking hope that’s the case. The sooner this storm lets up, the better.” You think you’re going to cry, but you push your tears down as far as you possibly can. You have to conserve your energy, after all. Besides, Joel Miller isn’t worth your precious tears. Not even close.

He begins to survey the surrounding area. The woods offered some reliable cover with the thick evergreens acting as a shield from the treacherous wind. The snow is still falling in large flakes, but he might be able to get a fire going if he’s lucky.

“We should..probably y’know, share a sleepin’ bag for extra heat.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, feeling kinda silly in the moment because what did he have to be nervous for? His reasoning for sharing warmth was logical. It was just his survival instincts kicking in, right?

You, on the other hand, were unfazed by his request. Sure, it made perfect sense to share body heat with this man. Why the hell did he look so distraught over it - weirdo.

“Did Bear Grylls teach you that, Miller?” You look at him with a smirk playing on your lips. “If that’s the case, then we should probably sleep naked.”

That feeling that had laid dormant for so long, was beginning to reawaken and defrost at the thought of your warm, pliant, soft body being tucked up around him in close proximity. You were annoying, sure, and he could hardly tolerate your presence, but he couldn’t deny that you were a thing of beauty, and neither could his cock.

“No. Some reality TV star didn’t teach me the survival skills that I know, sweetheart. I’m jus’ that good.” He sounds cocky, full of himself and perhaps there’s a bit of eagerness detected in his tone? Maybe the dead giveaway is the way his cheeks flush, and this time it isn’t because of the cold.

You shrug and drop your pack and sleeping bag at your boots. “Whatever you say, Joel.”

He clears his throat and drops his hand from where it was resting against the back of his neck. He stares at you for a second longer than he would have liked to, and then announces that he’s going to go find some wood for a fire, and for you to stay put.

You wave him off and unroll your sleeping bag with a huff and begin to mentally question how the hell is this grizzly of a man going to fit inside of your sleeping bag? Oh well! Time to defy all the odds that have been stacked against you.

When Joel returns, he finds you already tucked away under the sleeping bag with your clothes neatly folded on top of your backpack. He managed to find a few fallen tree branches that would make good kindling, and some thicker logs for the base of the fire.

He avoids making direct eye contact with you as he crouches down and constructs a fire that he hopes to god will keep the two of you warm throughout the cold night ahead.

You already have taken notice of his suddenly quiet and almost docile demeanor with just your head visible and peeking out of the sleeping bag

“Are you sure that fire is going to last the night, Joel?”

His shoulders and back immediately tense from your question and you can already picture him clenching his jaw and muttering under his breath.

“Ain’t no tellin’ if it will last the night, sweetheart.” He stokes at the ember glowing logs with the end of a spare stick before looking over his shoulder at you. “Y’comfy in there?” His voice rasps, dipping down an octave and sounding much, much, lower.

“Yep.” You chirp. “Nice and cozy in here, Joel. Did I mention it’s very, very warm?”

He snorts under his breath, tearing his gaze away from you and focuses back on the fire. “Yeah. I bet it is.”

What you really want to say is: and it would be even warmer if you were here with me. But you refrain, and instead bury your face further into the contained warmth emitting from the sleeping bag.

Joel is hesitating, and that part couldn’t be anymore obvious based on his tense stature. Maybe he could just accept losing feeling in his fingers and toes instead of crossing that boundary with you. Or, he could man up and deal with the immediate feelings that would come as soon as his hands would inevitably touch your warm skin.

“Joel?”

Your voice tears him away from his thoughts briefly. “Hm?”

“Aren’t you..cold?”

Freezing. My cock and balls are about to fuckin’ fall off.

“M’fine.” He insists.

“So goddamn stubborn.” He hears you mutter under your breath followed by the sound of the sleeping bag zipper being pulled down. “Get in here before you freeze to death. I’m serious, Joel.”

“Fuck off. I said m’fine.” He grumbles and turns over his shoulder to look at you once more. His eyes catch a sliver of skin, a nipple peeking out from under the fabric as you were sitting up. His head whips around so fast he swears that his brain just got rattled around in his skull.

“Would you just be a fucking man and take your clothes off and get in here?”

So impatient, he thinks.

“You jus’ wanna see me naked.” He quips back.

“For fuck sakes, Joel. I just don’t want you to freeze out here. Is that so hard to believe?”

Yes.

“Jus’..don’t peek. Alright?” He slowly stands up from his place alongside the fire as he starts to shuck his heavy coat off his shoulders.

“Fine. I won’t peek, okay? Scouts honor.” You promise him and bring your hand over your eyes to cover them.

He’s grumbling to himself the whole time as he begins to undress. He bitches about the cold, his cock, and his nearly frozen toes as you listen quietly to the sound of his belt buckle being undone. He does not fold his clothes neatly like you did and instead they are left in a pile near the fire. He dashes for your sleeping bag, yanking the zipper down in a fury and climbs inside.

It’s a tight fit indeed with barely any room for him to squeeze in but he makes it work.

“Fuck!” His yell is muffled as he struggles to make himself comfortable in what little space he has. “Fuckin’ cannot believe I actually listened to you.” He rubs his hands together, blowing hot air between them.

“Oh, shut up, you big baby.” You stifle a laugh which earns you a displeased glare. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you just would have—”

“Do not start with me, sweetheart. Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” His brows furrow and his jaw is clenched so tightly, you’re shocked that it hasn’t shattered.

“You’re all bark and no bite, Joel.” You mutter back and roll over onto your side so your back is facing him. You close your eyes and fully intend to get some much needed and deserved sleep, but the man beside you is squirming and making a big fuss.

“Darlin�� I know you ain’t want anythin’ to do with a man like me, but it was your idea for us to get naked under here..so all I’m askin’ is—”

“Just do whatever it is you need to do, Joel. Can you just be quiet about it? All I want to do right now is sleep, and your fussing about is making that really fucking difficult for me to achieve.” You snap.

“Are you givin’ me permission, sweetheart? Cus’ the last thing I want is for you to bite my damn fingers off if I touch you. So as long as it’s alright with you..” he trails off and you take matters into your own hands by reaching behind you and finding his cold hands and yanking them around your body. You couldn’t help but yelp from the stark difference of temperature from your body heat to his hands.

“You’re fucking freezing, Joel.” You state the obvious and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I didn’t exactly have time to warm them up, sweetheart. My apologies that my hands aren’t at the right temperature for ya.” You think you hear him snicker under his breath, but maybe it’s just his close proximity that makes you hear things.

“Whatever. It’s fine.” You reassure him.

His hands are big, huge, and the skin on his palms and fingers are rough. The feeling overall is quite pleasant, and soon enough his hands don’t feel like an ice block - quite the opposite actually.

He grunts softly as attempts to make himself comfortable without pressing himself into your back. It’s proving to be a challenge as it is, and he has this feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, that this challenge is going to get the best of him.

“What’s wrong now, Joel?” You try to ignore the way his thumbs are gently stroking the space between the curve of your breasts and under your rib cage, and how his touch on your skin is beginning to light a fire in your belly, and between your thighs. His touch is gentle and it’s making your head spin with need and desire.

“I jus’—I don’t wanna make y’feel uncomfortable s’all.” He admits, voice rasping deeply. “I’m fuckin’ freezin’, darlin’ but I don’t wanna—”

“Just shut up and stick your dick in me, Joel. You’ll be warmer then.” You surprise both yourself and him.

His meaty palms squeeze you gently, fingertips kneading the flesh as he inhales a shaky, yet audible breath. The tight confines of your shared sleeping bag suddenly feel ten times tighter, and hotter. It’s suffocating in a delicious sense that you and Joel are stuck here together in this rather..unfortunate situation. You hate him, and he hates you, yet the thought of his thick cock nestling between your thighs sounds like absolute heaven on a plate right now.

Joel thinks he’s on the verge of passing out from your vulgar statement. It’s been god knows how long since he’s felt the warmth of a woman’s body around his cock. It’s been too goddamn long, he thinks.

“..well, if you’re askin.’” He whispers as his hands maneuver your body to press back against him. One strong arm anchors itself around your waist, engaging you in a warm hold when you feel his hard, broad chest pressing against your back. You haven’t even seen his cock, yet you already can tell that he’s big. The word big might not even be able to describe the massive size that is Joel Miller.

“This doesn’t mean anything. Right, Joel?” You ask through the thick growing tension that coils itself around you and the burly man beside you like a snake.

“Doesn’t mean nothin’ at all, sweetheart. Jus’ sharin’ body heat for survival, like you said.” He rasps and blows a hot puff of air against the back of your neck as his strong thighs wrap around your own. Even this man’s feet are fucking huge in every sense.

Y’know what they say about big feet? An even bigger—heart. I was going to say heart.

“Okay.” You squeak out as you relax further into his hold around you.

“Can you jus’ let me know if you’re uncomfortable at any point? Cus’ if that’s the case, I’ll slip right out. No questions asked, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his apparent nervousness. It was sweet, in a Joel-like fashion. Hell must have frozen over right then and there because the Joel you had grown so accustomed to, was anything but sweet.

“Wow. You sure know how to romance a lady up, Miller. Did Tommy teach you how to do that?” You couldn’t help but wiggle your ass back against him. The thought of reaching down between your thighs and touching yourself crossed your mind, but you refrained.

He laughed, and it sent a wave of arousal gushing like a river because his laugh was beautiful. It was music to your fucking ears.

“Shut the fuck up.” His teeth grazed at the spot where your neck meets your jaw. He bit down, drawing blood to the surface of his indentation in your skin. “I taught Tommy everythin’ he needs to know on romancin’ a woman. Don’t get it twisted, sweetheart.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, big boy.” You nearly purred. Your back arched towards him, a suppressed moan desperate to be set free when his teeth marked you.

“I think someone is a bit too eager over this whole arrangement that we have found ourselves in.” He comments in a low rasp and his hand drifts down from your hip and nudges your thighs apart with a practiced ease. His heavy cock pressed firmly against your lower back as he let out another praising grunt from between his lips.

“Stop playing with me, Joel. I don’t want to be played with.” You hiss under your breath when you feel the backside of his knuckles slowly drag through the seam of your cunt.

“Y’sure about that, sweetheart? If you don’t wanna be played with, then what do you want?”

Frankly, he’s taking too long for your liking and you decided then and there to take matters into your own hands; literally. You reach between your bodies before he even has a chance to protest as you blindly search for his cock. Your warm palm barely fits around the girth of him.

“I want you to take your cock and stretch me open, Joel. Think you can handle that? Best not keep a lady waiting. It’s awfully rude.” You tsk under your breath.

He growls as his hips buck upwards into your hand like he’s never felt the touch of a woman’s palm before in his life.

“Fine. I like a woman that knows exactly what she wants, anyway. Won’t keep ya waitin’ any longer, princess.”

Joel Miller is a man of his word and just when you think he’s bluffing, you feel the thick press of the head of his cock sliding through your slick folds and notching at your entrance.

He groans against your ear, jaw clenching, and teeth grinding because you’re tight and hugging him like a fucking fist.

“Jesus fuck. That’s a tight cunt if I’ve ever felt one.” He rasps as you slowly pull him in further at the rate that he pushes his hips. Soon, he’s bottomed out with his hips firmly pressed into your ass. His legs stay tangled through yours as his arms come to wrap you up in his hold once more.

“Fuck.” You breathe, lashes fluttering as he stretches you open. He fits snuggly, almost as if your pussy was making a home for his cock to stay there awhile, all cozy and warm with you. “See? Was that so fucking difficult?”

He shakes his head and you swear you can feel him grinning against your skin. “Nope. It wasn’t difficult at all, sweetheart. In fact, I think I’ll stay here awhile.” Yeah, he’s definitely enjoying this.

You smile at this, burying your face into the solid muscle of his bicep, pressing the lightest kiss there. Maybe you even nibbled on it, and maybe he chuckled and pulled you in even closer.

“Stay as long as you’d please, Joel.” You whisper softly.

Come morning the embers from the fire had long since died out, and the storm had since passed. You and Joel were still a bunch of tangled limbs and connected warmth by the time Tommy and the rest of patrol had found you.

Joel had since grown soft with his cock still buried deep within your warmth and his face was buried in your neck with peaceful snores slipping past his plush lips. His eyes barely peeked open when he heard familiar voices muffled, yet nearby. Tommy had just brushed a bit of snow off the top of the sleeping bag and pulled the zipper down when he was met with a sight that he wasn’t expecting.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He chuckled and shot his big brother a cheeky wink.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤍

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everythingne · 1 year ago

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christmas in monaco - cl16

You are Charles Leclerc’s best kept secret. Twin of his best friend, a racing prodigy, and his secret girlfriend of two years. The first six months had been secret, just to make sure you’d actually survive a relationship, but then Max said something to Charles that made the idea of ever telling him impossible. So you end up here, half in your brothers apartment half in your soon to be fiancés, trying to celebrate two Christmases in one day.

verstappen!reader x charles leclerc, secret dating/brothers best friend

warnings/notes: cursing, jos is there for a bit in the beginning, poorly translated dutch and french, danny is in red bull bc i said so

next chapter..

Warm. That was the best way you could explain the way the bed felt as hot breaths fanned across your chest from the head tucked against your neck. One arm draped across your waist, pulling you closer as you stir and reach up to turn off your phone's alarm. The second arm sleepily comes to wrap around your chest, dragging you back into the warmth of your two year secret.

"No," Charles sighs, eyes still closed as kisses are peppered along your neck and jaw, "Don't go..."

"I have to, Char." You murmur, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you sit up and look at your still very sleepy boyfriend who blinks wearily at you and the sun that halos you, "We don't need Max getting suspicious as to why I'm never home."

"I wish we could tell him." Charles sits up next to you, a hand coming up to fix some loose hairs that were sticking up at odd angles against your head. You didn't answer, just humming. A year and a half ago, during the summer break, you and Charles planned on telling Max. He and Charles got along like a house on fire, there was really no reason you wouldn't have been able to tell your brother about your little blooming relationship.

And then Max had said something to you and Charles, moments before you had planned to tell him, about how you were strictly forbidden from dating any Formula racers. For no specific reason. You had played it off like a joke that night, but once you'd returned to Charles apartment a few nights later you realized just how much your brothers words had affected the both of you.

So, you agreed that night it was (questionably) better to keep it secret.

But Charles and Max knew each other like the backs of their hands. They had been destined from the start to be together, even back in the days of them literally hating each other on the track. You had tagged along with your brother, never driving because of your fathers beliefs, before moving away to live with your mother around the age of fifteen. You and Charles had only reconnected when he debuted in F1, and instantly clicked, even before he and Max did.

Somehow through the busyness of your brothers seasons, he had been distracted long enough for him to not catch on. It was even better when you had moved in with him in Monaco and established a good, core friend group you used as your excuse most times. All of them knew if Max called and asked, to say you guys were together last night since you told them every time you went to go see Charles. It felt foolproof.

“You really have to go?” Charles whines, sitting up finally and stretching his shoulder out, “You can’t stay for breakfast or anything?”

Humming out a maybe as you check the time, you roll to your side and then curse, giving Charles a quick peck on the lips before shoving him off of you and down onto the bed. He crashes amongst the blankets and such tangled together from the way you both toss and turn, nearly whacking his head on the headboard as you scamper to your feet and the cool breeze through the window makes goosebumps run along your skin. Leaning down, you grab your jean shorts off the floor and a hoodie you think is one of Charles' old ones you'd been wearing around.

“Ow?!” his voice echoes behind you and you throw a sorry over your shoulder, scrambling to find your bag and other items in his apartment. Half of your life was here, so you were able to find a spare pair of your socks in his drawer.

Getting to his feet, Charles grabs his shirt from the floor and tugs it over his head as he asks, “What is happening?"

“My dad is visiting today and I forgot I had to leave early!" You curse, jumping to slip on one of your sneakers and bending to fix the parts of the shoe that fold under your heel, "Fuck fuck fuck—!”

"Jos?" He inquires, pausing mid movement to scrunch his face at you. As far as Charles was aware, you and Max had some sort of huge blow up fight with your father and now you both no longer spoke to him.

"No, Charlie, my secret second father." You deadpan, turning around as you toss your bag over one shoulder, "Yes, Jos! Who else?!"

"Sorry!" He apologizes and comes besides you to give you a kiss to your hairline as he wipes a bit of fallen makeup off your cheek, "I thought he wasn't visiting this year?"

You know he means to say, I thought you and Max emancipated from him.

"I thought the same." You huff as you step back from his grasp to find your car keys on the bedside table.

He knows you mean to say, Max can't say no to him. It's a problem.

Charles just hums in response, and when you throw your purse over his shoulder and capture his lips in a quick goodbye kiss before rushing out of his apartment, a small smile peeks across his lips. Soles squeaking in the dew covered grass, you make your way to your parked car. Searching the streets as you walk and dipping between two cars when a guy who slightly looks like he could be Max passes, and then you continue down the road.

Monaco was small. It was a little country, beautiful and bursting at the seams with life, but still so small. So, seeing Max, especially if you were out and about, was likely. Every precaution was taken, and luckily your best friend Jolie lived in the apartment building next to Charles', so you could just park your car there to not raise suspicions.

Getting in your car you slam the door, cursing when you see the missed calls and messages from Max.

And... Daniel?

"I'm back!" You shout, shutting the front door and taking off your shoes and setting them on the shoe rack as you walk in. There's a tense feeling in the apartment and you set your backpack on the ground as Jos smiles.

"Ah, Y/n, how are you?" He says and you cross the room to give your father a quick hug.

"Fine fine, I slept in on accident, otherwise I would've gone with Max to get you at the airport." You sit on the couch next to Max, who's jaw is locked tighter than you've seen it before. The two of you share a look of 'why is this guy here' before your father waves off your words.

"It's fine, how's the degree going?"

"Good good, I'm working on finishing up my degree in Sports Management right now. Charles has been trying to set me up with an internship for Ferrari since Red Bull filled their internships for the season already." You cross one leg over the other and your father nods. Luckily your able to hold civil conversation with him until he takes a rideshare back to the airport. You and Max groan, flopping down on the couches as soon as he's gone and you bury your head in your hands. A typical Verstappen household afternoon.

It's fucking hot in Abu Dhabi. Though not as bad as Qatar, you're still sweating through your thin sundress. Wandering into Red Bull's paddock you're greeted by your brother, and then quite literally--and not anyway discreetly, escorted to the drivers room by none other than Daniel Ricciardo who claims he has a sports management question for you.

You know it's not about sports management when he locks the door to the drivers room and turns to you with eyes wide, mouth open in some sort of half grin half shocked expression.

"Charles fucking Leclerc?!" He hisses when you make a vague motion for him to explain and a groan leaves your throat involuntarily. You had been so safe for two years and of course it's Daniel of all people who figures it out. The only other guy who your brother trusts with his life.

"Danny you can't say anything, also why were you even in Monaco?" You snap back, poking Daniel in his throat right above his Red Bull logo on the collar of the fireproofs, your nail digging into the skin there.

"I was stopping by for media stuff," He puts his hands up, stepping back from you, "and how about you answer my question about Charles?"

"I was just--there?" You try and Daniel crosses his arms and looks at you with the most incredulous look in his eyes, head cocked and everything as he laughs.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Well, I--augh, okay," You groan, sitting on the back of the couch in the drivers room, "this isn't exactly easy to say. I'm kinda not trying to tell my brother about this?"

"Woah woah, Max doesn't know?" If Daniel could look more shocked at this point, he does.

"No and he can't know because he'd kill Charles." Your voice is small, frustratedly bringing heat to your cheeks. Other than your small group of friends from Monaco, and some from back home, you hadn't told anyone about this yet, "Do you promise you won't say anything?"

"I can pretend I saw nothing if that will make you feel better?" Daniel offers and you shake your head curling your hand around the edge of the dress you wear.

"Charles and I..." You huff, crossing your ankles, "have been dating for... two years now? I practically live at his apartment in Monaco when I'm not with Max and Kelly. And Max, apparently, doesn't want me dating any drivers so we... can't exactly... tell Max."

"Two and a half years? You've kept this a secret for two and half years and I'm the one who figured it out?" Daniel scoffs, "Honestly, Y/n, I'm impressed."

"Thanks? But I... I don't know what to do, Danny! We wanna tell Max so bad, but if I do I risk ruining everything!" You bury your head in your hands, groaning, "I can't lose Charles, but I can't lose Max either."

"Do you really think Max was serious about that rule?" Daniel asks, sitting next to you, "Because you're a fully grown adult, so like... how much control does he really have over who you date?"

"Well, I am viewed as an extension of my brother so therefore he gets a bit of a say. And if people find out the baby sister of Max Verstappen is dating Charles Leclerc?"

"Point taken." Daniel hums, "Media nightmare."

"Yep." You stand, pacing the room as you talk with your hands, something you'd picked up from Charles at some point, "there have been a thousand times I've wanted to say something! Thousands! Everytime the two of them are together, I can't ever imagine Max being upset about it. But then I get that little gnawing feeling in my gut. I just... can't do it. Because... if I do, and it ends in disaster, I don't know if I'll be able to handle it."

"And if it doesn't end in disaster?" Daniel inquires after you pause. You turn slowly to face him, watching as he tilts his head to further push his question. You've dreamed of it. Finally being able to tell Max everything about it, Charles had made it clear to you he was itching to tell his practical best friend too, and it would clear the main argument you and Charles had.

You laugh, "I'd be the happiest person alive."

y/nverstappen made a new post !

liked by maxverstappen, danielricciardo, lewishamilton, and 238k others...

y/nverstappen: mon nounours <3 j'adore les fêtes

maxverstappen: who?????

⤷ maxverstappen: also when the fuck did you learn french?

⤷ y/nverstappen: i have a tutor or two

user1: omg baby verstappen has a boy???

danielricciardo: 'i can't say anything' and yet u CAN post that. ITS NOT EVEN SNEAKY??

⤷ y/nverstappen: a moment of weakness i admit. ALSO YES THE FUCK IT IS DANIEL

⤷ user2: danny tell us what u know

charlesleclerc: babys first rolex?

⤷ y/nverstappen: im too afraid to wear it !! i dont want it to break or get lost or stolen 😵‍💫

lewishamilton: rolex + bracelet combo perfection

user3: i need to know who shes dating.

charlesleclerc made a new post!

liked by y/nverstappen, arthurleclerc, danielricciardo, and 289k more...

charlesleclerc: deux ans de toi, mon étoile. pour toujours.

maxverstapen: two years?? and I don't know her???

⤷ charlesleclerc: look i can keep a secret, surprisingly.

danielricciardo: good man

user1: CHARLES SOFT LAUNCH???

arthurleclerc: oh so you left out the part where you've been dating her FOR TWO YEARS??? CHARLES???

⤷ charlesleclerc: oops !

user4: 'two years of you, my star. forever' im going to SCREAM

liked by charlesleclerc

carlossainz: am i allowed to say who she is yet?

⤷ charlesleclerc: no and i still owe you for not locking the door

⤷ user2: HELP???

⤷ user3: poor carlos has been scarred for life.

⤷ carlossainz: honestly it was kinda funny

#f1 fanfic #formula one fic #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc imagine #max verstappen fanfic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #nicole wrote this

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 3 months ago

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what compels you about the Lord howe island stick insect?

its supposed extinction was such a mundane tragedy, this entire population of insects on an isolated island wiped out by the unintentional introduction of rats aboard a ship. it's a fairly common byproduct of colonization, native species being outcompeted by rivals they never should have encountered at all. you so rarely hear about insects impacted by it though, because so few people care about insects even when they're dying out completely.

except they didn't die out. they were thought to be extinct for almost a century, until in 2003 researchers confirmed a surviving population on, of all places, Ball's Pyramid, a volcanic and inhospitable spire of rock twelve miles from Lord Howe Island. not an insurmountable distance, but pretty vast if you're a flightless stick bug. how did they even get out there? no one knows. but they were there, just 24 insects who were supposed to be dead all huddling under a shrub together.

researchers took four of them back to Australia to start breeding programs. at the Melbourne Zoo they've bred them in the thousands now, and they've started contingency programs at a few other zoos worldwide. they're still considered critically endangered, at tremendous risk of extinction, but there are cautious plans to start reintroducing them to Lord Howe Island, when it can be ascertained that the island will be safe for them. there are still European rats that need to be exterminated, and a fungus threatens the plants that the stick insects rely on. there's still a population on Ball's Pyramid, but it's perilously small. their future in the wild isn't certain by any means.

but they're alive, and there are thousands more of them than there would be if no one had gone looking for them. if all the stick insects on Ball's Pyramid get sick or drown or are eaten by seagulls tomorrow, there will still be Lord Howe Island stick insects in the world, and it's all because some people decided that these bugs deserve a second chance and dedicated their entire lives to giving them one. Paige Howorth, the director of invertebrate care and conservation at the San Diego Zoo, the first zoo to successfully breed the insects outside of Australia, said this:

My most vivid memory has to be the very surreal experience of flying back to the San Diego Zoo in 2016 with 300 critically endangered Lord Howe Island stick insect eggs in my backpack.... I’ll never forget counting out the eggs with the Melbourne wildlife health and care teams, who surface-sterilized them pre-flight, so that they could come home with me with a lowered risk upon hatching. The idea that we were finally bringing this incredibly rare species back to San Diego to make their global population a little more secure made me hug that backpack closer. And yes, I did take them to the bathroom with me on the flight. (x)

whenever people start rambling about how humanity is inherently evil or selfish or whatever I think about shit like this. a woman hugging a backpack full of 300 eggs close for a 13 hour flight, just to give some bugs a chance. imagine.

they're also called tree lobsters, which I think is just rad.

#tree lobster

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vroomvro0mferrari · 2 months ago

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LN4 | Vexing Vacation – Part 3

Summary: When you agreed to join your brother on his vacation, sharing a room with his best friend wasn’t part of the plan. Now, that you’re constantly stuck with Lando and his relentless teasing, you’re not sure whether you want to strangle him or kiss him.

Lando Norris x Fewtrell!Reader, one-bed trope, a lot of banter and a hint of forced proximity :)

WC: 3.5K

Warnings: mentions of sex/sexual insinuations, alcohol consumption, and cursing

Part 1 | Part 2 | Masterlist | Part 4

When Y/N woke up the next morning, she was relieved to find Lando on his own side of the bed. She turned on her back and stretched her body, feeling the satisfying crack of her spine, before sitting up. Lando was still asleep with his back to her, lying on his side. He was cuddled up with the duvet, his head buried in the pillow. He looked almost… sweet. His messy, tousled curls seemed more unruly and softer than usual, tempting her to run her fingers through them, but she quickly shook the thought away and slipped out of bed.

She grabbed some clothes to change into before heading into the bathroom, slamming the door louder than necessary. She washed up, did her hair and put some mascara on, making sure to create some extra noise. She’d rather Lando wake up from her noise than have to shake him awake. It was no use, however; he was still fast asleep when she stepped out the bathroom.

“Lando,” she called, awkwardly standing a few metres from the bed. “Lando,” she repeated, “you need to get up, we’re having breakfast in a bit.”

Lando looked up groggily, reminding her of yesterday morning when he also had to rub the sleepiness from his eyes. She could see the lines from the pillow on his face as he looked up at her.

“What?”

“We need to go down for breakfast in a bit.”

He muttered something to himself before stretching his body and sitting up. He sighed tiredly but got ready nonetheless. Y/N waited for him on the couch and they headed downstairs fifteen minutes later.

Max and Pietra were there before them, already making small talk and discussing the plans for the day. When the two joined the table, they were greeted cheerfully.

“Good morning!” Pietra smiled brightly. “How did you sleep?”

“Just fine, thank you!” Y/N answered with a sweet smile, settling into her seat.

“So, remember how yesterday we said we’d go to the beach?” Pietra continued, and Y/N nodded. “Well, there’s been a small change of plans.” Y/N tilted her head, egging Pietra on. “Max and I would like to spend the day together, just the two of us, so you’re on your own for the day!” She brought it enthusiastically, but the awkward smile on her face showed that she knew it was not appreciated.

The kind smile on Y/N’s face fell at the announcement, her eyes widening. “Are you serious?” She choked out. She needed Pietra or Max there, if just as a buffer. She barely survived the time alone with Lando while they were in their room, and now she had to spend an entire day with just him? That could not end well.

“Yeah, we wanted to have some time to ourselves, no third wheels,” Max interjected and Y/N rolled her eyes, but she understood. She wouldn’t constantly want her brother there either if she were on vacation with her boyfriend.

“That’s fine, I’ll just go explore by myself,” she said determinedly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Max said concerned, but Y/N dismissed him. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“I’d prefer if you’d stick with Lando. You don’t know the area, Y/N. What if something happens?”

Y/N sighed, about to rebut that Lando didn’t know the area either, when the man himself interfered, “I agree, actually. We’ll also have more fun together than alone.”

“I won’t,” she muttered, glaring at Lando although she knew she couldn’t change their minds – whether she wanted to or not, no matter that she had passed twenty, had a university degree and lived on her own, it was decided for her that she and Lando would spend the day together.

“It’s settled, then!” Max cheered, taking another bite of his pancake and smiling around the table.

“Don’t sulk,” Lando whispered in her ear, “it’ll be fun, like we’re on our first date.”

Y/N looked horrified at his comment, watching him in shock. She spluttered, “Uh, no. It won’t be.”

Lando merely winked before he continued eating his breakfast.

As soon as they finished their food, Y/N and Lando went up to their room to collect their things. Y/N was digging through the mess that was her suitcase, searching for the right bag when Lando muttered something about needing to use the bathroom real quick. She paid him no mind, continuing her search for the bag until she realised this was her chance; she could just leave right now and spend the day alone – no annoying people, just her, her book and a few drinks. It sounded like the most wonderful day.

She no longer cared about the purses and quickly grabbed one that would fit her book before quietly leaving the room. She nearly ran to the elevator, impatiently pressing the button until it arrived. Lando was nowhere near her when she stepped inside – she’d made it. She grinned to herself, excited for the relaxed day ahead of her as she watched the doors close. But just before they could slide shut, a hand poked out in between. She stared as the doors slowly opened back up, and made eye contact with Lando.

“Oh, no, you don’t.”

She let out a frustrated groan at the sight of him, throwing her head back.

“Did you really think you could get away that easily?” Lando asked as he stepped onto the elevator.

“Yes.”

He laughed at the seriousness in her voice, shaking his head.

“It was a good attempt, but not good enough.”

He had to admit he was impressed at the commitment. He didn’t foresee that she’d actually try to run away from him, but he didn’t mind it. Once again, she had done the unexpected and kept him on his toes – he liked that about her.

– – – – –

The drive to the nearby town was relatively silent, as was the walk through the cobbled streets. Lando, in his typical fashion, walked close – too close for Y/N’s liking. She wanted to shake off the feeling of his lingering presence next to her, but it was impossible as he kept in stride with her, his shoulder and arm brushing against her every so often. When they passed a small cafe, Lando stopped.

“I think I’ll go grab a tea,” he announced, “do you want anything?”

Y/N thought for a second. “I’ll have tea as well,” she said. Lando nodded and entered the shop while Y/N trailed after him. “but I can get it myself,” she added as he joined the line in front of the register. Lando ignored her, ordered two English Breakfast teas and paid without hesitation while Y/N was still scrambling to pull her wallet out of her bag.

“I can pay for my own drink,” she said when she realised she was too late.

“I know,” Lando replied, “but I’m a gentleman, remember?” He said, handing her one of the cups.

Y/N rolled her eyes at the ridiculous remark, but couldn’t help the smile slipping onto her face. They found a spot to sit on the terrace where they could enjoy their drink in the sun. She took a sip of her tea.

“Do you always pay for your dates?” She asked, her tone sarcastic.

Lando raised a brow, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “My dates? Is this a date to you?”

“I… I didn’t mean it like that,” she stuttered. Her face flushed immediately at the smug smile on his face. “You said it first!”

Lando just grinned, taking a sip of his tea while he casually leaned back in his chair. “So, you agree?” He asked her.

Y/N scoffed. “You’re delusional if you think I consider this a date. I’m stuck with you because Max and Pietra ditched us, remember?”

Lando hummed, and took another sip, still smiling teasingly. He wasn’t trying to annoy her, but a little teasing felt natural. He loved the way she looked when she was irritated – how her lips would slightly pout and the way her eyebrows would knit together as she searched for the perfect comeback. He loved her feisty personality, and that she kept him in check; he needed someone like that in his life to keep his ego from growing too big.

They finished their tea quickly, and explored the city together. They walked along the street, looking around in every store they passed. Y/N was surprised to find out Lando didn’t mind her habit; Max always hated shopping with her, constantly moping and rushing her along. Lando just walked beside her without a single complaint, even making suggestions and giving opinions sometimes.

The time they spent together was actually quite pleasant. Opposed to the past few days, the conversation flowed easily and Lando made her laugh instead of frustrating her with his provocative comments. However, one thing that annoyed her was how close Lando stayed to her the entire day; he always stuck to her side, arms touching every now and then whilst they walked, and he put a hand on her back every time they crossed the road.

It was driving her mad for two reasons: one, she was perfectly capable of crossing the street without being guided, and two, every time he touched her she got this tingly feeling that she didn’t trust – it made her flustered and caught her off guard, just like the moment he helped her up the day before. She didn’t like how she couldn’t really control the way her body reacted to him. It was truly maddening.

She thought maybe after a few hours things would turn back to normal; that he would start teasing her again and she’d become frustrated, but the bickering never came. When they went to dinner, just the two of them because Max and P wanted to have dinner together too, he continued to act in the same, unusual way. Y/N had never seen Lando act so kind and chivalrous – he completely threw her off. He pulled out her chair when they sat down, topped off the wine when he noticed her glass was almost empty, told the waiter there was a mistake with her food so she didn’t have to, and once again paid the bill with no hesitation.

She had never seen this side of Lando before. She was used to the annoying, cocky Lando, not the considerate, thoughtful, and – dare she say it – charming version of him. The entire day, he had acted like they were on a date, and though the idea should have made her uncomfortable, it didn’t. She hated herself for it.

– – – – –

After they finished their dinner, Y/N and Lando headed back to the hotel. Y/N had been texting with Pietra throughout the day, sending pictures of the cute stores and views, and the food they’d eaten, and talking about plans for the night. They had come to the conclusion that tonight would be the perfect night to go out. It was mainly Y/N who suggested it, needing something to distract her from Lando before it got out of hand – she couldn’t start liking him, no matter how kind and courteous he had been today.

When Y/N got back to her room, she shooed Lando out the door to annoy Max and told him to send Pietra her way. Not much later, they were getting ready together, talking about the date day her brother and his girlfriend had while applying their makeup. Y/N kept asking for details, hoping to ward off any questions about her day with Lando, but Pietra saw right through her and wouldn’t take it.

“So, enough about me. How was your day with Lando? You both survived, I’d say that’s a good sign, no?”

Y/N sighed, contemplating her answer. “It was weird. I don’t know what was going on with Lando, but he was so different from normal. He barely made any rude comments, and he was being… nice, I guess? I don’t really know what to think of it…”

Pietra was surprised at the answer, as anyone would be. “What did he do that was so weird?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t complain while I was shopping – like Max always does. He was constantly close to me; our arms touched like every other second when we walked and he kept touching my back whenever we crossed the road, and at dinner, he pulled out my chair and paid when we left… He was just different than usual.”

Pietra raised her eyebrow. “He kept touching you, hm?” She said suggestively as a smirk settled on her face.

Y/N turned away from the mirror to face Pietra. “Don’t be like that…”

“He was also very touchy during dinner yesterday, wasn’t he?”

“P,” Y/N said with a warning glance.

“Just saying…” Pietra trailed off, “You’d almost think he’s into you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at the suggestion, deciding to ignore it. “Are you ready? Let’s go?”

They left the room and met the boys downstairs before heading to the club. It was busy, but that was good – more men to choose from; more opportunities to distract herself from Lando. Y/N scanned the crowd while she followed her group to the bar. She got a drink, and did some shots with Pietra, before she turned to scan the crowd from her spot, looking for someone to approach.

“Are you coming to dance?” Pietra asked Y/N, while Max pulled her away from the bar.

“Later,” she responded.

Pietra nodded before she disappeared into the crowd. Y/N took a seat on one of the stools by the bar, and continued her search. She nearly threw up when she saw her brother basically grind on his girlfriend. You’d think the time they spent together today would be enough to keep such crude behaviours at bay, but apparently not.

“What are you doing?” Lando asked her.

“Just looking…”

Lando frowned. “For what?”

“What do you think? Do you remember what I came here to do?”

“Ah, a victim.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” she said, picking at her straw.

At Lando’s silence, she continued, “What? Jealous? I’m sure you can find some poor girl to go back with you—wait you need to go back to hers, you can’t have sex in our bed.”

Lando laughed at her, but she didn’t mind. Y/N had just found the perfect guy to go home with. She sent Lando away. “You need to go, otherwise he’ll think I’m with you.”

Lando frowned. “What?”

“Leave!” She repeated, pushing him away. “He’s coming over!”

Lando just stared at her in confusion, but let her push him away nonetheless. He watched as Y/N followed the guy to the dancefloor, and as she let him touch her, pull her against his body. Her behaviour frustrated him; how could she be so irresponsible? She just accepted a drink from a random man, and was planning to go home with him before even having a proper conversation. He glared at them from across the room.

He tried to distract himself by joining Max, but it didn’t help much. Every other second or so, he caught himself looking over at Y/N. He was just worried, right? That was what this unpleasant feeling was – just worry over a friend. He tried to convince himself of it, but he knew it was nonsense. He had liked her for years now, he knew better than to blame it on concern, but he didn’t want to admit his jealousy. It’s an ugly emotion, especially when it’s over someone you don’t even know and over a girl who doesn’t like you back. God, he had to get his act together.

“Where’s Y/N at?” Max asked confused at the missing presence. The last he’d seen her was at the bar with Lando.

“With some guy, I don’t think she’s coming back to the hotel tonight,” Lando answered.

“What?” Max asked, nearly getting a whiplash from how quickly he turned his head around to search for his baby sister. “Do you see her?”

“I’m sure she’s fine, Max. She said this was her goal for the vacation, right?”

“I’m not letting that happen, she’s not going home with some random man!”

Max forced his way through the crowd, aimlessly searching for his sister while Pietra followed him with the aim to tell him to leave his sister alone. She wanted to see what would happen if Max didn’t interfere; whether Y/N would go through with it, and how Lando would react. She had a feeling Lando liked Y/N, and if that was true, there was bound to be some drama. If it wasn’t, Y/N would have a fun night – no harm done.

Pietra wasn’t quick enough, though. Max had already reached the bar where Y/N was doing shots with her ‘victim’ of the night. She squealed when she saw her brother, pulling him into a hug. She was stumbling around, but Max steadied her. “Maxie! You found me!”

“Yes, I did. Let’s go home, yes?”

“What? I don’t want to go home! Not unless he takes me,” Y/N giggled flirtatiously, pointing at the stranger across from her.

“Okay, let’s go,” Max told Y/N, putting more distance between the man and his sister.

“Who are you? Why are you telling her what to do?” The stranger protested, before turning to Y/N. “Stay, babe,” he told her, stroking her arm.

Max snapped his head over to face him, asserting dominance with his fierce glare. “I’m her brother. Who are you? What’s your plan here, hm? Feeding the girl drunk so you can take advantage of her?”

Max pushed Y/N into Lando’s arms. “You take her outside, yeah? Wait for us, I’ll just take care of this guy,” he said, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, ready to confront this random man while Y/N stumbled into Lando.

“Hi!” She said, steadying herself as she held Lando’s arm tightly, giggling when he pulled her along, a strong grip on her waist. He could hear Max berate the guy about taking advantage of drunk girls, and Pietra trying to calm him down while he led Y/N towards the exit.

“Where are we going? My drink’s still at the bar!” She muttered in protest

“We’re going outside, cool off a bit, yeah?”

Y/N nodded – it was quite warm – as he led her through the crowd. It was even busier than before and she could feel Lando’s chest against her back as he guided her. She felt the tingle again, but this time it didn’t feel so bad or wrong – she liked it. She liked the way she could feel his body against hers, and how his hands held her so tightly. This was not good. She was just drunk. She needed to think of something else—of the guy she was talking to before. He was hot too.

“You're not taking me home, right? I didn’t even make out with that guy yet!”

“You can kiss me if you’re that desperate,” Lando offered in a whisper, ignoring her question.

She could feel his breath hitting the sensitive skin on her ear and the flush creep up her neck. Just when she was starting to forget the hold he had on her, he managed to say something like that. She didn’t know how to respond; not one witty retort came to mind.

“Are you hot?” Lando asked out of nowhere.

“What?” Y/N said confused. She wasn’t feeling warm at all, the cool night breeze was actually rather cold.

“Your face is a bit red,” he continued teasingly.

“Yes, I’m hot. That’s why we went outside, yes? To cool off?” Y/N started fanning her face and hoped the blush on her cheeks would fade soon.

Lando nodded with a teasing smile. “Mhm.” He called a taxi and watched as Y/N avoided looking at him, suddenly very interested in the leaves littering the ground.

The taxi arrived within a few minutes, just after Max and Pietra joined them outside, and they all headed back to the hotel. Pietra, who wasn’t as drunk as Y/N helped her get changed once they were back in the room. She listened and nodded every now and then as Y/N moped about the guy at the club, and shared some very interesting information about Lando; about what he’d said and how she felt all tingly when he touched her.

Pietra grinned mischievously at the new blackmail material and helped Y/N take off her makeup before guiding her to the bed. She fell face down, her feet dangling just a little off the edge as she lay on top of the duvet, in the middle of the bed – Lando would struggle to find a way to sleep next to her without falling off the bed. But Y/N didn’t worry about it; she fell asleep in mere minutes.

– – – – –

Part 4

@dripostsstuff @willowsnook @f1fantasys @sarx164 @watermelonslut @diorsummer @zzfhcp @spidey.lovin @harrysdimple05 @pattydel @mayusaatma @leonie404 @mywritersmind @weekendlusting @01rrdbull @alex-wotton @liv1209 @forensicheart @carey86 @avagracekeating @sltwins @graceln4 @chachaxbear @lucktales @benstormy @cheyennep3107 @suicidepanda07 @hellowgoodbye @itsartesworld @fleurskles

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joostcafe · 6 months ago

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So kiss me. | joost klein x fem!reader

Summary: Getting ready for a Halloween party with Joost is not easy, especially when he can’t stop kissing you.

Warnings: Pure fluff, kissing, a couple swear words.

A/N: I just really miss Halloween… requests are very much open!!!!

— now playing! ♫ kiss me | sixpence none the richer —

“Stop fussing.” You said, spreading white face paint onto joost’s cheeks.

His eyes squeezed shut, as he held onto your thighs for dear life. “It’s cold.”

“I’m almost done, promise.” You reassure him, gently patting his chest with your other hand.

His mouth drops before letting out a soft laugh, “You just started, leugenaar!” — and liar you were.

He attempted to lay down onto his bed before you snatched him back up, giving him a peck on the lips.

The smug look on his face made you believe it would make him sit still.

He smiled once more, the smile you loved so dearly. The way his eyes disappeared beneath his cheeks, showing all of his teeth.

You continued, carefully applying the paint to the rest of his face as he sat there, staring up at you with gleaming puppy eyes.

“You’re so beautiful.” He mumbled.

You can’t help but look away after locking eyes with him. He still made you nervous, even after sitting on his lap for a while.

He hugged your waist, now pulling you towards him. You grabbed his face with one hand and made your way up to his hair.

Not even a second later he leaned to kiss you once more, and you could feel him smile once again.

“We’re going to be late Joost.” You said, pulling away and fixing his hair — which you previously ruined.

He sighed and wiped some white paint off from your face. “I can’t kiss my beautiful girlfriend? You know, we can just stay home and watch scary movies.”

You and him loved home dates better than going out to parties, since you both got overwhelmed very fast in big crowds. So that actually sounded pretty fucking amazing.

You lingered for a moment before grabbing another color beside you. “Your friends will get mad, you know how they are.”

“Fuck my friends.” He replied, which he didn’t actually mean of course. “They can survive the night without us.”

You smiled and kissed him yet again, this time a little deeper.

“Sweetheart.” He managed to get out, “I don’t want your talents to go to waste.”

You laughed, grabbing the nearest makeup brush. “I appreciate your faith in me.”

Holding onto his neck, you painted the remaining clown features onto his face.

Your focus and determination was cute to him, the way you would slightly stick out your tongue when it came to drawing a sharp line. When you would stop to admire him and plant a few kisses on his neck to avoid making a mess. It was too much for him in fact, he was so in love with you.

“I think i’m done.” You said, giving him a small hand mirror.

“Wowww.” He dragged on with an exaggerated voice, “I really love it.”

You try to fix his hair once more as he grabbed a red lipstick from your bag, “May I?”

You grin slightly, getting closer to him.

He opens the tube before inspecting it. Then he swipes it gently on your lips, making sure he’s not messing it up.

“There.” He whispered.

You carefully rub your lips together before looking at yourself. “I’m impressed.”

He then points to his cheek, asking for a kiss.

You obviously weren’t gonna deny him, even if you thought he had enough for tonight — he never had enough of your kisses.

You kissed him once.

Then twice on the other cheek.

One on his forehead just because.

And a million more all around his face.

“You’re too good to me my love.” He replied.

You wrapped your arms around him, “Hey, i’m the lucky one here.”

— And after many long kisses, you spent the rest of the night cuddled up with each other, watching horror movies and eating halloween candy.

#joost klein #joost klein fanfic #joost klein fluff #joost klein x reader #joost klein x you #joostice

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erenjaegerwifee · 5 months ago

Text

Brat Tamer

Survive the Night: Day 4

Paring: Neteyam x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Warnings: MINOR DNI 18+ hate fucking, mentions of alcohol, jealousy, degradation, rough sex, explicit language, fingering, p in v, overstimulation, bondage, slightly jealous Neteyam, begging, slapping, spitting, blowjob, marking, mentions of blood, facial, this is consensual sex! It’s just very rough

Word Count: 5.4k

Disclaimer: all my characters are aged-up! If for whatever reason this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read my work. Any negative feedback will be blocked from my page. thank you!

Event Masterlist

“Oh, please Neteyam spear me” you roll your eyes at your future mate. For some reason Eywa thought it would be a good idea to make Tsahik conjure up a vision of you and Neteyam being a mated couple a ruling the clan together, with all your non-existent babies, apparently the number is yet to be determined.

“Can you just back off and let me hunt princess? I’m more than capable of feeding a psycho shrew such as yourself” he said condescendingly. “You are so fucking full of yourself; we could have been eating an hour ago if you didn't scare away my prey with your fucking wheezing”

“You whacked me in the stomach with your bow what the fuck were you expecting me to do” his comment makes you laugh at the memory, “it’s not my fault you're a bitch, take that shit up with your daddy” you smile at him wickedly when Lo’ak spoke up, “damn just fuck already, end your misery” he said to both of us.

“Shut up Lo’ak go home, you aren’t even helping” Neteyam said to his brother while you were making fake gagging sounds at his comment, “yuck- I don’t want this man anywhere near me, let alone fucking me” you gag again making Lo’ak laugh. “You know, you talk a big game for someone who has never seen a dick” Neteyam looks directly at you.

You turn around looking for whoever he’s talking to with such audacity, settling with the fact he must be talking to himself, “are you calling me a virgin? Cause I can assure you I’ve had hotter sex than you that’s for sure” you cross your arms over your chest looking at him smugly.

“How do you know I don’t have hot sex princess?” Neteyam copies your action crossing his own arms over his chest. “Uhm well let’s see, firstly I don’t think it's possible to have good sex when you have a stick that big up your ass and also, you’ve never fucked me” you flip your hair over your shoulder sassily.

“Whatever you pompous bitch” Neteyam walks off bow in hand with every intention of catching your dinner. “You are such a fucking goblin” you tail behind him leaving Lo’ak laughing on the floor.

Lo’ak isn’t the only person who catches kicks off your misery. The entire Sully family laugh at you from time to time. They have a front seat row to the drama that is you and Neteyam. When your mate ship was announced both your families joint together to build you a hut, the first hut you will be living in together. Since it is a known fact you are always at each other’s throats, they built it right next to the Sully family hut. But it was only in case they had to break up one of your numerous fights. The sully family tends to hear everything that goes on in your hut, every small argument you have, every altercation that turns into a screaming match between you too.

You and Neteyam sleeping on same sleeping mat but he made sure it was big enough so you won’t have to touch each other, even going as far as to build a pillow wall. Even while your families both know you don’t get along, the rest of the clan, besides close friends, do not know. They are well under the impression you and Neteyam are very much in love, we couldn’t have the clan losing trust in the leadership, it would just be another problem. It’s one of the only things you both agree on.

Clan members have been congratulating you both since the announcement, they bring loads of gifts like things for your hut, some of the older women have taught you to make things for our future husband, teaching you how to repair his arm guards and cummerbund, making loincloths, which sometimes you do occasionally have to do. They even go as far to bring you both food.

Neteyam is set to take up the mantle of Olo’eyktan in 3 months which is when you will also ascend to Tsahik alongside him. You are meant to be mated before that happens which is why you’ve already moved in together; you are meant to get used to living with each other to avoid slip ups.

For something that was sprung on both families, they have done extensive planning to make sure you become accustom with each other, almost as if they expected it. Never the less, you both have now settled into a routine of sorts. You both wake up around the same time and you make breakfast or one tired morning, go to the sully hut and you eat there. Then You get ready for you clan duties all done while bickering with each other about small things like usually. After that you both go out into the clan playing happy couple.

At dinner time you usually are the one to cook whatever he brings home from his hunt during the day. If neteyam wasn’t so infuriating you would have thought about how domestic it was, how much you would have loved a life like this. A loving husband, a few kids.

“You what, if you would just sit still for a few minutes, I could catch us some fucking dinner” neteyam says in an irritated tone. “Don’t curse on my dinner I have to eat it” You counter, “No sweetheart the real curse is eating your cooking” you gasp dramatically at him comment, your hands come over your heart, “you love my cooking you blue ape, don’t fucking lie.” you point at him.

“Can you just sit here and shut the fuck up so we can go home, I’m about to leave your annoying ass out here and spend the night at my parents” he rolls his eyes at you, ignoring your cooking comment because he knows you’re right. “UGHH FINE” you dramatically drop down on the rock that was conveniently situated behind you.

“Ugh fine” he mocks you sassily his voice is pitched and his hands sway in the air as he turns around making you roll your eyes. You wouldn’t tell him this, but neteyam is a good hunter, it shouldn’t take him that long to catch dinner. In the mean time you sit quietly on the rock making flower crowns from the nearby flower tree.

When he comes back you both go home and you make dinner, “It’s kind of early can’t we just eat after the party?” you ask him after you are done cooking. “No, the food will get cold” you sigh not feeling to flight with him about it and you bicker about what you should wear for Lo’ak’s birthday party.

At the party you and Neteyam split up to mingle with your respective friends and not have to deal with each other all night long, you dance and laugh while slipping from your cup of very strong alcohol. When you start to feel high you get a tap on your shoulder making you turn around.

“Hey y/n where is your husband?” you make eye contact with one of Neteyam’s hunting buddies, At’ok. “Hey um I don’t know he was around here somewhere” you shrug thinking he was just looking for Neteyam. Your future mate has grown to dislike the man quite a bit with the way he constantly stares at you, under no condition is he admitting to liking you but at the end of the day, you will be his wife and its naturally disrespectful for him to try getting with another man’s girl.

“Oh, good cool- you wanna dance?” you know he likes you; you also know Neteyam doesn't like him, it’s a win-win situation. What is neteyam gonna do? Divorce you? You aren’t mated yet and he’ll have to take that up with Eywa first which is essentially impossible. “Sure” you smile brightly at him.

You grab ahold of his hand and move towards the other dancing na’vi, you sway your hips against him and his arms wraps around you swaying in sync. He turns you around and you throw your hands over his shoulders and that’s when you feel the burning stare. You know it all too well, you have experienced this too much times to not know. You pay no mind to him though as you listen to at’ok whisper how beautiful you look in your ear making you giggle and smile at him.

If Neteyam treated you half as good as this, it wouldn’t be so difficult to live with him, you could make a lot of things in his life easier if he’d just be a little nicer to you, but apparently you are so hard to get along with, the woman who makes sure he has clean clothes and his warrior gear is intact, who cooks for him and cleans his living space. You are so fucking hard to live with.

His hand moved down while he leaned back a bit closer to your lips and tilted his head as if he was gonna come in closer, his hand slid down your back and rested lowly on your hips. You wanted to kiss him honestly, but you got interrupted by a harsh tug on you bicep, pulling you away from At’ok’s warmth.

“You don’t have any fucking shame, do you? The next time I see your hands on my wife- the next time you even look in her direction I'll fucking kill you” Neteyam’s voice was deadly calm, it made shivers run down your spine at how scary he sounded, but you would show no weakness. As soon as he was dragging you in the direction of your shared hut you started throwing a hissy fit, “What the fuck Neteyam we were dancing-”

“Dancing?! You were dancing with someone who isn’t your fucking husband like that? Of please y/n” you rip your arm from his grasp, “what the fuck is your problem-” he didn’t wait for you to finish he just interrupted you again. “You, you are my fucking problem, I thought we agreed, the best interest for the clan is you stay in your fucking lane as my wife and I stay in mine as your husband”

“You are not my husband yet and-”

“Three weeks, just three more weeks you couldn’t keep your legs closed three more weeks? Then after that I knock you up and you could fuck whoever you want. We only need one” His voice sounds stranded, Neteyam has been pissed off before but even you have never managed to make him this mad.

“Jeez everything is not about you and what you want! Maybe I miss having sex! Maybe I’m horny and I wanna have some relief! Did you ever even considered the possibility that I don’t want to have to wait anymore? It's been months since the last time I felt a man and it’s all your fault!” you shout at him.

“You are such a slut you couldn’t wait a couple fucking weeks? You don’t think I feel the same way? Have some fucking self-control! Why should you get to fuck anything that walks while I have to stay loyal and be content with nothing?!” he shouted back to you in the same tone, truthfully it made you kind of turned on the way he spoke to you but your irritation outweighs that right now.

“I have been loyal you asshole, I haven’t let anyone near me in months! Besides I've been so fucking tired making you sure have properly cooked food and that YOUR hut is cleaned and that YOU LOOK PRESENTABLE WHEN YOU GO OUT IN PUBLIC! And this- THIS is what I get for it? I’m a slut?” your tail thrashes around as you scream at him, your hands push his body backwards and you yank on the braid that falls over his ear in front his face.

What you don’t expect after your outburst is Neteyam’s smug laughter filling your ears. You look up at his face seeing his head thrown back and his shoulders shaking. He suddenly bends his body forwards resting his hands on his knees holding himself up as he laughs.

“What’s so fucking funny?” you tail twitches angrily your arms crossed over your chest pushing up your tits slightly. His laughter dies down and his head raises to look at you, a smug smirk sits on his face.

“Nothing, it’s just- you are so fucking difficult to please. Eywa could have given me anyone, ANYONE in this ENTIRE clan. But she chooses you? The cock hungry slut that can’t even be bothered to say thank you after all the effort I put in to make this mate ship work. All you want is to fuck! You know if you wanted cock so bad, you should have just fucking asked for it” his voices drop a couple octaves when says his last sentence.

You were about to protest but get cut off by him grabbing your bicep harshly once more, pulling you towards your hut, “Ah ah- shut the fuck up I don’t need to hear more” he continues to cut you off until you are at your door step where he opens up the flap widely and shoves you in, you stumble but catch yourself before you fall.

“Neteyam what the hell-” his large hand met the back of your neck easily, putting pressure on your kuru while pulling you straight up to stabilize you. “You know, you look real pretty tonight, this the one I made you” he toyed with the flowers hanging from the rope of your top. Frankly, you feel a bit nervous of what he might do right now, opting to not sass him, he’s never been this rough with you, or at all so you simply nod your head.

“You have been such a pain in my ass since I could remember and now, you’re gonna be my wife. Looks like I’ll have to teach you some manners,” Neteyam lets go of your neck and closing the flap behind him and taking off his cummerbund and arm guards. “Take it off.” His voice is deep, makes you shiver.

You stand still not sure if you should listen to him or not, you really did it today huh? “Don’t make me come over there” he says glancing at you as he puts away his stuff neatly. He stretches his muscular arms and broad shoulder while he watches you still not move at all.

“Y/n why don’t you ever just listen, I'm giving you what you want and you listen won’t listen to me!” His voice sounds stranded once more as he tries to get through to you. He sighs before walking up to you a ripping the top off your body. It was one of your prettier tops so it made you upset when he ruined it, you watch the pretty petals fall to the floor exposing you.

You gasp and brought your hands up to cover your chest, you tail twitches as you look towards him angrily, “Neteyam what the hell I actually liked that top, probably the only thing you ever did that I-” his large palm slaps over your mouth, “shut up” his voice is so calm as if he’s used to doing things this.

Honestly, this approach he is taking with you is turning you on so much, you didn’t think he had it in him. You bite his hand and he rips it away from your mouth, “what do you even think you are about to give me here? Have you ever even made a woman cum? Do you know what to you? I was under the impression you liked men considering the stick up your ass in snug in there.”

“You are about to regret your words you slutty bitch” he mumbles to you when he rips your loincloths off your body forcefully making you stumble forward. Eywa don’t let this man see how mess in between your legs look it’ll be over for you. “Neteya-”

“No.” he pushes your body down on the sleeping mat that is adorn with comfortable blankets and pillows you both made. “You need to learn to shut the fuck up and listen sometimes, I’m sick of your shit. You want to get dicked down fine” he doesn’t give you a minute to protest when he's immediately on top of you tying your hands to the bedhead, he made to go behind your sleeping mat using soft pieces of cloth, it was such a pretty pattern to you know he spent a lot of him on yet, you never imagined he’d use it like this.

“Neteyam-” he cuts you off again, “there you go saying my name again, don’t worry you won't remember anything else when I’m done with you.” he smiles down at you obnoxiously. He doesn’t even wait a second before he grabs your thighs spreading them wide and pinning them to your chest. “Oh Eywa, sweetheart, look how wet.” he smiles wickedly at you, “Did I do this or that little hunter boy you were dancing with huh?” his smile never falters as he takes in your blushing expression.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter does it? I get to play with it.” You wank on the restraints keeping you still but it only tightens the knot, you can practically feel the marks it will leave on your wrist. When he removes one hand from your thighs you instinctively shut them closed trapping his hands inside, you should have known that wouldn’t work, Neteyam physically much stronger than you are.

His hands push your thighs apart harshly and he slaps his heavy hand on your thigh cruelly making you wail out at the sting, “Don’t fucking close it” his voice was steady even with your whimpering. You don’t make the mistake of closing them again when he removes his hand once more, dragging one of his long fingers slowly up your folds to your clit. The feeling makes you mellow softly, you lips parted and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were even holding.

Neteyam brought his finger up to his mouth watching it drop slick on the bedding and put it in his mouth humming at the taste, “I have to say sweetheart I wasn’t expecting you to taste so sweet, I thought you’d be sourer you know... cause you’re a sour bitch, but my, y/n you taste like utumauti (banana fruit).” Your eyes roll at his comment but you can’t find yourself uttering words when he continues his action.

Without warning he inserts a finger into you, his face is so close to your intimate area you can feel his breath on your clit as he watches your cunt suck in his finger when he’s pulling it back out. He repeats the cycle going faster before adding another finger, your eyes are shut now as he fingers you at a moderate pace, but it still feels amazing. “I can feel you sucking me in, gonna cum on my fingers evenge (girl)?” he speaks out glancing at your flash face. Your lip is trapped between your teeth as you watch his arm flex when he thrust in and out of you. When he curls his finger hitting your sweet spot you mewl loudly and throw your head back, resting it on his fluffy pillow.

His scent invades your nose as you start to lose your senses coming on his fingers. You try to muffle your noises not wanting to give him any kind of complex. “Awe, look at you trying to be quiet. You don’t want me to hear those noises huh? I guess I’ll have to coax them out.” he fakes disappointment pouting his bottom lip out for you as he curls his fingers again pressing down on your sweet spot and he does this over and over and over again.

You can no longer hold in your moans at his movements and he speeds up making you tense your legs up. You release on his hand with a loud whimper you try to shut your legs to make him stop his movements, Neteyam doesn’t falter he open pries your legs back open and delivers another harsh slap to your other thigh, “You just don’t listen huh” he delivers another, then another one slapping both your inner thighs.

“Neteyam please stopp” water wields up in your eyes as you take his rough, heavy slaps to your skin. “You know, you came without permission, what should we do about it slut?” he slaps you again completely ignoring you pleads. Your thighs are turning red from the abuse but he doesn’t care. His fingers speed up their pace inside you and you feel like you are seeing stars, “Neteyam-” you whimper as you try to squirm away from his hands.

“Yea sweetheart? I thought you said I couldn’t make you come?” his tone is condescending when he speaks to you. The overstimulation makes you roll your eyes back, your face flushes deep purple and you bite your lip. “I take it back-” you whimper to him. “Aw, I’m afraid it’s a bit too late for that now you wanted this didn’t you? You wanted a man to touch you like this. You got it.”

You glimpse at his figure in front of you. He’s having so much fun teasing and touching you, you can see the way he enjoys watching you come undone for him, “All this just for me huh? Just imagine you wanted At’ok to be the one touching you, instead of me? Your husband. You think he could make you feel half as good as this? The answer is no.” Neteyam uses his other hand to push his body up and over yours, his hand moves to graze your nipples that harden a while ago being left untouched.

“Such a little slut. Fuck” neteyam pinches your nipples roughly, feeling your cunt pulse around his fingers he knows you want to cum again but he’s not giving in so easily this time. “You’re gonna cum” he says, he’s not even questioning you, like he’s done this a million times, he just knows. You don’t deny it nodding your head vigorously, “wanna cum yea” you whimper

“Beg.” his voice is stern, he slows his movements a bit, “No fuck you” you bite back. “Oh, then I guess you won’t be cumming tonight” Neteyam voice sounds innocent but his face tells you an entirely different story, he wants you to give him, he’s just waiting for you to roll over and beg for him. His fingers slowly retract from your pussy and the emptiness drives you crazy, “wait!” you shout accidently pulling on the restraints.

“Please?” you mumble so softly he almost didn’t catch it, “What was that sweetheart?” his head leans in tilting his ear towards your mouth, his fingers still inside you half way in, half way out. “Please neteyam..”

He chuckles at you, “feeling shy? Speak up please what?” he eggs on, “Please let me cum” he tries to hold in the satisfied smile making its way to his face, “one more time let me hear it, please what?” he urges you to speak louder, “PLEASE NETEYAM! LET ME CUM!” your eyes are glassy when you scream. You want it so bad you can barely think.

“There it is, that wasn’t so fucking hard was it, all you had to do was ask nicely whore” his smile is wicked when he calls you that, he watches your face bubble up in anger before he continues his ferocious pace. You feel like you melt down into a puddle when you cum on his fingers with a loud scream of his name. You didn’t mean for it to happen but it certainly did, you are sure if someone was around your hut they would have heard you screaming out for you mate.

Neteyam laughs wickedly when he pulls away from your body. The hand that was previously inside you comes up to your face and he smears your wetness onto your skin as he cups for face. “You gonna fucking listen now if I untie you?”

“I always listen Net-” he cuts you off with a harsh slap using the same hand, right across your face whipping your head to the side. His grip comes back, “I didn’t ask for back talk you dirty whore, I asked if you were gonna listen” you mumble something under your breath that he couldn’t quite catch making him smack you across the face again. For what felt like the thousandth time, he made your eyes tear up. You decided against answering and just nodded your head, big mistake. His heavy hand comes down once more on your face and before he can utter any words you scream out to make him stop, “yes- fuck yes, I’ll listen”

Neteyam smiles victoriously at you, and reaches his free hand up to rip the restraints off you. You could try to fight him, but you have no energy to even move properly. You were under the impression he got his point across, and that he was done, but you were in for a rude awakening. He moves off of you grabbing the hair on the top of your head roughly and pulling you onto your stomach, you whimper at the pain.

When he lets you go his roughly pulls you up on all fours, and you raise your head to see his positioned you in front of the mirror he got for your hut. “Oh no” the thought ran through your head, you take in your form; half of your face is red from his slaps, you can see your red thighs. Your bottom lip swollen from biting down on it.

“Oh, but yes, were not done” you must have said it out loud and not even realized, when your eyes shift to his form looming over you, his head is right next to yours, his loincloth has been discarded and he was stroking himself behind you. You couldn’t see his cock from this angle so you drop your head down to the mat, your chin touched the floor and you looked in through the mirror directly as his dick, you watch him stroke his incredibly long and thick length, your eyes widen as you wonder how the fuck that was about to fit inside you, you have never taken anything so big before, how does he even hide that thing?

Neteyam notes your expression easily and raises up highly to give you a better view. When his tip presses at your overstimulated clit you raise your head up and shook a ‘no’ quickly pulling your body away from him. “Don’t run, you were cursing breeze about an hour ago about how horny you were, and how much you wanted another man to touch you” he pulls you back roughly, dragging your bent over form closer to him and you felt his tip pushing against you once more.

“I’m going to have to teach you who this pussy belongs too” he pushes in this time without warning and you feel his length stretch you out, your mouth makes an o shape but not sound comes out as you take him in. You didn’t even know it was possible that to fit in you, but then again you never thought you would be fucking this man so things change.

“Eywa you are such a slutty doll, watch yourself fall apart on my cock, and I just stuck it in.” he doesn’t give you any time to adjust, he just starts pounding into you. You cream on his cock while he’s thrusting, he fucks you so good, it’s like Eywa made his cock especially for your cunt. When you are almost coming for the third time, he pulls out of you leaving you untouched.

Your eyes shoot up to look at him threw the mirror and you find him already staring at you, “Who’s making you cum sweetheart?” he asks you in a sickeningly sweet voice, “No one, I’m not coming you pulled out. What, can’t keep up with me?” you feel upset at his action making you manifest an attitude. His hand comes down smacking your ass, your tail whips when your feel the fat ripple, “What?” when you done answer he smacks the other cheek of your ass making you whimper, “nothing...” you said softly, but loud enough for him to hear.

“Sweetheart you always make things hard for yourself” smack. “Why can’t you just be a good little wife” smack. “You didn’t answer my question yet” smack. “Who’s making you come slut?” smack. Smack. Smack.

Neteyam thoroughly enjoys spanking you like you were a naughty child. He didn’t stop until he heard you small words, “You, you’re making me come please?” you push your ass back into his dick feeling the tip slip down and slap your slit making you jump. He catches you off guard when he pushes back in fucking you with the same vigor ask before, making you drop your face down to the mat

“Now tell me who’s making you come?” his right hand comes around to your neck and pulls you up choking you. Your lips part as you exhale with every thrust he delivers, “Y-you” you stutter out, “Say my name whore come on” his face comes down next to yours and his hand moves from your neck to your face, squishing your cheeks between his fingers, his head comes down to the junction of your neck and face and sucks harshly on the skin.

Neteyam leave dark purple marks all over your neck then he feels your cunt clenching down on his cock, “Gonna cum?” he whispers to you. You can barely form coherent words but you do manage to hm out a “mhmmmm.” his hand that is holding your face smacks it lightly a couple times, “Is that how you ask?” he questions, his pace never faltering, “Pul-lease Net-teyam!” your teeth are clenched as you whimper and moan at the amazing feeling of his cock dragging along your walls.

“Such a quick learner come on slut, come on my cock” his words send you over the edge coming on command, your orgasm is intensified by the feeling of his teeth digging into your neck, he’s biting you, marking you, Neteyam creates a pretty wound when he draws blood out of you making you scream loudly.

You pant your mouth feels dry and your throat hurts, you want to fall down but his grip is strong, he doesn’t let that happen. Neteyam pulls out of you quickly and moves his hand from your face to the top of your head pulling you to sit on your knees in front of him. He strokes his cock before tapping it on your lips a couple times, “come on, open up taste your juices slut.” His cock presses against you lips when he lets it go and slaps you across the face again, “Are you slow bitch, open up” he smacks you around whipping your head from side to side before you answer him, “My mouth is dry-” he can hear it in your voice, he knows it’s true.

“Open.” he says sternly, his hands now occupied holding your head, “Stick your tongue out.” he continues in the same tone, when you do it, he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth into yours and you instinctively swallow it, he shoves his cock into your mouth right after, “Now suck” he demanded thrusting his cock in and out of your mouth.

He observes the way your cheeks puff out when he fills you up and the bulge in your throat when he thrust harshly into your mouth. The view is perfect for once you can’t complain or bitch about anything you do, your mouth is stuffs, you are quiet. Neteyam enjoys the silence aside from the occasionally gagging, your tears fall down your cheeks creating such a perfect picture for him.

When neteyam come he pulls out of your mouth, stroking himself coming all over your face and chest with a sexy moan, “fuckkk yea take it bitch.” He takes a deep breath and looks down at you seeing you stick your tongue out tasting the cum that sits on your lips. Neteyam thinks it’s so hot, next time he’ll be sure to come in your mouth but for now, “gonna stop being a little bitch now and behave yourself?” he brings his hand back squishing your face, ignoring the feeling of his come on it. You nod quickly before opening you mouth and responding, “I’ll behave.”

You both know it’s not true but at least you said it.

✨ I’m not sure how much I like this but I hope you do when you read it! Repost, likes and comments are always appreciated, I love the positive feedback!

✨if anyone wants to be added to my Taglist please let me know in the comments!

Taglist:

@strongheartneteyam @rivatar @delusionalwh6re @nilahsstuff @xylianasblog @xrollingmyeyesx @quicktosimp

#avatarsurvivethenight #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam #atwow neteyam #neteyam avatar #neteyam fic #neteyam smut #neteyam talks #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x female reader smut #neteyam x you #neteyam x na'vi!reader

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akirathedramaqueen · 6 months ago

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Some thoughts on the Western Energy trainwreck

Soo, I've come across that post, and... it made me thinking.

Stolas spent there the whole time, not knowing Blitzø *did*, in fact, send help. He assumed he was all alone, although still had some resemblance of hope, a fragile straw he hang on to piss off Striker, allowing to tear up only when one didn't look at him.

And... hell, I used to see many comments about how Blitzø let him down there... But did he?

Oh course, some think he did, and he surely thinks he did, too. But, although the whole sequence with him and Loona trying to get that S.H.O.T. was a fucking circus and looked like a joke compared to suffers Stolas had to endure and barely survive...

To be honest, these scenes being put together on surface do, in fact, make it think that the whole Stolas being on the verge of death ordeal is a joke to Blitzø and he would rather spend time running around with big needles and stuff.

If to get back to the phone convo between them at the beginning of the episode, Blitzø mentions that it took him 5 years to book that appointment, and it means a lot for him to not miss it. Missing out on that shot meant to put Loona in potential danger, his daughter, and, although we don't know what kind of shots they were talking about, we know for sure what does missing out on a vaccine schedule could mean in the real world - we tend to forget how dangerous polio, for instance, is, as most of us have access to the vaccine and don't get to experience it not even themselves, but in close vicinity as well. For us, vaccines might seem to be some kind of stupid routine, something we got comfortable with in a privileged world, something which surely could be skipped for a day, right? But in Blitzø's one they are luxury.

Despite all of that, I also want to put your attention to the fact that he wasn't going to ignore it. He is speeding up, and I think (although it's not expressed explicitly, but not everything should be, right?), that he already made up his mind that Stolas is a priority.

You are not thinking it's about shots, right? He wasn't that reckless in driving before *that* call.

And! He wasn't even the initiator of Millie and Moxxie going instead of him. *M&M's* were.

And Blitzø trusts them, because why not? They are his employees, they are skilled and capable, and they are his friends as well, they know that shit is important to him (although he isn't willing to admit it himself).

We see also, how Stolas was admitted to the hospital immediately, which already gives a hint on how different their stance in the world is. I wonder sometimes how it would've turned out if Stolas proposed to Blitzø to use the royal influence to get another appointment shortly after Blitzø saves him, but we know he didn't get much time to even think about that. He wasn't even able to finish the sentence before Striker took his phone off him.

To be honest, I don't think the outcome itself would have been much different. I don't think Blitzø would've done a better job at saving Stolas, but, maybe, only maybe, he would've felt better because he was, at least, there for him.

Because you know that shit is going to haunt him till the day he dies. Because it only reassured him that he isn't capable of sticking around for his people.

Because, you know... happened once already.

No wonder he left Stolas's message on "read". Knowing all things before and after, it's not a surprise that he, tending to take all of responsibility for all the wrongs on himself more than he should to, couldn't face the consequence of what he thinks he failed in. He, speaking figuratively, left Fizz on "read" for 15 years, and he kinda sorted it out only because he couldn't run anymore and had to face the trauma as circumstances didn't give him a chance to chicken out.

I wonder what he was trying to tell Stolas. But I don't think we will ever get to learn that.

Aw, crap, I am done here, I am going to go and cry for a little bit. Thanks for coming to my ted talk, see ya in like 5 minutes to experience some Full Moon trauma again, because I can't get over these two. XD

#helluva boss #blitzø #stolitz #stolas goetia #stolas #stolas x blitz #here to comfort the imaginative red lizard from a cartoon #because i am too invested lol

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lycandrophile · 9 months ago

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if you had to live even one day as a biological homosexual male (don't play dumb or smart, you know what i'm referring to), you'd fucking k!ll yourself once you realize how miserable it is.

right, because trans people have famously never had to survive being so miserable that we feel like we’d be better off dead, and transphobia totally doesn’t compound with homophobia to make life even harder. i mean, fuck intersectionality, right? obviously being trans on top of being gay would make things easier, not harder. silly me. my stupid little female brain just can’t possibly comprehend how hard your life must be. of course i would be too fragile and weak to survive the hardships that you and only you experience. really, we should all give you a standing ovation for surviving more suffering than anyone else on the entire earth has ever had to experience.

…anyway, this whole stolen valor angle of anti-transmasculinity is weird as hell. big “back in my day we had to walk to school up hill both ways in the snow” energy. have you ever considered that maybe, just maybe, you don’t have some sort of monopoly on suffering? because believe it or not, finding community with other people who have faced similar hardships is actually a really healing experience when you let yourself do it, and would definitely be far healthier than whatever the fuck you’ve got going on here. i’d strongly recommend trying it sometime. if you get the stick out of your ass, you’ll realize we’re in this together, and that’s an incredibly powerful thing.

#HEAVY sarcasm in the first paragraph if you couldn’t tell #anon hate #examples of transandrophobia #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #anti transmasculinity #transmascphobia #tehmism #<- gonna start using that for posts highlighting this kind of anti-transmasculine cis gay man #i feel like it deserves its own tag

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pixieishottogo · 17 days ago

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"Anything" ♡ Curly x Anya

art credit: seagummies on twitter

warnings: angst, topic of miscarriage

this is a good ending au of mouthwashing! if u are a hater, then dni🥰 this post aint for u, babe

Chapter 1

Jimmy had been dead for the past few months due to the crash. The crew has been slowly rotting. They have lost all hope, and for good reason. Daisuke and Swansea are unconscious because of hunger and exhaustion. Curly and Anya are slowly losing grip. Despite all this, the beautiful glowing screen still showcased the moon and stars. Curly's hair sticks to his face due to anxious sweat. "Well, we had a good run. Didn't we." Curly smiled. Anya laid beside him and she smiled despite the tears rolling down her face. "Yeah." Curly's breath hitches "Anya... I'm-”

Curly opened his eyes with a jolt. There he was, in the hospital. His whole body was aching. A nurse walked over to his bed, "How are you feeling, sir?" His eyes widened harshly. "Where is my crew?" He yelled. "Are they okay? Is Anya alive? I never got to tell her I'm sorry!" Curly's heart beat spiked. Thinking about Anya's distressed face made him feel nauseous from guilt. He placed his head in his hands, as if grappling with reality. The nurse spoke gently to try and to calm him down, "Everyone is okay. Some are still waking up." He sighed, feeling relieved. A doctor came into the room. "How did we survive? How are we home?" Curly was more than shocked. The doctor walked up to him, holding his papers. "Another space ship found you guys. Some astronomers were on an expedition in the area. You all were very lucky they were out there." The doctor said, cracking a smile. Curly looked down at his hands. "What room is Anya in? If you don't mind asking." Curly asked quietly. The nurse responded, "Room 25. And this is 24." After doing some basic checkups, and giving him some medicine for the pain, the doctor and the nurse left. Curly laid there, alone with his thoughts.

A few hours pass by, and unable to just sit and do nothing, Curly sneaks out of his room. He finds Anya sitting down in the lobby. The moon light shining on her in her hospital gown. She looked tired as usual, and mentally drained, but she still smiled faintly when she heard his voice. "Anya!" He cried out, limping towards her. She looks up at him and smiles with tears in her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her and cried. She held his head gently. "Anya... I-I I'm so sorry. I should have done something. You already had told me that you felt uncomfortable around him. I felt like I was losing my mind. I didn't know what to do. I'm so sorry that I made it seem like I didn't care. I care so much. I will do anything you want to gain your forgiveness. We don't have to ever talk again if that's what you wish. I'm so sorry, Anya." The words came out almost pleadingly, and rushed. He couldn’t hold back a sob. "Captain-... Curly. Our worst moments don't define us. I don't blame you for what happened, we were in the middle of space. But it will still take me a long time to heal. Thank you." Anya was always the more quiet kind. She didn't know how to respond. After several quiet minutes spoke quietly, "I lost the baby." Curly looks up at her, his eyes slightly wide. To not offend her, he asked honestly, "How do you feel?" Tears rolled down her face, as she stared at the ground. "Empty.”

In the morning, Curly and Anya met up with Daisuke and Swansea. It seemed they were recovering well. The crew all sat together in the lobby. It was surreal, everything felt so much lighter. Almost happy. "How are you guys doing? What do you plan on doing after this?" Curly asked. Daisuke's face lights up, "That was totally crazy! I'm happy we survived. I can't wait to see my mom." Swansea pops in, "Heh, It will be nice to be with my family again. No more pony express. I get to be a retired lazy old man!" Swansea chuckles. Anya and Curly look at each other smiling. It felt like a dream.

A few days went by, and the crew slowly recovered. Everyone was released from the hospital once they were fully recovered. Getting back from the hospital was refreshing. The sterile white rooms grew to be nauseating. He could finally go home. Curly pulled up to his home, the sight of his big white house with blue shutters made him smile. That company never cared. Some random astronomers were the ones who cared enough to save them. He was free from that stupid job. He hated being glorified, he soon realized. Curly felt like a monster after everything that had happened. His loving pet guinea pig was waiting for him in his bedroom. Curly’s mother would take care of her every day while Curly was gone. Whenever anyone visits, they are surprised that he has such a small creature when he's such a big guy. Almost every time someone says the classic "Wow. I thought you would have a dog of some sort, captain." He sighed and flopped on the bed but gently held Daphne. He felt so relieved to be home, after all this time. But every time he tried to close his eyes, he would see Anya's crying face

☆

sooo this is my first fan fic ever that im gonna actually commit to😭 plz be patient. also, im gonna try to write the miscarriage plot as realistic as possible. i have had multiple friends and family that have suffered from miscarriages

#mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #curly x anya #jimmy mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 2 months ago

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The Villain's Protector (Part 1) - Don't Blame Me

Summary: The reader wants out from working for the CIA so they propose a deal. She acts as the captured Soldier Boy's caretaker and she's free to go in six months. Their idea of stealing Soldier Boy's supe altering powers aren't exactly for what the reader thinks though and she needs Solider Boy to escape for her own plans. But those plans go awry when the CIA unleashes a dangerous life-changing weapon and the only way for her and Soldier Boy to survive is to stick together...

Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy x reader

Word Count: 5,400ish

Warnings: language, violence, torture, bombing,

A/N: This series takes place post Season 3. Please enjoy this first part and let me know what you think!

________

“Y/L/N.” You lifted an eyebrow, finding an unfamiliar older woman at the entrance to your office. Your supervisor nodded beside her and you pulled your headphones off, letting them rest around your neck. “You’re off desk duty.”

“The chatter from these guys-”

“Yeah, I know. Somebody else will handle it. As of five minutes ago, you report to her now,” said your supervisor, rattling a knuckle on the door. You were ready to argue about how you were promised desk duty to finish out these last six months but she was gone before you could blink. You grumbled as the older woman stepped inside, closing the heavy door behind her.

“I heard you want out,” she said. You leaned back in your chair, cocking your head. “Nobody ever really leaves the CIA you know.”

“What’s my handle ID?” you asked, the woman raising her chin. “I ain’t telling you jack shit until I know you’re legit.”

“Black Midnight Angel. You want to get to work now? Or you going to waste more of my time?” You narrowed your eyes, the woman giving it right back. “Work this job for six months until you leave and the agency will pay for your schooling. And I know you’re skeptical so we already wired the funds to your bank account.”

“Black ops?” you asked quietly. She shook her head, taking a seat in the chair across your desk.

“Mallory Fischer,” she said, your lips pressing into a thin line. “You know what I do then.”

“Yes, I do. Question is why do you want me on your team? There are far more qualified people.” She looked you up and down, a small smirk crossing her lips.

“You’re right. Your agent assessment scores are average aside from your intel work. Last time you were in the field you were shot-”

“Why. Me.” You knew it was coming. You knew exactly what was coming.

“You have a year of medical school under your belt.” That…was not what you were expecting. Did she not…know? Maybe not. Fine. You weren’t bringing that up if you could help it.

“I do. You should know that the reason I couldn’t finish was because the CIA recruited me, despite my desire to not join,” you said, letting it hang in the air. Mallory rolled her eyes and crossed her legs. “You people fucked up my life plan you know. I’m thirty two. I’m going to be a good 5 years minimum behind my peers by the time I graduate.”

“Did I give you the impression that I give a shit?” You grumbled but kept your mouth shut. “You agreed to work here.”

“You threatened to deport my friend if I didn’t,” you growled.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have had an ex-boyfriend with ties to-”

“Just stop. What the fuck do you want with me?”

“I have Soldier Boy.” You laughed, Mallory dead eyed. “I’m quite serious.”

“He fucking blew up last week.” Mallory cocked her head. You sighed, running a hand over your mouth. “He fell from, what, the seventieth floor? He’s really that strong?”

“He’s damn near indestructible. If it makes you feel better, Maeve survived too. But seeing as how she hates Vought more than most, we let her slide. Pretty sure she and her girlfriend went up to-”

“So she’s free and you don’t give a fuck about what she does. Fine. But what the fuck does ‘I have Soldier Boy’ mean exactly?” you asked. Mallory eyed you up and down.

“He’s Homelanders father.” You rolled your eyes and she frowned. “Why exactly is that not surprising to you?”

“Come on,” you laughed. “The most powerful supe to exist suddenly disappears right around the time Homelander was born? They’re both the poster child for all american wonder boy. I figured he was the dad doing a book report in middle school. It’s not that complicated.”

“Then you can understand why having Homelander’s father provides us an opportunity. His power is the only weapon we have that comes close to taking Homelander out. You watch the news. Homelander is losing his shit. We need to find a way to deal-”

“You don’t need Soldier Boy’s powers to fucking catch Homelander. If you caught pops, you can catch the kid and for the record, I am not one of your fucking super agents so you want me for research, fine. But save the shooting and catching Homelander for your own people.” You scooted your chair in closer to your computer, Mallory grabbing your hand roughly when you placed it on your mouse.

“Soldier Boy didn’t have the power to knock out other supes powers until after the Russian’s tortured him. We need to understand that ability of his and what made it change.” You sighed, pulling your hand away. “Work the job and in six months you’re gone.”

“And what exactly does this job entail?”

“We need a doctor, or the next best thing, for the night shift. Twelve hour shifts. You feed him, clean him, tend to him. Most of the time he’s going to be out cold. It’s maybe an hour of real work a night. You can do whatever the fuck you want in your office when you’re taking care of him, I really don’t care. We just need him in working order, got it?”

You pushed away from your computer, lifting your chin. “And that hour where he’s not out cold? How the fuck do I go near him without dying?”

“You better not be claustrophobic.”

Two Days Later

Mallory had ditched you not five minutes after seven pm after showing you to an office in the very plain looking warehouse in upstate New York. She’d naturally failed to mention that Soldier Boy was being held at a facility outside of the city. But you weren’t about to complain, not when the commute was shorter than your original one. So there you stood, a frozen TV dinner in your backpack, a guard dressed head to toe in black combat gear with an assault rifle almost as big as you, still wondering what the hell you were meant to do.

“You guys got a break room?” you sighed, dumping the bag on the desk and pulling out your dinner.

“Two doors down on the left. Unisex bathroom is around the corner,” he said, still not revealing his face from behind his dark mask. That was fine. He was an overqualified security guard in your mind. “Mallory left a schedule and map of the building on your desk. Burn them when you’ve memorized it.”

“Yup,” you said, walking past him and heading down the hall. “So how many guards are there right now?”

“The only staff on the night shift is yourself, a dozen interior guards, and four patrolling external officers.”

“No custodial staff?” you asked, entering the bare bones room with a microwave, old fridge and a wobbly table. Wonderful.

“No. They clean during the day. The facility isn’t large enough to warrant external help.” You hummed, popping the tray out of the box and into the microwave. “Do you have any further questions?”

“Is the Novichok gas always on in the room he’s held in?” you asked. He shook his head.

“He’s kept in a cryo tube during the night. Before entering the room, we will fill the room with gas for five minutes that will allow him to waken slightly but remain harmless. You will then enter in your hazmat suit and remove him from the chamber where you will perform your duties. When you indicate you are finished, we will increase the gas until he passes out and you can place him back in the tube. When you leave the room, we will stop the gas.”

“Does he eat during the day? What about the bathroom?” He was still and you frowned. “Dude. I get that everything is need to know but I need to know basic shit about my patient.”

“You feed him according to the schedule. He has a catheter.”

“And going number two?”

“He doesn’t get solids.”

“I don’t care what kind of liquid diet he’s on, he’s still going to shit.”

“I have my job, you have yours.”

You grumbled when he left, hitting the power on for your dinner. Just what you wanted for a career. Wipe the ass of the world’s most powerful supe.

You tried to forget about that portion of your “duties” as you ate your meal. It was still going to be easier than your first rotation in med school, that was for sure. He’d just…lay there drugged out of his mind. With the small threat in the air of if your hazmat suit tore for any reason, like say an angry supe being held prisoner grabbed it and ripped the plastic which he very likely was capable of even in that state.

Easy peasy.

You were able to distract yourself for an hour by walking the halls to figure out the layout of the building. The guard had been right. It wasn’t a large building. There were a few offices and typical building facilities in the front of the building. Security was stationed in the middle and Soldier Boy’s holding cell along with a viewing room was in the back corner. What appeared to be an operating room was further down the hall but that wasn’t entirely uncalled for in a black ops prison like this. You couldn’t exactly take your wounded agents or prisoners to a normal hospital.

You ended your self-guided tour in the viewing room staring down at the dark room below. Save for the soft blue light emitting from the cryo tube. You couldn’t see much at the angle. The top of the tube was see through but all you spotted were a pair of bare feet.

“He’s not strapped down?” you asked as the door to your right opened, a guard stepping through, this one slightly shorter than the one you’d spoken to originally.

“No. You’ll need to move him around. He’s wearing a face mask providing a direct stream of Novichok gas to him. You only need to remove it when you shove a tube down his throat for feeding. I’d suggest saving that for last.”

You quirked an eyebrow up. He was a supe, sure. This was a CIA secret holding prison, sure. The treatment of prisoners didn’t exactly have to adhere to the Geneva Convention in this kind of environment.

But it felt gross treating him like a meat puppet, keeping him alive only to figure out his powers. Which made you consider something else.

“Why go through the trouble of keeping him alive? Wouldn’t it be easier to just drown him? Or just take his DNA and recreate the power aspect?” you asked. Unsurprisingly, the guard didn’t answer. You crossed your arms, glancing at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t much past eight and there were still a few hours until his scheduled “wake” time. “New plan.”

“New…plan?” he asked. You just knew he was rolling his eyes at you behind those thick black goggles.

“Well he’s my patient, isn’t he? I’m making a new schedule, one that’s more appropriate for the patient.”

“You can’t do that,” he said quickly, your chin raising. “He’s a prisoner.”

“I know I’m just the glorified ass wiper for this guy but the more he feels like he has someone in his corner, the more apt he is to let a secret loose. Maybe he says jack shit but maybe he tells me what the russians did so you can figure out whatever power crap you’re looking for. Got it?”

“That’s the Y/N I’d expect.” You turned around, Mallory appearing in a doorway behind you. “Dismissed, Greg.”

“Don’t play games with me,” you said when the guard left. Mallory took a few steps forward to join you at your side, peering down into the room below.

“We had to know you’d be a team player. You’re not dumb. I think you can understand why I want you to do this job, even if you don’t have your medical degree.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Am I supposed to be his doctor or his fake friend? Which is it?” you asked.

“Both. It probably won’t work, the cocky bastard’s too smart for it, but it doesn’t hurt to try every option. I’d like to think you in particular would be willing to do whatever it takes to figure out that supe destroying beam of his. Am I wrong?” You ignored her, staring through the glass to the dark room.

“You hired me to be his doctor so that’s what I’ll be. Anything more will be my choice, am I clear?”

“Fine. Now let’s get you acquainted with your patient.”

“Fine.” You turned and left the room, heading down a set of stairs. You were in a changing room that had hazmat suits and respirators, different outfits for you to choose from. Along the back was a fridge that held his food, a thick mixture that looked completely unappealing. Beside the fridge was a cart for you to bring in and out, a medical bag on top but otherwise it was bare.

You stared at the options and sighed as you picked up the gas mask on its own. For one, if he wanted to kill you, he really could, suit or no suit. But mostly you had a bad feeling in your gut, like he needed some actual human interaction. If they were barely letting him be conscious during the day, he was going to start having problems. Namely, the angry supe was only going to get angrier which meant more violent which meant way more likely he killed you.

A gentle hand might be the only way to get through these six months in one piece.

After securing your mask, you made a note of the log by the fridge, surprised to find he’d been fed roughly an hour before your shift started. Huh. Maybe they were treating him better than you’d though. With your bag in hand, you hit the button on the wall, thick metal doors opening and allowing you to step into an air lock. You hit the button behind you, sealing it off and then a large black one with a hazard symbol over it. A small light appeared red over the button for a moment before turning green. You hit the button on the far wall and another thick door opened to the dim room. A fine mist clung to the air, deadly novichok swirling all around you. You raised your arm, checking for any reaction but you weren’t expecting one. Novichok was an aerosol. You had to breathe it in to suffer any consequences which hopefully you’d never find out how that felt.

The door shut quietly behind you, leaving you alone save for Mallory observing from behind the thick glass panel above.

You set the bag down, approaching the side of the far end of the chamber and hitting a large black button. A locking mechanism released, the door swinging open and allowing you to grab the end of the pull out tray. The first thing you noticed was Soldier Boy was naked, followed by a slight warmth to the air. The tray helped but he was heavy, a solid wall of muscle you noticed as your eyes darted over his body. Every inch of him oozed strength.

Ever so gently, you moved to his side, knuckles grazing over up his leg, over his strong thigh, soldi chest. You rested your palm over his chest, a slow, steady beat thrumming away.

You didn’t falter, didn’t do anything strange as you started to check his pulse, mind wandering while you went through the motions.

Sure, you’d be his fucking doctor. Until you figured out how to get him out of there that was.

Ten minutes later you returned to the viewing room where Mallory had remained, her focus on Soldier Boy below.

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N. I know you’re thinking about how to break him out. Why do you think I hired you?” You smirked, cocking your head.

“So you don’t want me for my medical knowledge. Shocking.”

“Fuck no, just like I know you have no desire to finish med school. Use that money for whatever the fuck you want. You do what I ask and we’ll give you ten times that and maybe we end up dealing with your little…problem along the way.”

You glanced at Soldier Boy, pursing your lips. “Why the ruse? Why not just tell me you want me to act like I’m the only one on his side?”

“Because I had to see how good an actor you are. The second I told you he can take away another supes powers…you should have seen your face. You were already in. You’ll have to be on all the time with him though. No mistakes. He’ll snap your neck if he finds out.”

Your gaze shot back to Mallory, her mouth forming a small smile. “I’m good at pretending everything is just fine. So what exactly is the plan to get him to trust me?”

“Be his friend. A few weeks from now you’ll miraculously break him out after learning about the torture he goes through during the day in our attempts to understand his powers. He’ll be leery of course but weak with the massive dose of novichok will get in him. By the time it wears off, he’ll trust that you’re a caretaker for him, likely even fall for you. And then? You prove your loyalty, shower him with that love he so desperately wants but won’t admit to. By then, he’ll blow the powers out of whoever you tell him to. He’ll be our loaded gun without even realizing.”

“That’s what you wanted all along,” you said, Mallory nodding for the two of you to leave the room, heading down a hallway. “Because if it doesn’t work, you can blame it all on me.”

“There’s a reason I wanted you on this job kid and it’s not just because that man will take one look at you and want to screw you. You will need to adapt on the fly. Use that head of yours and we’ll relay the list of supes we want him to take out and then he’ll go back in his box.”

“We’ll worry about that later. Let’s just hope he doesn’t kill me first.”

You were tired when you got home from work the next day around seven thirty in the morning. Mallory and security had given you an in-depth briefing of their plans. It was all very simple. Manipulate him. Make him see you as his only friend. Break him out and make him reliant on you to the point where he was doing exactly what they wanted without lifting a finger.

Except that wasn’t your plan. You’d break him out, play along to get him there but the second you had him alone, you’d tell him the truth.

And if he killed you in a fit of rage, so be it.

If he even could.

Three Weeks Later

You were grateful Mallory no longer came into work during your shifts. She wasn’t suspicious of you. Shit, she thought she had you read like an open book and you were perfectly happy to let everyone keep on thinking that. The guards left you alone unless you asked for something from them which meant you spent a lot of time either in Ben’s room, you’d taken to calling him Ben when you went in with him, or sitting in the observation room with a book.

It wasn’t hard to feign boredom when there wasn’t much to do. You desperately wanted to spend more time with Ben but it was dangerous to leave him off the gas for more than thirty minutes at a time. He wasn’t exactly what you’d call cognitively aware when you’d pull open the drawer and assess him. His eyes would flutter open weakly, a glimpse of an angry glare behind them before he’d call you a bitch and they’d shut again, his chest rising and falling deeper than when he slept.

Which meant you were in for a fun time in about forty five minutes when you were supposed to “break him free” according to the plan. You were meant to go about your usual routine with him before they’d take him away to the operating room they called it. More like commit war crimes against a prisoner.

You didn’t know exactly what they were doing to him during the day but it was bad enough that Ben was starting to show injuries. Injuries. On an all powerful supe. Nothing major. A few bruises and scratches but it meant something was up and you wanted to be done with this charade and now.

You just needed Soldier Boy to take care of Reaper, that god awful supe, and then he could do whatever the fuck he wanted for all you cared.

A faint scream in the distance made your head snap up. You heard it again and closed your book. Who the hell would be screaming in a place like this? You got up and headed down the hall, dipping your head in the observation room.

A louder scream rang out as you saw the empty cryo chamber. You ran out to the hall, bumping into a guard.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, Lance from the sounds of it.

“Where is he?” you asked, more screams heard now.

“Oh. Yeah, they kept him in the operating room longer today so he can do his ‘breakout’ with you soon. Sorry for the noise, he can get loud sometimes.”

“What?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

“The breakout. You’re supposed to grab him from the operating-“

“I know which room I’m supposed to fake the breakout from. Why is he screaming?” you asked. The guard blinked, raising an eyebrow.

“He always screams. I would too if they shoved nuclear waste through a needle into my eyeball.” You scrunched up one eye, the guard giving you a look like you were the weird one. “It’s the only way they get the red matter out of him…”

“If you have your fucking red matter then what the fuck are you faking a break out for,” you growled. The guard held up his hands. “I asked a question.”

“Listen. I’m only telling you this cause I like you. They needed to fake a breakout that way they can drop their red matter bomb they’ve been brewing up and wipe out Soldier Boy and let the fallout spread down to the city and kill all the supes there, including Homelander. You were…the fall guy,” he said quietly. Your eye twitched as you grabbed his assault rifle, jamming the end under his jaw. “Y/N-”

“The only reason I’ll let you live is because you warned me. Now put on your gas mask.” He hesitantly did as told, securing it before you clocked him in the back of the head.

Soldier Boy let out another pained scream and you’d had enough. You grabbed your gas mask from your office and ducked into the security office, grateful to find it empty. A large red button behind glass sat on the far end of the console.

NOVICHOK - EMERGENCY USE ONLY

“Fuckers,” you said before smashing it, jamming it with the butt of your weapon. You watched on screen as people started to panic and then came the screams in the hallways as the nerve gas tore through their nervous systems, quickly but oh so painfully killing them. You knew there’d be a few people that would see the flashing amber lights in the halls and get their masks on before they keeled over. Whatever.

You’d deal with those people easily enough.

The monitors showed most people had gone down, convulsing violently as they foamed at the mouth. The south hallway was clear and after checking your gun, you ducked back outside, slipping the sidearm from the guard you’d knocked out into the back of your jeans. Soldier Boy had stopped screaming, the halls eerily quiet. Still, you stepped carefully, amber flashes bouncing off the dull gray walls.

Past the bodies, you went down the far passage, taking a breath before opening the double doors. Blood stained the walls. Dried blood. Old, rusty, oxidized blood.

“What the fuck…” you trailed off, eyes settling on where a barely conscious Soldier Boy lay restrained on the metal table in the center of the room.

“Y/N,” he mumbled, your eyes widening briefly. He rarely spent time awake with you and the rare occasion he did he’d only ever called you curses.

“Can you fight?” you asked, unbuckling the thick leather restraint wrapped around his right wrist. He was strong, powerful. But even he couldn’t escape when they kept him gasing him all the time. He grunted, closing his eyes. “Most of them are dead but there’s stragglers to deal with.”

“Why?” You raised an eyebrow under your mask, removing the leather restraints over his torso and left wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you out of here. I need to get you up North,” you said, strapping the gun over your body. You helped him sit up, Soldier Boy’s body lax, littered with dark bruises. “Can you walk?”

He only stared as he slumped against your chest, face jammed against your body before mumbling, “You got great tits.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” you muttered. You grasped his shoulders, forcing him upright, Soldier Boy scowling as you barely kept his heavy body steady. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he tried to growl, coming out like a petulant child instead. You rolled your eyes, scanning the room quickly. Trays of syringes littered the room, bottles of something red inside some, a cream white liquid in another. “Fuck off.”

You dropped his shoulder, grasping his jaw hard, Soldier Boy flinching slightly at the touch. You’d deal with whatever the fuck that reaction was later.

“I will leave you here to die you insolent little man-child. Cut. The. Shit. Now.” The hardness in his gaze stopped, an almost panicked expression replacing it. “Work with me here. What’d they do to you? Why are you the equivalent of a sack of potatoes?”

“They keep me gassed and stick the white stuff in my eyes. I think it’s novichok,” he said. He closed his eyes, slumping forward ever so slightly before flying them open. “It’s the only way they get the drugs in. Or out.”

“Out?” You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head. “Later. Can you move on your own or no?”

“I’m fucked for at least a few hours. Does that answer your fucking question?” He spit out the words, his glare indicating you’d be thrown against a wall if he were capable at the moment.

“Little bastard,” you grumbled to yourself, slinging the automatic rifle across your chest. He raised an eyebrow as you sighed. “Here’s how this works. You do as I say or you can die here. Your choice.”

“Get me the hell out of this shithole,” he growled, reluctantly holding out a hand. You turned, squatting down and pulling him into a fireman’s carry. He was warm against you, two hundred plus pounds of solid muscle. “At least you ain’t a weakling.”

“Shut up. Take that handgun in my waistband and shoot anything that moves and I mean anything.” He grunted which you took as an answer. You shifted you itself. Fuck, he was heavy. Dead weight too.

He might be able to run his mouth but that was all he had going for him. He nearly dropped the gun the second he took it out of the back of your jeans. Without another word, you exited the room, fine mist filling the corridors. Quickly, you moved down the hall, Soldier Boy grunting more than once.

“Shut up,” you whispered.

“Fuck off,” he snapped back, albeit more quietly. With gritted teeth, you continued forward, eyes flaring wide when you saw movement ahead. Gunfire rang out as you spun around, Soldier Boy hissing as loud shots fired off behind you. It went quiet, Ben dropping huffing against your back. “Thanks for using me as a fucking meat shield. That’s the only reason you busted me out, isn’t it?”

You dropped him straight on the ground, straddling his hips, not even a flicker of amusement on his face. You held up the gun, Soldier Boy scoffing. “What part of listening to what the fuck I say don’t you understand?”

“Leave me to die then, bitch.” You grabbed his jaw, pressing your thumb right under his eyes socket, his eyes narrowing. You pointed the gun at the inner corner, his eyes focused on the barrel.

“I need you to kill a supe for me. Reaper.”

“Reaper? That dumb fuck kid? Why the-” You pressed the hot barrel against his cheek, Ben growling.

“It doesn’t matter why I want him dead but I do. You will die if we stay here, Ben,” you said, tucking the gun back away. You sighed, checking the silent hallways once before re-focusing on him. “Lots of people hurt you. People here hurt you. But I am the only one that’s ever tried to protect you from something. So be quiet or I will leave.”

A grin crawled onto his face, a frown forming on yours. “You need me, don’t you sweetheart? Cut the tough guy act-”

You grabbed his throat, Soldier Boy’s eyes narrowing. “A bomb is going to drop killing all supes on the eastern seaboard. That’s us and you know what? Fuck it. Maybe I get lucky and this thing kills Reaper somehow and I don’t need you.”

“Dramatic are we?” he said as you stood upright. You got three steps down the hall when he slammed his fist against the cement floor. “Fine! I’ll shut up and kill Reaper for you. Now get me out.”

You smirked, wiping it off your face and hoisting him up once more. He stuck to his word, keeping his lips sealed as you made your way out, shooting one more guard at the front lobby area before you were in the parking lot.

After a quick check for trackers and bombs, you picked him up off the cold pavement, sitting him in the passenger seat of your SUV.

“My suit,” he mumbled. “Need my suit.”

“Already in my trunk. I was supposed to take break you out,” you said, closing the door.

“What the hell does that mean?” he asked when you got behind the wheel, leaning over to buckle him up so he didn’t slump over.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, pulling off your mask and tossing it in the back seat. “We need to-“

You both tensed when the night sky lit up red in the distance, a towering inferno blazing up into the atmosphere from the direction of the city.

He grabbed your hand as a shockwave barreled toward you, both of you flinching as a strange feeling washed through your bones.

But you also felt a sharp familiar zap kick in and course through your arm, straight into his hand. He pulled his hand away, staring at you.

“What the fuck was that? Why the fuck aren’t we dead?” he asked, flexing his hand as best he could.

“I sort of…can’t die. I guess that bomb can’t kill me…or Reaper,” you mumbled, turning the car on and driving out of the compound. All the while you felt his drugged up stare. “I can’t control it. But good news for you, apparently you can’t die either when you’re touching me.”

You didn’t want to acknowledge that you felt all of his fear and pain when you’d somehow protected him. How afraid he was. How fucking alone he felt way, way deep down in a place even he didn’t touch until the moment of immediate death.

You slowed down, reaching over to hold his hand, ignoring the way he relaxed at the touch. Soldier Boy was out cold fast as the adrenaline wore off, his grasp on you too tight to slip out of.

You didn’t get far though, barely a few miles up the road when you saw people arguing outside a house, strange red streaks across their skin.

What the fuck did that bomb do?

Unfortunately for the two of you, you didn’t have to wait long to find out.

____________

A/N: Part 2 coming soon!

#soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #the boys x reader #the boys fanfic #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfic #the boys fanfiction #soldier boy au #the boys #apocalypse au

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munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

Summary: Your weekend getaway to Indianapolis comes with a boyfriend who's trying to quit smoking, a five-year-old who has difficulty acclimating to new routines, and your own insecurities about your mothering abilities. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: angst, insecurities about motherhood, lost child, Eddie gets mad at us, discussion of menstrual period/PMS

WC: 7.7k A/N: There is a moment where someone refers to us as Harris's mom; however, she doesn't see us. There is no indication that we resemble Harris in any way.

Chapter 16/20

Divider credit to @saradika Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsonsmum

The morning dew still kisses the grass when you arrive at the Munson apartment, hauling your duffel bag up to their half-packed car. Eddie’s leaning into the backseat, only his jean-clad legs visible from your vantage point. Harris stands behind him, watching his dad’s every move earnestly and intently. If you had a camera on you, you’d take a photo of this Kodak moment.

“Hi, boys!” you chirp as enthusiastically, tucking your lips into your mouth to stop yourself from laughing when Eddie bangs his head on the roof of the car. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah, ‘m good,” he mutters, rubbing at his scalp with one hand, expression somewhere between a grimace and a smile.”Morning, Sweetheart. You sleep well?”

You nod, opening your arms as Harris races towards you for a hug. “What about you guys? Or were you too excited about our super-fun weekend?”

“Daddy snored!” Harris reports with a grin, overjoyed to share what he perceives to be a juicy morsel of gossip.

Eddie gasps in mock-offense, reaching out to take your bag and arranging it amongst his and Harris’s in the trunk. “I did not!”

“Did too!” Harris retorts, turning back to you and adding, “like, so loud!”

You crouch down, and hold a pinky out in front of him. “We’re gonna have to stick together this weekend if we’re going to survive,” returning his smile when he wraps his little finger around yours in a promise.

“Can’t believe my girlfriend is conspiring against me with my own flesh and blood,” Eddie grumbles, eyes widening when he realizes what he’s said; rather, in front of whom he’s said it. His panicked gaze meets yours, and you both anticipate some reaction from Harris, but he’s fortunately unfazed and too fixated on the utter silliness of his dad’s snoring. Eddie clears his throat, determined to change the subject before his son catches on. “I think we’re ready to ship out,” he offers, slamming the trunk shut and pressing down to double-check that it’s closed.

“Snacks?” you ask, running through a mental checklist of necessities.

Eddie holds up a family-size bag of pretzels. “Got ‘em.”

“Water?”

“Backseat,” he points to the floor to the left of Harris’s booster seat–a recent upgrade from his carseat. “Harris will be in charge of that, right, Har?”

“Right!” Harris confirms with a thumbs-up.

“Sounds good. Put him to work,” you tease. Eddie’s heart skips a beat at the playful relationship that you and his son have, swapping smiles and making each other laugh. “Music?”

Eddie juts his chin towards the center console, filled to the brim with cassettes. “Always.”

You cock your eyebrow knowingly before posing your next question, preparing yourself for some visceral response. “Nicotine gum?”

Eddie groans, patting the pack of Nicorette in his pocket. “Unfortunately, yes.” About a week and a half ago, Harris had come home from school crying after the school had put on an assembly about the dangers of smoking. Eddie had been meaning to quit for a long time, but his son worrying over real problems, using words like cancer and heart attack, was what finally pushed him to chuck every pack of cigarettes he owned into the trash.

“Okay,” you smile and clap your hands together, “I think we’re good to go!” You help Harris buckle his seatbelt before climbing into the passenger seat.

The sedan rumbles to life, catching on the second key turn and disrupting the otherwise still morning. “Gentlemen, start your engines!” Eddie roars in an exaggeratedly deep voice, and Harris giggles from the backseat. With Eddie’s hand on the gearshift, you seize the opportunity to squeeze it, light pink tickling his cheeks at your touch.

It’s only thirty minutes into the drive before it starts.

“Daddy, I gotta pee!”

You can practically feel the patience leaving Eddie’s body, fingers tightly gripping the wheel until his knuckles flush white.

“Har Bear, we just hit the road,” he tries, knowing his efforts are fruitless. “Can you hold it?”

“No, it’s a ‘mergency!”

“Fuck,” Eddie swears under his breath. The likelihood of it actually being an emergency is slim to none, but he’s in no mood to risk it. “All right, I’ll pull over at the next rest stop, ‘kay?”

Eddie takes the next exit, parking at a truck stop and nearly falling out of the car in his scramble to get Harris to the bathroom. “C’mon, c’mon,” he mutters, walking so quickly that Harris nearly trips over his own feet. You quicken your own pace just to keep up with them.

The scent of coffee grabs your attention as soon as you walk in the door, and you make a beeline for the tiny Dunkin Donuts tucked in the corner. The cashier looks as though they could use a shot or two of espresso, eyelids closing under their visor as you give your order. When the boys get back from the bathroom, you present Eddie with a large coffee with far more milk and sugar than your own, and hand a chocolate donut to Harris.

Eddie's eyes shift back and forth from the donut to you before he speaks. “It’s, like, 9 am,” he points out. “He’s gonna be bouncing off the walls if he eats that now.”

Oh. Obviously. What were you thinking, giving an already-hyperactive child pure sugar in the morning? All of the times you’d cringed when parents had sent their kids into school with Cocoa Puffs or some equally sugary cereal, and you’d given his son a chocolate donut for breakfast. “I’m sorry,” you sputter, shaking your head in frustration. “I should’ve asked you first, or saved it for later.”

“‘S fine,” he mutters, heaving an exasperated sigh as Harris takes a giant bite of donut. “At least there’s two of us to chase after him,” he adds with a weak smile.

Harris has devoured nearly the entire donut by the time Eddie’s buckling him back in, chocolate crumbs tucked into the crevices of his mouth. He’s oblivious to your faux pas, and you’d like to keep it that way.

“I really am sorry,” you say again, guilt gnawing in your stomach. “I should’ve known better; I guess I just got excited about our little vacation together.”

Eddie’s grin is more genuine this time. “Me, too, baby.” He sneaks a quick kiss to your cheek when Harris is focused on what remains of his snack. “The whole no-smoking thing has me extra bitter, y’know?”

You know. You definitely know, but you’re not about to point out all of the ways he’s been short-tempered lately. Instead, you relax into your seat and try to brush off your mistake as Eddie turns on the radio and guitar riffs replace the silence.

Eddie rolls down the window as the springtime sun warms the air, and you stretch as the rush of wind cools your body. His curls whip around the base of his neck, dancing in the breeze, and you can’t help but push them out of his face haphazardly.

Your stomach growls, and you’re grateful for the blaring music masking the embarrassingly loud noise. You’d forgotten to grab something for breakfast in your rush to leave your apartment, and coffee is a poor substitute for the most important meal of the day.

You reach down to the bag of pretzels nestled against your feet. “Y’want?” you ask Eddie, who nods and opens his mouth for you to feed it to him while he concentrates on the road. Laughter bubbles up from within you as he takes one from your hand by pinching it between his teeth.

Harris giggles, too. “Daddy, you look like a goat from the zoo!”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie slides the snack into his mouth and bites down with a crunch, “and what sounds do goats make?”

“Hmm,” Harris ponders this for a moment before bleating a resounding, “maaaah!”

You swivel in your seat to give him a high-five. There’s donut residue on your hand when you pull back. “Smarty pants! I bet you know every animal sound there is.”

You and Eddie rattle off different species as you feed him more pretzels. Harris manages perfect impressions of each, until you call out, “sloth!” and effectively stump him.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” he cackles maniacally, partially because of his sugar rush, you’re sure, “that is so silly!”

“Y’just gotta do everything suuuuper slooooow.” You drag out the last two words to emphasize your point. “Like this: Haaaaarrisssss…caaaaan…youuuuu…haaaaand…meeeeee…aaaaa…waaaaterrrr?” This brings on a fresh round of giggles from the backseat; even extra-bitter Eddie manages a hint of a smile.

Harris grabs a bottle at a snail’s–no, a sloth’s–pace. “Heeere…youuuuu…goooooo!” His pace is far from hurried, and you feel the gentle tap of the plastic cap against your shoulder blade a full thirty seconds later.

“Thaaaaank…youuuuu!” You crack open the bottle of water and take a swig, quenching a thirst only made worse by the salty snack. “Wanna play again? See how many other animal sounds you can do?” you ask, grateful to have found a way to keep him occupied. Before you can close the bottle, Eddie reaches over and snags it, lifting it to his lips.

“Daddy, no!” Harris screeches from the backseat, little hand shooting out in protest, causing Eddie to slam on the brake. Water sloshes over the top of the bottle and onto his pants.

“Shit—what, Har?” he snaps, shoving the now half-empty bottle into the cupholder. He swipes haphazardly at the wet patch on his thigh, darkening the denim as it spreads along the fabric. He gives up with a mumbled, “whatever,” when he realizes he’s only rubbing it in more.

“You’re gonna get her germs,” Harris points out matter-of-factly.

Eddie huffs out a terse chuckle, slightly amused but still irritated. “Yeah, yeah, right,” he mutters, and you take that as a sign to reach back and get him his own bottle.

The remainder of the drive is uneventful, though Eddie has to dip into his Nicorette stash when a maroon Toyota Corolla weaves in and out of lanes at lightning speed and cuts him off. He instinctively reaches for the pack of cigarettes he’d always kept in the console, groaning when he remembers that it’s long gone.

“Good job, baby,” you murmur softly, giving his knee a quick squeeze in approval as he pops a piece of gum into his mouth. “‘M proud of you.”

You pull up to the hotel just after 10 AM, the morning chill has dissipated as the sun’s rays warm the air. The fair weather made the trip smoother, a small miracle if you’d ever seen one. Truthfully, you don’t think Eddie’s frayed nerves can handle a rainy day.

Eddie takes Harris’s hand as you all walk through the parking lot and up to the front desk. A middle-aged concierge greets you, the customer service smile plastered across his face faltering when he clocks Eddie’s ripped jeans and disheveled wind-blown hair.

“Reservation’s under ‘Munson,’” Eddie says to him, not making eye contact; your heart is a sinking stone when you realize that he also noticed the man’s shifting expression. “I called ahead and they said we could check in early.”

The concierge nods. You catch a glimpse of his shiny silver name tag, proudly proclaiming “STU, ASSISTANT MANAGER” gleaming in the overhead fluorescent lighting. “Room 325,” he grunts, handing you and Eddie keys dangling from matching logo-branded chains. Elation is a sunflower blooming in your chest; your first vacation has officially begun. Maybe it’s a little getaway only ninety minutes from home, but it’s a new adventure that you’re taking together.

Eddie flings his and Harris’s shared bag, then yours, onto one of the queen beds with a groan. “We made it!” he announces, flinging an arm over your shoulder. The pads of his fingers brush your upper arm, a tissue-paper light touch that has you soaring.

“Daddy? I gotta pee again,” Harris’s urgency breaks the moment. He’s hopping from one foot to the other, a potty dance if you’ve ever seen one.

“Go for it,” Eddie says, pointing towards the bathroom. He shakes his head when his son sprints the short distance.

Once the door closes, Eddie’s hands are on your hips, tugging you so close that your stomachs touch, your breasts pressed to his chest. His mouth immediately swoops down to your neck, nipping gently at the flesh along your collarbone.

“Hello there,” you manage to speak through a laugh. You’re unable to say more, as he’s pressing his lips to yours in a hungry kiss so fervently that your teeth nearly click together.

“Hi,” he breathes once he’s pulled back, brushing the tip of his nose against your own. “Sorry, y’just look really pretty.”

You wrinkle your nose in confusion. “I’m wearing sweatpants. I don’t even have makeup on.” Truthfully, you’d meant to at least swipe on some mascara, but you were preoccupied making sure that you’d packed everything you needed for the weekend.

“Don’t care,” Eddie mumbles, leaning in for another kiss, “still s’fuckin’ pretty. Don’t know how I’m gonna keep my hands off of you.”

The solution to that problem comes in the form of a flushing toilet and Harris calling out, “I’m done! Gonna wash my hands!”

Eddie throws his head back in frustration before burying his pink-tinged face in his hands. “This, uh, was not exactly how I imagined our first time in a hotel together,” he admits.

“At least he’s washing his hands,” you joke, trying to ward off the throbbing need building in your core. It fails miserably. You want him, need him, to relieve the ache in the way that only he can. You yearn for the way his fingertips dance across your skin, eagerly reaching under your shirt or dipping below your waistband, desperate to make his girl feel good.

The two of you break apart as the bathroom door swings open. You fly across the room and pretend like you’re rifling through your duffel bag while Eddie flops onto the bed. His shirt rides up slightly as he lays down, and you have to fight the urge to bite the exposed sliver of tummy.

“When are we going to the market?” Harris asks, catapulting himself onto the bed and landing next to his dad.

Eddie rolls over and checks the digital alarm clock between the two queen beds. “Doesn’t start for another few hours,” he says. “I was gonna try and take a quick nap before we—”

“I’m not tired!” Harris whines, and you can see in Eddie’s deflated, tense physicality that his already thin patience is wearing down further. “I wanna go now!”

“Hey, Har Bear,” you try, hoping you’re not inserting yourself into the dynamic too forcefully, “why don’t we go on an adventure while Daddy sleeps? We can wake him up when we get back.”

Harris hops down onto the floor and readily slips his hand into yours. “Bye, Daddy!” he calls out, dragging you towards the door. “Me an’ Ms. Sweetheart are having a ‘venture!”

Eddie gives you a weary but grateful smile as he scoots upwards to rest his head on the overstuffed pillow. “Godspeed,” he mumbles into the sheets, already beginning to doze off as he speaks.

The elevator dings and you shuffle into the small space, reaching for the “L” button to bring you down to the lobby.

“I wanna push the button!” Harris laments, and his sudden shriek has you instinctively pulling your hand back before regaining your composure.

Do you correct him? Let him press the button despite raising his voice? Deciding a consequence comes naturally to you in the classroom, but the anxiety of making the wrong choice serves as a massive roadblock. “You have to ask nicely if you want to push the button,” you offer, sending up a silent prayer that this staves off an impending tantrum.

He pouts for a moment before relenting. “Can I push the button?” It’s more grumble than request, but you accept it anyway.

His hand remains tucked safely into yours when you leave the hotel, basking in warm weather. You breathe in for three, breathe out for three. Okay. You can do this. Your job revolves around children; you can survive an afternoon taking care of just one.

Except that one happens to be your boyfriend’s son, and if you mess this up, it could ruin both Munsons’ perceptions of you.

“Where’re we going?” Harris asks, and you realize that you have no earthly idea; to be honest, you’re surprised that he so readily agreed.

”We can go for a walk?” you suggest, pasting on a smile in feigned confidence. “Maybe we can find a playground or something?”

“Okay!” he chirps. He’s fast for someone with little legs, and you have to remind him multiple times to use his walking feet. Yeah, this kid needs to burn off some energy, stat.

To your relief, there’s a playground just a few blocks away, fully equipped with a swing set and a jungle gym. Harris races across the grassy field onto the wood chip-covered area, assessing the space to figure out what he wants to conquer first.

You sit on the bench next to a woman who simultaneously reads a James Patterson novel and keeps an eye on the jungle gym, where a little girl is dangling from the monkey bars, putting one hand in front of the other.

She looks over with a sympathetic smile when you breathe out a long sigh, sinking into the wooden back like a weight has been removed from your shoulders.

“I hear that,” she says with a kind chuckle. “Mine will be tired for about…hmm, five minutes? Just long enough to get her home, and then she’ll be hopping around like the Energizer Bunny.” She shakes her head. “Is yours the same way?”

Yours. The term is peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth, and it takes a beat too long for you to respond. “Y-Yeah, I’m pretty sure he would sleep run if he could.” The stranger laughs at your joke, and you relax a bit. “Sorry, he’s really my boyfriend’s son, and it’s kind of…new to think of him as being mine, too.”

You expect her to pick up and move to a different bench, away from the weird woman who’s baring her soul on the playground, but she just closes her book and turns to you. “Carly is technically my stepdaughter,” she explains in a hushed tone, “but her mom’s not in the picture so, for all intents and purposes, she’s my daughter. No ‘step’ necessary.”

“Is…is it hard?” you ask, the question spilling from your lips in a desperate plea for answers. “Being a stepmom?”

She nods. “Oh, absolutely.” She brushes a strand of hair from her eyes, and you can see a sparkle behind them. “But, trust me, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Her words, spoken freely of judgment and purely with empathy, alleviate the nervousness burning through you. “Thank you,” you murmur, gratitude forming a lump in your throat that you struggle to swallow.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris shouts from the top of the jungle gym. “Look what I can do!” He hesitates for a moment before reaching out his arms and grabbing onto the metal pole. You stand up to call out a preemptive warning, to get to him before he can fall, but before you can, his chubby hands grip the pole. He hooks his legs around it and slides down expertly, not letting go until his sneakers are firmly planted on the wood chips scattered across the ground.

Pride warms your heart when his eyes lock with yours, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he awaits your approval. Anticipation reverberates within his little body, and before you can get in a word edgewise, he’s jumping up and down with an excited, “didja see me?”

“You’re amazing!” Your praise floats through the air and envelops him like a long-awaited embrace. “Super brave, too. I don’t think I could do that.”

He furrows his brows before a knowing smile forms on his lips. “Yes, you can! I’ll show you.”

Kind of walked right into that one, you lightly chastise yourself, but you dutifully shuffle towards where he’s already darting up the steps on all fours, hands splayed out for balance.

“C’mon, Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris cheers, waving his fists in the air in earnest, and you simply cannot let the boy down. He easily glides down once more, big brown eyes looking up at you from the ground. “Just like that, see?”

“Right, got it.” You give him a thumbs-up and emulate his movements, holding on tightly to the metal pole and sliding down. You grimace as it squeaks under your grasp, nails on a chalkboard, but your feet reach the ground soon enough.

Harris flings his arms around you, chin digging into your thigh as he gazes up in adoration. “I told you you could do it! Y’just had to try!” His admiration is fleeting; he soon spots another child leap from the swingset to play elsewhere. “Can you push me on the swings?” he pleads, already leading you to the equipment. “I just need a little help getting started, but then ‘m good.”

You hold the chain links dangling from the top of the structure, allowing Harris to maneuver himself onto the rubber seat. He scoots back so his bottom is fully supported and announces, “‘m ready!”

“Hold on tight,” you remind him, more out of routine than necessity, as you pull back the rust-covered chains. You move as far back as you can, double-checking that he hasn’t let go, and release the swing. His squealing giggles are music to your ears, and you push him a few more times before he’s able to take over independently.

His mop of curls defies gravity as he sails back and forth, pumping his legs to gain height. “Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Do you love my daddy?”

You ponder the thought for a moment. You know exactly how you feel about Eddie; he simultaneously kicks up the butterflies in your stomach and calms every buzzing nerve in your body with just a smile, but you’re unsure how much he wants to tell Harris. You settle on the truth, direct and simple: “yeah, I do love him.”

Harris wastes no time asking a follow-up question. “A lot or a little?”

“A lot,” you answer quickly, realizing the magnitude of your enamoration as you say it aloud. The way Eddie’s kisses wrap you in an armor of safety; you hope your kisses have the same effect on him. “Definitely a lot.”

He hums his acknowledgement. “Grampa Wayne says Daddy loves you a lot, too, but I can’t ask you to be my mommy yet.”

You freeze in place so suddenly that the swing’s momentum nearly knocks you down; you step out of the way just before his sneaker-clad feet can make contact with your torso. “You want me to be your mommy?” you repeat dumbly, still half-convinced that you heard him incorrectly.

“Mhm,” Harris confirms, “but Grampa says that being a mommy is a big ‘sponsibility, and I gotta be patient. That means I gotta wait until Daddy says it’s okay to ask you,” he elaborates matter-of-factly.

This is clearly something they’ve talked about, extensively enough that Harris knows that he shouldn’t say anything about it. You’re temporarily rendered speechless, words failing you as you search for an appropriate response. Do you thank him? Act like you hadn’t heard him? Hope that a sinkhole opens up in the middle of the playground and swallows you whole?

“Th-That’s great, Har,” you manage, shoulders suddenly heavy with the weight of his statement. He goes back to focusing on pumping his legs, leaving you to tend to the anxiety gnawing at your insides.

Motherhood–the term stepmother seems arbitrary, given that Harris’s biological mother has all but dropped off of the face of the Earth–is a terrifying prospect. Any time you try to explain your fears, people just shrug them off, claiming that you’d be a ‘natural,’ that your years of teaching would ultimately ‘pay off’ when you had children of your own. As if teaching and parenting were remotely the same.

To you, the differences are as clear as day. When you’re a parent, there’s no ‘clocking out.’ Your obligations don’t begin at 9 AM and end at 2 PM; they’re twenty-four hours, seven days a week. It’s not the same thing. Not even close.

Before you became a teacher, you had to go to school and take education courses. Read your textbooks cover to cover. Had to do an internship for a semester. You’d had ample opportunities to determine whether or not it was the right job for you. Motherhood doesn’t offer that luxury: you don’t know if you’ll be a good mom until you’ve already chosen to become one.

“Ms. Sweetheart?” You jump out of your skin when you realize that Harris is slowing himself down, scuffed Reeboks scraping against the ground as he comes to a stop. “Can I get ice cream?”

You bite back a laugh. “You just had a donut, silly boy,” you remind him with a gentle ruffle to his curls, trying to keep your tone breezy, “but we can grab some sandwiches. Maybe even get one for Daddy, too?”

His lower lip quivers, making your heart lurch. “B-But–”

“And,” you interject, “we can go out for ice cream after the market. With Daddy.” You hope it’s a promise you can keep.

It was too good to be true. Deep down, you knew it, despite the fleeting victory of getting Harris to eat an actual lunch. His hands were sticky with peanut butter and jelly–you were making a mental note to reassure Eddie that, yes, some had gotten in his mouth–when you’d done the unthinkable. The unimaginable.

You hadn’t let him press the elevator button.

He howls and sinks down to the floor, knees slamming into the linoleum tile and making him scream even louder.

“Buddy, you’ve got peanut–”

“I wanted to press…the…BUTTON!” he shrieks, every minor inconvenience he’s encountered today culminating in what you can only dub the Tantrum of the Decade. The crash from the sugar rush, not going to the market when he wanted to, the lack of ice cream are represented in every fat tear rolling down his reddening cheeks, in every flail of his legs as you try to scoop him up and bring him into the elevator, in every heaving breath. He’s overtired, overwhelmed, and out of his normal routine.

Your own eyes get misty as the metal door slides shut, enclosing you in a small space that seems to shrink with each wail. The kid has the lung capacity of an Olympic swimmer, while you’re drowning in your own pity.

He’s still sobbing when you reach the third floor, and Eddie’s flying out of the room as soon as he hears the sound of his son crying. Curls disheveled from his nap, crust still at the corners of his eyes. I woke him up, you realize. Another nail in the coffin.

“Wh-What happened?” His voice is raised, not in accusation, but just to be heard over Harris yelling. “Did he get hurt?” He takes Harris from your arms, clutching him to his chest in sheer panic. Reflexively, he inspects his boy’s head, arms, and legs for bruising and blood.

You shake your head, afraid that any attempt to speak will have your voice fracturing into pieces, no better than the little boy’s meltdown.

Fortunately, Harris has no problem filling his dad in. “I–wanted–to push–the button–and–she–said–NO!!!” Each word is punctuated with a hitched breath and is angrier than the last.

Eddie looks at you, more puzzled than worried now that he knows his son is unharmed, and a visit to the emergency room is unnecessary.

“His hands were sticky from his sandwich,” you mutter, unable to make eye contact with either Munson. “Oh, um, this is yours,” you add robotically, handing him the bag containing his hoagie, now a darker shade of brown from the grease it’s soaked up. You wince at how stilted you sound, simply going through the motions, not at all like the enthusiastic presentation you’d planned on the walk back to the hotel.

“Thanks.” Not unappreciative, but far from enthusiastic, and you can’t blame him. “Let’s just, uh, let’s just get him in the room.”

The sleepiness consumes Harris after a few more arduous minutes in his dad’s embrace. Eddie rubs circles on his back to calm him down, tiny shh sounds passing through his teeth. Harris begins to catch his breath; hiccups like aftershocks ricochet in his chest, gradually subsiding into soft snores.

“Jesus,” Eddie whispers as he gingerly places him onto the unmade bed, still warm from where he was lying just moments earlier, “that was one hell of a wake-up call.”

You speak at the same volume as him, though you don’t even have to try. Shame buries your voice deep in your diaphragm. “I’m so sorry.” Your right incisor digs into your lower lip as emotion ravishes you. The absence of Harris’s tantruming creates a loud silence that neither of you have the energy to fill.

“I could say the same to you,” Eddie says with a soft chuckle, taking your hand and squeezing it tight as he sits down on your bed. “His meltdowns are no joke.”

“I should’ve just let him press the damn button.” You’re only half-serious, but your stomach sinks when Eddie says nothing; instead, he carefully unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite. A glob of mustard lands on the parchment paper with a soft plop.

He doesn’t disagree. You made a mistake—two mistakes, if you’re counting the donut fiasco—and Eddie saw it. Saw that you’d failed.

“Did you get enough rest?” It’s a feeble attempt to change the subject, and you both know it, but you go for it anyway.

He lets his knee knock into yours. “Never enough, Sweetheart,” he says with a smile, wiping his lips with the flimsy deli napkin. “But, yeah, I got some sleep.” He leans in and murmurs in your ear, “Would’ve been better with you next to me, though.”

You turn so that your nose brushes his. “If I was laying next to you, you wouldn’t be able to sleep,” you quip, stifling your laughter when he takes your cheeks in his hands and smacks a kiss to your lips.

“I would be a perfect gentleman.” He stretches and exposes the happy trail below his navel. “My eyes are up here,” he teases, catching you checking him out. “And you were worried about me.”

The dynamic shifts back to playful and lighthearted, his joke chipping away at the tension that’s been weighing you down.

“Shut up and eat your sandwich, Munson.”

“Yes, dear.”

You’ve showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes, jeans replacing the ratty sweatpants you’d donned earlier. You’d tried to wash the day’s stress down the drain along with the eucalyptus-scented soap suds, and though you don’t feel completely recharged, you’re ready enough to tackle the market.

Still, you can’t stop yourself from murmuring to Eddie, “d’you want me to stay here with Harris? Just in case it’s too much for him?”

He considers it for a moment before shaking his head, shrugging on his denim jacket. “Nah, he got his nap. Should be fine.”

The little boy in question slips one hand into yours and looks up at you with a grin. Eddie had talked to him earlier, reminded him about expressing himself in ways that didn’t hurt people–or their ears–and Harris apologized tearily. All is forgiven; at least between you and him. You still feel an uneasiness with Eddie, though it may be one-sided, as he’d quietly lamented that you two couldn’t shower together.

“We’re goin’ to the market! We’re goin’ to the market!” Harris chants, shuffling on the balls of his feet in a little dance. “Ms. Sweetheart, guess what?”

“What?”

“WE’RE GOIN’ TO THE MARKET!”

“Shocking,” Eddie mutters under his breath, a wry smile on his lips, and you use your free hand to swat at his stomach. “Okay,” he pats the wallet in the side pocket of his jeans, “got the company card, keys, handsome son, beautiful girlfriend…” He glances around the room; this time, he’s either unaware of his slip-up or is unbothered by Harris knowing your relationship status. “Looks like we’re good to go!”

The car ride isn’t too long; it’s only about a ten minute drive before you reach the market. And since you’d remembered to let Harris press the elevator button, it didn’t feel endless.

“Now, Harris,” Eddie says as his son climbs out of the car, hopping onto the parking lot pavement, “the market’s gonna be busy–”

“I know!”

“--so you have to hold my hand, or Ms. Sweetheart’s hand–”

“I know!”

“--the whole time. Got it?”

“Yes!” He’s far too exasperated for a five-year-old, and you have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing. “Can we go in now?”

Eddie obliges and takes Harris’s right hand; you take his left, the three of you walking towards the gigantic building together.

You’d figured it would be crowded, but you’re unprepared for just how overstimulated your senses become upon entering. Vendors shout advertisements for their booths, beckoning potential customers to check out their wares. Snippets of different conversations infiltrate your ears, and you swallow hard to clear your head, though the grainy muzak pumping through the overhead speakers doesn't help.

Immediately, you spot a booth selling secondhand books, and you look at Eddie with a hopeful gaze.

“Go,” he motions with a smile, laughing when you all but skip off to the stack of novels. You don’t want to take too long, as neither Munson has the patience to wait while you peruse your options. A weathered paperback copy of The Grapes of Wrath catches your eye, some pages dog-eared and smelling faintly of stale smoke, and you fish out two quarters from the bottom of your bag and place them in the vendor’s hand.

“Okay,” you breathe when you get back to Eddie and Harris, overwhelmed just by the short walk. You grip Harris’s hand even tighter, all-too protective of him in such a crowded space. “Let’s go get some records!”

Eddie finds a variety of vinyls that he knows will sell at Rock Records—from older classics like Louis Armstrong, Etta James, and Buddy Holly, to more recent gems from Van Halen, Queen, and Michael Jackson.

“Babe, check this out!” he announces gleefully, showing off a copy of Metallica’s Ride the Lightning. “I must’ve listened to this a hundred times when it was released in ‘84.” His enthusiasm is palpable, and you have to wonder if this purchase is for the store or for himself.

To his credit, Harris lasts a full twenty-five minutes before he starts asking for ice cream again. “You promised, renember?”

Eddie grins at him, then at you. “A promise, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “Can’t break that.”

“I think I saw a booth down there that’s sellIng some.” It’s a local shop, and you know one cone will probably cost more than a half-gallon at the grocery store, but you’ll risk the upcharge if it means avoiding a second meltdown today.

“I’ll be right there,” Eddie tells you, eyes flitting back towards a row of booths you’d passed by earlier. “Just get me something with chocolate?”

“What’s the magic word?” Harris interjects.

“Please.” He lays it on thick, throwing you a wink before turning around.

You grab a $5 bill from your back pocket, change from when you’d bought the sandwiches earlier, and approach the ice cream stand.

“Can I please get one cherry chip cone, one chocolate fudge cone, and…what do you want, Har?”

“That!” He points to a giant display of model cars displayed in front of a toy vendor’s booth. “I want the orange one!”

“We can look after,” you reassure him. “First, you have to pick the ice cream flavor you want.”

“Hmm,” he presses on tiptoes to peruse his options before pressing his forefinger to the glass, pointing to cookies ‘n cream, declaring, “that one!”

The vendor hands him his cone, then turns to you and confirms, “just the three cones?”

“Mhm.”

She punches some numbers into the register, expression far too serious for the gig. “That'll be $6.”

Exhaling, you hand her the bill in your palm. There’s no way the stodgy woman is going to cut you a break for the extra dollar. “Give me a sec; I should have a single in my wallet.” You let go of Harris’s hand, fumbling around in your bag until you pull out what you’ve been searching for.

The vendor takes your money and hands you the remaining two cones, already starting to melt with all of the body heat surrounding you.

“Thank you,” you say with a polite smile. “Okay, Har, let’s—” Your blood runs cold when you realize he’s nowhere to be found. “Harris!” you call out, voice shaking on the last syllable, unable to hide how frantic you feel. “Harris!”

Eddie, already on his way from his earlier errand, runs over to you. “Where’s—”

“He was just here!” You push your way through the crowd, accidentally brushing your scoop of cherry chip along someone’s jacket, but there’s no time to apologize.

You and Eddie take turns yelling out his name, bile rising in your throats with each unanswered shout, until you hear somebody ask, “is that your mommy and daddy calling for you?”

Both your and Eddie’s heads swivel towards the conversation, breathing identical sighs of relief when you see the familiar mop of curls in front of the toy car display.

“Oh, thank God.” It comes out in one breath, your chest deflating as you and Eddie rush towards him.

“Harris, what are you doing?” Eddie admonishes him, heart still racing as the surge of adrenaline tapers off. He picks him up, fingers digging into the shirt fabric as he holds him as close as possible, and presses a kiss to his scalp. There will be some sort of consequence later–revoking TV time and a lecture on stranger danger–but for now, there’s only the comfort of knowing he’s safe.

“I just wanted to see the cars,” Harris protests, trying and failing to wriggle from Eddie’s grip. “Can I get the orange one?”

Eddie huffs out an incredulous laugh, astounded that Harris doesn’t understand the seriousness of his actions. “No, you can’t!” he yells, attracting unwanted attention from other shoppers, “and you can’t wander off like that! I told you that you have to stay with one of us the whole time!” He flexes his palm before clenching it into a frustrated fist. “What were you thinking?”

Harris’s eyes fill with tears. “I j-just wanted to s-see them,” he tries again, taken aback by the anger in his dad’s voice. “An’ Ms. Sweetheart was right there!”

The mention of your nickname reminds Eddie of the other adult involved. “You were supposed to be watching him,” he spits, gritting his teeth to keep from raising his voice at you.

You wince at his tone, filled with venom for the first time since his comment about Grandma forgetting you all those months ago. The difference is that, now, you deserve it. Letting go of his hand was careless; at the very least, you should have reminded him to stay put. The early morning donut, the elevator button were menial indiscretions compared to this mistake. There’s no denying that you’d royally messed up.

“I’m so sorry.” Sorry for not keeping a closer eye on Harris. Sorry for waking him up from his nap via a screaming child. Sorry for waltzing into their lives and thinking you had a snowball’s chance in Hell of being a decent parent. The ice cream drips down the cones and onto your hands, pooling in the crevices between your fingers. You dump them in the nearest trash can, neither of you hungry anymore.

You can’t return to the hotel soon enough, and as soon as Eddie puts an episode of Rugrats on TV for Harris, you begin inconspicuously packing your collecting your toiletries from the bathroom to back in your luggage.

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asks from the doorway. He’s got his arms folded across his chest, perplexion wrinkling his brows.

“Going home.”

He presses his forefinger and thumb to his eyelids and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like–”

“No,” you interrupt him, choking down your frustration, “you were right. You trusted me to watch him, and I didn’t.”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie steps forward and puts out a hand to stop you from grabbing your toothbrush, “it was an accident. Things happen in a split second, yeah?” He thinks back to the way Harris had tumbled off of the bed months ago. “We found him, and that’s what matters.”

He’s trying to comfort you, which somehow makes you feel worse. You lost his kid, but he’s focusing on making you feel better.

The next words out of your mouth shatter his heart into pieces: “I think it would be better for everyone if I leave.”

A small puff of air escapes his nostrils, unsurprised but hurt nonetheless. “‘S too much for you, isn’t it?” he mumbles, not even daring to glance in your direction as he says it.

He knows. He knows that you aren’t cut out for this, that you’ll never be the mom Harris needs or deserves. In his own words, he knows it’s too much for you.

You say nothing in return, and your silence is louder than the cartoon squabble just a few feet away.

“Fine, just…just go, then.” He slams one palm on the bathroom sink, the other raking through his hair so forcefully that a few strands come loose. “God, I need a fucking cigarette!” he mutters, jaw clenched.

“I’m so sorry.” It’s all you can think to say. You’ll repeat it over and over again if it rectifies the situation.

“Yeah, whatever.” He starts to leave the room, not even turning back around to say, “I’ll tell Harris you’re not feeling well.” He wants to ask you to call the hotel room when you get home but bites back the request. That’s something one partner asks of another, and you aren’t partners anymore, he realizes bitterly, and it’s his fault. He’d put the responsibility of parenthood on you far too quickly.

He could have insisted that Harris stay and nap with him rather than letting him go to the park. He could have kept Harris by his side while you got the ice cream, or the three of you could have gone together. Instead, he’d just assumed that this was a role you had no qualms about taking on. In his eagerness to build this little family, he’d squandered the foundation before it had even set.

Eddie watches as you walk away, the words wait and don’t go and we can figure this out lurking behind his molars, but he remains silent.

When the door slams behind you, he bites on his thumb. Go after her, some part of him—his conscience, maybe—nags, but he pushes the thought away. He can’t ask you to stick around and be a mom to his son if it isn't truly what you want to do.

He removes his finger from between his teeth and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, temporarily confused when he’s met with some resistance. The tiny brown paper bag crinkles as his fingers make contact with it, and he pulls it out dejectedly.

He’d spotted the necklace while scavenging for record vendors and made a mental note to return to it when you weren’t there to see. A tiny metal heart on a chain that he’d planned to give to you at the end of the trip. It was the reason he’d left you alone with Harris; he’d wanted it to be a surprise.

“Well, that was a fuckin’ waste,” Eddie says to no one in particular, shoving it back in the confines of his pocket. He sits next to Harris, hoping Tommy Pickles’ shenanigans will melt his brain for just a few moments.

The next bus to Hawkins pulled up thirty minutes after your cab arrived at the station. It was the only way to get home, and an embarrassingly large part of you hoped that Eddie and Harris would swing by, enveloping you in a tight hug and promising you that you’re doing a great job. That you’re enough.

That moment remains a daydream, one that replays over and over as you lean your head against the window. It’s all highway from here to your small town, close to three hours on the road because of the intermediate stops, but you’re in no hurry to return. If it hurts now, you can’t imagine the pain when the loneliness sets in.

Of course Eddie wasn’t coming to rescue you; you’d let him down right when he’d needed you. It was all so superficial on your end, thinking that you could be a mother just because you’d taught Harris how to read and have dinner with him and his dad once a week.

Wallowing in pity is too indulgent, too pathetic, but you can’t keep from berating yourself. You’re a preschool teacher; how hard is it to remember to hold a kid’s hand?

Tears slip down your cheeks involuntarily and you swipe at them before your seat partner can notice. The last thing you need is to strike up an emotional conversation with a complete stranger.

And what is it with you and crying today? Getting choked up when Eddie had pointed out the donut mistake, feeling like you were going to have a meltdown alongside Harris, and now this? It’s like you have an endless supply of tears.

The most likely culprit is your run-of-the-mill PMS; you can always count on being overly sensitive on those select few days. You open your bag and take out the pocket calendar where you keep track of important appointments and dates, including your periods.

Today’s April 26. You flip back to March, rifling through the pages until you see that the first day of your last period was the twentieth.

You’re almost a full week late.

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