#don’t be a dead beat dad please

[ohsonewtome]

so, if anyone sees this: if yall saw the tweets about money, well, they’re not oasis related. apparently there’s been a new lawsuit filed against liam related to his child-support payment (an increase) so he’s angry about it i guess. i can’t comment on this and pretend to be unbiased about it because it’s the issue that makes me want to punch liam’s face every time i think about him and his littlest so. just saying.

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

baby daddy (j.t.)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: Some blood and stuff

Word Count: 7.1k

A/N: I'll be so honest, this was way better in my head lol my execution needs work because aint no way this is 7k words and im still not satisfied perhaps this would be best as a series? but tbh i dont think i can write much more than this

It's based on this post from @batbusiness-schooldropout

"Alright, who the hell snitched?"

Jason stormed into the Batcave, helmet tucked under his arm, pissed.

Tim barely looked up from the Batcomputer, "What are you talking about?"

Jason gestured wildly, "I just had a fun little run-in with a couple of GCPD officers who very politely informed me that I have an outstanding legal matter that needs my attention. Which is news to me because I don’t exactly file taxes or have jury duty, so what the hell are they trying to pull?"

Tim blinked, "You have a warrant?"

"That’s what I’m asking you!" Jason snapped.

Tim, now curious, spun back to the screen, "Alright, let’s check."

He typed in Red Hood and cross-checked it with Gotham’s legal system. A few minor infractions came up—nothing serious—but then…

There it was.

Tim frowned, "Huh."

Jason narrowed his eyes, "What?"

"It’s… not a warrant," Tim said slowly, "It’s a summons."

Jason crossed his arms, "For what?"

Tim clicked on the file. A scanned document popped up, the words 'LEGAL NOTICE' at the top.

"Looks like someone filed you as a legal guardian," Tim muttered, "Gotham’s courts have been trying to notify you for a while now. They probably flagged it to GCPD just to get it on your radar."

Jason scoffed, "Guardian? Of who?"

Tim clicked again, "A kid named Aria (L/N)."

Jason frowned, "That name means nothing to me."

Tim went still.

Jason’s stomach sank, "...What?"

Tim very slowly turned the screen toward him.

Jason stared.

Child’s Name: Aria (L/N) Mother: (Y/N) (L/N) Father: Red Hood

His brain just stopped working.

Dick, passing by with his coffee, glanced at the screen, "Oh, damn. Jay, you finally settling down?"

Jason whipped around to glare at him, "I don’t know this woman! I don’t have a kid!"

"Legally, you do." Tim pointed out.

Jason turned back to the screen, rubbing his temples, "Why is my life like this?"

Tim scrolled further, "Looks like the mother put your name down instead of the real father’s. And since Gotham courts don’t do DNA tests without permission from both parents… that guy got screwed out of custody."

Jason clenched his jaw, "And now they’re trying to find me because I’m on record as the dad."

Tim squinted at the file, then choked.

Jason looked at him warily, "...What?"

Tim covered his mouth, trying so hard not to laugh, "There's a comments section."

Jason leaned over his shoulder, eyes scanning the document. Then he saw it.

Additional Comments: "He kept the helmet on the whole time."

The Cave went dead silent.

Jason stared. Tim bit his lip. Dick was turning red trying not to lose it.

Then—

Tim wheezed.

Dick howled.

Jason smacked his forehead against the Batcomputer, "I hate everything."

He then exhaled sharply, cutting off his mental breakdown before muttering, "Okay. Fine. I’ll go find the mother and figure this out."

Dick snickered, "Tell Aria Daddy’s coming home."

Jason threw a batarang at him.

***

"Hi, honey, I'm home."

The distorted, robotic voice from his helmet made you freeze in place. Your pulse thundered in your ears, dread settling like a stone in your stomach. You knew exactly why the Red Hood was in your apartment.

You turned slowly, keeping your hands in sight as if that would make a difference, "Please, don't. My daughter is in the next room. She only has me."

"Don't you mean our daughter?" He bit out, sarcasm cutting through the voice modulator.

Despite whatever anger he held toward you, he hesitated, feeling pity. You must have looked terrified.

"I'm not here to hurt you," He said after a beat, "I just want an explanation."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay calm, "Her father is an asshole. I couldn’t let him have any rights over her, so I wrote your name down on all her documents. Gotham has no way of verifying, so they just had to take my word for it."

You met his gaze, your voice steady despite the situation, "I’m sorry if I made things complicated for you, but this was the only way I knew to keep his hands off her."

Jason exhaled sharply, shifting his weight, "How long did you think this would go unnoticed?"

You hesitated before answering, "Well… 'our' daughter turned five last month, so I figured you weren't going to find out anytime soon. Guess I was wrong."

You knew of Red Hood. You knew what he stood for. No matter what, he would never hurt a child. Ever. And if the rumors about him were true, then he would realize that you had only been acting in Aria’s best interest.

He studied you, the lenses of his helmet unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his scrutiny. This was an invasion of privacy—probably illegal, even—but instead of anger, he seemed... intrigued. You weren’t what he expected. You were clever, maybe even reckless, but clearly devoted to your daughter.

And—if he was being honest—pretty. Definitely pretty.

"Why me?" He finally asked, "Why not any of the other Bats?"

You shrugged, "Of all of them, you seemed like the least likely for civil court to track down." That much was true—any time someone tried to drag Red Hood into Gotham’s legal system, he either ignored it or laughed in their face before firing a warning shot.

"You're also the scariest, aside from Batman. And I didn’t want him getting any ideas about recruiting Aria for his next child vigilante project once Robin retires again." You smirked, "Lastly, having a baby daddy without a no-kill rule seemed like a great way to keep that deadbeat asshole far, far away from us."

Jason flat-out laughed at that. The sound, even through the voice modulator, carried warmth.

"You make an excellent argument," He admitted.

You relaxed slightly, "I am sorry. If I knew it was going to bother you, I never would have done it."

He shrugged, completely unbothered, "Doesn’t bother me. You were doing right by your kid. I can respect that."

Relief washed over you, and you smiled. You didn’t push the conversation further—if he wanted to be taken off her documents, he’d ask.

Instead, he surprised you.

"Can I meet her?"

Your breath caught, "Who? Aria?"

"I mean, legally, she’s my kid, right? That means I have visitation rights."

Apprehension prickled at the edges of your mind. Had you just swapped out one danger for another? You had gone to great lengths to keep Aria safe from one man—had you unknowingly invited another into her life?

Jason seemed to sense your hesitation. "You can say no," He said, almost gently, "But I just found out I have a daughter today. I’d like to meet the girl who made you pull a stunt this reckless and brave."

You could say no. You probably should say no.

And yet, as you looked at the masked man standing in your too-small living room, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

"...Okay," You said at last, "But you might want to take off the mask. She scares easy."

Jason chuckled, low and amused. You half-expected him to refuse, to make some offhanded comment before declining the invitation and leaving, but instead, you heard the soft click as he unlocked his helmet and pulled it off.

Dark, slightly messy hair with a single white streak. Stormy blue eyes. Sharp cheekbones and full lips.

"Wow," You breathed before you could stop yourself.

He raised a brow.

You cleared your throat, cheeks warming, "I can see where our daughter gets her good looks from."

Jason snorted, shaking his head.

"Aria, honey!" You called, turning toward her room, "Come out for a second, please!"

The door creaked open, followed by the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet. Aria emerged in a pink tutu, a plastic wand in her hands, and a sparkly tiara perched on her head.

She blinked up at Jason with wide, curious eyes.

"This is Mommy’s friend, Red Hood," You told her, "He wanted to say hi."

Aria beamed, "Hi, Mr. Hood!" She grabbed the edges of her tutu and curtsied, just like the princesses in her favorite cartoons.

You glanced at Jason. His expression had softened, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For a man who had probably seen the worst the world had to offer, he looked completely in awe.

Jason, the Red Hood—the most terrifying name in Gotham’s underworld—cleared his throat, gripping his helmet a little tighter.

"Uh. Hi there." He said, voice definitely shaking.

You bit your lip, looking down to hide your smile.

This huge crime lord, who had probably seen more murders tonight than you had in your entire life, was nervous talking to a five-year-old.

Aria giggled, "You talk funny."

Jason blinked, "I do?"

She nodded, "Your voice is all rumbly! Like Batman!"

Jason made a very undignified sound, "I am nothing like Batman, princess."

Aria gasped dramatically, "You know Batman?!"

***

Jason didn’t know exactly how he ended up in this position.

After that first meeting with Aria, he’d been more than ready to let you both get back to your lives. You had only put his name down as Aria's father to scare off her real father; he had no place here.

And yet.

When he found himself alone in his apartment, staring at the ceiling, or in the rare moments of silence while working on cars, his mind drifted. He’d think about Aria—her wide, innocent eyes staring up at him, the way she had curtsied like a damn princess, completely unafraid of the man Gotham whispered about in fear.

An unfamiliar squeeze tugged at his heart.

He had a daughter.

And the more he thought about her, the more he wanted to protect her—to keep that innocence untouched, to make sure she was safe and happy. He wanted to be a father.

Then, inevitably, his thoughts turned to you.

You hadn't spoken for long, but somehow, you’d managed to stick in his mind. Despite it being the end of the day, exhaustion tugging at you, there had been a light in your eyes—something warm, something alive. He found himself drawn to it.

The confidence in your posture, the way you had no trouble meeting his eyes, the sheer sass you had thrown his way despite knowing exactly who he was. And above all, the love and protectiveness you had for Aria.

You were nothing like anyone he had ever met before.

A couple of days later, he found himself knocking at your door again.

He had told himself it was just to check on Aria after a Joker attack. That was reasonable, right? He had to make sure she was safe. That’s all it was.

You had offered him dinner. He declined.

Then, a couple of days after that, he found himself there again—this time after a Poison Ivy incident.

You offered him dinner again.

This time, he obliged.

That night, he sat at your dinner table with you and Aria, listening as she excitedly told him about school. He learned about your job, about the little details of your life, and—much to his amusement—was introduced to what Aria called the greatest meal in the entire world.

Hello Kitty-shaped pasta.

He raised a brow at you.

You shrugged, "It’s expensive, but it makes her happy."

Jason huffed a small laugh, "What’s the special occasion?"

Aria beamed, practically vibrating in her seat.

"I got made line leader today!" She announced proudly.

You glanced at her with a mix of amusement and pride, eyes warm, "It’s a big deal."

Jason turned to Aria, his chest tightening at the way she puffed herself up with pride. Without thinking, he reached out and ruffled her hair like it was second nature.

"Good job, princess," He murmured.

Her entire face lit up.

And just like that, Jason Todd was done for.

It had been two months since Jason first met the both of you, and now, sitting at the dinner table, he was experiencing his first real parental crisis.

It was obvious that Aria was in a bad mood.

She barely touched her food, half-heartedly pushing it around her plate. Even when you suggested ordering takeout—usually a foolproof way to lift her spirits—she just shook her head. You and Jason exchanged a concerned glance over her head.

Something was clearly wrong.

You sighed, resigning yourself to the hope that she’d tell you before bed or at least over breakfast tomorrow.

"I'm just gonna go take a shower, do you mind?" You asked, gesturing toward Aria.

Jason didn’t hesitate before nodding.

You smiled gratefully, pressing a kiss to Aria’s crown before leaning over and doing the same to Jason.

A month ago, that would’ve made him jump out of his skin. Now, after two months of shared dinners—some planned, others happening more naturally—he only sat there, heart racing in his chest, pretending that wasn’t the highlight of his day.

When he heard the shower turn on, he turned to Aria with a mischievous grin.

"Okay, Mom’s in the shower. What do you say to ice cream for dinner?"

Jason liked to pretend you had no idea whenever he and Aria snuck ice cream together. But ever since he convinced you to let him make homemade ice cream with protein shakes and sneaky healthy ingredients, you had stopped putting up much of a fight. Besides, he wasn’t exactly subtle. If he didn’t outright tell you, the dirty dishes in the sink were more than enough of a giveaway.

More than anything, though, he just wanted Aria to eat something.

But tonight, instead of the excited little gasp she usually gave, Aria just frowned.

"Mommy doesn’t like that."

"Princess," He said more gently, shifting in his seat, "is something wrong? You love ice cream. And Mom made one of your favorites tonight, but you’re not eating, and…" His voice softened, "That makes me sad."

Aria hesitated for a few seconds before pushing her plate away and sliding off her chair. Jason tensed, heart thudding slightly faster. Shit, did I upset her? Is she about to cry?

But she didn’t.

Instead, she ran off, returning moments later with her pink Barbie backpack. She unzipped it and rifled through its contents before pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of paper and handing it to him.

Jason smoothed the paper out.

And felt his stomach drop.

Daddy-Daughter Day!

"My teacher told us to give it to our parents," Aria said quietly, her lip trembling, "So our daddies can come visit one day."

She fidgeted, looking down at her hands.

"But… I don’t have a daddy."

And just like that, Jason Todd’s heart broke in two.

***

When you came out of the shower, towel-drying your hair and now dressed in your pajamas, you immediately looked around for Aria.

"She didn’t really want to eat, so I just put her to bed," Jason informed you.

You sighed, sinking into a chair at the dining table, "Do you think I should call her teacher tomorrow and ask if something happened? Maybe someone was being mean to her at school?"

Wordlessly, Jason slid a folded piece of paper across the table toward you. You furrowed your brows and picked it up, unfolding it to read.

Your face immediately darkened.

"This can’t be right!" You hissed, voice sharp with anger. "I thought schools had outfashioned practices like this! What happened to inclusivity and all that crap? What about kids with two moms? Or no parents at all? I’m calling up the school. I’m gonna be a full-blown Karen. I’m gonna—"

"(Y/N)—"

"No, Jason, this isn’t okay!"

Despite your fury, you kept your voice down for Aria’s sake. Jason wasn’t sure if you were about to explode or just strain your vocal cords with your whispered screams. But then, just as suddenly as your anger had flared, you seemed to fizzle out.

You slumped back into your chair, rubbing your face with trembling hands.

"I’ve done everything I can to make sure Aria never feels the absence of a father," You murmured.

"I’ve tried. I’ve—" Your voice cracked.

You let out a shaky breath and shielded your face with your hands, "My poor baby. I can’t believe she held onto this all day without telling me."

Jason think twice before he pulled you into his arms, letting you rest your head against his neck as you composed yourself.

After a moment, he spoke, "Look, I know it might not be the same, but… I was thinking. What if I attended the event with Aria?"

You stiffened, then slowly pulled back, meeting his eyes. Your expression wasn’t hopeful—it was guarded.

Jason’s stomach soured.

"Jay, I know we’ve been having a good time lately, but you can’t do that to Aria," You said, shaking your head, "If you go to this event as her dad, she’s going to see you as that. And you can’t—you can’t do that to her."

Jason swallowed hard. His voice was quieter when he asked, "What if I wanted to? To be seen as her dad? Would that really be so terrible?"

You didn’t answer.

You just stood up from the table and walked away.

Jason almost would have laughed at how much you resembled Aria in that moment if he didn't feel his stomach sinking to his feet.

But just like Aria, you also came back.

Clutched in your hands was a camera. You placed it in front of him, watching as he stared at you with unsure eyes.

"I record all of Aria’s school events," You said softly. "Don’t miss a second of it."

Jason blinked. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.

Before you could react, he grabbed you and twirled you around the kitchen.

You let out a surprised squeal before bursting into giggles, clinging onto his shoulders. But then, realization hit.

You were definitely not wearing a bra.

Your giggles faded, and Jason froze as well, both of you suddenly very aware of how close you were. You stared at each other, identical blushes creeping up your cheeks.

You cleared your throat.

"You can—um—you can put me down now."

***

It was almost comical how small the classroom was.

Jason had to duck his head to step inside, barely squeezing through the low doorframe. The room was packed—about fifteen other dads crammed into tiny plastic chairs that looked like they could barely support one ass cheek. Jason didn’t even bother trying. Instead, he just lowered himself to the floor, crossing his legs as he settled in.

The dads around him nodded politely as they all waited for the teachers to finish setting up and taking attendance.

"I don’t think I’ve seen you around before," A man beside him said, shifting his son in his lap, "I’m David."

"Jason," He replied, shaking his hand with a firm but polite grip.

"This is Harry," David continued, gesturing to the little boy who peeked up at Jason shyly before quickly burying his face in his dad’s shirt. Jason chuckled.

"So, which one’s yours?"

Jason glanced across the room, "Over there, in the book corner."

David followed his gaze. In the far corner, a little girl in denim dungarees rifled through a stack of picture books with a very serious expression, clearly determined to find a specific one. Jason had picked out her outfit today—he’d even let her wear the tiara she refused to take off, despite your insistence that it was an inside toy.

No doubt, she was making a mess that her poor teacher would have to clean up later.

David frowned, "Who?"

"The one with the tiara," Jason said.

David's confusion deepened, "Aria?"

Jason’s brows furrowed, "Yeah."

"Aria (L/N)?"

"Yes."

David blinked, "I—I didn’t know you were—I thought (Y/N) was single."

Jason’s expression darkened. A phantom of a scowl flickered across his face before he forced himself to relax. He wasn’t about to scare off the other parents at an event that was supposed to be important for Aria.

"She isn’t," He said simply.

David paled, "Oh. Uh—sorry." He quickly bowed his head, clearly embarrassed.

Jason smirked, barely hiding his haughty attitude. So what if he told a little white lie? It wouldn’t do any harm for Dave—or Dan, or whatever his name was—to keep his sights off you.

Really, you deserved better than some average, boring guy who probably filed his taxes early and grilled chicken without seasoning. Someone like that wouldn’t know how to handle you. He wouldn’t know how to make you laugh when you were stressed, wouldn’t know how to handle your sass, wouldn’t know how to love you the way you deserved.

No, you needed someone confident. Someone strong. Someone who could protect you and Aria. Someone with a soft side, sure, but also someone who wasn’t afraid to fight for you. Someone who would go to hell and back if it meant keeping you both safe.

Someone like…

Oh.

Jason's smirk faltered for half a second before he recovered, clearing his throat and forcing himself to focus on Aria, who was still knee-deep in her book hunt.

Well. That was something to unpack later.

***

"Now, all together, everyone! On the count of three—one, two, three!" the teacher announced cheerfully.

A chorus of tiny voices rang out.

"I love you, Dad!"

It was loud, chaotic, a jumble of high-pitched shouts that somehow blended into something warm and sweet. Parents chuckled, kids giggled, the room filled with laughter and joy.

But Jason’s heart sank.

While the other kids beamed up at their fathers, Aria clutched the handmade card in tight fists, her knuckles white. She kept her head down, lip wobbling, shoulders trembling as she struggled to say the words.

Jason knelt in front of her, his heart twisting. God, she’s so small. Both of her tiny hands barely covered his palm as he gently took them in his own.

"You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to, Aria," He told her softly, "I’m not going to force you to do anything. Just know that I love you very much, princess. That’s enough for me."

She finally looked up at him, somehow seeming even smaller despite the fact that he was kneeling. Her big, glassy doe eyes searched his face.

"You really love me?" She asked in the quietest whisper.

"More than anything, baby."

The words slipped out before he could stop them, before he could think about the weight they carried. About what it might mean for a little girl who had spent her whole life without a father.

For a moment, she just stared at him. Jason barely had time to register the emotion in her eyes before she launched herself at him, tiny arms wrapping tightly around his neck. She burrowed against him, her small frame pressing against his chest as she whispered into his ear—

"I love you, Daddy."

Jason felt his breath catch in his throat.

Oh. Oh.

He squeezed her tighter, pressing his face into her soft curls, "I love you too, princess," He murmured, voice thick with something he wasn’t ready to name.

And for the first time in a long time, Jason Todd felt like he belonged.

***

Aria had been absolutely beaming after Daddy-Daughter Day, her excitement carrying her through the evening—especially since Jason had taken her to the park afterward. She had barely managed to get through telling you about her day, slurring her words sleepily as you tucked her into bed.

You pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, smoothing down her hair before stepping away, only to find Jason waiting for you in the doorway.

You smiled at him, reaching for his hand and leading him back to the living room. Without a word, you poured him a glass of wine, knowing that, even though he wouldn’t admit it, the day at her kindergarten had probably exhausted him. The proof was in the way he let out an almost comically heavy sigh the second he sank onto the couch.

You settled beside him, resting your head on his shoulder like it belonged there, both of you staring at the very much off television in comfortable silence.

“She has a lot of energy, doesn’t she?” You murmured, amused.

Jason huffed out a laugh, “Yeah. I like to think I’m somewhat athletic, but Aria put me to shame today.”

You smiled, tilting your head slightly to look up at him, “Thanks for going today. It meant a lot to her. And to me, too.”

There was a beat of silence before Jason reached for your hand, his fingers threading through yours like second nature. His grip was warm, grounding.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

Living in Gotham, you considered yourself one of the lucky ones.

Sure, you weren’t immune to the constant calamities that plagued the city, but you had managed to avoid being caught in the worst of them. Your bank had never been robbed while you were there. You had never been held hostage. You were one of the few people left who had never fallen victim to Joker venom.

Sure, your house had been broken into before—before Aria—but you were never home when it happened.

Really, you should’ve known your luck was going to run out eventually.

You had gotten too comfortable with Jason’s late-night visits, so when the knock came at your door, you didn’t even hesitate. You didn’t check the peephole. You didn’t ask who it was. You just…opened it.

Rookie mistake.

The man standing on the other side was a stranger. Tall. Built. And he made no effort to conceal the gun in his pocket.

Your blood went cold.

A smirk curled at his lips, sending goosebumps crawling up your skin. Your throat tightened.

“Hello, sweetheart. Did your baby daddy stop by?”

Your voice barely came out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man tsked, stepping forward, making you instinctively press yourself against the doorframe.

“Now, now. Don’t lie,” He murmured, “It won’t end well for you—or the little runt back there.”

Your heart stopped.

Aria.

Terror clawed at your chest, your breath shuddering. Tears burned your eyes.

“Please,” You whispered, “Don’t hurt her. She’s just a child.”

“The child of the infamous Red Hood.” He tilted his head mockingly, “You can’t possibly think that means nothing.”

You shook your head violently, “She doesn’t know anything. I don’t know anything. Please.”

Your hands were iron on the doorknob, but it meant nothing.

With a single sharp shove, he flung the door open.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

***

Jason had been having a good night.

He had just finished his patrol and was on his way to your place, eager to see you and Aria. Maybe he’d bring her some hot chocolate, tuck her into bed, and spend the rest of the night with you, pretending—for just a little while—that the world outside didn’t exist.

Then he saw the door.

Wide open.

His blood ran cold.

Jason didn’t think—he moved. Gun drawn, he stormed inside, heart hammering against his ribs like a caged animal. The second he stepped into the apartment, his stomach dropped.

The place was trashed.

Aria’s toys were scattered across the floor, your coffee table overturned, and the framed pictures on the wall had been knocked down, the glass shattered.

There had been a struggle.

Jason’s throat tightened as his eyes landed on a streak of blood smeared across the hardwood floor.

His world tilted.

No. No, no, no, NO.

His hands shook, but his grip on his gun only tightened. His pulse was pounding in his ears, deafening, drowning out everything but the rage that ignited in his chest like an explosion.

His vision blurred with fury.

Someone took you. Someone took Aria.

His family.

Jason turned sharply and stormed out of the apartment, his movements lethal and precise. He going to hunt down the bastards who thought they could take his girls and live to tell the tale.

They were going to pay.

***

"I need you to find two missing people."

That was the first thing out of Jason’s mouth the second he entered the cave. His urgency didn’t seem apparent enough to anyone, judging by the way Dick and Bruce didn’t even look up from sparring.

Tim, who didn’t bother glancing away from the Batcomputer, simply asked, “Who?”

“(Y/N) and Aria (L/N).”

At this, Dick perked up, “Your fake baby mama and kid? She might not be missing, Little Wing. Maybe she’s just at Superman’s baby shower.”

Dick wasn’t expecting boisterous laughter, but at least a huff of breath or a chuckle would have been appreciated. Instead, he suddenly found himself grabbed by the collar, yanked forward until he was forced to look Jason in the eye.

Jason’s expression was thunderous—fury on the surface, but something even more unsettling lurked underneath.

“The mother of my child and my daughter are missing, and you want to make jokes?”

Dick raised a brow, forcing himself to stay calm, “I thought you didn’t know them?”

Jason’s grip tightened for a second before he let go, stepping back. His voice was low, unwavering.

“I do now.”

***

The world felt like it was spinning in slow motion. Every breath was a struggle, your head pounding from the blow you’d taken earlier, your body screaming in pain with every movement. You tried to focus, tried to tell yourself it was going to be okay—that Aria was okay—but you weren’t okay.

You had been firm in your resolve, refusing to reveal anything about the Red Hood, willing to die on the hill that you knew nothing. But you didn’t know how much longer you could keep it up. So far, they had only hurt you—because when they had turned to Aria, demanding answers, she had wailed and sobbed until she peed herself. The memory made tears well in your eyes.

Your poor girl might walk out of this untouched, but she wouldn’t leave unscathed. This would haunt her for years to come.

And you knew—the second they turned back toward her, the second they so much as raised a hand in her direction—you would break. It didn’t matter how much you loved Jason. You couldn’t, wouldn’t, ever put anyone above Aria’s safety.

Her terrified little eyes stayed locked on you, watching as a trail of blood ran down the side of your face.

Then the door slammed open.

The sound echoed in the empty space, sharp and deafening. Your body tensed, your breath catching in your throat. The man holding you captive turned toward the entrance, a sneer curling his lips.

“Well, well,” He drawled, his voice sickeningly amused. “Looks like Daddy's finally joined us for the party.”

Your heart leaped in your chest. But you couldn’t show it. Not when Aria was still in danger.

With the momentary distraction, she crawled into your lap, and despite the blinding pain searing through your body, you pulled her in. She trembled against you, clutching onto you as if her life depended on it—and in a way, it did. You shielded her, wrapping your arms around her tiny frame, covering her eyes with your bloody hand.

You whispered sweet nothings into her ear, pressing weak kisses to her temple, hoping—praying—that it would be enough to comfort her.

Then came the first gunshot.

You didn’t dare look. You knew what was happening. You could hear it in the crack of bone, the dull thuds of bodies hitting the floor, the sharp gasps of dying men. Jason was swift. Merciless. Tearing through the people who had dared to lay a hand on you and his daughter.

He was here.

He was going to save you.

Another body collapsed nearby, and your breath hitched. You felt yourself slipping, your limbs numb, your eyelids growing heavier by the second.

Then, his voice cut through the haze—low and desperate, but still gentle.

“Sweetheart?”

You wanted to look up at him, to reach for him, but your body was betraying you. Your vision blurred, the pain making it impossible to move.

His hand cupped your face, his warmth seeping into your skin, grounding you. You tried to focus on that, tried to hold on.

“Talk to me, baby,” He murmured, his voice tight with worry.

But you couldn’t. You could barely breathe. The only thing keeping you tethered to consciousness was the familiar scent of leather and gunpowder—the scent of Jason, of safety, of home.

You felt him shift, carefully lifting you into his arms, cradling you like you were the most precious thing in the world. You instinctively leaned into him, letting his presence surround you.

Aria clung to him just as tightly, her tiny voice muffled against his chest.

“Daddy!”

Despite everything, despite the agony consuming your body, your heart swelled at hearing her call him that. When had she started calling him Dad?

Then Jason’s fingers brushed against your cheek, his thumb wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. His voice was softer now, almost breaking.

“Stay with me, sweetheart.”

You forced your eyes open, locking onto his—those intense, unwavering blue eyes that had pinned you to your place the first time you had met in your apartment.

That day you had been apprehensive at best when he had asked to meet Aria, second guessing every choice you made but in the end choosing to follow your gut when it said it had a good feeling about him.

Now, you were sure of it.

“Jason,” You rasped, barely above a whisper. His head snapped down toward you instantly, his grip tightening as if he were afraid you might slip through his fingers.

“I need you to promise me something,” You murmured, your breath shallow, your chest tight.

His brows furrowed. “Anything,” He said, but the hesitance in his voice told you he already knew where this was going.

“I need you to promise…” You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to keep going, “If something happens to me… you’ll take care of Aria. Promise me, Jay.”

He froze.

For the first time since he’d stormed in, tearing through your captors like an avenging angel, he looked terrified.

His lips parted, but no words came out. You could see the battle raging inside him—the part of him that refused to believe he could lose you and the part that was too afraid not to make that promise.

“Don’t you dare say that,” He finally whispered, voice trembling, “I’m not losing you. I won’t—”

“Promise me,” You urged. You barely had the strength to grip his jacket, but you pulled weakly at the fabric anyway, needing him to understand.

His eyes glistened with unshed tears, his breath coming out in uneven bursts. But he wasn’t crying. Not yet.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he swallowed hard and nodded.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” He swore, his voice breaking. “I won’t let her grow up without you. I promise.”

The relief that washed over you was instant. Even as your vision darkened at the edges, even as your body started to give out, you felt… safe. At peace.

With your last burst of strength, you reached for Aria’s tiny hand, wrapping it in your weak grasp. You gave her a faint squeeze, managing the smallest of smiles.

“I love you,” You whispered, barely loud enough to be heard, “Both of you.”

Jason's breath hitched. His grip around you tightened, as if he could physically keep you here, tethered to him, to Aria, to the life he couldn't bear to lose.

“No, no, sweetheart—stay with me," He pleaded, his voice cracking, raw with panic. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath shaky, "You don’t get to say that like it’s the last time. You don’t—Please (Y/N)—" His voice broke completely, and for the first time in a long time, Jason Todd was afraid.

Because he knew what loss felt like. Knew it too well.

And he couldn't—wouldn't—survive losing you too.

Aria let out a whimper, squeezing your fingers with her tiny hand. "Mommy?" Her voice was so small, so scared, and it shattered something inside him.

He shifted you in his arms, holding you closer, keeping you upright even though your body was limp.

“I love you too, sweetheart," he whispered, but the words felt hollow, like a plea rather than a promise.

Aria began to sob loudly, little hands grabbing at your sleeve, trying to shake you awake, “Mommy, wake up! Please!”

Her wails were raw, desperate, but Jason had to hold her back, had to keep her from accidentally hurting you any further. His grip on her was gentle but firm, even as his own body trembled with barely restrained terror.

He buried his face in her hair, biting back the sob threatening to claw its way out of his throat. He held you tighter, as if he could physically keep your soul tethered to him, as if just holding you close would stop the light from fading from your eyes.

He had never felt this helpless.

Jason Todd, the Red Hood, the man who had clawed his way back from the grave, who had survived horrors most people couldn’t even imagine—he was useless when it mattered most.

He was holding the broken pieces of this family.

A family that had been good, that had been safe before he came into the picture. A family that had welcomed him with open arms, treated him as though he had never been missing in the first place.

And what had he done in return?

He had ruined it.

He had brought his war, his bloodstained hands, his cursed existence into your lives, and now you were paying the price for it.

If he had never been selfish enough to stay, to want this, to think—even for a second—that he could have something good, that he could deserve you, this never would have happened.

This was his fault.

It was always his fault.

His mother’s betrayal. His death. His resurrection. The people he killed. The people he couldn’t save.

And now you.

Jason clenched his jaw, his breath coming out in ragged, uneven gasps. His heart slammed against his ribs as guilt and fury warred inside him. His hands, hands that had broken men, hands that had torn Gotham’s underworld apart, could do nothing but hold onto the only two people in the world who had ever made him feel like he was worth something.

But what was he worth now?

What good was he if he couldn’t even protect the people he loved?

Jason let out a shaking breath, pressing a kiss to Aria’s head, squeezing his eyes shut as he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

He never should have stayed.

***

Jason kept his head down as he exited your hospital room, feeling his heart break under the weight of his own resolve—to stay away from both of you.

He spotted his father waiting at the reception, handling the paperwork and payment. As much as Jason felt like the lowest he had ever been and didn’t want anyone to see him like this, he was a little relieved. At least Bruce was here. At least he could leave knowing you were taken care of. He could go home, lock himself in his apartment, and spend the next few weeks trying to forget you. Trying to convince himself that he had been an idiot for ever thinking he had a place in your family.

Because thanks to him, your family had almost been destroyed.

With his head down, he walked up to Bruce, hands stuffed in his pockets. His father gave him a sympathetic pat on the back, but Jason didn’t want to talk. If he opened his mouth now, if he let himself breathe wrong, he knew the lump in his throat would break, and the tears would come pouring out.

"Daddy!"

The sound of Aria’s voice snapped his head up just in time for her to crash into him, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck in a desperate grip. Before he could even think, he was holding her, hugging her tight, feeling her little body shake.

"Daddy, don’t leave! Mommy and I need you! Please don’t go!"

Jason looked at her tear-streaked face and felt something deep inside himself crack. He beat himself up for even considering walking away. How could he? How could he leave while you were still lying in a hospital bed? How could he abandon Aria when she needed him most?

His baby girl.

She needed him. And the truth was—he needed her just as much. He needed both of you.

Right then and there, he made a promise to himself. He would protect you both more than anything. He would love you both more than anything. And he would stop at nothing to make sure you were happy and safe.

Pressing his nose against Aria’s wet cheek, he kissed away her tears, "I’m not going anywhere, princess. Daddy’s not going anywhere."

He stole a glance at Bruce, who gave him a small smile and a nod. With a steadier heart, he carried Aria back to your hospital room.

The second she saw you, Aria gasped, "Mommy!"

You gave Jason a tired smile from your place on the bed, the cut on your lip making it painful to do so, but you still reached out for his hand.

"I thought you would’ve left, wallowing in your guilt. Your masochistic streak and all that," You teased softly.

Jason let out a shaky breath, giving you a glassy-eyed smile before pressing another kiss to Aria’s temple.

"Our girl knows how to keep me grounded."

You grinned at that, exhaustion clear in your features but warmth shining in your eyes.

"She’s her father’s daughter, alright."

***

State of New Jersey Department of Family and Child Services Official Adoption Certificate

This document certifies that on 17/03/2025, Jason Peter Todd has legally adopted Aria (L/N), hereafter known as Aria Todd, and is recognized as her father with all parental rights and responsibilities.

Adoptive Parent: Jason Peter Todd Child’s Name (Amended): Aria Todd Birth Mother: (Y/N) Todd Previous Father Listed: Red Hood (Alias) — Amended

Additional Comments: "I’m not the stepdad. I’m the dad who stepped up." — Jason Todd

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

DC Taglist:

@tchatso

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

@isawachickeninatree

@uxavity

@battlenix

@capricorn-stark

@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

@fuckingjinkies

@some-lovely-day

@that-one-fangirl69

@el-hrts

[monstera-modd]

Ok so I saw someone make a DCxDP prompt post about trans Danny working in a cafe or coffee shop? Idk but anyway! He had Dani with him as his kid and eventually caught the eye of Jason/ red hood right! So I made one based off of that

So imagine Danny, wanting to take a break from being king and what not sees this smoke filled city and goes “hmm yess I love it!” And settles in the Bowery, essentially making it his new haunt.

He runs a cute little cafe called C&R (coffee and room) Danny still having a his obsession with space and protection, but it’s aimed more towards young adults and kids (but extends to kids he dubs as his even if they’re like 40)

He takes in basically any kid that need a place or someplace to stay, his only rule is if he takes you in you work the cafe with him and he pays for their time (him being the ghost king, he has a LOT of money)

So I imagine his cafe/ apartment set up like, the cafe as the main floor and then you take stairs up into the living room and to the left is the dinning, to the right is the kitchen. Keeping right there’s a hallway the leads to Danny bedroom with an en suite, there’s also a spare/ guest bath in the hall. Now going left you get to the bedrooms and bath for the kids, at the right end of the hall you have 4 single dorm style bedrooms and on the left you got 5 family or friend rooms each with two bunks or a bunk and a bed.

All together Danny can house up to 19 kids if he wants, so that being said when he takes in these street or abused kids he grows attached and eventually ends up adopting or fostering them, and they all ADORE Danny; view him as their Dad/ brother/ uncle.

Now we get to the dead on main part!

So one of Danny kids mentioned to one of their friends, who mentioned to their friend, who told on of Jason’s ally kids that there was a middle aged mad taking in kids and making them work for him. Obviously this man is hearing red flags and goes to investigate, thing is he can tell as soon as he steps food in the Bowery that he’s being watched.

Imagine his surprise to find a man around his age (25? 27?) who is good looking as fuck, with the same hair style and loved/ takes care of street kids! This mad checks damn near all his boxes.

So Danny invites Red Hood inside to talk and grab a bite (he’s smitten already) he’s asks his kid Rory to bring up some cookies and drink please!

Now while they’re up and talking Danny hears a scuffle downstairs and immediately going to check, he finds some men harassing one if his foster daughters (use to be a working girl.)

Now there’re some rules for Danny cafe

Be polite and respectful to staff

Don’t matter who you are or what you do, no fighting in the store

Kids take priority and are under Danny’s protection

Any rule broken above will result in Danny (6’4 build like a brick house) beating you’re ass

So with that all down these guys broke pretty much the only rules he has, so while other customers and red hood watch Danny fucking knee guts them and tosses them out with warnings of disembowelment if they come back.

And that’s pretty much all I’ve got so far

Danny with his kids and Jason with his they can then become one big happy family!

[fatkish]

Hey!!!! Could i please an thank you req headcanons for pro heroes and their kid telling them they like another hero over them??? i just think itd be rlly cute haha

Pro Heroes x Child Reader: Asking Their kid who Their Favorite Hero is

Midnight:

When she asked you who your favorite hero was you happily shouted Present Mic. Although she kinda sweatdropped at the thought of Hizashi, she smiled and still agreed that he’s a good hero.

All Might:

When reporters asked you who your favorite hero was, since All Might is your dad, you happily replied with Endeavor. When asked why, you replied with fire is super cool and he make bad guys pee their pants cause he’s scary. All Might had to hide his frown and cried later that night. Endeavor who has caught the tail end of the interview, laughed at it

Sir Nighteye:

When he asked who your favorite hero was you replied with Gang Orca. This started a long Argument between the both of you on who’s better, All Might or Gang Orca.

Endeavor:

He isn’t really the type to care about this kind of thing but when you replied with Fatgum, he wasn’t expecting that. You told him that he’s your favorite because Fatgum is cute and squishy looking.

Hawks:

When he asked you who your favorite hero was, expecting you to say daddy, he was shocked when you said Edgeshot. He regrets asking since you started to argue with him on why Edgeshot is cooler than him.

Fatgum:

When he asked you who your favorite hero was you told him it was Mirko since she kicks butt. He laughed and happily agreed seeing you excitedly reenact her fights

Present Mic:

When he had you on his radio show he asked you who your favorite hero was you told him it was Nighteye since he’s smart. If he wasn’t on air at the time he would’ve been crying and explaining to you that your dad’s smart too

Aizawa/Eraserhead:

When you told Aizawa that your favorite hero was Present Mic, the only reaction you could see was a slight eye twitch, but you giggled and then told him it was a joke and that he’s your favorite since he doesn’t need his quirk to beat a villain. Plus he’s your dad so that automatically makes him the best. He just smiled and gave you a hug and kissed your forehead

Best Jeanist:

When he asked you who you’re favorite hero was you told him you don’t really have a favorite since you think heroes are kinda lame. You told him you liked Nedzu since he could probably bring humanity to their knees. He became kinda worried about you after that answer.

Mirko:

When you told her your favorite hero was Ryukyu because dragons are cool. She smirked and said that she thinks Ryukyu is cool too and asked if you wanted her to arrange a meeting so you could meet your Idol. You screamed in delight and hugged your mom’s leg begging her to do it.

Gang Orca:

When he asked you who your favorite hero was you replied with Black Manta. He sweat dropped and told you that 1.) he’s not real and 2.) he’s a villain. You looked at him with a straight face and said he’s cool like your dad. He’s now a little worried about you

Edgeshot:

When Edgeshot asked you who your favorite Hero was you replied with Itachi Uchiha. He looked you dead in the eye and said that Itachi isn’t real. You then began to explain how Itachi is a better ninja than your dad. Edgeshot listened and was happy that you admired a good person and at least you didn’t favor villains

Kamui Woods:

When he asked you who your favorite hero was you told him Deadpool and Spider-Man. When he told you they aren’t real you told him he didn’t ask for whether they were real or not. You told him you like how they’re funny and that you want to be like Spider-Man.

[slowdrawl]

Shear Luck | joel miller x f!reader | [masterlist] {18+ minors DNI}

|part 1| The first cut is the deepest |2.5k words| Joel Miller, single dad, came into your salon for a haircut, but he never expected to leave with a crush. Sarah's alive, tension's are high, the jokes are bad and the chemistry is crazy!

Fluff ?✔️ Slow burn? ✔️ Age gap? ✔️ Puns? ✔️

sprinkle in a little bit of smut 🔥 and dbf!joel energy and BOOM. You got this sweet-feel good fic.

“What’re we doin’?” You ask, making eye contact with him in the mirror. “Hopefully performin’ a miracle,” he replies in a tired Southern drawl.” |A/N| I was at work today blowdrying my clients hair and this storyline came to mind, I thought I'd end up just doing a one-shot but when I started writing I immediately fell in love with these two, so I decided it would span over a few shorter chapters. I hope any of you that stumble across this love them too.

Warnings: Mild language, flirting, fluff, puns, age gap (Joel's 38, reader's 23). eventual smut, daddy kink (if you squint) alcohol use.

It’s Saturday, your back is screaming, feet killing you from two kids haircuts after a marathon balayage, you’re hunched over like a gremlin, salon empty now. It’s just you, sweeping up glitter-dusted hair. You’re beat, the clock is mocking you, and you don’t remember the last time you ate, or if you ate today at all. You check the clock, 5:45 fifteen more minutes till close, “finally” you mumble to yourself. Your phone has 4 missed calls and 5 missed texts, half of them probably trying to get a last-minute appointment.

Who the fuck takes walk-ins on Saturday?

The door chimes open and you curse under your breath, turning to face the front desk; you throw on your best customer service face and stop dead—oh.

The fake customer service face drops and turns into something a hell of a lot more sincere when you see him.

The gentleman that just walked in is your type, tall, rugged as hell—medium-length wildly curling hair that’s got a few silver streaks right at the temples. His beard is patchy like he's been at it with dull scissors, and he’s got a flannel thrown on over a faded Pink Floyd tee paired with dark-wash jeans—covered in sawdust no doubt. He looks tired and devastatingly handsome, he's probably got a decade on you at least. You can smell the pine on him from the front door.

He walks in quietly towards the front desk, looking down at his shoes, hands in his pockets, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“I need uh—you got time for one more cut?” His eyes lift from the floor to meet yours, big, round, and coffee brown.

“Only if you say please,” you give him a smirk, “and you gotta give me your phone number first.”

He freezes for a second, looking back at you and cocking his head to the side, eyebrow raised, half-confused, half-intrigued. He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off before he gets a chance.

“Need to put you into the computer system,” you say with a wink clicking open a new client profile.

You watch as his face relaxes, shoulders drop, he breathes out half a chuckle before saying “It’s Joel, Joel Miller,” handing it off to you like you’ve won something.

He gives you his phone number and you type it into the system, setting him up a profile.

“Alright, big guy, looks like you’re officially my last victim of the week, come on in,” you smile and gesture towards the salon, walking behind your chair and patting the leather seat. “Okay, let's see what we’re working with then, sit”

His boots shuffle across the laminate and he sits down heavy into the chair, slouching down low, without you needing to ask him to.

Thank god, my shoulders are already screaming.

You pick up a comb and start raking through the mess on his head, coarse, wavy, dark hair speckled with, you guessed it. Sawdust.

“What’re we doin’? You ask, making eye contact with him in the mirror.

“Hopefully performin’ a miracle,” he replies in a tired Southern drawl.

You can see he’s exhausted, his voice is flat and rough.

“Sounds good to me, turnin’ water into wine costs extra though, that alright?” You try to crack his shell but he just stays silent.“Tough crowd, damn—okay—rough day cowboy?”

“Somethin’ like that, rough week,” he replies, looking at the mirror, avoiding your gaze.

You start trimming, keeping it longer, it looks good on him. “Well you’re in luck, I’m about to make it a lot worse! You get to end it with my bad jokes!” You grin, trying to get him to bite but he still doesn't, you’ll get him though.

“Why’d the client tip extra?” Silence. You snip louder, “The bangs were a real blast— get it?”

His lips twitch, just barely but you’ve almost got it so you barrel on. “how about: I told my last client he had a head like a bowling ball—smooth and full of holes… Yeah, he didn’t laugh either.”

A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth—finally, a low rumble of a laugh breaks through, and you beam. “There it is! Thanks for humoring me. I like to think of this gig as more than haircuts—it’s dinner and a show, except there’s no dinner, no show, and most folks leave thinking, ‘What the fuck’s wrong with her?’ But they always come back.”

He chuckles again, deeper this time, shaking his head. “You should do comedy,” he says, voice gravelly, warming up.

“Yeah, you know I tried stand-up for a bit,” you say, grabbing the trimmers to get the few stray hairs on his collar. “Realized I’m more of a sit-down girl—better at bad puns than punchlines.” You place your hands on his shoulders and squeeze, “Wash time.”

“Nah, don’t need that, 'm fine” he protests.

“Not askin, Mr. Miller, I’m tellin. Come on let's go, move it.”

He gets out of the chair with a groan, and you walk him over to the shampoo sink, guiding his head down into the bowl, dragging your nails slightly up his neck as you do it. “Hairs like a sawdust magnet by the looks of it.” You turn the water on and let it trickle over his hair, grabbing some ‘manly’ shampoo, tea tree, and mint instead of flowers or grapefruit, or whatever other girly shampoo you’ve got on the back bar.

You massage slow circles into his head, lightly scratching your fingernails into his scalp, a soft grunt escaping despite himself. The radio’s blasting dad rock, Springsteen, maybe—and he mutters, “Good taste,” voice lazy now. Unsurprising, doesn't usually take long to make em’ end up like putty in your hands.

“Only the best for my VIPs,” you tease, massaging longer than necessary, watching his jaw slacken. He fuckin’ loves it, you can tell—but he’d never admit it. You rinse, towel him off, and bring him over to the chair again. “Gotta style it now,” you use a paste, sweeping it back and off to the side, sharp but not like a cop. “Beard next,” you say, grabbing clippers, and he stiffens.

“Ain’t gotta—” he starts but you’re already in his space, getting halfway between his legs for a closer look, combing it out. His breath hitches for a second, rough stubble under your fingers, your chest brushing against his shoulders. You feel him tense, anxious, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Relax, Joel, I’m a pro,” you murmur, trimming it neat, square along his jaw, full but tamed, “At least that’s what everyone keeps tellin’ me.” Up close he’s gorgeous, like he was carved out of stone, but still soft. Lines jagged, dark eyes—you step back, smirking.”Okay, done. You outta’ pay me double for making you look so good, wife’s gonna be one happy lady!”

He stands up, rubbing his jaw, checks over himself in the mirror and smiles, barely but he smiles. “No wife to impress, my kids gonna be happy though, she was gettin’ embarrassed to be seen with me.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. “Double huh?” he says, handing you two twenties instead of one, a real grin tugging at his lips now; showing off a dimple in his cheek. “Fair.” He lingers, eyes on you for a beat too long.

“See you next time, cowboy, nice meetin’ you,” you yell at him as he heads for the door, boots scuffing, leaving you buzzing.

Later when you’re at home you lay on the couch watching SNL with your dad, you pull out your phone to shoot off a text to your friend Kim.

(9:45PM)

You: Hot older dude, probably mid/late 30’s idk im guessing, came in today. quiet, sexy as hell, laughed at my stupid jokes.

(9:49PM)

Kim: ok!!!! 🤔🤔he tip big??

(9:49PM)

You: yup, im fucked! 😩

(9:50PM)

Kim: i mean… lets hope you are, eventually at least 😉

You smile down at your phone, replaying your interaction with Joel. He feels familiar, but you can’t place your finger on it so you shrug it off—probably just a regular type, lotta’ blue-collar guys in Austin.

//

Two Weeks Later

It’s Saturday again, your booking system’s got “Sarah M., trim + straighten” in midday. A 10-year-old bounces in, curly hair a mess, and trailing behind her is none other than Joel, hands in his damn pockets again.

“She wants it straight,” he says, low with a hint of flirtiness to it, winking when Sarah’s not looking. “I’d probably fuckin’ burn her tryin’.”

“Smart man,” you laugh, settling her into the chair. She’s chatty—her eyes shining as you flat-iron her hair, turning her curls into sleek waves instead.

“It’s like you’ve got magic in your hands!” she squeals, twirling it, and you laugh.

“You wanna be a hairdresser now, kid?” you ask, and she nods, beaming. Joel just watches, leaning against the counter, smirking.

Sarah groans, “Dad stop staring at her, you’re being weird,” but she giggles anyway.

You give Joel a wink and shake your head at him “dang, Joel, called out tryina’ flirt by your kid, you need to step up your game old man.”

When Sarah's hair is sufficiently straight, and the ends are trimmed neat she rushes out to the truck, making sure to swipe about 6 lollipops on her way past the front desk. Joel lingers again, voice dropping down low. “You do house calls, darlin’”

You grin, leaning close. “You wish cowboy. Gotta take me to dinner first at least.”

“That so?” he drawls, stepping nearer, invading your space, eyes glinting. “You’d wanna be seen in public with an old man like me?

“First of all, don’t even know how old you are, wouldn't exactly call you an old man. Secondly, try me.” you shoot back, and he chuckles.

“38, probably old enough to be your daddy.” he laughs, “and you?”

“Didn’t take you as the kinda guy to be into that,” you reply with a wink, leaning in just a bit closer.

Okay brave, we see you, girl, make him sweat!

You continue, “I’m 23, my dad’s still got a few years on you.”

You see watch him swallow and his eyes widen, jaw opens like he's about to say something but can’t.

He just bites his lip, like he doesn't want to regret what might come ou,t he gives you a nod and turns on his heels to the door. But before he leaves he stops for a second to look back and says “You don’t know much ‘bout me darlin’, not yet,” smiling again, he adds “I’ll think about that dinner,” and he’s gone.

//

Another week and Joe’s back again, showing up at the end of the day; just as you’re about to clock out. His hair is a little wild again, beard creeping back to chaos, clothes a mess—that rough handsomeness hitting you like a brick.

“I thought you’d be closed,” he says, rubbing his neck like hes almost embarrassed to be there. “Got a thing this weekend,” settling into your chair. “Make me extra pretty.” He jokes, actually jokes with you, how rare!

“I think most of us have ‘a thing’ this weekend, fourth of July n’ all,” you tease. “Hot date or what?” Sit down, handsome, ill make you into a real heartbreaker.

He grunts, settling in, body too big for the space, cape snapping as you drape it over him.

He snorts, eyes meeting yours in the mirror, dark and steady, maybe with a flicker of something in thiem. “No date, just a…thing. Don’t need Sarah to give me shit about lookin’ like a caveman.”

His tone is casual, but theres a dodge there, you let it slide, snipping away.

“Big, brooding, Joel Miller—so mysterious,” you say, hovering close, breath brushing his ear as you cut. “Thank god you’ve god me, huh?” you flash him a grin and he chuckles, warm, loosening up.

“Capes a little tight darlin’, you tryin to choke me?” he says, hooking a finger in the front of the cape. You undo the snaps and let out a low chuckle.

“Sorry honey, didn’t mean to, usually charge extra for that.” You say real low, giving him a wink.

“Ah, theres that comedian comin’ out again.” he says, voice dipping a bit, “Keepin’ me entertained.” His hand shifts under the cape, brushing your thigh—accidental, maybe? But he doesn't move it fast, and your heart jumps.

You tidy up the sides, cutting half an inch off the top.

“Okay let's go wash it, no fighting,” you say ripping the cape off. You bring him back to the sink and lean him back, scratching his nape with your fingernails a little rougher than last time, purposeful, just to see him shiver. You wash, fingers deep in his scalp, massaging watching his gruff expression melt away, noticing how the frown line between his brows softens.

He exhales a groan, and it makes you smirk, “Purrin’ again, huh? I got you hooked now.”

“Keep dreamin',’’ he mutters, weak—lazy, his hands unclench in his lap. You hum along to the radio, Led Zepplin, this time Ramble On low in the background.

You bring him back to the chair and style it, a little slicker this time, more pomade.

“There, now if you don't get too crazy tonight, this might stay lookin' good till tomorrow,” you say, “beard needs a bit of work still.” You clean up his neckline, and trim his mustache, leaning in extra close this time to get a good look—or maybe for him to get a good look—you wore a lowcut shirt today. You tilt his chin up and catch him swallowing—hard, adams apple bobbing, his dark eyes flicking up to you. You feel the heat of him under his stubble.

“Careful.” He warns, drawl low, but he doesn't pull away.

“Always am,” you murmur, cleaning up his neckline, and framing it up just right. You oggle again. He’s stupidly good looking, smile lines, plush lips, faint scars, coffee eyes—and you step back, smirking. “There, too pretty for your own damn good, owe me double again”

“You’re a magician,” he says, handing you forty bucks again with a flirty “worth it.’

“Damn straight,” you say, leaning against the counter, knee brushing his thigh, close, casual, but the air’s thick now. “So, this ‘thing’—gonna tell me, or keep me guessing?”

“You’ll figure it out, darlin’. You’re a smart girl,” his hand hovers near yours nearly touching it, then it drops. “See you around, be good.” and he leaves.

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t sulk a little when he left, no mention of dinner, no ‘house call’ comment to be heard.

You’ll live, girl calm down.

You immediately text Kim again.

(7:03PM)

You: DILF strikes again, i need him biblically. 😩

You laugh at yourself as you flick off the open sign and head for the door, heart still racing from that damn smirk of his.

(7:07PM)

Kim: oh you’re down BAD bad huh? I need to see this guy 😂

You lock up, grinning like an idiot, wondering if Joel Miller’s worth all this trouble.

Spoiler: he probably is.

[myloveer0]

My lovely darling

Girlfriend Ambessa Medarda X Fem!reader

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Summary: You were just trying to survive your family reunion when Ambessa Medarda—your girlfriend—showed up unannounced. Now, you have no choice but to introduce her to your entire clan. What’s got you nervous isn’t just introducing any partner—it’s the fact that you’re dating a woman who also happens to be twice your age.

💋 Enough with the smut we need sweet girlfriend Ambessa💋

Part III is here took it longer than i expected. Since this is modern setting i think Ambessa would likely be a rich ceo.

Part III (final)

“And… what exactly do you do, Miss Medarda?” your mom asked, her tone light but loaded.

You look at your mom with a pleading eye telling her to stop but she was totally ignoring you. Like you don't exist. Wonderful..

"Nothing much, Mrs. [Last Name] but I do own a business called Medarda Enterprises," Ambessa replied smoothly, as if it were nothing remarkable. "We specialize in international investments and infrastructure. If you don't mind, Y/N mentioned about your passion for cooking, so I brought you a little gift. I hope you'd be please.."

You swallowed, waiting. This was Ambessa’s way of extending goodwill, and you prayed your mother wouldn’t outright reject it. God! She sound so smart and formal.

But the room went dead silent. Even your cousins, usually glued to their phones, looked up. You saw your dad’s who was in the side, eyes widen slightly, realizing.

Medarda Enterprises.

Everyone knew it. Ambessa wasn’t just rich—she was influencial and wealthy. She owned one of the biggest enterprises, and their latest expansion had set its sights on your country. It was no wonder your family recognize it immediatly.

And the CEO herself? She had a reputation of her ruthless business deals and nonsense attitude they weren’t just office gossip they made headlines. And the owner of such, here she was, sitting casually in your family’s dining room, sipping wine like she hadn’t just sent the entire room into stunned silence.

Your mom cleared her throat, but her voice had lost a bit of its edge. “T-that’s… quite the achievement,” she said carefully. “I suppose running such an empire doesn’t leave much time for… personal matters? And beside you don’t seem to be the type of person who would date someone like my daughter.”

You flinched, opening your mouth to protest, but Ambessa placed a firm hand over yours under the table. She exhaled a quiet chuckle.

“And what type of person would that be?”

Your mother shrugged unsure, but now her voice was low. “A woman like you… Y-you have power, wealth, influence.You seems to have everything under your finger. You can have anything you want. So why my daughter? of all people..”

Your stomach twisted. Your mother wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore. It show how against she was in the relationship.

Ambessa wiped her mouth with a napkin, taking her time. “Your child is a remarkable person,” she said, her voice cool and calm. “Independent. Intelligent. Capable of making her own choices.” She finally met your mother’s gaze, “Do you doubt that? What exactly do you think your daughter is lacking, Mrs. [Last Name]?”

Your mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s not about lacking,” she said “It’s about reality. People in your position don’t settle down with people like us. They take what they want and move on when it’s convenient.”

A muscle in your jaw tightened. She thinks this is temporary. She thinks you’re temporary. And worst of all, she thinks your relationship with Ambessa is just a phase—something fleeting, something Ambessa will eventually grow tired of.

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but Ambessa beat you to it. Her gaze flickered to you. She wanted you to stay put, to trust her. This was her fight, and she didn’t want you to bear the weight of it any longer.

Ambessa’s expression darkened just a fraction. If this had been anyone else, she would have shut them down without hesitation. Ambessa Medarda did not entertain opposition, especially from those who dared to speak ill of her. But this was different.

This was your mother, and despite your mother poor choice of word, Ambessa held herself back, maintaining a measured respect.

She deeply understood at your mother reaction.

Ambessa leaned back in her chair, “I understand why you would think that, Mrs. [Last Name]” she said, voice smooth but firm. “People like me… we don’t have the best reputation, do we? And i understood my past doesn’t inspire trust. But my intentions are not temporary, and neither is my love for your daughter.”

Your mother’s fingers twitched slightly, “And you expect me to just believe that?”

Ambessa tilted her head, considering. Then she smirked—not mocking, but with confidence. “No,” she admitted. “I expect you to watch and see for yourself.”

Your mother’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “That’s a rather diplomatic answer.”

“I can be far less diplomatic, if you’d prefer.”

Your mother exhaled sharply through her nose, breaking contact first.. And continue “Let's just be honest here for once, Miss Medarda,” she pressed on “what exactly are your intentions with my daughter?”

Ambessa’s expression didn’t change, but you felt her grip tighten on your hand beneath the table, just slightly. “That depends,” she said smoothly. “Are you asking out of genuine concern or because you think I’m incapable of commitment?”

Your mother, for the first time in the entire conversation, didn't know what to reply.

But Ambessa, sensing the shift, didn’t let the silence settle for long. She exhaled softly, her grip on your hand grounding, steady. “Just to make one thing clear, Mrs. [Last Name],” she said, “Your daughter is an extraordinary person. She is intelligent, kind, and resilient in ways most people never have to be. She challenges me, surprises me, and makes me better simply by existing.”

Your heart clenched at the sincerity in her voice. It was the first time Ambessa had let down her defenses in front of someone else. And yet, here she was, speaking with raw honesty. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride.

Ambessa’s gaze softened slightly. “Before I met her, everything around me was gray—predictable, structured, and… empty.” She glanced at you briefly before reaching out, her fingers brushing against your cheek in a sweet, tender caress. Your heart swelled at the touch and you felt yourself lean into it without thinking.

“And then she came along, and suddenly, the world had color again.”

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly against the sting of emotion creeping into your eyes. Your mother was watching the two of you closely, her expression unreadable. The room felt impossibly still.

“I don’t take people lightly,” Ambessa continued, turning back to your mother. “And I don’t waste time on things that don’t matter. But your daughter? She matters to me. More than I can fully put into words. And i am expressing that i am truly genuine in our relationship. We didn't reach five years for nothing..”

Silence.

Your mother blinked. Then again. Her lips parted, coudn't believe what she just heard.

“Five years,” she repeated, voice barely above a whisper. “What Five years?”

This time, she turned to you, and all you could offer was a guilty smile, shifting under her intense stare.

Your mother’s gaze sharpened. “Wait—five years ago… that’s after one year you set foot on the States, isn’t it?”

You swallowed. “Y-yeah, Mom…”

She narrowed her eyes. “And Ambessa was…?”

You sighed, already feeling the weight of the explanation. “A-ambessa was actually become one of my clients.” You glanced at Ambessa, who simply smirked like this was all highly entertaining. She was entually enjoying this.. “That’s where it all started. And, well… as we spent more time together, we eventually started dating.”

Your mother blinked. Once. Twice. Then turned to Ambessa, eyes narrowing. “So let me get this straight—you were her boss?”

Ambessa, to her credit, met your mother’s scrutiny head-on, completely unbothered. “At first, yes.” She tilted her head slightly, lips curling into a knowing smirk. “And then, we became… more.”

Your mother looks like her jaw gonna drop at Ambessa's shameless agreement. “So you mean to tell me that while I thought my daughter was out there working hard, making a name for herself, and focusing on her career—”

“I was doing all that!” you protested.

“—She was actually started dating such person?! And for five years already?!”

The entire room fell into silence. Even the distant chatter from the remaining family members seemed to dim as your mother sat there, stunned.

She took a moment, as if trying to process this new reality. Then, finally, she turned to you, her eyes narrowing with accusation.

“How did you even manage that?” she asked, voice laced with pure disbelief.

Your shoulders dropped. You stared at her, deadpan.

“Seriously, Mom..?''

Beside you, Ambessa let out a low chuckle but eventually stopped when she noticed your pout, your expression clearly showing how upset you were. Why did people always ask that? Like it was some impossible thing? Well… they weren’t wrong exactly. You had caught a big fish—an impossibly big one.

Your mother exhaled sharply, shaking her head like she was trying to reset her brain. “I mean, it’s just—this is a Medarda we’re talking about. She could be with anyone. Anyone.”

Ambessa, ever the amused spectator, took a slow sip of her wine before setting the glass down. “And yet,” she said smoothly, resting an arm behind your chair, “I chose her.”

Your mom blinked, glancing between the two of you. “But… why?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my God, can everyone stop asking that?”

Ambessa smirked, tilting her head. “It is a fair question, little one.”

You turned to her, completely betrayed. “Not you too!”

Your father, who had been quietly observing the conversation from the sidelines, let out a low whistle. “Well… that certainly explains why you never brought anyone home before.”

Your mother held Ambessa’s gaze for what felt like an eternity. Debating and looking like there was so many thing circulating on her head—but then, finally, she exhaled a long, sigh of defeat.. loss of word.

You nearly gasped.

Your mother—one of the most difficult, most stubborn people on the planet—looked completely out of words.

You turned to Ambessa, barely suppressing a grin, and found her already looking at you. A slow, proud smirk tugged at her lips—one that said I told you so.

God, you loved this woman.

Mother inhaled sharply, rubbing her temples like this was giving her a migraine. Worry immediately surged through you, and you stood up without thinking.

“Mom? Are you okay?”

But she immedialy raised her head sharply pointing in your direction.

“You.. Young lady. We have so many things to talk about”

You froze.

"Five years," she repeated, shaking her head again. "Five years, and you never thought to mention this? Am i that distrustful for you to keep it that long.. Do I look like I can't handle it? I always thought you were alone and miserable, but clearly, that’s not the case." She let out a dramatic sigh.

"And gay? Listen, I love you honey but i have nothing against it, but..." She hesitated, gesturing vaguely as if trying to grasp the right words. "I always thought you liked men. Handsome ones! Those with big muscles.. The kind who look like Chris Evans or—"

She hissed, voice barely above a whisper “And then you’re telling me this whole time. She looks like she could even be your—”

“Mom, don’t,” You warned,. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Your mom immedialty stopped. Completly understood and clearly deciding not to push that particular button.'' A-and Oh! I remeber..What about Henry Cavill?! You dreamed about marrying him.. Don’t you remember? You used to have a poster of him above your bed—''

Your stomach dropped. Where was this conversion even leading up?

“Mom—”

You darted a glance at Ambessa, and to your horror. Beside you, she was watching you with her signature unreadable expression, one brow arched in amusement.

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

“That’s enough, mom” you cut in, mortified.

It was bad enough that your mother was bringing up every embarrassing detail of your past, it wasn't on your bucket list for Ambessa—Ambessa hearing it for the first time about your past fascination on men.

You dared a glance at her once again, swallowing hard.

Ambessa took a sip of her wine, her smirk growing. “Cavill, hmm?”

You groaned, covering your face. This is the best and also the worst day of your life.

FIN

Thank you so much for reading!! (happy2 author!)

[guiltyasdave]

a long time coming

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You were supposed to go to a concert with your best friend. You end up going with her dad instead.

word count: ~1.1k

tags/warnings: best friend's dad!Dave, fluff, allusions to smut, huge age gap, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, please be warned: Dave has inappropriate (though reciprocated) thoughts about his daughter's best friend - if that makes you uncomfortable, don't read

a/n: daphne @sizzlingcloudmentality and i were freaking out about those new photos of pedro, and because daphne apparently wants me dead, she said that it's giving bfd!dave who's at a concert with you and also provided me with a snippet that still has me in a chokehold and that's part of this story now. i am already experiencing heavy brainrot because i'm going to the eras tour in three (3) days and this was the final nail in my coffin tbh. i should be working on my dress, but instead i did this. the most self indulgent shit i've ever written lmao, please enjoy <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my whole masterlist here :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

“Please, daddy? Please?” 

Dave sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Molly’s hoarse voice keeps pleading with him before it dissolves into a fit of coughs. 

With a groan, she lets her head fall against the pillows, wide eyes still trained on him. 

“No one else wants to go, and I can’t let her go alone, I’d feel terrible. Please?” 

She pouts at him, knowing fully well that her father doesn’t deny her anything when she looks at him like this. 

“Fine. If you’re sure that she’s okay with it?” 

“She is! I already asked her.”

Dave cocks a brow at his daughter, earning himself an exhausted but triumphant grin. 

“Don’t look at me like that. It will be fun!”

Admittedly, Dave really has much more fun than he expected when his daughter all but begged him to accompany her best friend to the concert that she wanted to go to herself before she got sick. 

He knows most of the songs, has been witness to you and Molly singing along to the music while dancing through his kitchen often enough. It’s not bad music by any means, and the show is nothing short of spectacular. 

It’s not the reason he’s enjoying himself so much though. He’s barely watching the show, eyes only occasionally flicking towards the stage. 

His gaze is fixed on you, has been since before the show even started. Watching you interact with other fans, beaming smiles and giggles, eagerly exchanging bracelets, excitedly cooing at the especially pretty ones. 

Meeting your eyes when you turned to him, not able to suppress his own smile at the sparkle in them. Suppressing the flicker of something in his chest when your fingers wrapped around his wrist, tugging it closer to put a few bracelets on him as well. You don’t seem to notice the faint blush that’s rising up in his cheeks at the unexpected touch. 

He’s watching you bouncing on your feet seconds before the show starts, snaps a few photos of the pure joy on your face without you noticing. Just to send them to you later, having enough experience from being the father of two daughters to know how much you’ll love them. After that, he’ll delete them from his own phone. Of course he will. 

He’s watching you dance, your body moving to the beat of the music, your lips forming every word. Your silhouette shimmering with the lights reflecting off your dress. It’s mesmerizing. You dance with the girls beside you sometimes, shouting lyrics at each other. Other times, you turn to him. He doesn’t protest when you take his hands, starts moving with you without a second thought, starts singing the words that he knows along with you. You’re laughing, your eyes shining with pure happiness. It’s intoxicating, and he wants more, wants all of it, wants to be part of that happiness. He doesn’t remember the last time he smiled this wide, the last time his body felt this light. 

It takes a long time, longer than it should, until he remembers why this is bad. Until the weight comes crashing back into him. Until he remembers that he shouldn’t feel like this with you. 

You’re so much younger than him. His daughter’s friend. His daughter who asked him to come here with you, because she trusted that you’d be safe with him. 

Your brow furrows when you catch his eye and notice the change in his expression. No. He wants you to enjoy yourself, doesn’t want to be the reason for any kind of worry for you right now. He allows himself to drink in your energy right now, to let a smile grow on his face again. 

There’s no harm in indulging just for one night. Just a little bit. No one has to know. Least of all you. 

So he keeps singing with you, keeps letting you move with him. Keeps watching. 

It’s easy, being with you, talking to you. Effortless in a way that he’s not used to. 

It’s just because you’re at his house more often than not, going wherever Molly goes. It has to be. 

But it’s different, your giggles ringing out in the confines of his car, not mixed with his daughter’s, the sound that he knows. And he’s the one who’s elicited those laughs from you. 

"Explain it again, please. You’ve glued every single of these stones onto your dress?" He laughs and gives you another once over, glad he can disguise his inappropriate ogling with an appreciating glance. Act like he’s studying the intricate, shimmering patterns on the fabric. Not the way your tits are straining against the low cut over your chest. Not the way the skirt has ridden up your thighs, exposing a new inch of bare skin. "Great job, sweetheart. You look good. The dress looks good, too." 

He wonders how the dress would look bunched up around your waist. Or on the floor of your apartment. If your skin is as soft as it looks in the dim shine of the red light he’s stopped at. How it would taste under his tongue. The sweet sounds you would make when his teeth dig into you. 

You breathe a thank you and bite your lip at the compliment, and his cock twitches with interest. Wrong, wrong, so wrong.

He has to be imagining the way that you keep glancing his way, stealing looks when you think that he doesn’t notice. Wishful thinking on his part. 

He pulls up in front of your apartment building, killing the engine and turning towards you. You’re already facing him, more shy than you’ve looked all evening. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you say softly, lips pulling up into another smile. “I’ve had a great time. I— I hope you did too.” 

His hand lands on your thigh before he can actively think about it. A soft gasp escapes you, but you make no move to back away from his touch. 

“Trust me, I did.” 

He doesn’t intend for it to come out as low and breathy as it does. Teeth dig into your lips once more. Your contemplative gaze burns into him. 

You inch closer, close enough that he can feel your breath against his face. 

Wrong. He swallows thickly, forces his grip off of you. You blink, eyes growing wider, the growing tension’s fog lifting from you. Clearing your throat, you sit up straighter. 

“Good night, sweetheart.” 

He needs you to leave this car. Right now. 

You nod, shakily bidding him a good night as well. 

He watches your retreating silhouette, finally able to exhale deeply when you enter your building. 

He’s fucked.

comments and reblogs are love and make my day every single time <3

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Ten: silent night

tw: gore

You’re dreaming of your dad again. 

Crooked fingers grip the steering wheel in front of him as he sits in the driver’s seat, maneuvering through swirling streets with faceless pedestrians. You’re cuddled in the back seat, covered in heavy blankets that weigh you down like you’re chained in a prison. They’re tight, serpentine binds. So much so you find it hard to breathe. Fat snowflakes flutter past the window as the engine revs, speeding through London with no regard for traffic lights or stop signs. If there were other cars on the road, your dad would have crashed long ago. 

Quiet megrim suffocates you as your ringing ears attempt to make sense of the song playing on the radio. Static drowns the notes, fuzzies them until you can barely hear it. Your dad hums the tune in a different key. Sweet, and off beat. He’s always been tone deaf. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

The acrid scent of blood fills your nose the moment you find his eyes in the rearview mirror. Thick patches of it stain his face, crusting around fat lacerations on his eyebrows, lips and nose. It dries; flakes off his skin just to be replaced by a fresh stream. Pulled stitches fray at the ends as they protrude from his skin like grotesque teeth, being devoured from the inside out by wounds he can’t outrun. Wounds that will never heal. 

“Comfortable?” he asks. 

Your legs squirm as you try to shift but the cocoon of blankets grows tighter around you, hugging your limbs close as if you’re trapped in a straightjacket. It’s so crowded that your ribs have trouble expanding, and a breathy cough leaks from your mouth. It burns, like smoke in your lungs or mint on your tongue. 

“You should slow down,” you warn him. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” The song repeats. You don’t think you’ve heard it make it past the first stanza. A bent record, forever scratching, doomed to repeat a song and never finish it. 

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he assures you. 

“Dad, please slow down.” 

The engine sputters and quiets down as the brakes engage with a gentle tap. Wheels dwindle and slow until the car halts in the center of the road. Traffic suddenly dashes by with quiet whooshes, as cars appear out of nowhere. Maybe they’ve been following you the entire time. They’re all black—like a funeral procession. Exhaust mixes with iron. The concoction is enough to turn your stomach as the scent sears your sinuses. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

“Are you afraid I’m going to end up like him?” your dad asks. Disfigured, bent, and disgusting fingers still grip the steering wheel despite the motionlessness of the car. You try not to stare, but the horror of it has you transfixed. “Like Aelin’s dad?” 

Your bottom lip juts out and trembles. “You already did.” 

He laughs at you, and it’s warm like velvet. Comforting just like it used to be when you were a kid. It reminds you of when he would read you stories before bed, keeping his tone even yet engaging—just calming enough to get your eyes heavy. Your skin itches to throw the blankets off of your body and wrap yourself in his mirth instead, but as usual, you are not strong enough. 

“I’m right here, darling,” he chuckles. “I know the accident was hard on you, but it’s not your fault. It could’ve happened to anyone. You don’t have to be afraid of it.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snap. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

Leather seats shift under your dad’s weight, and his eyes no longer look at you in the rearview mirror. You want to ask if he looks away in shame, but the question doesn’t quite reach your tongue. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asks softly. 

You swallow. “I don’t know. I just… wish you didn’t leave me like that.” 

“But I didn’t leave,” he assures. 

“You did! You died! You’re dead and now I have nothing,” you retort. 

There is no denying that you are aggrieved. Betrayed in some aching way that still haunts the marrow of your bones and the ridge of your spine. He smiles and speaks as softly as he did when he was alive, but your father’s shadow looms over you, heavy and thick like a brume you can’t outrun. You’re not sure there has ever been a moment of your life where it hasn’t followed you. 

You’re not sure it will ever stop. 

“Silent night, Holy night. All is calm, all is-” 

The radio dies just as the engine does and a wave of tinnitus rings so loud you’re certain it can’t be coming from inside your own head. Someone else must be hearing this agony; it can’t just be you. You blink and witness in abject horror as your dad twists in his seat, hands leaving the steering wheel, torso turning so that he can fully face you. 

He looks just like he did all those years ago. Clothes perfectly pressed, dress shirt steamed, cuffs neatly creased. He always joked about how the first time he would ever wear a suit would be at your wedding—instead, he wore his first suit at his own funeral. They did a good job at making him look normal. Human. At covering the abrasions and scratches. At setting his fingers and nose straight. Still, there’s something wrong with his skin. There’s no fresh blood, it’s all pooled in his body. Heavy. Weighing it down. 

The mortician did a good job, but no amount of wax can fix the chuck of bone and flesh missing from the side of his skull. 

“Dad, please,” you beg. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Sorry, darling,” he says, but his voice is warped. Wrong. Gargled like his vocal chords decayed long ago. “There’s not much you can do. Not anymore.” 

Your only solace is the alarm on your phone. 

It vibrates next to your head where it echoes throughout your box spring mattress like a hollow cavern. It kickstarts your heart until it pounds so violently in your chest that you’re certain your sternum will shatter. You need it to stop. Need it to shut up. Need to kill it. Sucking in a shuddering breath, your hands fumble with your phone as you tap on the screen, shutting off the alarm and plunging your apartment into silence. 

Throwing yourself on your back, you stare at your water damaged ceiling as you try not to deliquesce into the bed. You can already feel it happening. Muscles convulsing until they liquify, bone marrow seeping out from your pores, soft duvet soaking up the essence of everything that once made you human. You feel the pillow beneath your head and the cotton of your pajamas as you try to ground yourself to the earth that threatens to crush you everyday, but your mind is always stronger. There is nothing you can do to free yourself from the heat of a car engine, or shattered glass in your lap, or the gunshot pop! of an airbag—

Once more, your phone buzzes. It’s soft, and non-intruding. A gentle nudge that pulls you back into your bed just as the heater kicks on with a quiet hiss. You breathe in the scent of your apartment. It’s stale. Stagnant air and old dish soap. You’d like to invest in a candle or wax warmer—like the ones your mom used to have. Maybe that way you could pretend that you’re still with her, if only for a moment. 

Everything feels lighter when you force your mind to remember where you are. That doloriferous anxiety wanes until it’s nothing more than a dormant beast in your chest. Sighing, you twist your body to grab your phone. It’s just before eight in the morning, and a text from Simon has your heart fluttering. 

Good morning sweetheart. I’ll be there in an hour. Need me to pick up anything for the trip? 

Not even the primal terror lurking in your chest can stop the small smile that pulls at your lips as you read his message. Always so proper. So kind and considerate. For a moment, you forget all about crooked fingers and half formed skulls. You swallow back any tremulous sensation as you type your response back to him. 

no thanks, should be good (: excited to see you

You push your anxiety into submission—it’s Christmas Eve, and you have somewhere to be. 

A quick shower is all it takes to get your mind functioning properly again. Lukewarm water washes away the nightmare sweats and leaves you with a clean slate. Fresh, untouched skin. There’s a draft that seeps through the gaps of the bathroom window, causing your skin to prickle and tighten as you dry yourself off in front of the foggy mirror. On windy days, you can hear it whistle as it seeps through the gap. The cold prompts you to get ready with a sense of urgency, and it isn’t long before you’re swaddled tight in comfortable clothes as you shove last minute items into your travel bag. 

Simon arrives just when he said he would, and you can’t tell if your eyes are playing tricks on you, but his jumper seems to hug tighter around his shoulders than usual. Muscles shift in his shoulders as he rolls out the morning tension, and you find your greeting tumbling out of your lips on a tongue that suddenly feels too fat. He stares at you with careful eyes, always assessing you like the good worker he is. He soaks up the buzz tingling through your nerves as you fiddle with your travel bag. Heat drenches your skin so thickly he can almost feel it from where he stands. 

Smirking, he reaches forward, fingers brushing against yours as he slips the bag out of your hand, leaving you no choice but to relinquish it. He keeps the straps firmly in his hand as he steps back, gesturing to the stairs. 

“After you, sweetheart.” 

Breakfast and warm tea brewed in a to-go cup waits for you in Simon’s car. It’s the very first thing you notice when he opens the door for you, and the sight has you biting into your lip. You try to mutter something about how he shouldn’t have, but he only shushes you as he ushers you inside. Really, it makes a good distraction. Focusing on trying not to leave crumbs as you devour a bagel sandwich leaves you little time to worry about why he didn’t bother to get anything for himself. 

It’s good. Better than good. Perfectly toasted bagel, melty cheese, seasoned avocado—it’s something too fancy for you to have ever ordered on your own. The tea is still warm by the time you hit the motorway, and a comfortable silence settles over you as the engine hums along the road. Towering grey buildings dwindle into quaint homes which then shapeshift between natural scenery and city views in the distance.

You try to remember the last time you left London. Escaped the prison that’s held you by the throat for the last few years, even if it were only temporary. Nothing comes to mind, and you feel your blood sing in excitement. 

Simon shifts in his seat next to you, and your eyes dart over to him. He’s only adjusting himself, getting his legs comfortable for the long ride ahead—he mentioned something about arriving around one—but your eyes can’t help but wander. You glance at the roll of his hips and the way his thighs fill out the fabric of his jeans. His stomach is soft, and it expands slightly as he sighs. His lips sit in a tight line while his eyes scan the road ahead, one hand on the steering wheel, thick fingers wrapped around the edge—

You blink and they’re crooked. Bruised, bent, and wrong. Compound fractures—bone piercing flesh. Jagged knuckles, fingers like the ridge of a mountain; you feel your stomach twist as that nightmare continues to haunt you. 

Before its tendrils have the chance to wrap around your spine, your hand dives into your pocket. Frayed string brushes against your skin, and you hook it like a fish on the end of your line before yanking it free. It’s the same distraction you always end up running back to. It keeps you moving and your mind focused on formations as you twist them into designs—always flowing, never stagnant. 

Even now, you can hear your father’s voice. You can feel his hands guiding you just like he did all those years ago when he taught you how to play. Move your left hand. They’ll cross if you don’t.

You move your right hand, and it knots; candle sticks now a cross. 

“Cat’s cradle?” Simon asks. 

As you unwind the string from your fingers to begin again, a nostalgic smile creeps on your lips. You don’t think you’ve ever had someone recognize it before. “Yeah. I play it sometimes to keep myself occupied.” 

“Didn’t know you could play it by yourself,” he admits. “Always thought you needed someone else.” 

“You can’t do as many moves as you can with another person, but it’s still fun,” you chuckle sheepishly. 

He hums as he adjusts the position of his hand on the wheel. His free arm rests on the center console next to you—his fingers twitch. “You should teach me.” 

A breathy laugh escapes your lips; you think he’s joking. It’s a stupid game with string. Nothing that means anything. Yet when you look at him and find his eyes flickering to you—his dark hue reading your expression—you realize he means it. 

You swallow, then smile. “If you’d like.” 

He shifts once more, leather seat creaking beneath his weight. You try to ignore the way your heart hurts at the sound. “I’d like doin’ anythin’ with you.” 

The whole ride feels warm after that. Bubbling mirth lurks beneath your skin, lighting it on fire, heating your cheeks and the tips of your ears until you swear you can feel the skin melt from your bones. It’s that same feeling that afflicted you the previous week after Christmas shopping. This fervor. This want. It continues to fester and metastasize until it lurks deep in your brain where it whispers. The susurrus gets louder the closer you are to reaching Manchester as the reality of your situation hits you. 

You’re going to be meeting his family. 

But as a friend, or something else? 

That question plagues you as Simon pulls up to a small home with effulgent lights lining the rooftop. They illuminate the sparse layer of snow that coats the city in crystalline sparkles, and for a moment you’re convinced you’re seeing stars. A thick evergreen wreath adorns the front door, and the sight of it is so nostalgic it nearly hurts. A tremble ails your knees as you climb out of the car, useless joints turning into jelly as you watch Simon retrieve both of your bags. Your hands reach out, ready to receive yours, but he raises his eyebrow as he closes the door with his elbow. 

“C’mon,” he urges. “Freezin’ out here.” 

Your legs shake with each step you take up the stairs to the door. A TV drones from somewhere inside of the house as quiet chatting mixes with whatever programme is playing. Giggles blend seamlessly into faint music and fuzzy, Old-Hollywood dialogue, and a faint sillage of cinnamon bleeds through every pore of the house. Voices cease as Simon clumsily knocks on the door, bags hitting against the wood as he attempts to balance everything on his own. A high pitched gasp bleeds through the door, followed by what you think is someone asking for Uncle Simon. 

You swallow your heart thudding in your throat as the door swings open and you’re met with a mess of bright blonde hair. Simon was right—Tommy isn’t bigger than him at all, yet he still towers taller than most. He grins at his brother, crooked teeth and all, as he slaps his hand on Simon’s shoulder. 

“About time you showed up. Joey’s been beggin’ for you all morning,” he teases, though he can’t quite mask the way his eyes flicker to you as you stand meekly to the side. “C’mon in. We just started a game of Candyland.” 

The moment you and Simon step through the threshold of the house, you’re enveloped by the aroma of fresh cinnamon and the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas. A fat evergreen tree sits in the corner of the living room next to a coffee table that sports board game pieces and snacks strewn about its top. You recognize Joseph and his mother, Beth, who sit next to the table on the floor, rug cushioning their knees from the wood. The very moment his eyes land on Simon, little Joseph bolts to his feet. 

Suddenly, it’s a reunion. Everyone stands on their feet to exchange hugs and kisses while Simon attempts to return them with his hands occupied with bags. The walls echo the laughter shared between everyone, and your left ear buzzes and rings. Still, you stand there with a quiet smile, soaking in the familial love as you stay out of the way. Joseph clings to Simon’s leg, white teeth on display as he looks up at his uncle, and you swear you’ve never seen Simon smile or laugh so hard before. 

“Simon?” a voice speaks up from the kitchen. 

You turn to find a grey haired woman drying her hands off on a lighthouse themed tea towel. She’s short; surprisingly so for the two boys she’s brought into this world. Rose tint dusts the apples of her cheeks as she slowly crosses into the entryway, arms spread wide to envelop her son as best as she can with her frail frame. 

“Missed you, mum,” Simon whispers as he returns the hug. 

“It’s always good to see you,” she says, pulling away to look up at him. Her lips tighten as her fingers squeeze the side of his arm. “My sweet boy.” 

It isn’t long before her eyes begin to wander. They’re drawn to you, and she doesn’t even bother to fight against the magnetic pull. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think she was eager to see you. She removes herself from her son as she approaches you, hands reaching for yours as she pulls you away from the door and into her home. 

“It’s so good to meet you, Chip,” she says, hands patting yours. 

She already knows your name. 

You swallow. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Riley,” you stutter back in response. 

Everything falls into place after that like a perfect line of dominos. Simon vanishes for only a short moment to put your bags away in some unseen room, and he returns just in time for Joseph to drag the two of you into the living room for a board game. There’s hardly any time for proper introductions as Joseph directs the game all the way down to what color pieces everyone uses—both you and Simon are assigned green—and despite your apprehension, it’s like you’ve been here the whole time. Instantly welcomed and assimilated into the Riley Family like you’ve never belonged anywhere else. 

So much information is shared in such a short amount of time that your brain begins to throb with the knowledge and fatigue. Questions are thrown about as everyone takes turns drawing cards and moving pieces along the board. You learn that Joseph’s favorite color is red because it reminds him of his mother’s hair, and how Beth works with school aged children as a teacher. Tommy works as a mechanic and is one of the reasons why Simon has a motorcycle, and the two brothers can banter well enough to go pro, especially with one another. The table erupts into laughter and playful cursing more often than not. 

They ask questions about you, too. They gently poke, prod, and peel back the layers you try so hard to wrap yourself up in. They don’t allow you to hide, and after a few hours of games, snacks, and movies, you start to think you might not want to anymore. Tucked into Simon’s side, lazy arm around your shoulder as he chuckles and laughs with his family, you start to realize this is the most at home you’ve felt for a long time. 

You attempt to remember the last holiday event you attended that you enjoyed, but the memories that emerge taste sour on your tongue. 

Halfway through How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Simon squeezes your shoulder. It’s soft—a gesture that warns you he’s going to move well before he does. He removes his arm from around you, body shifting forward on the couch, yet he makes sure to replace the airplane themed blanket on your lap that Joseph gave you because you look cold. You blink at him with heavy lids. 

“Gonna step outside for a smoke,” he assures. 

“Okay. Well, I’ll keep our seats warm,” you smile as he stands. 

Manchester is bitter and dark when Simon steps out into the backyard. His skin tenses and trembles through the fabric of his jumper as he lights the cigarette sitting between his teeth with a shudder. A hiss bleeds between his teeth as he exhales, hands burrowing deep into his pockets to stave off the cold. 

Truly, he is happy to be home, but those walls make his skin crawl. Old scars burn and itch every time he sees those photos hanging up on the walls, or when the wood floors creak a certain way. No amount of pine tree pollen or holiday cinnamon can fully cleanse the stale alcohol that permeates every pore in that house from shattered bottles and spilt cans. Each time he visits, he tries to override the memories. He tries to erase them and let them decay—create something new from the lingering pain. He’s tried to convince his mom to let him buy her a nicer place, or at least fix that damn bathtub, but she refuses every time. 

He swears that he’ll one day tear out every tile in that bathroom. 

A squeak sounds behind Simon as the sliding glass doors open, then quickly shut. He hurriedly exhales the smoke in his mouth before turning around, not at all surprised to find Tommy approaching him with his arms hugged to his chest. 

“Tryna bum a smoke?” Simon asks as he shoves the cigarette back between his lips. 

“What, and have Beth maul me in my sleep?” Tommy chuckles as he jams his thumb over his shoulder. “Been clean for nearly six years, and I don’t plan on throwin’ that away any time soon.” 

Dead grass crunches beneath Tommy’s feet as he approaches, but Simon’s chuckle drowns it out. “Good man.” 

Tommy hums as he stops next to his brother, still a good distance away so as to not get the stale scent of nicotine on him. Blue eyes keep flickering to the door where you, Beth, and Joseph continue to watch the movie, idle chatter filling the gaps of the film you’ve seen a million times over. He smirks, and it looks an awful lot like Simon’s 

“Didn’t realize you were bringin’ a girl,” he admits. “No wonder why mum seemed extra adamant ‘bout cleaning. How long have you two been together?” 

At that question, Simon takes a particularly long drag. It expands in his lungs; fills the space until there’s nothing left. When he exhales, it’s slow. Long. “We’re not together.” 

“Oh?” Tommy questions with a poorly restrained grin. “So, you just brought this completely random bird home to see the family? Nothin’ more?” 

“It’s complicated,” Simon deadpans. 

“Ah. Complicated. Bullshit,” Tommy retorts. 

The brothers fall silent as laughter bleeds through the doors behind them. Both men turn to find Joseph wrapped in Beth’s arms, swaying side to side as he points at the TV. You cover your laugh with the palm of your hand, but Simon catches on to the way your shoulders shake with the movement. 

“When are you gonna settle down? Start a family of your own?” Tommy questions, eyes still on his wife and son. “Sure mum’ll appreciate you gettin’ married before she’s too old to know where she’s at.” 

In an attempt to hide his laugh, Simon chooses to scoff instead. “I couldn’t do better than you ‘n Beth.” 

“Couldn’t you?” Tommy challenges. 

For a moment, Simon entertains it—the thought of a family. The thought of you. He’ll admit, he thinks of you often, but he can’t determine if it’s because he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, or because he’s still trying to solve the mystery of you. Of Andrei, of your reclusiveness; of everything. He can’t tell if his heart quickens because of you, or what might be chasing you. 

What a silly idea. With his line of work, and your obvious anxiety, he’s certain you’d want nothing to do with him if you ever found out what he does for a living. 

He doesn’t think he’d see you again if you ever caught sight of the blood that stains his hands. 

“I mean it,” Simon says, standing firm. “Buildin’ the life you did after everythin’ you went through, findin’ an amazing woman and havin’ a good son… I’m proud of you.” 

Tommy scoffs at Simon’s adulation like he’s about to spew something sarcastic at the man, but instead his lips pull into a reverent smile. Nodding, he sighs, breath spewing out in a fit of frost that’s quickly smothered by the bitter air as it rises and vanishes. An airplane flies overhead, its lights gently winking in the distance. 

“As the older brother, I think I’m supposed to be praisin’ you but… yeah. I’m proud of myself, too,” he admits. “To think about all the shit I had gotten caught up with. Fuck, surprised Beth ever saw anythin’ in me. Nearly got myself killed over drugs. Over that stupid fuckin’ debt. Needed my little brother to come save my arse. Still, I’ve got them. Somehow… I have them. Wouldn’t change that for the world.” 

Hot embers begin to burn too close to Simon’s fingers, and he discards the butt of his cigarette onto the ground and stomps out what remaining life it has left. He looks up at Tommy, but his eyes are focused on the smoldering remains of ash at his feet. 

“Do you run into him at all?” Tommy asks. 

“Who?”

“Marco.” 

Ravenous acrimony eats away at Simon’s chest at the name alone. Memories resurface—an overconfident prick with beady green eyes. He rubs at his knuckles as if he can still feel the way they split all those years ago. He presses against his fingers until they shift; their crack echoes dully off the dead grass and glass door. 

“If I did, he’d be fuckin’ dead,” he assures. 

Tommy chuckles, clearly caught off guard by his brother’s bloodthirst. “Well, I wouldn’t ever ask you to go that far, but… the cunt would deserve it. Besides, with your line of… work, I reckon it’s not too difficult to make people vanish.” He coughs, clearing his throat of any lingering second-hand smoke before he continues. “Speakin’ of that… does Chip know?”

“Know what?” 

“That you run with Price? That underground shit? The fuckin’ mafia?” Tommy clarifies. Simon’s silence is the only answer he needs. “You haven’t told her?” 

“It’s complicated,” Simon reiterates. 

Some facetious response dances on the tip of his tongue—Simon can see it in the way his mouth twitches—but Tommy stays silent. He sighs, then nods before looking back through the door. Their mother is on her feet, slowly maneuvering around the living room in a slight waddle in order to open the door. 

“Yeah. I know it is. Just… be careful,” he mumbles just as the door slides open. 

“Dinner’s ready! You two should come back inside. It’s freezin’ out here,” their mother urges. 

Both men glance at one another with a curt nod before trudging through the grass back to the house. The very moment they step back into the warm embrace of their childhood home, everything else seems to fade away. It vanishes the moment Simon looks at you—still curled up on the couch, ready for a cat nap. Any worries—any sour memories and old scars—all of it lingers in the backyard with the smoldering remains of Simon's cigarette; unimportant, and long forgotten.

[alrtyhoney]

TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS 

(I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness and I have to sit down for a while– the feeling that I'm losing her forever.)

The rundown: That cake scene with Miles at his father’s bodega party but it’s with Miguel and his universe’s daughter. He’s late and it’s your quinceañera. Content: Father!Miguel O'hara x Daughter!Reader / Angst! (wc: 3844)

There was something oddly peculiar about your father. People would assume that he would be the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child; the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. You’d argue it wasn’t true– you were fed, you had the weight of what a fifteen year old should have, and education was proper. 

You love your papa with all of your heart, but there was no denying the fact that he would never be around often enough. You understood this when you were eight years old, and mornings would bring only a cold breakfast accompanied by a hastily scribbled note from him. He’d leave early– far too early. You tried staying up in an attempt to tell when he gets up and leaves the house, but you swear you don’t hear the door open every time. 

Then came twelve and the missed events. Miguel seemed to be missing in action when it came to certain school activities, not showing up for things that he had previously made commitments for. It became more and more frequent as you grew older– you wouldn’t hear from him for days.

He was a man dedicated to his profession, and although you felt pride in what he had achieved, there was this empty space in your heart that hadn’t been filled ever since you were eight. It was said that a child needed the presence of their parents to feel security– to feel important. You never truly understood it, not until you had to endure many nights at dinner alone and the numerous times you spent walking home with nothing but your own thoughts for company.

You had always pondered over the question of whether it was a common phenomenon that fathers seemed to love their daughters less once they had reached teenagehood– or if it was possible for fathers to unlearn being fathers. 

“Is your papa coming, bebita?” 

The faint notes of classical music filled the air as you sat on the wooden floor, stretching your sore limbs. You observed the ladies who were much older than yourself starting their exercise routines, having come in early before the group class began. You waited for Miguel to pick you up. 

– But that had been two hours ago. Your teacher finally worked up the courage to approach you, hesitantly looking for the right words to say. She wasn’t exactly pleased to be the one to let you down, but she’d seen you walk out the studio’s door alone time and time again after you told her that your father would bring you home himself.

“He said he’d come pick me up today.” You spoke, nervously twisting the ends of your skirt. Your teacher had most likely heard these words countless times before from you, but the faint ray of hope in your voice remained firm. “He promised.” You added quietly, praying that maybe it would be different this time. 

“Ay, bebita– you know how this ends. You tell me those exact words and you walk out here on your own anyway.” She slightly shook her head, her face softening with a sympathetic smile as she knelt closer to you. “Tell you what, how about I offer to give you a ride home today? I have plenty of snacks in my car that you can enjoy. You can take as many of them as you'd like.”

You took some time to consider it, letting her gently weave her fingers through the strands of curls that couldn't quite fit into a bun. Your lips pursued as you sighed softly, “What if he comes and I’m not here anymore?” You’d hate to miss the opportunity.

Of course you still had faith that he would come, having endured all the other times he had let you down. You were never one to quickly give up on people and your father was the only one you trusted the most— you’d hate to admit that his inconsistency was starting to hurt; digging a deeper wound to the already bleeding cut. 

“He’s not coming and I know you know that too.” 

She stands up, grunting slightly as she hefts herself up. You knew there was no more room for negotiation anymore when she urged you to come along. She carefully takes your backpack from off your back and drapes it over her own shoulders, “Come on sweetheart, let's get you home.” 

The silence in the car was palpable, with no one feeling the need to prod conversation. You hadn't stopped fidgeting with the hem of your bag since you got in, and you could feel your teacher's worried glances burning into you. Your mind was a jumble of emotions that kept bubbling away as they all competed for your attention. What could be his reason this time/?

She switched on the radio in an effort to lighten the tense mood, but when a melancholic tune filled played instead, you couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh.

“Is it possible for fathers to unlove their daughters?” 

It was a question that took her completely by surprise, so much so that another uncomfortable beat of silence passed before she could respond. The stillness made you regret asking in the first place. Your legs shifted nervously, an unconscious habit which you had never noticed before.

“Of course not,” She muttered, almost inaudibly. “Fathers tend to forget is all.”

But you knew that wasn’t the case. 

While Miguel was never home, something else resided on the corners of your house– someone you have never met at all. She smiled back at you from the frame sitting atop your dad's nightstand, wearing the similar blue soccer jersey your school had. She was the picture on his wallet and the little widget on his phone. It was beyond you– the few blue ribbons hidden on the box beneath his bed; the medals, the drawings you know you’ve never drawn or given him. For all you know, the kid didn’t even go to your school. 

It wasn’t anything sinister, but in a way she felt like a ghost. A child your father mourned for all his life and you had no idea why. 

This was a physical pain in your chest; one that was peeling away the very layers of your heart until it was nothing but ugly– just how could Miguel love a child more than his own? It was ridiculous to feel like you were in competition with someone you barely knew, yet somehow, you felt like you were losing. It felt even more absurd when you considered the possibility that maybe you weren't really his child at all.

“I joined our school’s soccer team today, papa.” 

It wasn’t an ordinary occurrence for Miguel to be at the dining table for lunch. But on this Saturday noon, he was there. Sitting across from you, quietly eating his food. Finally, he paused and shifted his gaze towards you, seeming to linger on you longer than normal before looking away, cracking a grin.

“Soccer? You hate sports, mija.” He says, a bit of laughter in his voice. "What made you decide to try out? I don't recall you being the least bit interested before."

Something in his eyes becomes brighter, a sense of familiarity as he eagerly awaits your response– and the thing is, you couldn’t tell him why. Not without addressing the elephant in the room. Maybe you’d hang my medals too? Maybe you’d frame a photo of me? You know well your question reminds him of someone else. 

“No reason.” 

It was no surprise that you were terrible at it. After barely two seasons, you'd already given up. However it was surprising to see Miguel in the stands during the times that you had a game, but there wasn’t much to watch anyway— not when you’d been relegated to the bench for most of the time. All you felt was shame. 

Oddly enough, he didn't question it. He remained silent during the rides back home, his gaze distant and never once looked at you. Had you embarrassed him to an extent where he couldn’t even acknowledge you? Or have you given him the impression that you were just no better than the little girl in his pictures?

You dared not to talk about it too.

Music was your passion; the pulse, the poise and elegance of it all resonating with you deeply. Ballet was something that spoke to you particularly in ways no other art form could. You found a special joy out on stage, a feeling that grew deeper and greater each time you danced.

But like every flame that you desperately try to keep alive, Miguel had a way of snuffing it out. 

You remember it all so vividly, even though you'd much rather the memory be nothing more than a faint blur. Your very first recital and yet he wasn't anywhere to be found amongst the audience.

Your focus was a tunnel-vision, only set to finding even a glimpse of him— you had been so determined to find him that you forgot about all of your own movements. Soon, the few wrong turns had turned to missed cues; as soon as the music stopped, you made a run for it.

Your teacher had done her best to console you that day, attempting to coax a smile from you in front of the vanity mirror with its bright lights. She had wrapped her arms around you, doing anything she could to draw even the faintest curve of your lips. But you stayed slumped on your seat, feeling the weight of the unshed tears on your eyes. 

The door swung open, finally revealing Miguel; he was out of breath and sweat glistened on his forehead. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his tie was undone, a clear sign that he had run all the way here. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before walking in frantically, eyes looking for you. 

His eyes softened at the sight of you in your pretty pink tutu– then the tenderness was replaced with a feeling akin to plummeting one hundred stories down. How could he miss this? How could he let his sweet girl wait? He rushed to your side, sinking down into a kneeling position. He looked upon you with lines creasing his forehead and you already knew what was to come out of his lips.

“I’m sorry muneca, I came as fast as I could.” 

The other parents of your classmates started to barge inside the very room, their children giddy with joy and excitement, running to them with beaming smiles. You could hear their loud congratulations– voices singing sweet praises and telling how they looked outstanding on stage. The noise sounded like static in your ears, like their words were unfamiliar to you. They received bouquets of flowers, sweets– gifts for a job well done. Miguel came late and only with apologies. 

“You want pretty flowers too, mijita? We can stop by the flower shop a few blocks away from here, you can pick any bouquet you want.” His lips curved into a gentle smile, desperate to make his daughter feel better– the same daughter who wouldn't even meet his gaze. “Papa had to deal with something. I’ll be sure to go to your next recital– pinky promise.” 

“But I worked really hard for this.”

You wanted so desperately to blame him; to yell at him for every mistake that you've made on the stage. You felt ashamed, humiliated, and helpless all at once- and still, you couldn’t have the heart to be mad at him.

He looked at you apologetically, "Baby, I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier. How about we talk about the flowers you want to buy instead? There are lots of restaurants nearby as well— you can pick whatever pleases you, just name it." He paused for a moment before continuing, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know how much this meant to you.”

If he did, why couldn’t he have come at all?

You let out a deep sigh, feeling completely ridiculous in your tutu. All of the sudden, the leotard appeared to be two sizes too small and utterly irritating; your tights seemed unbearably itchy. You looked down helplessly, wanting nothing more than to leave this situation behind. “I just want to go home. Can we just leave? Please?” You pleaded softly. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, a gesture that conveyed own sinking heart in a way words could not. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly, breath hitching as he gave in to your request instead. 

“Of course.” 

After that very moment, you'd vowed to yourself never to wait in anticipation of something that may or may not come. You wouldn’t put your faith in any more of your father's promises spoken under the dead of night. It took a toll on you– your naivety had taught you better than before.

But when your fifteenth birthday drew near, you never expected he would go so far.

The locks clicked and whirred as Miguel fumbled with the keys to the front door. You could hear your Father's voice, clearly agitated as he jostled the keys back and forth in an attempt to fit them into the lock. Finally, he steps inside, eyes immediately darting to you.

“You’re not wearing your birthday dress, sweetie. Is something wrong?” He’s wearing a smile, struggling to keep the two boxes of cake upright as he locks the door from behind. The banner is lopsided and the balloons scattered all around seem small– like they’ve been there for days and were starting to deflate themselves. He kisses the top of your head once he gets close, getting a better view of what you were working on on the counter. Homework. “Did you have your friends over today? How was it? Wanna hear all about it.”

And he must have forgotten. You decided to pretend not to hear his question, continuing to jot down notes, only humming at his presence. He settles the boxes down, sitting on the stool beside you. 

“I know papa’s late, but you can still go and wear your dress. I want to take pictures– should we order pizza? Do you want something else?” He’s rambling, hurriedly searching for his tone to dial down a few numbers. Miguel turns frantic, looking at the closed signs under every nice restaurant. “Pizza should be fine, mijita– you’ve eaten dinner, right?” 

“Not hungry.” 

Miguel chuckled, dialing anyway. “Did school suck today, sweetie?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “You know what can cheer you up? Cake. You love cake.”

“I don’t like cake anymore.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. You can feel frustration boiling over inside– and you fear it wasn’t the kind you’ve grown accustomed to suppressing. He was oblivious and it was killing you, hurting you in so many ways possible. “I’m not hungry.” You repeat again.

“Don’t be like that, __. Besides, it’s still tradition.” He stands up to check the drawers, only finding worn out candles from past birthdays. He takes a lighter. “Know what’s better than a cake? Two cakes! You’ll change your mind, go and open the boxes mija,”

Miguel excitedly pressed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently forward to open the two boxes of cake. The look in his eyes was that of pure anticipation as he waited eagerly for you to do so. It almost hurt you to tell him the news— that you wanted more than to just take the blame itself. It was conflicting. 

You finally got up from the bar stool, settling on your feet in front of the counter. Taking a deep breath, you carefully opened the lid of the boxes. What greeted you had made you visibly recoil– the small flicker of hope that settled in your chest gone as quickly as it came. The cakes were crumbled and the frosting was all over the box, like it had been trampled and tossed around.

Was this all a joke? Were you a joke to him? Your shoulders trembled as you couldn't bring yourself to look away from it; the letter was still visible but amongst the cake crumbs lay written a name– Gabriella. Not happy birthday to you, but Gabi. 

You didn’t know what hurt most. Your lips quivered and all you could mutter was, “Gabi?”

His eyes widened in surprise as he quickly moved to your side to take a look at the cake himself. He swiftly closed the lids, shaking his head. “Must’ve been a mistake back at the bakery. I can–” 

And you could barely catch your breath, not when the hurt piled over one another. 

“Are the medals from her? The one’s from your bed? The trophies?” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly irritated. “What did I tell you about snooping around my things, __?”

“Is this the girl–” A ragged inhale cuts your thoughts, “on your nightstand and wallet?” You didn’t even realize you had started to cry, but when another breath had caught itself in your throat, you were inconsolable– finally letting the dam break all at once.

Miguel did nothing to console you– he didn’t know how to. He knew he had messed up royally and all he could do was helplessly watch you break down. Who knows how long you’ve kept this? 

“__, come on. It’s just a simple mistake, it’s still cake–”

“And it was my birthday!” 

“Baby, what’s the big deal?” He was shocked and understandably so. His sweet, babygirl, who was usually so quiet and docile, was talking back angrily to him– but Miguel knew better than to point fingers. This was his fault– your unbecoming was his own doing.

“You just had to be late– on my birthday!” 

“I have work, baby, you know this.” 

“That still doesn’t explain anything!” You cried out, desperation flooding your voice. “Why are you never home? Where do you go? Who is Gabriella– why do you love her more than me?” You could feel your breath catch in your throat as your voice rose and trembled with every question. Your breathing grew unsteady and your throat began to close up, not allowing anymore words to come out as much as you wanted to scream. You feared there’d be no more room for air.

And there was something about Gabriella that everytime she was brought up, Miguel would be defensive. Perhaps it was the plenty of times Lyla would reprimand him when she catches him watching the few videos of them or when Jess would pity his state. “Don’t be ridiculous, __. I made a mistake– that’s it. We don’t have to fight.” He says, grabbing a spatula. “If it bothers you so much, here,”

Miguel frustratedly spreads the lettering with the spatula, leaving smudges of red on top of perfectly white frosting, resulting in a more muddled mess. He's making a complete mess of it and you can't bear to watch any longer. Your still figure finally reaches out to grab his wrist, “Stop— stop that! What are you doing?!”  

It was no use. The cake was nothing but totally ruined now. You didn’t even have the chance to read the message. He forcefully digs the candles on both, sliding it in front of you. Your eyes stayed on the cake– you didn’t have the heart to look at him. Anger boiled up within you and without a moment's hesitation, the words leaped from your mouth, "You're not listening to me! This is not what I'm so upset about—!"

But he responds in the same loudness as yours, slamming his hands down on the cold tiles of your countertop. “Okay, champ, you got it– go for it! Say what you have to say,” A sarcastic chuckle left his lips, adding insult to the already deep wound. “What do you have to tell me so bad?”

And you didn’t think it was possible for silence to be more deafening, but as you stared each other down, all you could think of was how maybe Miguel was worse than the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child or the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. 

You were right. Fathers were capable of unloving their daughters and the way his dark eyes burned into yours was all the answer you needed. This wasn’t your papa– did you ever know him?

“My birthday was two days ago.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows, doubt creasing his forehead as he looked back to the calendar hung on the fridge. His gaze resting on your birthday date, the red circle mocking him in vivid reminder— two days ago. Your birthday was two days ago. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt nothing but guilt tying his stomach in knots. 

“Mijita–” He’s quick to console you, the anger in his words disappearing immediately and turning into an apologetic one– but every time he’d try to move forward, you’d only step back. Miguel couldn’t even bear to think how you’ve celebrated on your own. How you waited for him all night in your birthday dress. He subtly shook his head, trying his best not to clog his mind yet. 

He needed to make it up to you. He couldn’t lose you too.

“My birthday– why did you have to take it?” You rubbed your eyes harshly, but the more you wiped the tears away, the more they seemed to fall. “It’s mine and I still had to wait for you to be able to sing the song. It’s my day and all I could think of was what time you might come home tonight.”

You wanted nothing more than for him to run to you with open arms, to let you cry on his shoulders– but as his silence stretched on, you mistook it as nothing but ruthless. He simply didn’t care. Miguel was too much of a wall for that. 

The look you gave him was nothing but hate– a look no parent wants to ever come across and it almost makes him stagger back. It was like what he had done was the most disgusting– most inconsolable act ever beyond repair and all he could do was watch; watch as another daughter of his slip through his fingers. He’s holding you like water and he doesn’t know how to keep you in.

You scoffed, averting your gaze. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine by me.” You turned your back, letting out another shaky exhale. You couldn’t look at him the same– not after this.

“You make it really, really, hard to feel like a daughter.” 

And with that, you run to your room, leaving Miguel to stay rooted to where he stood. He thinks to himself– had he taken that from you too?

[megs-1800]

Could you write something about Mason with a teenager daughter maybe something happens like typical teenage stuff x

Teenage Drama

Notes: Please continue to send in requests. Hope you like it ❤️

Summary: Your teenager daughter is now growing up and getting her first boyfriend. How will Mason react, will he be able to cope that she is growing up?

Pairings: Mason Mount x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Angst, Fluff & Swearing

“You’re not my dad!” I hear Emmi scream as I walk through the door, the door slams and Mason storms down the stairs. “Whoa what happened?” I question. Mason glares at me which indicates Emmi has done something to piss Mason off.

“You need to sort your fucking daughter out!”

“My daughter?!?” I question in a heated tone. Mason is technically not Emmi’s dad, but Mason has been in her life since she was 3. He is the father figure to her, and Mason treats her like she is his own, however its arguments like this he likes to throw it back in my face.

“Well she clearly isn’t mine. Olivia knows better than to speak to her dad like that! So if Emmi wants to be mine then she needs to have some respect.”

“Olivia is six” I spat back “you know Emmi is going through her teenager rebellion stage at the moment. She hates everything and everyone, don’t take it personally”.

“Well she needs to know if she wants to live under this roof she needs to obey by my rules”. Mason announces which we hear the door slamming open from upstairs and Emmi stands at the top of the stairs “Well then I will just move out! Maybe I will go and live with my real dad at least I won’t have to put up with a controlling prick like youuuuu!!!” she screams.

“EMMI!” both me and Mason shout in unity but she ignores us and slams her bedroom door shut again.

“Again I will ask Mason what the hell happened? Why is she kicking off?”

“Well if she wants to move in with her real dad then just fucking let her.” Mason spats. I shake my head and wrap my arms around Mason’s neck pulling him closer.

“Stop being silly, we all know her real dad is a dead beat, she even knows that. Why do you think she asked you to adopt her so she can be a Mount too. She loves you Mase, just obviously whatever has happened has got her back up. So talk to me what happened?” I asked pulling away and walking over to the fridge and brought out a bottle of wine and starting pouring.

“Okay I got home from an event earlier and when I got upstairs I could hear her talking to someone in her bedroom. When I turned the corner she was sitting on the bed with some guy-“

“Oh yeah Josh” I cut Mason off

“Josh? So you know about this?”

“Yeah they have been dating for a couple of months. The deal is he is allowed round as long as the door stays open, was the door open?”

“Wellll y-yeah” Mason looks down and stutters

“Well then we cannot really argue with her, it is what was agreed”

“I never agreed to that”

“Yes you did, we had that big conversation with her. Its not our fault you were on your phone when she started talking about him”.

Mason looks embarrassed “I just don’t like the idea of her sitting in a bedroom with some hormonal 14 year old boy. I thought she was better than that.”

I take the wine out of Masons hand and pull him closer, and lean in and place a small kiss to his lips. “She is a good girl Mason, she is on the pill so we know she is safe. She is a straight A student, she never goes out and breaks curfew, she would rather spend a Saturday night as a family than being with her friends. She is always helping out with Olivia and Hunter. We cannot really ask for a better girl Mason, we did well”.

Mason gives me another kiss, “yeah we did. Just in my mind she is still our baby girl who is scared of the dark and now she is this 14 year old women who is getting a boyfriend I guess I just miss our little girl”.

“I miss her too Mason but she isn’t going to be a baby girl forever. She is growing up and its her turn to make her life decisions babe all we can do is guide her”.

“I know I know. I guess I kind of fucked up then. I just know what boys are like I just want to protect her. She is going to hate me now isn’t she”.

I shake my head and start to move across the kitchen closer to him “She doesn’t hate you Mase, come on my parents weren’t so impressed with me dating you at the start due to footballer reputations and come on your parents didn’t like me as they thought I was a gold digger” Which I giggle at the end.

“That’s not true my parents love you”

“Yeah after they got to know me, but first impressions Mason they were sceptical of me”.

Mason nods agreeing know I was right. “I just don’t know what to say to make it okay”. With that Hunters cries come through the baby monitor notifying us that he is awake from his nap. “Right you go get Hunter and I will deal with Emmi”. I lean in and place a kiss to Mason’s cheek. We both jog up the stairs and then part ways on the landing, Mason goes left to Hunter’s room and I go right to Emmi’s.

I knock twice on the door but I get no reply, I slowly open the door which Emmi is laying on her bed with her phone in her hand with her back to me. “I come in peace” I state, she turns her body to look at me and then turns back to her original position. I walk round the bed and perch on the side. “Hey it will be okay”. I say rubbing her shoulder as she is still laying down.

“No it won’t mum! He ruined it! Why would Josh want to be with me after he just throw him out I am sick of it”. Emmi’s eyes now start to water as I slowly wipe the tears from her face.

“Come on Emmi he is only trying to look out for you. You know that, would you prefer him to be like your dad and not give a shit”. Emmi sits up and starts to wipe her eyes “I know you really like this boy but we just want you to be careful, I got pregnant with you at 15 Emmi I just want better for you. You know whatever happens me and Mason will be here for you but you gotta help yourself sometimes.”

“Mum we weren’t doing anything. We were just chilling, we haven’t even done anything, I haven’t done anything with a boy I promise. He is the first boy that is actually interested in me and not just with me because my dad is ‘Mason Mount’. I really like him mum, and now he just ruined it its not fair. I am going to be alone forever!” Emmi starts to sob again which I embrace her in a hug.

“Well that’s very dramatic!” we both laugh and she pulls away. I wipe her away hair that is stuck to her face from the tears. “Mason is sorry he knows he messed up and he let his emotions get in the way. He is going to try and be better when it comes to boys. You are our first child Emmi so you gotta understand we are going to mess up sometimes. Mason is trying his best to be the dad you need Emmi, he is a great dad. I promise you now, if this Josh really likes you, being kicked out by Mason won’t matter he will fight for you Emmi I promise. Now come on wipe your tears it won’t be the end of the world”. She sniffled away and wipe her tears from her cheek.

“I didn’t mean what I said to him, I don’t want to live with my real dad. Mason is my real and only dad. I was just a-angry, I don’t want him to h-hate me.”. She choked.

“we both know that baby girl. Mason will never hate you I promise that. Just go tell him that, everything will be okay. Come here”. She wrap her arms around me and I held her whilst she cried it all out. Once she was done she went into her bathroom and cleaned herself up.

We both walked down the stairs and Mason shoots Emmi a small smile as soon as he sees us, still rocking Hunter away in his arms. “Come here I will take him” I quickly step in and take Hunter out of his arms and start making his milk in the kitchen.

“I am sorry” Emmi says to Mason

“I am sorry too baby girl. I just panicked. You are our little girl the thought of you getting a boyfriend just breaks me because that means you are growing up. I am sorry I will try my hardest to be the ‘cool dad’ just please don’t leave.”

Emmi runs across the room and wraps her arms around Mason “you are my dad. I don’t care what my stupid birth certificate says you are my dad. I am not going anywhere. I love you.”

“I love you too” they both stand there for a little embraced in a hug. She sniffled again “is it okay if I go out for a couple of hours to town with my friends?” she turns to me to ask “of course it is Ems. Dinner is at 7 if you still want it?”

“Of course I will be home for dinner cannot wait”

She grabs her coat and bag and skips out the house. I walk over to Mason, Hunter still in arms. He embraces us together. “You did so well with her”.

I look up into Mason’s eyes and place a small kiss to his lips “I couldn’t of done it without you”.

[zaynesdesimc]

Father Mine- 2. Miguel O’Hara x teen!spider!reader

Just note- this and father mine aren’t in the canon of Miguel’s and mini Miguel’s story line<3 also this is absolute crap and I’m so sorry it has a lot more plot and less of Miguel and mini Miguel interaction. Though whatever they do have is pain. (ALSO THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVE I LOVE ALL OF YOU) please comment and reblog if you liked it :DD

Warnings: angst. FATHER MINE PART 1 Part 3

“Where is she?” He asks Jess.

“She didn’t follow.” Is what the woman replies and that’s that.

A spark of worry shoots through him but he ignores it. Now is not the time to worry about anything but the anomaly.

He scans his surroundings and tries to look for wherever the kid may be.

A part of his mind still screams he’s just a kid.

That weak thinking, letting things slide mindset was ahat got Gabriella killed. It was what killed an entire universe. He couldn’t let more people be killed for the sake of the life of one man.

“Split up. Look for him.” He orders Ben and Jess and they leave promptly.

Not now. Not now. He’d check up on you after.

——————

“Miles!” You whisper-shout at the boy.

He almost shouts but you cover his mouth with your hand, “you’re in the wrong universe, you’re on earth-42.” His eyes widen, “I’m here to help you.”

“Why should I trust you?” His eyes narrow at you.

“I don’t know.” You look down, “But I’m asking you to trust me anyways.”

After a beat of silence he talks, “how did you know I was in the wrong universe?”

“You were bit by a spider that was from here. It’s venom altered your dna to this universe. And the go home machine scanned your dna, which was this universes and sent you here, I’m running out of breath and I can hear your mom from this univers walking here so let’s please just go.” You pull him out through the window just as the door opens and Rio steps in.

You and Miles drop down into an abandoned alleyway, and you hide a wince because of the pain in your leg. He turns invisible and you open a portal. Just as he walks through, Ben comes into view and sees you.

“Mini Miguel! You’re here! You know your dad was pretty worried you didn’t show! I’ll tell him you’re here wait- I” you web his mouth and eyes and as he flails about you launch yourself upwards and unhook his watch.

“I’m sorry, Ben.” You apologise to his mumbling form as his hands thrash around to remove the webs.

You jump into the portal and it closes.

“We’re in Miguel’s APARTMENT?” Miles’s all but shrieks and you wince.

“Jeez, bro. Don’t worry. He won’t look here.” You hand him a bottle of water from the minibar.

He drinks it all in one go and breathes deeply. You calm him down, “this is just for a few hours. Then I’ll shift you to your own universe.”

“Why not now?” He asks.

“You need to eat, and you’ll be fine. No one’s going to be named Captain tonight right? You can’t help anyone if you’re half dead.”

He clenches his jaw and sits down as you go to the kitchen and get a leftover pizza from the fridge. It was from that family night you had with Miguel and Lyla the day before Miles’s arrival.

You head to the living room after heating his food and his eyes are transfixed on a photo frame in his hand.

It’s a photo of you and him that Lyla had managed to sneak and Jess had printed for your birthday.

“He seems nice. When he’s not trying to kill me.” The boy scoffs.

You don’t answer, just handing him his food.

He eats in silence and you take the time to clean the house. Even if you did hate him just a bit, it didn’t mean he deserved to live in a messy house because he was too busy working.

“You really love him, huh?” Miles piped up and you look up from fluffing a cushion.

“Hmm.” You hum in response, “I don’t know.”

“If you didn’t you wouldn’t be here fluffing up his cushions and cleaning his home. Or should I say your home as well.” He raises an eyebrow.

You throw the cushion, “his home. Come on, we need to get to his office so I know what universe you’re from.”

He follows you to the window and has to swallow a gasp when you walk through it and float like you’re walking on air.

You chuckle, “it’s an illusion, sort of like that Indiana Jones movie.”

“The thing with the grail?” His voice is shaky as his foot comes to rest onto the platform connecting the window to the opposite balcony.

“Yeah, I got it made to fuck with Miguel.”

He huffs out a laugh, “I bet he would have freaked out?”

“You have no idea.” You smile a little at the memory as you jump of the platform and land lightly on the terrace.

Every few minutes you usher Miles into the few dark alleyways in the futuristic city of Nueva York to use the hidden pathways that are used by the underground thug gangs that you had managed to sniff out.

It takes about half an hour to reach the tower, and Miles turns invisible, “you couldn’t have done that before?” You raise an eyebrow.

He just looks sheepish and you try not to roll your eyes, “come on.”

He follows you through the entire area, sees them all wave and smile at you as you walk to where spider-byte may be.

——-

“Ben, come in.” Miguel speaks, “Ben!”

With a groan, he phones Lyla. She picks up immediately and her voice is frantic, “you need to get back. Now.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s Miles.” She informs him, “mini you is with him.”

His eyes widen under the mask and without a word he opens a portal to go home, “Jess. We’re going back to base.”

————————

“1610. Earth 1610.” You recite as you make a portal.

As soon as it opens, the door to the room swings open.

It’s a sort of déjà vu if you think about it.

The same room, the same scenario. But this time it’s you he’s after.

Your blood runs cold and you push Miles inside, “save your dad.” Are the last words you say to him as the portal closes in time just as Miguel pounces through air.

He looks at you and you freeze. His eyes are red and his fangs are out.

As he stands to his feet, your breathing becomes uneven.

Fuck you’re panicking. And it’s weird, because you’ve faced evil villains before. You’ve fought people that make Miguel look like a shortie.

So.. why the fuck are you so scared? Or were you always just a coward?

“You’re hurt.” He says in an eerily calm voice.

“Why-why do you care?” You huff out and his eyebrows furrow.

“What do you mean?” He raises his hand and you flinch. You notice the way his eyes widen and the hurt that floods the pools of his eyes.

He takes another step forward and you back away, “Stay the fuck away from me.” Your hand shoots forward. Only widening the chasm between the both of you.

“What. Happened? Who hurt you? Was it Miles? Did he force you to help him?” He snarls.

You stare at him dumbfounded, “Who hurt me? Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

You scoff, “I helped him of my own accord.”

It’s then that he takes a deep breath and a step back.

“That’s right. I helped him get away!”

“….how could you do this to us? To me?” He points to himself.

“What are you going to do now? Try and kill me like you did him?”

“I would never. I am your father-”

“You are a selfish monster.” You say and his breath hitches. The look on his face breaks your own heart and all you want to do is hug him.

“Don’t say that.” He points at you, “you don’t mean it.”

“I meant every damn word.” You scowl and reply, “you are not my father. I am not your daughter.”

He schools the hurt on his face, “So be it.” He webs your watch and breaks it into tiny pieces in a matter of moments, “it’s cute that you thought you could one up me. Really.” He chuckles, “You are relieved of your duties effective immediately. You will never be allowed into Earth-928 or any other dimension hereafter.”

He webs you closer to him as he opens a portal into some obscure universe, one you’ve never heard of, and just before he pushes you in, you glimpse the tears in his eyes, your own running down your cheek as you scream profanities at him.

The last thing you see is his face before you’re thrown into complete darkness.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 57

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,835ish

Summary: Wade, Laura, and Logan take care of you despite you feeling like a burden.

Notes: Next update will not be until Jan. 19th at the earliest. Thanks for understanding. Please share reactions! Please remember to review the timeline posted here.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

After your brief words to Logan, the pain overtook you again and you fell back unconscious. When it was Laura’s turn to take care of you, Logan made sure that the door was shut behind him. He knew that the two of you needed your privacy. Laura’s tears started as she sat next to your bed and took your hand.

“I can’t lose you, mom,” Laura sobbed. “I’ve lost everyone else… I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Always,” you rasped, still groggy but at least waking up. “You're my daughter… can’t stay mad at you for long…”

“Mom! I’ve been so worried… so scared.”

“I know, kiddo… but I’m here.” You gave her hand the best squeeze you could muster.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like hell,” your laugh fell flat.

Laura didn’t find it funny one bit, her face falling more. “There’s got to be something that we can do… Something that will make this easier.”

“Cassandra told me that Charles’ seizures affected my mutation… she said that there was something that she could do about it but refused to help… She’s dead now and I can’t go back to the mansion to get Charles’ help.”

“I can’t… I can’t lose you… I can’t stand by and watch your mutation kill you like dad’s did.”

“Laura… Listen to me. No matter what happens, you continue down the path that you are on. Do not become what they made you to be… Promise me.”

She nodded. “I promise, mom.”

“Good… Now… I really need some more pain meds.”

~~~

Logan had locked himself in the bathroom after leaving your room. His mind was swirling with memories of his version of you, of the events of the last day or so, and of the information that your Logan’s adamantium bones had poisoned him. 

Would he be dealt the same fate?

Or would he be cursed to watch you deal with a similar fate?

And would he be strong enough to deal with any of what happened? He wasn’t strong enough the first time when things got hard. He only made things harder. Splashing his face with some water, Logan met his own gaze in the mirror. He could do this. Be this person. Be better than he had been for his you. Be better for Laura and Wade. Logan couldn’t let the people who trusted him down again. He sighed before heading out to the living room.

“Still writing?” Logan grumbled as he saw Wade lounging on the couch with his laptop.

“Nope,” Wade responded, “just trying to beat your ass in saving the day.”

“What?”

“I’m going to find someone who can help cure our Little Flame. The normal people are out of the question since she can’t go near the mansion, so I’m searching for someone else.”

Logan’s log strides took him quickly to sit beside Wade and look at his screen. “What have you found?”

“Nothing and no one. I’m thinking we may need to take a travel through the Multiverse to find a way to help her.”

“We can’t just go from universe to universe without knowing what we’re lookin’ for.”

“We’re looking for a telepath,” Laura stated, heading into the kitchen. 

“How do you know?”

“My mom’s awake. She told me.”

Wade and Logan rushed down the hallway and burst into your room. You winced at how loud they were.

“Buttercup!” Wade exclaimed.

“Wade, Logan,” you greeted.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asked, stepping closer.

“Fine… Laura’s getting me meds and I’m afraid I’m going to need more burn cream than I have.”

“Oh! Nose goes!” Wade announced, placing a finger on his nose. “Ha! Looks like Peanut has to go!”

“What the fuck was that?” Logan wondered, completely confused. “You can’t just put your finger on your nose like a child and—“

“Why don’t both of you go?” You interrupted. “Laura can take care of me just fine. Besides, we all need some food.”

“Yeah! Just me and my Peanut, running errands!” Wade exclaimed, clapping excitedly.

You went to laugh, but it quickly turned into a whine at the pain. You noticed the shift in the men immediately, both ready to jump in and help you. 

“I’m fine,” you told them. “Go. Laura’s got this.”

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Wade said before skipping down the hall. Logan lingered in the doorway. “Come on, Peanut!”

“Go, Logan. Your boyfriend’s waiting. I’ll be fine.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Logan grumbled, following after Wade.

Laura came into the room with a water bottle and a variety of meds. She came over and sat on the bed. She carefully helped you sit up against a bunch of pillows. 

“I can do the rest,” you said, shakily reaching for the pills. You took them and threw them down your throat before Laura handed you the water bottle. “I hate this… Laura, I’m going to need your help to get to the bathroom.”

“Okay.” 

Laura took the water bottle, setting it aside before carefully helping you to your feet. You leaned heavily on her as she guided you to the bathroom. She helped you inside and you gripped the counter.

“I can handle it from here,” you told her.

“Are you sure?” She asked. “I don’t mind—“

“I’ll call you if I need anything.”

Laura sighed before leaving the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. You took care of business before using the counter to get you up and wash your hands. You stared at yourself in the mirror. You could see the burns that littered the skin that you could see. Slowly, you pulled your shirt up and quietly gasped. Your torso was burnt badly. There was no stopping the tears. 

You absolutely hated this. You hated how your powers were failing you and you didn’t know how to stop it. You hated how your skin was quickly becoming more scarred than ever before and how weak you were becoming. But what you hated most was that you were becoming a burden to Laura and your friends. You couldn’t hold back the sob that erupted from deep inside you. Your body gave out, proving how weak you still were, and you collapsed to the floor.

“Mom?” Laura sounded very concerned from the other side of the door. “Are you okay? Do you need any help?”

“No,” you quickly said, trying to calm yourself. “I’m fine!”

You knew that Laura didn’t believe you, but you were thankful that she didn’t push anymore. You grabbed a nearby towel and wadded it up before placing it against your mouth to try to drown the sobs.

Laura sat against the wall opposite of the bathroom as she listened to your sobs. Her own tears gathered. Leaning her head back against the wall, Laura closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel all the swirling emotions inside of her. She snapped to attention the moment she smelt smoke. Without a word, Laura barged into the bathroom to find you curled up on the floor, towel against your mouth, and small flames forming around your body.

“Mom! Please, you’ve got to calm down,” Laura begged as she knelt beside you. She pulled the towel from your grip before you could set it on fire before she grabbed your hands, ignoring the burning sensation that ran through her own. “Mom, breathe with me. In… Out…”

“I—I—I need… to… cool… down…” You stammered while trying to catch your breath.

“How do I do that?” Laura asked.

“The… tub…”

Laura moved quickly. She turned the cold water on and plugged the tub before helping you into it. Neither of you care that you were still wearing your clothes. Laura held tightly to your hand as the two of you waited for the cold water to help you. 

“I’m sorry,” you cried quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“No, mom, don’t apologize,” Laura shook her head. 

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me… you shouldn’t have to lose another parent like this…”

“You took care of me and you didn’t even have to. I’m not going anywhere.”

~~~

“So I’m thinking we head to the TVA and see what we can dig up there on a nearby telepath,” Wade planned as he and Logan carried the groceries up the stairs. “I don’t care what universe or time we need to go, we are finding a telepath.”

“Let’s just focus on getting Y/N feelin’ better before we plan another visit to the TVA,” Logan muttered, opening up the door of your apartment. He immediately could sense that something happened. He dropped the grocery bags and raced down the hall, only to find you in the tub with Laura sitting beside it. “What happened?”

“She broke down and over heated,” Laura explained. “She fell asleep and I couldn’t get myself to move her. The water is keeping her cool and helping soothe the burns.”

“I’ll move her to the bed. Grab her a new set of clothes and Wade—“

“I’ve already got the burn cream and bandages!” Wade shouted.

Laura nodded as she gave your hand a squeeze before going to get you a new set of clothes. Logan found a towel and crouched down next to the tub. He laid the towel over his lap then reached down and pulled you out of the tub. A whine slipped through your lips.

Logan quickly shushed you. “I’ve got you, Y/N,” he said softly. “Go back to sleep. We’ll take care of ya.”

He wrapped the towel around you and tried to dry you off the best he could. Laura came back with a new set of clothes for you and Logan gently set you on the ground, leaning against the wall.

“I’ll let you change her,” he said. “Let me know when you’re done and I’ll carry her back to bed.”

~~~

When you woke up to full consciousness, you were back in bed, changed, and bandaged up. Your door was open and no one was in your room, though you could hear them down the hall in the living area. Doing a quick check of your body, you still felt achy but it was better than before. You pushed yourself up and moved your legs over your bed. Unsteadily, you got to your feet and carefully headed out into the hall. Once you were there, you used the walls to help you get out to the living area where you found Blind Al sitting on the couch with Laura, the two quietly discussing something and Wade and Logan bickering in the kitchen. You noticed that your kitchen was a mess as the two of them worked to make something.

“What is going on out here?” You finally spoke up. Everyone’s head snapped in your direction.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Logan asked as he rushed over.

Laura was at your side in an instant, her arm around you to hold you up. “You should be resting,” Laura scolded. 

“I’m feeling a bit better,” you insisted. “And I heard all this commotion out here. What is going on?”

“I’m making dinner and baking a cake!” Wade exclaimed, still working away in the kitchen.

“Sure doesn’t smell editable,” Althea retorted. “Smells like shit.”

You huffed out a laugh before wincing. Laura and Logan were immediately on alert.

“Okay, enough,” Logan said. “You’re going back to bed.”

“No,” you shook your head, “My healing factor is kicking in. I can sit on the couch.”

“Mom,” Laura whispered, giving you a pleading look. “Please go lay back down.”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Logan stated, sweeping you off of your feet and carrying you down the hall.

“Logan!” You squealed, smiling and laughing. 

It lifted everyone’s spirits to hear that sound. You felt at safe—almost home—in Logan’s arms as he carried you back to bed. You smiled up at Logan as he set you down, a brief moment you forgot about everything, including that the man touching you was not your husband. Suddenly, your face fell and you flinched away as your mind caught up with reality. Logan was not your Logan. He was not your husband. Logan noticed the quick shift.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, fighting back the tears. “I’m just tired.”

Logan didn’t believe that you were telling him the whole truth. “Well, Wade and I are almost done with dinner.”

“Okay.” Your eyes were focused on your hands as they messed with the blanket.

He dipped his head to try to catch your eye but you avoided it. “Are you sure there’s nothin’ wrong?”

“Let me know when you’re done with dinner.”

Logan let out a grunt, studying you for a few more seconds before leaving the room. 

~~~

You were back to work a week later, despite Laura and Logan’s wishes. Wade was on your side, telling everyone that his favorite superhero was strong enough to handle anything. You were beginning to feel added pressure of Wade’s belief in you along with everything else you were still feeling. Despite it being summer, you wore long sleeves to constantly cover the scars that now littered your body more than you had ever had before.

Laura, Logan, and Wade could see that things were still weighing heavily on you. Each of them did what they could for you, though you often insisted that you were fine and could handle everything. You were pushing their help away, embarrassed that you need to rely on them so much.

One night, you came home late do to a closing shift. Logan could hear you from where he was waiting up in his apartment. He had made it a habit to listen for you on your late shifts. He quickly went to the door and peeked his head out to see you struggling to open the door due to your hands trembling and new burns on them.

“What happened?” Logan asked, taking quick strides over to you.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, focusing on getting the door open. “I’m fine.”

“Your hands are burnt.”

You pushed the door open, causing it to slam against the wall. You were thankful that Laura was sleeping over at a friends house so that you didn’t have to worry about her see you like this tonight. You marched inside, with Logan close behind. He gently closed the door and took note to take care of the hole that the doorknob had made in the morning.

“Y/N, we need to take care of your hands,” Logan said quietly.

“We don’t need to do anything,” you retorted, focusing on anger out of all your swirling emotions. “I can take care of myself just fine. I’ve been doing it for years.”

“Yes, but you don’t need to. I can—“

“I don’t even know you!” You spun around to face him. Your hands clenched as flames threatened to take over. “You look like my James— my husband, but you’re not him. You have a different life, a different set of memories. You have a different me!” Tears began to sizzling down your heated cheeks. “I don’t even know what fully happened between the two of you but you seem to know my whole life story. I don’t need your pity and I don’t need to be your replacement and you don’t deserve to be mine. We can be friends, that’s fine, but I don’t need you stepping in to take care of me all the time! You’re not my husband!”

“Y/N, I’m—“

“Leave me the fuck alone!”

Logan’s hands came up in surrender as flames engulfed your fists. “Okay, okay, just please take a deep breath. I— I’ll go, just please, stop. Stop the flames. Don’t hurt yourself anymore, please.”

“Then get out!”

Logan hesitated for a moment, but he could see the seriousness and heartbreak in your eyes. You wanted to be alone and him being here right now would only make things worse. With slow steps, he turned and left the apartment, but he couldn’t get himself to move away from the door.

You were right in some of your words. Logan wasn’t your husband, but he wasn’t trying to be. He was just trying to help you like friends do. You also had a point that he definitely knew more of your story than you knew of his. Logan just hated to talk about his past. It brought him to a place he couldn’t handle. But maybe you deserved to know that you weren’t a replacement to him. 

Logan sighed as he heard your sobs through the door. There was no way he was going back to his apartment tonight, even with it just next door. He still didn’t know what happened to you before you got home and you were clearly not in a good place mentally. He leaned against the door and slid down to the ground.  He couldn’t leave you alone. He would wait until either Laura returned or you decided to leave the apartment. 

next chapter >

[dollyfetti]

𐔌　the perks of being a wallflower - d.w ₊˚ ♡

CHAPTER ONE - the kind of thing people do

summary: you’ve always been better at observing than participating, the quiet one in the corner, taking mental notes no one asks for. and that was fine, it was enough. but for once in your life, you didn't shy away from something you wanted, and suddenly you’re swept into a series of late-night diner runs, basement mixtapes, and conversations from your best friend that make your chest ache. you started to feel things. things you never thought you would get to.

notes: dean winchester x reader, normal au (mary is still dead tho um!), dean and sam are closer in age, alcohol consumption, edible consumption, best friends to lovers, kinda slow burn (starts in beginning of high school - ends in college), reader has social anxiety, suicide attempts (not in detail), SA mentions (not in detail), mention of familial loss. please let me know if i missed any!

word count: 2.6k

˚○ ୨୧ series masterlist main masterlist navi

the kitchen smells like toast and burnt coffee, it always does. the radio plays a song you half-remember from childhood, something your aunt helen used to hum in the car when the windows were down and the weather was just right. you don’t know the words, but you mouth along anyway, just because it feels good to try.

your mom’s already gone. she leaves early now, taking the long way to work even though she swears she doesn’t. there’s a note on the fridge, her messy handwriting squeezed into the corner of a grocery list.

“have a good day. be nice to yourself. love, mom :)”

you pick at the toast you made fifteen minutes ago, now cold and curling at the edges. the butter never really melted. you eat anyway, not because you're hungry, but because it’s the kind of thing a person does before school.

you glance back at the fridge. your sister left a photo of you two at the lake last summer, she must’ve just gotten the polaroid back from her friend. she’s the one with the huge sunglasses and obnoxious peace sign. you’re half-smiling, squinting against the sun like you weren’t sure if you were allowed to enjoy the moment.

the house is always too quiet in the mornings. you used to like it when you were younger, before everything started feeling too loud inside your head. now the quiet just feels like permission to disappear, and you’re trying not to do that anymore, it worries your family.

your bag sits by the door, already packed. a half-read novel, your spiral notebook with a bent corner, a pen that only works if you scribble on the margin first.

you exhale, not taking another bite of toast before pulling on your sweater and shoes. they’re the same shoes you wore last year, and the year before that. familiar and frayed at the edges, but you kind of like that about them.

this year will be different. different. better.

your ride honks outside. it’s not a friend, it’s derek, your sister’s boyfriend. he’s got a ponytail and an acoustic guitar in his trunk and calls everyone “brother” or “dude”, even your dad. you’re still not sure if he even knows your name, but he’s nice enough to give you rides.

you grab your bag, shout a half-hearted goodbye into the house for your dad, and head out to the beat-up sedan.

your sister spent the night at derek’s house, you can tell by the light circles under her eyes as you slide into the backseat. she liked to tell your parents she was at her best friend’s house or out at a party— even high school parties are better than sleeping over at derek’s, in their opinions.

“morning little dude.” derek lazily nods toward you in the rearview.

“hi.” you murmur quietly with a polite smile, pulling on your headphones. your sister doesn’t say anything.

you watch the trees blur by through the window, tapping your fingers to the music as you raise your volume to drown out derek’s smashing pumpkins tape. the high school comes into view too quickly, all brick and concrete and weirdly wide hallways.

you hop out of the car, adjust your sweater, and square your shoulders like someone pretending they’re used to this. the first day of school. you start walking next to your sister with a thudding heart as she talks to derek past the chain-link fence, past the kids clustered around the front steps, past all the noise.

she looks to you as you’re about to step inside the building. “high school’s not hard, okay?” she starts with a knowing glance. “just be yourself.”

you smile softly as you look back at her, even though you both know her advice is absolutely horrible.

shop. you make a mental note to change this class— you're not interested in using tools to make useless knick knacks. the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead is just loud enough to irritate you, and the smell of machinery and old wood clings to the air.

you sit by yourself, like always, watching some freshmen boys snort as a senior paints a cartoony goatee onto his chin with a grease pencil.

you swallow and avert your gaze, uninterested. your attention drifts to one of the many unfamiliar faces walking inside the room observantly.

he’s tall. too tall, like he’s been stretched out past what high school allows. maybe a junior, possibly a senior. but what sticks with you isn’t his height— it’s the mop of soft brown bangs that flop over his forehead, slightly curled at the ends to give him a gentle, almost boyish look. he also just has this sweet doe-like face, which makes you smile a bit.

then he grins wide and playfully, and the air in the room shifts. he walks straight to the front and without warning, launches into a dead-on impersonation of mr. callahan, the dull room perking up. you're thankful that he makes fun of the teacher instead of the freshmen, which you've been seeing and retrieving all day.

"the prick punch is not a toy." he mimics comedically, earning a few snickers from the students as his hand goes on his hip, his shoulders a bit hunched over. "i learned that in nam back in 68. callahan, the sergeant said. put down that prick punch and go kill some gooks."

the laughs die down a bit as the teacher steps into the class from the hallway, folding his arms as he walks up behind the boy, who continues obliviously. "but you know what happened? that prick punch killed my best friend in a saigon whorehouse."

mr. callahan sighs, a book in both hands as he stares, unamused. "i heard you were going to be in my class."

the boy turns around with an awkward, sheepish expression, but there's no trace of regret.

“are you proud being a junior taking freshman shop, sammy?"

sam huffs, scratching the back of his head, not even embarrassed at being called out. he's smart, not crafty, so what? "look, my name is sam." he notes flatly. "either you call me sam or you call me nothing... sir."

"okay, nothing." mr. callahan nods without missing a beat, pointing to an empty seat with the satisfaction of a man who thinks he’s just made the joke of the year.

sam resists the urge to roll his eyes as the class laughs. he ambles over and flops into the chair, unbothered, like he planned it that way.

"nothing, why don't you read first?" mr. callahan declares, opening the safety guide book as he leans against his desk.

you still have the faintest smile on your lips. sam's little act wasn’t about mocking mr. callahan, he was just trying to make the freshmen feel better, to make them feel like maybe this place didn’t suck quite as much as it did five minutes ago.

sam opens his manual with a furrowed brow, reading aloud in mock reverence. “chapter one,” he begins, eyes scanning the page with exaggerated curiosity. “surviving your fascist shop teacher who needs to put kids down to feel big.” he pauses to look up at the class with a nod, followed by some more chuckles. “wow, this is useful, guys! we should read on.”

your smile widens.

you weren't gonna go to friday football night originally. you have little knowledge on sports, let alone football. but your family insisted, saying you should go out and try to have a good time. it's not like you really had anything better to do anyway, and maybe you'd see sam.

you wanted to talk to him! you didn't know what you'd say, but he seemed like a friendly person, so maybe he wouldn't mind. he had that kind of presence— open, warm, like you wouldn’t regret trying.

with a lukewarm soda in one hand and nachos in the other, you make your way toward the bleachers. the chatter and cheers hit you like a wave as you settle near the edge of a row, hoping no one notices how stiff and out of place you look. you try to match the other students’ energy, clapping when they clap, shouting when they shout.

"come on devils!! whooo!"

you turn your head at the familiar voice, seeing sam towering over other students as he stands a few rows up, cheering for the school's team.

two girls pass by him with synchronized giggles. “hey, nothing!”

sam rolls his eyes, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath that you can't make out over all the noise.

you want to go up to him so badly. he's intriguing, and you want this year to be different, to be better than all the horrible ones.

after driving yourself crazy, standing up and then back down twice, you shyly decide to approach him, your shoes echoing slightly on the metal.

"hey... sam." you murmur just loud enough so he can hear you over the roar of students.

his head turns with a bright smile, "hey!" he looks at you, pointing a finger like he's just recalled something before letting it drop. "you're in my shop class, right? how's your clock coming?"

you shake your head as your lips part. "my dad's building it."

"yeah, mine looks like a boat." sam chuckles with a small scoff. he looks back to the field, cheering and watching in enjoyment. you linger awkwardly, unsure what to do next. then he glances at you again. "you wanna sit over here, or are you waiting for your friends?"

"oh! no," you shake your head with a small, meek smile. "i'll sit here- if that's okay."

he nods and shifts, patting the spot beside him with an inviting grin as you sit down.

sam says, still facing forward, "thanks for not calling me nothing, by the way."

"it's an endless nightmare." he groans, shaking his head in annoyance, keeping his eyes on the game. "and these assholes actually think they're being original."

you nod nervously, your fingers wringing together in your lap. five seconds pass as your brain scrambles for conversation, something to say. literally anything.

"so, uh... you like football?" you offer gently, nodding as sam flashes you a beam.

"love it."

"oh, then maybe you know my broth-"

"hey dean." sam hums out of nowhere, his head turned to face someone beside you.

you look up from where you're sitting, your eyes almost widening as you glance at the prettiest boy you've ever seen. his dark jacket is half-zipped, hands shoved into the pockets, brows drawn together in disdain, but you swear your heart stops for a moment.

you take your gaze off him almost a second later, inhaling quickly as you look back at the crowd.

"could the bathrooms here be more disgusting?" the unknown boy grunts, sitting down next to you with no decorum, spreading his legs with a scoff.

you try to remain casual, scooting down a little as you keep your eyes fixed on the football field before you.

"well, i finally got hold of pete." he says, eyes on sam as he swipes a handful of popcorn from the bucket in his lap.

"party tonight?" sam asks along with a small, playful glare.

"nah, he's still trying to shag that waitress from the olive garden, that damn dog."

sam chuckles, shaking his head. "he's never tossing that salad."

now suddenly like he's just realized there was someone else sitting in between them, the boy looks to you curiously, giving you a once over before back at sam. "who's this?"

sam's lips part, blinking awkwardly. "uh, this is..."

you give them both your name, smiling politely. dean's eyes widen at your last name, stifling a laugh with his fist. "no shit! your sister dates ponytail derek, doesn't she?"

"is that what they call him?" you mutter, lips twitching into a reserved, lopsided grin.

"leave ponytail derek alone." sam scolds. "you put the ass in class, dean."

"i try, sam, i try." dean smirks, stealing more popcorn. he turns back to you, offering a charming smile. "hey, m dean."

you smile back, nodding your head as sam speaks up again.

"so, what's the plan, dean? you want to go to mary elizabeth's house?"

"can't. she got caught watering down her parents' brandy with iced tea. let's just go to kings." dean grunts, chewing his popcorn obnoxiously.

"hey, we're going to kings after the game if you want to come." sam bends down a little, smiling at you gently.

you nod your head for what feels like the hundredth time just as brad hays tosses a touchdown pass. the fans go crazy, especially sam, so you do too, clapping your hands loudly as you stand up.

you three headed to kings family restaurant after your team won, eating greasy diner food in a small booth with red cracked leather seats. you're sat across from sam, eyes flicking between both boys sitting side by side.

"so uh, you got a favorite band?” dean asks after shoving three curly cheese fries into his mouth.

you swallow, shaking your head with a small shrug. “well.. i... think the smiths are my favorite.”

“are you kidding?” dean grunts, freezing mid-chew, and for a second, you brace yourself for an insult or witty joke. but as he leans forward to take a sip from his soda, he grins, “i love the smiths.”

brad hays and his jock posse pass by behind you three to their table, some of them shouting “hey, nothing!” at sam, causing a huge grin to break from dean’s lips.

sam scoffs, spinning around in his seat. “let it go! jesus- it’s an antique joke. it’s over!”

“so, what’re you gonna do when you get outta this place?” dean asks you curiously, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“well, my aunt helen said i should be a writer.” you hum, looking down at the table. “but uh.. i dunno what i’d write about.”

“you can write about us.” dean hums with a small smirk, looking over beside him.

“yeah!” sam grins, turning his gaze back to you. “call it slut and the falcon..!”

ignoring the rolled eyes dean darts directly at him, sam adds, “make us solve crimes!”

"falcon? what are you, twelve?” dean grunts, munching loudly.

you smile, taking a piece of brownie into your mouth before asking, "how long have you guys been friends for?"

sam shakes his head, about to speak when dean beats him to it. "never."

you blink in confusion as sam grins, nudging dean's shoulder. "we're brothers."

you lips part a bit. of course they are, how did you not see that before?

dean leans back in the booth with his arms stretched along the top, chewing on a fry like it's a cigarette. sam hums something under his breath and drums his fingers on the edge of the table.

you’re full, but not just from the food. you’re full in a weird way, like something in your chest has opened, like the first breeze after a long, stale summer. you don’t say much more after that. you just listen, and watch, and sit between two people who don’t seem to mind that you’re quiet.

they talk about a party that might be happening saturday, and someone named craig who once shaved his eyebrows off on a dare, and they argue over whether or not rocky IV is a masterpiece or a cinematic war crime.

it’s not a big moment, it’s not even really a moment. it’s just a regular tuesday night. cheap fries, too much noise, and two people who haven’t asked you to be anything else.

꒰ 𑄽𑄺 ⠀you have a new message from dolly!

literally so thankful my bsf proofread this bc she gave me such good writing tips im im im im thank yew for reading (!!) i know this looks kinda um.. cliche but i swear im gonna lock in!!!!! 😼

[fatkish]

Heyy, i wanted to request a Eresermic im which Aizawa has a biological daughter, but she is being bullied and they noticed when she was already thinking in ending it all.

I understand if this is too dark, i just lived something similar and my parents blamed me, so some confort would be apreciared hahaha

Thankss, i love your writing 🩷

(Oh my gosh, this hits so close to home because this happened to me. My parents grew up in the era where if boys were mean to you it was because they like you. So when I begged them to do something about my bullies, they did nothing. Needless to say, my childlike innocence was the only reason why I’m alive. Although I may be doing better than I was back then, nothing can erase the trauma from the unintentional neglect from my parents. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll be basing this somewhat off of my own experience and I’ll be putting it in the Pro Heroes x Inner Child Series)

Erasermic x Aizawa’s Bullied Daughter Reader

(TRIGGER WARNING: This story has mentions of bullying, harassment, allusions to suicide and suicidal thoughts, depression and other potentially triggering topics. Please be advised)

Since you basically have two dads, you refer to Hizashi as papa and Shouta as dad

Your quirk was called restraint. Basically if you called someone by their real, full name, you could temporarily restrain them as long as you focused on them

But just like your dad, you also had to be able to see your target

But unlike your classmates, you were a late bloomer. You developed your quirk at age 8, which led to you being bullied by your peers

You knew that your dad’s worked really hard and that their jobs were really stressful at times. So the last thing you wanted was to be another source of stress for them. Which is why you didn’t tell them about the bullying

You were 11 when you just couldn’t take it anymore. You tried to deal with the situation on your own, you tried to fight your bullies who even started making fun of your dad’s being a couple

You tried not to let anyone’s words affect you but after so many years, you started to believe them too. And you began to bully yourself

You would tell yourself that your dad’s already had enough stress on their plates and that you were just a burden on them. You had started to mentally and physically beat yourself up

The bullies had started to use their quirks on you, resulting in bruises which you would hide with makeup that your Aunt Nemuri had gotten you since you started to develop acne

Since your dads would get home late, you had plenty of time to get home and cover up any wounds

One day, you just had enough

You decided that you were better off dead. You decided that you would take your own life after you got home and would leave a note before leaving the house so your dads wouldn’t have to deal with the body

Unknown to you, Aizawa had gotten a call from one of your teachers who was concerned about you. She had seen you fighting and decided to give Aizawa a call since your grades and overall performance had declined significantly

Aizawa had informed Hizashi of the call and they decided to go home early and wait for you. They believed that you were going through puberty and the hormonal changes were effecting your performance and were the cause

Imagine their surprise when you get home, covered in bruises, a busted lip that was still bleeding and a completely dead look in your eyes

Seeing their precious baby in such a state they immediately started to worry and begged you to talk to them

They had prepared your favorite food for dinner and even got you your favorite dessert as a treat. Seeing how sweet they were, you broke down and confessed your pain and your plan

Hizashi was balling his eyes out and wrapped you in his arms while Aizawa had clenched fists with tears in his eyes.

Aizawa made the call to your school demanding a talk with the principal and the parents of your bullies. While Aizawa was setting that up, Hizashi had you sit on the couch while he tended to your wounds, disinfecting them, cleaning them and bandaging them

He told you that he loves you even though you’re not his biological kid, you’re HIS little listener, his favorite kid in the whole world. He then picked you up and smothered you in hugs and kisses

Aizawa came back into the room and brought the food

That night, you guys are on the couch as you snuggled together under a blanket and watch your favorite movie

The next day, Aizawa and Hizashi dropped you off at UA with Nemuri, while they had a talk with your teachers and bullies. They decided that homeschooling would be the best for you right now since they want to make sure you heal mentally, physically and emotionally from this before you go back

They had told Nedzu what happened and he agreed that for the meantime, until you were mentally stable again, the safest bet would be to have you do your homeschooling at UA where you’ll be surrounded by people who can help you and prevent you from doing anything detrimental to yourself

Needless to say, they love you and you are their whole world and you’re the reason why they fight to come home. You’re their motivation and the reason they fight to protect

(I hoped this helps you and that you guys enjoy this)

[agendabymooner]

too good to be true ! lando n. x ofc

“made some breakfast, made some love; if this is what dreams are made of, please don't wake me.”

summary: esme ‘essie’ ellwood was everything that lando norris didn’t think he wanted— but his fans thought that she was someone he needed.

OR just a brief overview of lando’s relationship with a countryside girl who, beyond her introverted tendencies, was an unhinged, unserious yet amazing mother and girlfriend.

content warning: crack fic-esque, youtuber!horsegirl!ofc (face claim: faith kelly), established relationship, fluff, dad!lando, godfather!max fewtrell, sexual innuendos, mentions golfing + carlando + horses

note: i watched faith’s golfing video with behzinga and thought this was a good funny haha excerpt with lando. enjoy xx

a - n masterlist // o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

tagged landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, maxfewtrell

user1 oh we eating good 😭😭

landonorris not the golf police 🤦‍♂️ liked by essiellwood

essiellwood if this man isn’t an f1 merchant he’s a golf sack of shit

landonorris i love my baby mum sm ❤️

essiellwood if i can only share the same sentiment as you ☹️

carlossainz55 🤣 i’m dead

essiellwood ok, golf connoisseur 🙄

ciscanorris1 were you mansplained again? liked and pinned by essiellwood

essiellwood i don’t recommend watching the video (trigger warning ⚠️: your brother is cringe)

maxfewtrell there is also a lot of dirty jokes but ig that works too

user2 LMAOOOO MAX 😭😭😭

carlosonoros tiger ellwoods 👍 liked by essiellwood

essiellwood 🥹❤️

LANDO VS ESME: GOLFING EDITION by esme ellwood

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, alex_albon

maxfewtrell omg i’m one of the girls 😳

user1 MAX—

flonorris1 miss lala at the first pic 😍

user2 still baffled the horse’s name is lala because of lando’s niece lmaoooo

alex_albon look at my short queen judy woody 🥹🥹

essiellwood she is everyone’s short queen 🐴

landonorris you went for a ride with lala?

essiellwood yes?? like i said i would??

landonorris do me next 🤩

essiellwood have shame— you’re a father now

user3 he said what ^

user4 why does he keep forgetting he’s an f1 driver???

user5 never beating the horny lando allegations ‼️

carlossainz55 landonorris the holy water calls for you mate 🤣 liked by essiellwood

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico @architect-2015 @hiireadstuff @biancathecool @scorpiomindfuck @stinkyjax

[lovexjoe]

PENPALS Part 3

Your dad was suppose to be home 4 days ago with Uncle Mike but they are no where to be found. You were currently leaving the hospital when the news report caught your attention.. WANTED FUGITIVES? It broke your heart knowing Captain passed the way he did. Your dad gave you the phone call and you couldn’t even make it to the funeral due to your exams and clinicals. You knew it wasn’t true at all, someone had to be framing them.

But who is that other person with them? You knew Mike had a son but you never knew any details beyond that. They were broadcasting names and pictures on the tv. Uncle Mike popped up first. Your phone interrupted everything and you decided to just step outside because it was quiet hours in the hospital. You picked up the phone and nearly cried.

“Hey baby, yes I’m okay, but I need you to go to Dorn’s house. We got some injuries we need some help with.” Your heart felt whole again to hear your dad’s voice.

“Okay I’ll be right there.” You snuck out with a kit from the hospital and headed straight to Dorn’s house. You notice a black van was following you for quite some time, but you managed to lose them.

As you pulled into the driveway your heart started to beat fast. The idea of something happening to your dad really shook you to the core. Being away from home for so long due to nursing school you lost so much time with your family. You also missed Uncle Mike, he’s the only person that knows how to deal with your dad.

You knocked on the door to see Dorn and immediately he gives you a hug. You missed him and Kelly so much. As you walk inside you immediately give your dad a hug and check to see if he had any bad injuries.

“There’s my favorite niece!” Uncle Mike picks you up and spins you around. You noticed a familiar face in the kitchen and your heart immediately went to your ass.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You look at the prisoner who you’ve fell head over heels for but haven’t heard a word from in 2 weeks. Armando just stood in the kitchen holding a beer looking like a lost puppy. He knew he was going to see you once Marcus made that call.

“Y/N this is my son Armando he-“

“YOUR SON?!” You were in love with a MIKE 2.0 ??!??!!? That Lowrey DNA is a fucking bitch. You had the biggest crush on Uncle Mike in your teenage years now you bent ass backwards over his son.

“Princess it’s okay. He’s come a long way since killing Captain Howard-“ Marcus tries comforting you.

“Marcus…” Mike gives him a dirty look cause it was a low blow.

He killed Captain Howard?……

The look on your face broke Armando’s heart. Yes he killed Captain Howard and if he had a choice he would have never done it. He watched the terror of it unfold in front of his eyes and he regretted every moment of it. Whatever you guys had was probably dead after hearing that. You ended the conversation as you started to clean up Uncle Mike’s wounds.

“Geez I remember when I was babysitting you now you over here cleaning me up.” Mike jokes as he sips on a beer.

“Sounds like you getting old” You started to laugh as he straightens himself up and push his chest out.

“There was a car following me on the way over here but I managed to lose it.” You finished stitching up his wound and Armando was next.

“You should stay here tonight just in case. You and Armando can share the guest bedroom. Mike and Marcus can stay on the pullout.” Dorn suggested and Kelly agrees with him.

“Armando you sleeping on the floor and don’t get any ideas!” Marcus warns.

“Please Marcus, that boy is clearly in love with whoever in dem damn polaroids he got on him.” Mike teases and your face immediately turns red as you wipe down Armando’s wound. He tries to maintain a straight face but he couldn’t help the little smile that creeped up. Yes he was in love with you as crazy as it sounded. He wanted to tell you after the visit but he lost all his access due to the fight.

After playing nurse for everybody, it was time to clean up and get some rest. You and Armando headed off to the guest bedroom with the clothes and towels Dorn gave you. As soon as the door closed, you pulled him in for a hug. Yes he killed Captain Howard, but he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. You let all your emotions come to the surface.

“I thought I lost you…”You let out a soft cry. Armando caress your face and wiped your tears. He didn’t deserve you even after hearing he killed Captain you still wanted to talk to him. He didn’t want to question it, he just thanked his lucky stars.

“You could never lose me mami. I love you Y/N. The day after the visit, I wanted to tell you but the fight happened and they cut off all my access. I love you I’m so lucky to even have you.” That all you needed to hear. You pulled him in a for kiss. This time you guys had extra hours to yourself no guards to interrupt your time.

“Alright stinky go take a shower!” He strips down and you took both of your clothes to the laundry. Obviously you checked to see if anyone was up but the lights were already out. Your dad and Uncle Mike already snoring in the living room. You hopped into the shower with him, taking in his figure for the first time. He had old scars and some new wounds but god was he handsome. The water cascading down his caramel skin had you drooling. You couldn’t help but take in how …..packed he was. He was already bricked up but you couldn’t blame him. You knew he’d be getting off to your picture so seeing you in front of him like this…..he was using the last bit of self control he had.

“Touch me….” You wrapped his arms around you as the water hits the both of you. The warmth of the water and the steam filling the air was adding to the heat you were feeling for him.

“I-I shouldn’t ….we should wait…” Your foreheads touching as his hands stay firmly at your waist. He didn’t want you to feel like you were obligated to give him some ass just cause he’s out of prison. He could easily help himself in the middle of the night or just have self control. But seeing you out those fucking scrubs had him bricked and aching.

“Armando I’ve waited long enough…please touch me….I need you…” you moved his hands to your ass and started to kiss on his neck.

Fuck. The self control was out the window.

🙊🙈

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