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skeltnwrites · 4 months ago

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The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part one - you find out your work crush is a dad and offer to watch his mischievous little girl so he can get some work done 5.2k

a/n - penelope is a little shit and i love her dearly, general warnings/tags here

── .✦

“Hey, sorry to bother you, Steve. I just had a quick question– but before I forget, there’s this little girl in the lobby knocking stuff over. Do you know if her parents are here?”

“Fuck– sorry. One sec.”

He brushes past you with an urgency that is typical of Steve. As the community outreach coordinator, he’s naturally a busy man. You haven’t known him long– just the couple of months since you became a volunteer for the local rec center– but it’s clear he’s dedicated to his work. Always zipping from one end of the building to the other, juggling class setups, organizing meetings, or hunting down the next thing that needs fixing. He tends to add more to his plate than he can carry, at least according to another staff member, which is why you’ve been assigned to help him.

You strain to match his long strides and nearly take out a trash can when he turns a corner unexpectedly. But you can’t lose him now– someone is always nearby to steal him for paperwork or performance reviews and all you have is a quick question.

The lobby unfortunately looks like a tornado blew through the front doors. Cabinets are thrown open, papers are scattered like leaves across the floor, and a chair has been toppled over. And said tornado has her cheek pressed to the vending machine glass, an arm twisted inside the dispenser box to reach for a loose pack of Skittles. The scene is almost amusing until you remember you’ll likely be the one to clean it up.

“Penelope!” Steve scolds, not loud but stern enough to surprise you. He’s consistently an embodiment of gentleness– always accommodating and rarely assertive. And while he’s still gentle with her, his tone carries a weight and firmness that’s a stark departure from his usual demeanor.

The girl, Penelope, retracts her arm and spins around to face Steve. And if it wasn’t for the shit-eating grin pinned to her face, you might’ve felt bad for getting her in trouble.

Steve’s hands snap to his hips. “I asked you to wait in my office.”

She shrugs, “Need a snack.”

Steve huffs and rakes a hand through his hair– a habit when he’s stressed, which is most of the time it seems. By the end of the day, his hairspray will have been combed out and Steve will argue with the strands that curl over his forehead.

“You can have one after you clean this up and if you stay in my office.”

“Candy?”

“No, no candy. There’s snacks in your lunchbox.” He bends to scoop up a few pamphlets to hand to her. “Or I have pretzels. Do you want that?”

She pinches a page between her nails, weighing her options.

Steve pries tiny fingers off, “Don’t rip those. Put ‘em away please.”

And she listens for maybe the first time ever, it seems, cramming a stack of them back on the shelf.

You gather your own stack of handouts and press them into Steve’s sleeve. He recoils a step, his eyes widening before rapidly shutting in a moment of realization. “Sorry! You had a question- I’m sorry.”

Penelope abandons her organizing to plant herself at Steve’s left like a sidekick– anything to get out of cleaning up. She gazes at you with a familiar pair of almond eyes and then it clicks. Her hair is the same shade of brown and her jaw, though softer, is square shaped like Steve’s. The resemblance is indisputable.

You redirect your stare to answer Steve. “Um, yeah– I just needed to borrow the storage closet key to grab some more chairs.”

“Oh, of course.” He pats the front pocket of his jeans. “Keys are in my office– I hope.”

Steve marches past you once again, a new mission in mind, tugging Penelope by the wrist and toeing a cabinet shut on the way out. Penelope’s poor little legs must be tired if he always walks this fast.

“I don’t want pretzels,” she eventually decides.

“Then you can have what’s in your lunchbox.” He glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re in tow, “This is my daughter, Penelope, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Penelope.” You wave, not that she sees.

A braid sits high on her head, swinging like a horse's tail with each hurried step. Her faded denim overalls ride up slightly, exposing just enough ankle to show off the bubblegum pink Converse on her feet. She’s a cute little thing, button-eyed and puffy-cheeked like a cabbage patch kid.

Steve nudges her with his hip, “Say hi.”

She throws you an impartial glance. “Hi.”

When Steve’s office is in sight, Penelope wriggles away from his hold to sprint down the hall. On her tip-toes, she flicks on the light, letting the door slam in Steve’s face. You catch him rolling his eyes as he stops the door with his foot for you. Penelope is clambering onto his chair like it’s a race and pushing off the desk to spin as soon as she’s seated. Steve steers her out of the way to search the drawers, passing you a set of keys when he finds them.

“Just bring ‘em back, please. Dottie found them in lost and found last week.”

“Thanks, I will,” you promise, eyes falling over Penelope again.

It’s your cue to leave, but your feet remain anchored to the floor. Your mind is buzzing with questions that neither of you have the time to discuss. The rational part of you knows you should exit before you let your curiosity win. Yet, you find yourself lingering in the doorway, stalling just long enough for Steve to lift an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

And before you can rule whether or not it's a good idea, you blurt out, “I can keep an eye on her if you want?”

Penelope peaks over the back of the chair, perched on her knees so she can see.

Steve shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. You’ve got stuff to do. And Penelope is going to be a better listener for the rest of the day, right?” He ruffles her hair, earning him a glare.

You bite back a smile. It’s a funny thing, seeing that frown and furrowed brows that resemble Steve’s so clearly because you can’t imagine him making that face at anyone ever. It’s cute, even if it’s meant to be mean, but you would never tell her as much.

“I really don’t mind. She could help me tape the flyers up– If she wants something to do?” You direct the last part at Penelope. To a kid, being trapped in their dad’s dusty old office is probably boredom purgatory.

Penelope blinks at you and then Steve for permission.

“You want to?” He asks.

She nods, then adds, “Snack too?”

“Yes, honey.” He sighs, faint but deflated, burdened by the guilt of not feeding her sooner. Steve fishes her backpack out from under his desk. A vivid shade of pink with a Barbie patch sewn to the front. Her tin lunchbox is similarly themed and only harbors a bag of fruit snacks.

“Fruit snacks or pretzels?”

Penelope’s features pinch in a way that says neither but she snatches the fruit snacks anyway. Decidedly dismissed or over the conversation, she hops off the chair and sees herself out.

You can’t help the smile that finds your lips as you turn back to Steve.

He chuckles, “It’s been a day. Bring her back if she doesn’t listen. Good luck.”

Penelope leans against the wall outside, popping a gummy in her mouth lazily.

“We’re gonna make a pitstop at the supply closet and then you can help me with the flyers.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she follows as you start walking, and that’s all you need from her. She’s strangely silent for a kid, especially Steve’s kid. Conversation seems to come easy to him, he likes to talk, which is one of the reasons you still can’t believe you didn’t know he had a child. On your first day as a volunteer, he’d crammed that he was on the swim team in high school, that he's from Indiana, and that he prefers the warmer months all in one conversation– the guy is an open book.

And you’re quiet too because you’re focused on recalling where they put that damned supply closet. The rec center halls all sort of look the same still, bleeding into one jumbled image of wood paneling and old carpet in your mind. The building is practically a maze; constructed in the fifties, it still carries its historic charm—stubborn doors, leaky faucets, and all—issues the city claims they 'can’t afford' to fix.

Penelope must get tired of going in circles because eventually she tugs on your sleeve and points down the opposite hall you were planning on going. When she leads you right up to the door you beam at her. For a second, she forgets to be brooding and smiles back.

“You’re a smart little cookie, Penelope. How’d you know it was here?” You ask, unlocking the door.

She shrugs nonchalantly, “I just know things.”

You laugh loud enough to draw eyes from a nearby meeting and determine Penelope is the funniest kid you’ve ever met.

She holds the door open at your request, munching on her fruit snacks as you maneuver a stack of chairs into the hall. You make it back to the classroom without her directions, not to toot your own horn. She tosses her empty wrapper in the trash as you unstack the chairs.

“Here,” you pass her a roll of tape. “Rip some pieces off for me?”

She nods, ambling over to the wall with you.

“So, Penelope, how old are you?” You ask, pressing a flyer against the wallpaper.

She debates, flipping fingers up and down on her free hand before concluding, “Four.”

“Ohh, very cool. You’re almost ready to go to school with the big kids, huh?”

“Yes, at the big school. I’m in pre-school.”

“Mhmm. Do you like preschool?”

She hums no and strains to tear off a piece.

“Here, like this,” you demonstrate, pulling in the proper direction. She copies you, ripping a neat line. The corners of her lips raise as she views her handiwork.

“You don’t like school?” You ask, peering down.

She hands you the slice of tape. “Only sometimes.”

“Why only sometimes?”

She shrugs and heaves a hefty sigh for such little lungs. She’s too small to be sighing like that, you think, and she definitely acquired it from Steve.

“I only like work sometimes too,” you admit.

Her eyes chase yours– all innocently wide and filled with disbelief. She rips off another square of tape, “Are your friends not nice?”

You consider her question, answering truthfully, “Well, maybe sometimes, I guess.”

“Meg was not a kind friend today.” Her tone is hilariously chastizing for a child. Kids are just like mini adults sometimes– collecting random phrases and mannerisms like trading cards.

“No? Why’s that?”

“She wouldn’t share. Daddy always says sharing is caring.”

“That’s true. Did you tell your teacher?”

Penelope shakes her head, tilting on her heels.

“Why not?”

“Meg told the teacher on me because I wasn’t being a kind friend either.”

“Oh. Why weren’t you being a kind friend?”

“Because I wanted to play with the dolls too,” she mumbles, upset wavering in her voice. To a child, these seemingly trivial matters really do feel like the end of the world, so you can’t help but empathize, even as you wish your worries were confined to sharing toys.

You crouch in front of Penelope, “We still should be kind, hmm? Even when our friends don’t want to share?”

Penelope’s unconvinced, picking at her nail like the dirt underneath is a more important issue. But you’re at the end of your stack of cardstock and it maybe isn’t your place to have this conversation anyway.

You get her set up at a table with printer paper and a box of crayons from the closet. She dumps them out immediately, spraying rainbow across her paper so she can find the “bestest” colors.

“I can share,” she declares, sliding her extra sheet over to your end of the table.

“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.” You catch a crayon before it rolls onto the floor. “What should I draw?”

“I’m coloring my family.”

“That’s nice. I think I’ll draw a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur?” She cocks her head and giggles, bubbly and pure in the way that kids laugh. Your heart aches with happiness. “That’s silly!”

“What? Why’s that silly?”

She cackles like this is the funniest idea anyone’s ever had. “They just are!”

“Hmm. Should I draw a serious dinosaur then?”

“All dinosaurs are silly– Trevor says so.”

“What! Why does he think that?”

Her words fuse into one smear of a sound as she shrugs, “I dunno.”

“Well, my dinosaur is very serious. See?”

She presses into your arm to examine your quick sketch. “That’s not a dinosaur!”

“It is! You can’t tell?”

She nibbles on her lip, smile growing as she shakes her head.

You pull the paper closer, as if a better angle might somehow improve it. “Hmm, I guess it does look a bit like an alien, doesn’t it?”

Penelope giggles and nods enthusiastically before returning to her work. Her crayon moves methodically across the paper, lips pressed together in concentration. After a long spell of silence, she kindly requests, “Can you draw a house?”

“Of course,” you reply, “On my paper or yours?”

“Mine,” she says, her pointer finger tapping the corner of her sheet with emphasis.

The drawing is a riot of color, blending bold strokes of crayon to create two people and an animal. The taller, presumably Steve, is painted with orange and yellow hues– true to the the warmth he represents. Penelope, doused in cooler tones, carries their floppy-eared pet– a bunny or a dog, maybe?

“Wow, Penelope! This is amazing!” You genuinely mean it; despite her young age, her talent shines through in little details like eyelashes and a set of heart-shaped earrings. “Is this you and Daddy?”

“Yes, and Cinderella!” she adds proudly.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you say, admiring her work. “Is Cinderella your pet?”

She bobs her head animatedly.

“Wow, she looks like a very pretty… animal in your drawing.”

“She is a very pretty cat,” Penelope affirms and you are relieved not to have guessed incorrectly. She stares at you for a long moment. “Is Cinderella family?”

“Well, does she live with you?”

Penelope scrunches her nose and tips her head, “Sort of?”

“She sort of lives with you?”

“Yeah. She lives outside mostly but sometimes I let her inside.” Her pitch fluctuates as she talks, the words lilting in a strange, almost sing-song cadence that kids do.

“Ohh,” you smile. “Do you feed Cinderella?”

“Yes, Daddy buys her food in a can and it’s really stinky!”

Penelope joins you when you laugh. Not because you are but because stinky things are just funny at her age.

“Do you love Cinderella?” You ask.

“Yes– except when she bites me.” She sobers quickly, forehead wrinkling.

“Oh,” you chuckle, “Well, I think she’s family then.”

“I think so too,” she states seriously, swapping a blue crayon for a green.

“What color should the house be?” You claw through the rainbow spread.

“White!”

“Well, the paper’s already white but how ‘bout I outline the house in black so you know where it is?”

“I guess so. There’s two windows and the door is red– Oh, and there are lots of flowers outside.”

You nod, sketching her vision into existence. “Is this your house?”

“Yes, and Daddy’s. And sometimes Cinderella’s.”

“Just you three? Is that your whole family?” Admittedly, it’s a self-indulgent question. You’re curious about Penelope’s mom. And you noticed Steve doesn’t wear a ring, checked multiple times in the last few weeks even. But that doesn’t refute the possibility he might be seeing someone.

“Yes, Daddy and Cinderella is my family. Daddy says families come in all shapes and sizes.”

You’re glowing with a fondness that’s impossible to hide– because everything about her is adorable– her chubby cheeks, her tinkling little laugh, even her attitude, though Steve would probably disagree with the latter. She’s different than Steve in a lot of ways: grumpier and more aloof, but, at her age, it’s cute. And still, she feels like his carbon copy. An echo of everything you’ve come to like about him.

Him being a dad makes perfect sense in retrospect. To have overlooked such an important part of his life seems silly. A tenderness radiates from Steve, the kind only a parent could possess. He’s full of love– too much not to share. He pours lots into his work: late nights at the center, taking on more than he can chew, always with a smile. And the rest? It must go to Penelope.

“Your dad is very right about that.”

She smirks confidently, holding up her artwork, “I’m going to give this to him.”

“I bet he’ll love it so much, Penelope!”

And his dad senses must be tingling at the mention of his name because his face appears in the door’s slim window not even a minute later. His lips curve into a grin as he realizes he’s been caught spying.

The door clicks and Penelope turns. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Hi, baby,” Steve strolls over to the opposite side of the table, “Are you being a good listener?” His attention flicks around the room, searching for any signs of misbehavior.

Penelope shimmies up tall in her seat and nods until he meets her pleased gaze.

Steve must believe the girl because he doesn’t press further, but you praise her anyway, “Very good. Penelope’s been an amazing helper this afternoon.”

“Is that right?” He orbits the table to stand behind her. “What are you drawing, Nell?”

She flips over her paper, clapping the front against the table. “It’s a surprise!”

“Oh, sorry!” He paces back, redirecting his attention to you. “I didn’t see it.”

Penelope twists around to confirm his eyes are elsewhere before proceeding to squeeze in a final set of details– grass blades and sun rays. “Here,” she thrusts the page into his hands. “For you.”

“For me?” His face lights up like a Christmas tree before he’s even seen it. She could hand him a pebble, and he’d treasure it like a gem. And when his eyes do fan across the drawing, he melts.

“This is so lovely!” He coos. “Where did you get all this talent from? This belongs in a museum, Nell!” He keeps his heart from bursting with a steady palm to his chest. And with his free hand, he flashes it at you just long enough to catch a glimpse before he reels it in to study some more. “And you got Cinderella’s stripes too. Wow.”

He squats behind Penelope’s chair, throwing an arm around her middle, “Thank you for this. And thank you for being a good listener. That makes my heart very happy.”

She slumps into his chest, peering up at the reflection of her own features. “Is it time to go?”

His eyes leap to the clock hung on the opposite wall. “Couple more hours, babe.”

Penelope huffs.

“I’m gonna hang this in my office. I love it so so much!” He sows a couple of kisses on her temple, straining to stand with achy knees. “You wanna come hang out with me or stay here?”

She looks at you like you might object. “Here.”

If Steve’s offended, he doesn’t show it. He’s still grinning like the Cheshire cat, high on the parenting win that is receiving willing affection from your child. “That okay?” He asks you.

“Of course. I’ll put her to work,” you reassure.

“Good, keep her busy. It keeps her out of trouble.” He raises the drawing for another look. “I’ll be in my office, doing paperwork, yay.”

You snicker, as he retraces the path he came. “Have fun with that boss!”

Just before the door slams shut, he yells back, equally playful, “I told you to stop calling me that!”

Penelope doodles some more, gifting you a vibrant rendition of the night sky– a collection of stars and circles and swirls. You’re so grateful you tell her it’ll go on your fridge, and it does as soon as you’re home. She sorts through toys and equipment in the gym closet and even holds your dustpan when you sweep. Her role as your helper is taken very seriously.

The two hours pass faster than you expect. Time flies when you're having fun, as Steve would say. All his little phrases and cheesy jokes suddenly make sense in the context of him being a dad.

She takes your hand on the way to Steve’s office, escorting you when you pretend not to know which direction it’s in. It’s as comforting as it is validating; winning the kindness and attention of four-year-olds, especially this one, is difficult. You knock on the wood frame even though the door’s propped open.

Steve peaks up through a rare pair of reading glasses. Round, wireframes that match the golden shade his hair assumes when it catches the light. They highlight his eyes—warm and gentle as a summer breeze. But he swipes them off his nose, folding them with practiced care.

A smile mends his frown as Penelope climbs into his lap. “Hi, sweetheart.”

She wiggles into a comfortable position, nudging his chest until he reclines further to make space. “Hi.”

“Are you having fun?” Steve cradles her shin to keep her from slipping. “What have you been up to?”

“Cleaning.” Her tone is casual, dismissive even, like it’s nothing to fuss over; but her eyes are fixed on him, waiting for a reaction.

Steve gasps, “No way! You were cleaning? I don’t know if I believe it.”

“I was!” Penelope whines, tickled with glee.

“Hmm, is this true?” He arches an eyebrow at you.

You nod, delighted to play along. “It is. Penelope here is excellent at handling a dustpan. She even organized the dodgeballs by color.”

“Really? Because you never-ever want to clean at home.”

“I do!” She squeals, bending backward over the arm of his chair.

“Yeah right.” He blows a raspberry on her belly where her shirt has pinched up.

She shrieks, squirming and kicking her heels into his thigh. Steve’s dad reflexes must clock in because he blocks her knee just before it drives into his cheek. And he takes it as a sign to ease up before someone gets hurt– craning back up and scooping Penelope into a baby cradle against his chest. Her legs are long and lanky, dangling over his arms like uncooked spaghetti.

“Do we need to invite them over every time you make a mess in your room? Will that solve the problem?” He teases, squishing her arms against his shirt so she can’t escape and peppering kisses from temple to temple.

Eventually, Penelope comes to terms that no amount of writhing will succeed against his strength. She slackens in his embrace, surrendering to the terrible thing that is unconditional love.

“Oh, here are your keys!” They rattle against the desk where you drop them.

Steve nods into Penelope's crown, poking her side. “Can you say ‘thank you for hanging out with me?’”

Anticipating another round of tickles, she grins before parroting, “Thank you for hanging out with me.”

“Thank you for helping me clean!”

Her eyes sweep back over to Steve, “Can we go home yet?”

His fingers tap rhythmically on the desk, a small sigh escaping as he glances at the paperwork drowning his workspace. “We’ll leave as soon as I’m finished.” He pecks the top of her head. “Promise.”

She rolls her eyes, moaning, “Daddy, come on it’s taking, like, a million years!”

“A million? Surely not.”

“It is!” She elongates the sound until it’s less word and more noise.

His shoulders droop, tension slipping from his frame as he agrees, “Okay. I’m ready to go too.”

You don’t blame him for giving in so easily, Penelope’s puppy eyes are powerful. Her chunky little hands smoosh his cheeks– molding and kneading like it’s play-doh, “Is that why your face looks so sleepy?”

A hearty laugh bursts from his throat, “Yes, that’s why my face looks so sleepy.” He pats her arms, “Come on. Up.”

Penelope scoots off his knees, gripping his wrist for balance. Steve ducks under the desk for his backpack and shoves the stack of paperwork inside.

“Hey, I meant to ask you, is the new schedule working okay for you?” He asks you, always so thoughtful.

You nod earnestly. “Yeah, actually, I like doing Fridays better I think.”

“Yeah, Fridays are fun. Fitness Friday has been a big hit with the high school's soccer team.” He slings his bag over his shoulder and lifts Penelope’s by the strap.

“Oh, good! Did the new jump ropes come in?” Conversations like this, as mundane as they are, are fleeting– the next interruption always around the corner– so you savor it while you have him.

“Mmmm, not yet. I think they’re coming next week– shipping delays or something.”

You turn to leave but stop in your tracks, attention stolen by Penelope’s drawing. As promised, it’s hung up– a few pieces of scotch tape secure it to the wall across from his desk.

“I’m gonna get a frame for it,” Steve passes you with a toothy smile, flicking off the light.

Penelope chimes in before you can respond, “Can I play jump rope?”

“I don't know if you know how, babe. I can teach you.”

“I can! I did at school!”

“You did? I didn’t know that.” Steve waves to a passing coworker. “Maybe we’ll buy one for home too then.”

Penelope nods, hopping the last stretch to the front door.

“Any fun plans this weekend?” Steve asks you outside, bumping the back of Penelope’s hand until she takes his. The parking lot is almost empty at this time of day, but a few stragglers remain inside after hours.

“If you think laundry is fun, then sure.”

“Oh, I know all about that, trust me.” He nods at Penelope, “This one goes through more clothes in a week than I do in a month.”

Steve approaches a BMW, only a few spots over from your car. An older model, but well taken care of. It’s a nice shade of burgundy with a stick-figure family on the back windshield. It feels so him.

You hum a happy sound. “What about you? Any plans?”

“Besides laundry? Well, we’re actually going kayaking at Red Fleet tomorrow,” he unlocks the passenger door, tucking the backpacks in the footwell.

“Oh, fun! Are you excited?” You ask Penelope.

“I’m gonna look for frogs.”

She wrenches the handle a few times before her door flies open. Steve intercepts mid-swing to prevent her from denting the neighboring truck at the expense of his fingers.

“Ow– shit,” he grimaces, shaking his wrist. He visibly swallows any other swears when he sees Penelope gawking, “Nell, I’ve told you to be gentle with the door.”

“You said we can’t say that word,” she points out, climbing into her car seat.

You scrub your mouth, not so inconspicuously erasing your smile.

“I– yes,” he nods, “You’re right. We shouldn’t say that word. I just–”

“Even when we’re frustrated; that’s what you said!”

Steve takes a deep breath through his nose, choking down his several feelings. She’s right, he did say that, to hopefully stop her from swearing at preschool, but the profanity policing is comical coming from a four-year-old. And he can’t be laughing right now– he has parenting to do– but he’s on the verge of breaking when he catches sight of your face.

Steve collects himself as he buckles her in. “Yes, Penelope. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

She pats his head, “It’s okay. We all do mistakes.”

Steve softens. The irritation evaporates instantly, replaced by a surge of satisfaction. This is one of those rare moments where he can so clearly recognize the lessons he’s instilled taking shape.

He lets himself chuckle then, “We do. We all make mistakes and that’s okay.”

She nods as he tightens her straps, “Like when I spilled my juice this morning.”

“Exactly.” He triple-checks that all her limbs are safely out of the door’s reach before shutting it.

He faces you, scratching his cheek– rosy and round with joy. “How much you wanna bet she swears at me tomorrow?”

“Hey, I don’t doubt it!” Your elation mirrors his.

“If she can’t find any frogs at the park I can almost guarantee it.”

“Better help her look then.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’d invite you but it’s reservation-based. And I’d be surprised if there’s any spots open still… But we can sneak you in if you really want to go.” It’s meant to be a joke, but something in the way he holds your gaze suggests a level of seriousness.

“No, that’s okay,” you grin. “The pile of laundry on my bed awaits.”

“Well, maybe next time.”

You try not to read into it. Steve’s a friendly guy, he probably invites his coworkers out to things all the time.

You nod, idling at the hood of his beamer.

“I really appreciate you watching her today. You’re a lifesaver, truly,” he shakes his head, peeking at Penelope through the window. “She’s been a handful lately– I mean, I had to pick her up early today because she bit another kid, can you believe that?”

“She’s a kid,” you shrug, “All kids do that at some point.”

“I don’t know,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m honestly at my witts end. This is her third warning and if she gets kicked out of school— I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“From what I saw today, she’s a really good kid, Steve. I can’t imagine they’d do that.”

“I’ve just been so busy, you know, sometimes I wonder if she acts out because of that– and it’s just me so I can’t–” he pauses, wiping his face, “God– I’m sorry, you’re… I’m just dumping all of this on you when you’re trying to leave.”

“No! It’s okay, I don’t mind, really.”

“It’s– Well, it’s a lot and I,” he’s cut short by Penelope knocking on the glass, impatience strewn across her features.

He throws up his pointer finger to tell her one second. “We can talk next week. You’ll be here Friday?”

“Yep. I will see you then,” you nod, backing up a step so he can cross over to the driver’s side.

“Okay, thanks again,” he says, opening his door.

You wave goodbye, “Of course. Have fun kayaking!”

“You too!” He yells, then mumbles, “Shit.”

“Dad!” Penelope’s voice scolds.

A warmth simmers in your chest as you walk away– a fizzy feeling that had been bottled up and crammed into a forgotten corner of your body. But as soon as you’re settling into the privacy of your car, it boils over into this rush of giddy exhilaration, electrifying every inch of your skin. Giggles cut through the silence as your smile stretches wider, completely untamable. There’s no stopping this, not when you’re already fantasizing about a next time with Steve.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things #dad steve harrington #coworker steve harrington

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childrenofcain-if · 20 days ago

Note

The relationship between MC and Elias has my entire effing heart 😭 idk how you made the dynamic so sweet and made me care for him when I've only known him for two chapters??

Since he's so gentle with us, I wonder how would it go if MC came home one day from like elementary school crying because they were bullied? How would Elias handle it?

the door slammed behind you with a loud, echoing sound that seemed to punctuate the misery weighing you down. your black, polished shoes scuffed against the marble floor as you trudged into the vast, empty foyer, tears streaming down your cheeks.

it was all too much—the laughter, the jeers, the malice-filled words of those kids at school that stabbed and twisted in ways you didn’t understand but hurt all the same.

elias had always been good at spotting storms on the horizon—first the trembling lip, then the stutter in your words, and finally, the cascade of tears that seemed far too heavy for someone so small.

when you came through the door just now, your face blotchy, streaked with heartbreak, he felt the summons of your sorrow like a riptide dragging him under. he had been in the middle of something—work, life, whatever inconsequential thing adults tangled themselves up in—but it evaporated the moment he saw you.

“oh, little apple,” he murmured as his eyes took in your tear-streaked face, the slump of your shoulders, the hiccupping breaths you couldn’t quite catch.

he dropped everything, his folders and papers scattering to the floor like leaves in a gust of wind. his long stride brought him to you in seconds, and then he was crouching, lowering himself to meet you on your level.

you were shaking, your fists tight as if holding onto the last frayed threads of your composure. he reached out, hesitant, the way you would approach a wounded animal, not wanting to startle you.

you couldn’t speak at first. the sobs came in waves, each one ripping through you, and the effort to shape words was too much. instead, you let go.

you collapsed against him, your small arms wrapping around his neck as if he were a lifeboat and you were caught in the middle of a stormy sea. he smelled like lavender, cedar and ink and something faintly sweet, like the peppermint candy he always kept in his pockets.

his arms wrapped around you, strong and warm, and for a moment, the world felt a little less like it was spinning out of control.

“it’s alright,” he murmured into your hair, though his heart was pounding. he could feel the dampness of your tears soaking into his shirt, the slight tremor in your body. “whatever it is, we’ll fix it. i promise.”

when your tears finally slowed with time, elias gently pulled back to look at you, his brow furrowed in concern. his thumbs brushed away the lingering wetness on your cheeks.

“want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked, his tone patient in the way only he could manage.

you hiccupped, clutching at his shirt. “they—” you sniffled, the words coming out shaky and uneven. “they took scooby-doo.”

he blinked, confused for a moment, before realization dawned on his face. “the keychain?”

you nodded, fresh tears spilling over. “the one mama gave me for christmas.”

a flicker of fury crossed his face, but he buried it quickly, his expression softening as he focused on you. “and who is ‘they’?”

you told him about the kids at school, their cruel laughter echoing in your ears even as you recounted the story. how they called you names for being smarter than them, for being the kid whose mom didn’t love them enough to live with them. how they’d grabbed your backpack and yanked the keychain off, holding it high above your head and tossing it to each other while you tried, unsuccessfully, to snatch it back.

elias didn’t interrupt. he let you talk, his jaw tightening with every word, though his hands stayed gentle on your shoulders.

as soon as you were done, he scooped you up with the same ease as when you were smaller, holding you close to his chest as he stood.

“shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice soft and soothing as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “i’ve got you. those kids are never going to hurt you again. not ever.”

you nodded, your chest still heavy but a little lighter than before. elias always made you feel like the world wasn’t as big or scary as it seemed.

elias’s lips pressed into a firm line, a resolve hardening in his expression. “i’m going to talk to your school,” he promised. “the principal, the school board—whoever i need to. they won’t be getting away with this. but for now...” he softened again, his hand resting against your cheek comfortingly. “for now, let’s focus on making you feel better, okay?”

you sniffled against his shoulder, rubbing the remaining tears from your eyes. “how?”

“first,” he said, carrying you into the living room, “we’re going to get you something to eat. you can’t face the world on an empty stomach.” he set you down gently on the couch, brushing a strand of hair from your damp cheek. “what sounds good? mac and cheese? pancakes? ice cream for dinner?”

the corner of your mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile. “mac and cheese?”

“as my little apple wishes,” he said, bowing dramatically which made you giggle.

he sent the servants away, muttering something about needing the house to feel smaller and cozier. he then moved around the kitchen while narrating his every step of making mac and cheese as though he was starring in a cooking show. “breadcrumbs on top, obviously. otherwise, it’s just noodles pretending to be a meal. and a little extra cheese, because that’s how my little apple likes it, hm?”

when he set the plate in front of you, it looked a little lopsided, but it tasted like comfort and love. while you still preferred your mom’s version, your dad wasn’t a bad cook either.

you ate together on the couch, and elias told you stories about his own childhood, about the time he’d fallen off his bike trying to impress a girl or the disastrous school play where he’d forgotten all his lines. he made you laugh, the sort of laugh that bubbled up unexpectedly and left you breathless.

after you’d finished your plate, he pulled out a tub of your favorite ice cream, letting you eat it straight from the carton as he turned on the TV.

“now,” he said, flipping through the channels, “i seem to recall a certain detective dog who’s pretty good at cheering you up. what do you think?”

you nodded, curling up next to him on the couch. he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close, and together you watched episode after episode of scooby-doo.

at one point, he even joined in on the theme song, his deep baritone blending awkwardly with the high-pitched melody. you giggled so hard you nearly fell off the couch, and the sound of your laughter seemed to melt something in him.

by the time bedtime rolled around, the weight of the day had eased, replaced by the kind of tiredness that settled in your bones after too much crying and too much laughing.

elias took your big yawn as a hint and carried you upstairs to your bedroom. he tucked you into bed like he always did—tucking the corners of the blanket just right, the way you liked it.

when he leaned down to kiss your forehead, you grabbed his wrist, your voice small. “will you stay, dada?”

his expression was gentle as he nodded. “of course.”

he sat on the edge of your bed, his large hand resting gently on your hair, stroking it in slow, soothing motions. you closed your eyes, the world finally quiet and safe.

and then he started to sing.

“close your eyes, have no fear. the monster’s gone, he’s on the run, and your daddy’s here.”

his voice wasn’t perfect, but it was tender and warm, wrapping around you like the blanket he’d tucked in so carefully. each word he sang wrapped around you like a lullaby spun from safety and love.

“beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful child…”

by the time he reached the bridge, you were asleep, your breathing even and peaceful. but elias stayed, his hand still resting against your hair, his gaze lingering on your face.

“goodnight, little apple,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “dada loves you so very much.”

and as the night deepened and the house fell completely silent, elias sat there, guarding your dreams with the quiet, unshakable strength of a father’s love.

#nah cause i want him as a dad now wtf?#this is what i get for making an alive and loving dad for once 😞#if: the ballad of the young gods #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #twine wip #the heir’s past

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mermaidgirl30 · 4 months ago

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✨Saddle Me Up, Cowboy Part 1: Spin Me Around the Dance Floor✨

Cowboy! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: Thank you to @alltheirdamn for encouraging me to write this! Beth Dutton and Rip Wheeler from Yellowstone heavily inspired this short little series. I hope you enjoy 🩷 I just saw @auteurdelabre Trope Off challenge, so I’m tagging this as a meet cute for that!

Chapter Summary: You were only trying to enjoy your drink and watch the different couples spin around the dance floor at your favorite country club, but all that changed when you set your eyes on a certain handsome brown-eyed cowboy.

Rating: 18+ only

Word Count: 4.6k

Tags: Lots of fluff, flirting, pining, two stepping, meet cute at a country western bar, no use y/n, no outbreak au, switching POVs, soft! Joel, summer love, reader has hair

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The neon lights flash across the busy dance floor as bodies sway back and forth to the slow country tune. Smoke permeates through the air as couples hold each other close and the men spin their lovers around the wooden floor. You love two stepping, love the rustic feel of the bar, love the feel of your jean shorts and fitted cowboy boots. You just love being here on a Friday night in your favorite country bar called Cowboys.

You stir the straw slowly around in your mixed drink, your elbow leaning against the side of the dance floor, toes tapping on the bottom of the barstool. And as you watch the happy couples spin across the floor, you can’t help but wish that was you out there.

When was the last time you came here with a date? Maybe two years.

Sure, you’ve been asked to dance. Took a twirl around the room twice with some nice blonde guy that talked about his job and dogs. But it was just friendly and casual. Just a way to spin around the dance floor a couple of times. It wasn’t a perfect match with your cowboy lover. That’s someone you haven’t met yet.

Tonight, maybe you’d find someone. The one. A girl can dream, and that’s exactly what you do. Dream.

Another two songs fly by as you sip your fruity drink, watching couples come and go on and off the dance floor. A slow Morgan Wallen song floats through the packed room, your eyes roam around the bar, falling on the far right corner. Just when a couple spins out of the way, it clears your view to the opposite side of the dance floor. And oh my God, your heart drops out of your chest.

You nearly choke on the fruity liquid, your jaw dropping straight to the floor. There, right across the room, stands the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

He’s tall, well over six foot. His green button-up flannel clings to strong biceps, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick veins that spider down into massive hands. His hair is dark and sandy, silver threaded through his tousled curls and burrowing into the thick beard against his sculpted jawline. He’s tan, dark from working out in the sun, you think. And his eyes look like the color of chocolate almonds from what you can tell under the dim lights. And his smile. Jesus, it could light up an entire room.

Soft. He looks so soft the way he holds the flute of his beer bottle, the way his eyes light up every time he laughs with his friends. And God, you’d kill to see him smile at you like that.

You keep your gaze on him, staring like a child in a candy store, eyeing the last Hershey’s bar on the shelf. And it’s like your first school crush all over. You need to get a hold of yourself, but you just can’t. He’s too tempting, too smoldering, too perfect.

And in the next moment, his eyes are on you.

—

Sweat beads Joel’s forehead as he takes another swig of his beer, a chuckle leaving his lips as Tommy teases Maria and pulls her to his chest. She just laughs and kisses him on the cheek as he wraps her in his leather jacket. Joel wishes he had someone like that. Someone to love as much as Tommy loves her. Maybe someday he would.

“You gonna ask anyone to dance?” Tommy asks, his brown eyes trained on Joel.

“Eventually,” Joel mutters, sighing as he takes another generous sip of the strong alcohol.

“Better before the end of the night,” Tommy laughs, pulling Maria by the hand to the dance floor. Before Tommy turns away, he gives a brotherly shove to Joel’s shoulder and winks. “Pretty girl at twelve o’clock, straight across the room. Go get her, Joel.”

Just as Tommy leaves him with a confused expression, he looks up and freezes the minute he spots you. He gulps and sets his beer on the table, his fingers curling into the wooden tabletop, eyes wide when your eyes meet his.

Big, glittering, beautiful eyes swallow him whole, the swirling lights making them glow even brighter. He catches his breath and has it knocked right back out of his chest again as a shy smile curls against your glossy red lips. He thinks he just fell in love.

Your pretty hair falls in long waves down your shoulders; your low-cut tank top sticking to your sun kissed skin shining under the bright spotlight. It’s like an angel sits before him, and he’s mesmerized. Your tight denim shorts hug your curves, and your tan boots with embroidered butterflies scuff against the barstool. Your pretty eyes flick down to your drink and back up to him repeatedly, sweetly beckoning to him to come ask you to dance.

Shy, sweet, adorable, beautiful. He picks all this out just by looking at your pretty face. And you’re just his type of girl; he already knows it. He thinks you were made just for him to find tonight.

It goes on like clockwork for the next few songs. Shy smiles, locked eyes, hesitation permeating through the thick, smoky air. But he won’t hesitate for long. No. He wants to know you, to dance with you, to take you out, maybe show you his ranch.

He just has to have you. And he will. You’ll be his by the end of the night.

After an encouraging slap on the back from Tommy, he takes one more glance your way and hands his tan cowboy hat to Tommy. Right now he only has one task at hand, and that is to ask the pretty girl to dance. So, he swallows all his nerves and walks across the room, right through the sea of endless bodies.

Right to you.

—

Your cheeks burn hot as you lock eyes again; a flirtatious game you’ve been playing for the past two songs. You practically feel on fire with the way your body reacts every time he looks at you.

Maybe he’ll ask you to dance. You hope he does because you have a feeling being in those big, strong arms would be like jumping into a freshly made bed after a long day at work. Warm and cozy and made just for you.

You bite your bottom lip and laugh as your head drops to the scuffed-up wood, a loose curl falling over your shoulder. How can you already like someone this much when you don’t even know them? Sounds pretty silly, but it gives you tingles in your feet just the same.

This is a good sign.

When you look back up, your heart drops to the floor when you don’t see the handsome man standing across the room anymore. You slide further down in your chair and sigh, letting all the hope fizzle out of your tired body.

He left. You just wanted one dance. That’s all you wanted. One fucking dance.

You sigh quietly and look back out at the spinning bodies on the dance floor, shaking off the growing tears in your eyes. Just when you think one might drop, your body freezes when you hear a husky, deep voice being cleared next to you. When you turn to look at who just interrupted your sulking session, you nearly fall off the barstool.

It’s him. The man with the pretty brown eyes.

“Hi.” His deep voice floats through your ears like a dream, and the music seems to disappear altogether.

“Uhh—hi,” you stammer out, your mouth agape as you watch a small smile curl against his inviting lips.

“‘M sorry if this comes off as rude. But what’s a girl like you doin’ sittin’ on the sidelines, darlin’?” His thick Southern accent drawls out, and your eyes immediately widen when you hear how deep and staccato it sounds. You think you could listen to it all night long.

Darlin’. He called you darlin’.

Your words fail you, so you just brush off his apology and smile. “Can’t a girl enjoy a drink?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, a tousled curl falling into his forehead. You want to brush it back for him. That soft looking sandy hair. “Well, sure ya can. Didn’t answer why you’re sittin’ over here by yourself, though.”

“My friends are dancing,” you shrug, spinning your straw nervously in your drink, letting the liquid slosh around the sides.

“Now how come a pretty thing like you ain’t out there with ‘em? Hmm?” His thick eyebrows raise in question, and another dreamy smile meets his face.

God, he’s so handsome.

“Oh, I dunno. Was just watching,” you answer nonchalantly, not pointing out the fact that they’re all taken and you’re not.

He hums to himself, his eyes flicking to the dance floor and back to you after a few seconds. “You wanna dance?” he asks softly, his chocolate eyes sparkling in the hope that you’ll say yes.

“Huh?” you say off guard, your eyes wide at the question.

He just asked you to dance.

“Do you wanna dance with me?” he asks again, nudging the side of your boot with his own worn leather boot.

“You’re asking me to dance?” you question.

“Ain’t that what I asked?” he chuckles, causing your stomach to somersault with the way his infectious laugh is making you feel. All warm and tingly.

“Oh. I umm—okay,” you smile shyly, looking up through your long eyelashes at him.

“Is that a yes, darlin’?” he asks with a big smile.

“Yes, I’d love to,” you confirm with a nod.

“Well, c’mon then.” He holds out his open palm, and you don’t hesitate to take it.

Warm. He’s so warm. Rough, calloused hands that hold yours perfectly. A match made in heaven.

He leads you to the middle of the dance floor, careful not to get in the way of any other couples. And then he slowly slips a hand around your waist, the other securely latched to your hand, his fingers laced through yours. And when he starts to lead the dance, you follow right after him.

The bright lights land over him, putting his beautiful eyes right on display for you. Your breath catches when you see how soft his eyes are. Dark brown like the color of honey and onyx flecks swirling in his irises that hypnotize you to him. He’s absolutely beautiful. You’ve never seen eyes as pretty as his; ones that draw you right in. And the way he’s looking at you, all soft and like he’s looking at the most beautiful girl in the world makes your knees a little wobbly.

The neon signs on the walls glow in the distance, the melodic tune of a Scotty McCreery song floats in the background while couples dance around you. Joel leads you around the dance floor, holding you tight and never once stepping on your feet.

You scuff your boot over his toes out of nervousness, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He just chuckles and pulls you closer to where you can feel his steady heartbeat against your chest, his brown eyes staring into yours like he’s enamored by you. But he’s got your full attention, and you’re so into him already.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks, his Southern drawl completely melting you at the sweet sound. You tell him yours and when your name slips off his tongue, you nearly fall to your knees in awe.

“And yours? What’s yours, Cowboy?” you ask over the loud couple that whips around you.

“Cowboy, huh? Already got a nickname for me, sweetheart?” he chuckles, eyes lighting up at the nickname like he wants you to say it again. And maybe you will.

“Maybe so,” you giggle, relaxing into the dance as he spins you around in circles, the lights following your movements.

“The name’s Joel. Joel Miller.” He tips his head and gives you a big smile. You can’t help but giggle every time he smiles at you. It’s like you’re in first grade all over, and Joel’s the new, cute boy that’s caught your attention in class.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Joel.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he smiles, keeping you close to his warm body. You let out another nervous giggle, and it just makes him smile wider like he’s addicted to your laugh.

“I like your laugh, darlin’. Could listen to it all night,” he sighs dreamily, chocolate eyes melting as he looks intensely at you, honing in on just you while the rest of the room disappears. Your breath hitches for just a second, and then you melt right back into him.

“Well, I like your brown eyes,” you lull, your eyes locked on his pretty pools of honey. You giggle when he blushes, and then a dimple indents into his left cheek when he smiles. And God, you think you just fell in love.

“And your smile. I love your pretty smile. It lights up a room, darlin’. And you lit up the whole damn bar tonight,” he drawls, his warm breath fanning over your open mouth, gawking at this handsome gentleman.

He’s fucking perfect.

He lifts his arm and spins you around in a complete circle, his large hand finding your hip again and pulling you back into his broad chest. And there you are, completely breathless again.

“So, Cowboy. What made you want to come ask me to dance?” you ask, curiosity circling in your wide eyes.

“Saw you from across the room, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off you,” he answers honestly with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Me?” you ask, taken aback.

“Yes, you,” he chuckles as he guides you across the polished dance floor.

“There’s a hundred other girls in here who’ve had their eyes on you all night,” you scoff in a playful way.

“Oh? Is that so?” An eyebrow lifts in piqued interest, but his eyes still don’t leave yours. They stay glued to you.

“Mhm,” you hum in confirmation.

“That means you’ve been watchin’ me too, ain’t that right?” he smirks devilishly, his brown eyes darkening just slightly.

“No I—no. That’s not…” you stutter, at a loss for words. You were watching him. Ever since you saw him across the room; that damn smile that has your head spinning.

“S’alright, sweetheart. Wasn’t tryin’ to get you all flustered now,” he chuckles, obviously trying to get you flustered. He doesn’t have to try hard because you’re already overly flustered.

“I’m not flustered,” you scoff, your cheeks burning hotter with every second his chocolate eyes are on you.

“No? Well, you’re pretty cute when you’re blushin’, darlin’. Maybe I want you flustered,” he grins, a beautiful smile curling against his plush lips.

“Careful, Cowboy. You might be the one blushing next,” you tease, narrowing your eyes playfully in response.

“I’d like to see you try, sweetheart,” he challenges, his eyes growing into a soft syrupy color you want to drown in.

“Maybe I will, brown eyes,” you say with the flash of a smile.

“Brown eyes, huh? Kinda like the sound of that.” His pretty eyes are genuine when he says it, like it’s the best thing you’ve said this whole dance. And the pink that marinates around his dark scruff tells you enough. He does like it.

You smirk in knowing and wink playfully his way, creating a deeper blush on his tanned skin. It makes your heart skip a beat. “Good, now you’re the one blushing.”

He shakes his tousled curls and sighs, his eyes alight with an enamored glow. “Christ, you’re adorable.”

“If you say so, Cowboy,” you say, letting him continue the dance even though there’s a new song booming from the overhead speakers.

He wraps his large hand tighter against your waist, and you let his other gently glide up and down the back of your hand. A caress that’s laced with care.

“I do say so, sweetheart,” he chuckles warmly. “But you wanna know the real reason why I asked you to dance?”

You keep your eyes trained on the glow of his and squint carefully. “Tell me.”

He takes a deep breath and smiles shyly. “The reason I asked you is ‘cause I thought you were the prettiest girl in the room.”

Your mouth gawks open in shock. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl in the room? Wow. “Me? Are you sure you picked the right girl?”

“Yes, you,” he nods, his thumb stroking against your soft skin. An affirmation of what? Care, admiration, love?

“You think I’m… pretty?” you ask hesitantly, your voice quiet and meek. He can’t think you’re the prettiest girl. There’s no way.

“Mhm. Gorgeous. And your eyes. Absolutely beautiful, sweetheart. They make the lights in here look dim with how bright yours shine.”

You stare in amazement at him, eyes as wide as an owl’s gawking at the man with pretty brown eyes who swept you off your feet. You’re falling into places you’ve never been, and you’re quite scared of how many feelings are bubbling up inside you already. But at this moment, you don’t care. All you can do is stare at him affectionately as he spins you around the room.

He’s perfect.

“So, what does a pretty girl like you do for work, sweetheart?” he asks, molton brown eyes glazing into yours, making you audibly gasp how pretty they are.

“I’m a vet assistant.”

“Vet assistant, huh? You ever work on cattle, by chance?” His wide brown eyes are full of hope, and a smile tugs at his lips.

“Unfortunately no. Just dogs and cats mostly. Why? You got some cattle, Cowboy?” Your eyebrow arches, and a mischievous smirk curls over your mouth.

He chuckles and nods his head. “As a matter of fact, I do. I own a ranch,” he says proudly, standing a little taller, making your face hurt from smiling so damn much at him.

“So you are a Cowboy. I knew it,” you giggle. “What kind of animals do you have?”

“Tons,” he says, the neon lights glowing over his tousled curls. “Horses, cows, bulls, chickens, sheep, dogs, and the list goes on.”

“My, my. You got your hands full. Don’t you, Cowboy?” you blush, fluttering your eyelashes flirtatiously up at him. You like him even more now.

“Reckon I do,” he chuckles, his thumb tracing light circles against the back of your hand, eliciting goosebumps down your arms.

“Too full to handle one more thing?” you question, giving him your best puppy dog eyes that you can manage.

He shakes his head and smiles warmly. “If that one thing is you then ‘course not. Got all the room for you, darlin’.”

Your eyes soften into liquid and your head is spinning as you stare at this beautiful man. You’re already falling head over heels, and you think he is too.

“You ever ride a horse before?” he asks, tilting his head like he’s assessing you.

You shake your head in response. “I mean, when I was little I rode on a pony. But a horse? No. Can’t say that I have.”

“You wanna learn? Got a stallion back at home that has your name on the saddle.” His smile is breathtaking, just like his honey-colored eyes. Your heart gallops in your chest like hooves pounding on the ground. He wants to teach you how to ride?

“You really plan on teaching me?” Your eyebrows pinch together, hesitation stuck on your tongue.

He nods, a fleeting smile meeting his beautiful eyes. “Consider it our first date, darlin’. Gonna turn you into a little cowgirl.”

“Oh, a cowgirl, huh? Is that what I’m going to be?” you giggle flirtatiously, and he picks right back up on it as he winks at you.

“S’right. My cowgirl.”

My cowgirl.

Your heart gets stuck in your throat, words lodged deep inside. So you do what you can do. Smile and trace your fingertips across his broad shoulder, letting the soft flannel graze against your smooth skin.

As the song slows to a halt, you find the opportunity to wrap both of your arms tightly around his neck, nuzzling your face into the soft fabric of his flannel. His arms circle your hips, and one hand gently runs up and down your lower back, sending electricity zapping through your nerve endings.

You smell him now. His woodsy cologne, the hint of sweet beer on the tip of his tongue, faint scents of smoke on his collar, the scent of leather in the air. He smells like your favorite scent all mixed together, combined into the perfect formula to get you drunk off him. And you’d gladly get drunk off him.

“Lady May” by Tyler Childers plays through the speakers; the slow song sending the mood of the bar into a romantic, all consuming type of way. Love’s permeating through the air, and you can feel it everywhere. It tingles in your toes, brushes like a breeze through your hair, spirals down the back of your spine, floods your heart with warmth you’ve never felt before, makes your eyes sparkle like starlight through the bright lights, landing right in the palm of Joel.

Put your toes down in the water. And a smile across your face. And tell me that you love me. Lovely Lady May.

He pulls you closer, where your chin is tucked against the crook of his neck, his woodsy cologne making you feel a bit dizzy.

Now I ain’t the sharpest chisel that your hands have ever held. But, darling, I could love you well.

Lovely lady May.

His lips brush over the crown of your head, his fingertips lighting your nerve endings on complete fire, sparks igniting in his caramel eyes. The way he’s looking at you makes you think he’s already in love with you. And maybe you’ve already fallen in love with him, too.

As the music slows, he dips you low, not daring to let your back touch the scuffed-up wood. When he pulls you back up, he brings you flush to his broad chest, and his scent is everywhere.

His brown eyes sparkle like glitter, shooting stars that only you can make a wish on in the clear night sky. And his smile. My God, you’ve never seen anything as beautiful as him before.

He gently brushes a loose curl behind your ear, lingering his calloused fingertips down your jawline, ending right under your chin where he stills. The room melts away, the noisy crowd disappearing as the song completely takes a hold of you.

But I’m baptized in your name. Lovely Lady May.

His thumb slowly traces your bottom lip, leaving invisible marks that’ll stick like permanent ink, branding you as his own. The way he’s staring at you all soft and deeply makes you melt into him even more.

One more trace, one more shy smile, and he’s asking. “Darlin’?”

“Yes?” you ask breathlessly.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his Southern drawl sounding lovestruck and angelic. “And thank you for allowin’ me to dance with the prettiest girl in the room. But there’s jus’ one more thing I’d like to do.” His mouth drops a little lower, and your breath hitches.

“And what’s that?” you ask, lilting at his soft smile.

“I’d really like to kiss you…” he breathes, his deep timbre shaky as his brown eyes melt into you.

You lean up on your tiptoes, blowing your breath over his open lips. “Then kiss me, Cowboy…” you whisper out.

He cups your face the next second and leans in, crashing his lips down on yours without any hesitation. And he draws you in like a moth to a flame.

His lips are soft like velvet, and he tastes like your new favorite flavor. Blue moon, sweet and savory with a hint of smoke and mint marinating on his tongue.

And then your lips become his as you fall like rain into his kiss.

Mint. Blue Moon. Smoke. Velvet. Cedar Wood. Leather.

He’s all you know now.

You stay like that for minutes, connected like webs to each other in the middle of the dance floor as couples swirl in a colorful blur around you. When the two of you finally disconnect from each other’s lips, a big smile curls against his mouth and his pretty brown eyes look like they’re laced with love the longer he looks at you.

He brushes his thumb against your lower lip and leans in close, his lips tracing the shell of your ear. “You taste like mine, darlin’.”

And that’s when you fall head over heels for the Cowboy that snatched your heart and made you his own.

He pulls you in for another dance, and you let him lead you through another song which turns into another and another and another. You lose count. All you know is that you’d dance all night with him if you could.

After over an hour of twirling around the dance floor with him, he buys you a drink and leads you over to two barstools. You end up with your legs sprawled over his lap, his fingertips tracing lines over your thighs, his lips brushing over your cheek while he places his cowboy hat on top of your head, claiming you as his own.

You end up meeting Joel’s brother, Tommy, and his wife, Maria. And you spend all night laughing and flirting with Joel while you bond over music and shared interests. Turns out you have a lot in common.

It’s the way his smile stops your heart and his brown eyes that send your head spinning. It’s the way he calls you his girl and the way he can’t keep his hands off you for even a second. You’ve never been this wrapped up in a guy before, but you’ve never met a handsome gentleman like Joel. A cowboy that won your heart over the second he looked at you.

He ends the night by driving you home, walking you up to your door, pulling you against his broad chest as his thumb traces lightly against your skin affectionately. You don’t want to say goodnight.

“So, pretty girl. How ’bout I pick you up at 4:00 o’clock tomorrow? Can give you your first ridin’ lesson, maybe watch the sunset from the back of my truck. Can tell you how beautiful you look under the stars,” he drawls, his brown eyes sparkling under the moonlight.

He has you reeled in, pulling you in like he just lassoed his way into your heart.

“Quite the romantic type. Aren’t you, Cowboy?” you blush, lacing your fingers through his tousled curls.

“That I am,” he chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulls you tighter against him. “So, what do ya say, Cowgirl? You gonna let me take you on that date?”

“Pick me up at 4:00, and I’m all yours.”

“All mine?” he smiles, his warm breath fanning over your lips.

“All yours,” you confirm.

He pulls you in for a slow, romantic kiss, letting it linger as the stars twinkle above your porch. You’re never going to get tired of his kisses, his soft Southern drawl, his big brown eyes. You’re only going to grow more in love with him every day. And you’ll let it grow like a wildfire that consumes you whole.

This was only the beginning. The beginning of a perfect summer love that would never fade away.

Tags for those that were interested: @mountainsandmayhem @alltheirdamn @lotusbxtch @almostfoxglove @burntheedges

@jasminedragoon @inept-the-magnificent @magpiepills @almostempty @aurorawritestoescape

@milla-frenchy @pedrospatch @thundermartini @lanaispunk @sawymredfox @ace-turned-confused

@stylesispunk @there1snothingleft4u @littlevenicebitch69 @tuquoquebrute @ajw-23

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #Cowboy!Joel #joel miller fic #cowboy #no use of y/n #no outbreak au #joel miller fluff #tropeoff2024

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writing-mlm · 10 months ago

Note

jason todd x reader please 😔

The ShopKeep and the Hobbyist [J.T]

Summary: Jason's been going to this bookstore for long enough that he's developed a bit of a reputation with them. If only the cute cashier would understand he's trying to flirt but as fate would have it, one knife chase later, and maybe they're more than worker and costumer. Pairing: Jason Todd x Male!Reader WC: 7.3k TW: use of fag but its a quote

Jason traveled out of Gotham once a week, always on a Sunday, always to the same location for three entire hours. Everyone knew that Sunday from noon to four— accounting for traffic and eating out that might happen, that Jason was absolutely unavailable. Unless you physically went to track him down.

But that’s yet to happen.

It’s Sunday and Jason arrived at the normal spot earlier than usual. Traffic was amazing, no accidents on the way out of Gotham, and the highway was thankfully void. He parked his bike in his normal spot, right in front of the store, and lifted the visor to the helmet before heading inside.

The Open Book had always welcomed Jason, even when the shop was closed in the middle of a blizzard. And he helped where he could (Wayne Enterprises always made a large monthly donation to the shop and for some odd reason, someone had gifted the shop a fake bird that is able to stop any thefts(odd)).

“New shipment came in today,” The store owner's grandson greeted him, leaning across the counter to grab at the basket of free candies the shop offered. “Snagged this vintage-looking book collection for ya.” Ever since word that a Wayne kid visits the bookshop, sales have grown so it’s hard keeping certain items in stock. Especially the fancy-looking titles.

“Do tell,” He grabs a bite-sized chocolate and rips the packet open while you set your lollipop wrapper into your apron pocket before ducking under the counter.

“Shits heavy,” You grunt, slamming the box onto the table and read the label. “Uhh, ‘William Shakespeare, Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies. Published According to the True Originall Copies, 1623.’ Original is spelled wrong, though,” You look up at him and pause at his wide-eyed, clearly shocked expression.

“Shakespeare fan?” You ask, opening the flap to the box. “There’s a bunch of them in here. I think this was someone’s collection.”

“Do you know how much it’s worth?” Jason laughs, peering into the box, and then whistles.

“Probably a hundred at the most,” You shrug and he slaps the table with a loud Ha! that makes you look at him, crossing his arms. “Fifty?”

“Try nine mil,” The lollipop falls from your mouth as you look from Jason to the book collection.

“For all of it?” You gape.

“For the top book,” He corrects. “Thank god you snagged it before someone who cared did.”

“Yeah,” You sigh, staring at the book and taking in all of the details. That’s more than you’ll ever make in a lifetime. “What should I do? Do you want it?”

“Want it like I need air,” He admits, handing you another lollipop. “But you should probably auction it, get a stack and whatnot.”

“Grams would get pissed,” You shake your head and slide the box towards him. “Believes books should be read, not stored as an artifact, yknow? Think she marked this box as a hundred, want me to ring it up?” He looks at you and takes his helmet off so you can fully see his are you stupid? look that’s plastered on his face.

“(Y/n),” Jason slides the box back. “This is worth more than every single book in here!” And as much as he pained Jason to say that, he knew it was true. With over two entire floors filled with books, they were but a drop in the bucket compared to that singular box sitting between the two of you.

“It’s just paper and ink,” You shrug, staring at the box. “Besides, she’d get mad if I did and I can’t exactly hide nine million dollars!” Sighing through his nose, he agrees to buy the box and has you set it aside while he goes about shopping.

“You’re staring,” Someone tells him as they walk past and his head spins around to see who it is. It’s one of your younger sisters, around twelve or thirteen, if he remembers right.

“Wasn’t,” He tells her and picks up a book. “I was looking at this book!” She turns back to him and raises her eyebrows at the title before grinning.

“Didn’t take you as an Ice Breaker fan,” She chides and walks away while Jason stares at the book. It could’ve been basically any other book. Putting the book back, Jason returns to his actual book shopping which only takes ten or so minutes. He knows his bag is going to be heavy with the Shakeseapre books so he can’t get too many other books this week.

“Light load,” You comment, scanning the books. “You bought this one a month ago, too.” You note, holding off on scanning A Good Girls Guide to Murder.

“My sister wants to read it,” He explains, flipping through the pages. “And she likes to dogear pages.” Cringing, you scan the book and read him his total before leaning against the counter. It’s a large enough counter that most of your body can rest against it while he pays while you use your phone to order some lunch.

“That place sucks ass,” Jason comments as he’s putting his card away. You roll your eyes and look up at him.

“I’m hungry as shit and there’s no good places around within a reasonable price, this place has decent grilled cheeses.” You justify and he finishes paying.

“What would you have gotten?” He muses, leaning against the counter so the two of you are face to face. Staring at the sad picture of a grilled cheese you huff.

“Five guys,” You admit, looking back at him. He nods, silently urging you to continue while looking you up and down, his eyes slowly moving. You also don’t notice it or the small smile on his face when you don’t move away from him. “Strawberry milkshake and grilled cheeseburger.” You finished.

“No fries?” He asks and you shake your head.

“I don’t really eat fries from there,” You admit, fiddling with the skin around your nails.

“Sounds good,” He tilts his head a bit, grinning so his canines are showing. He watches as your eyes dip once and then twice to his lips before they finally stay on his face.

“It’s fucking good. An arm and a leg, but still,” Standing up, you groan and stretch. He stands up too and puts on his helmet. You watch and wait for him to dip his head down before giving his head two pats. For good luck, of course.

When he leaves, you return to your seat and look over the shop. There’s a dozen or so people inside, some people who are clearly not there for books as they’re recording those random interviews with the tiny microphones and such. You should really stop them, maybe put up a sign or something. But they’re leaving anyway. So it doesn’t really matter.

“Did you kiss?” Your sister asks, walking over to grab one of the candies.

“Girl,” Your face scrunches and she tosses the wrapper at you but it falls short.

“Just saying, seemed awfully close.” She shrugs. “I would’ve made a move on him a long time ago.”

“You’re ten.” Huffing, she huffs back and puts her hands on her hips.

“Nineteen,” She corrects. Making a talking motion with your hand, she smacks it away and throws a fireball candy at you. “That’s why you’re forty and a virgin!”

“Neither of those are true,” You stress, tossing the candy back into the bowl. “And didn’t you just get dumped by some loser who said he’d absolutely eat a turducken covered in chocolate?” She rolls her eyes and walks behind the counter to sign into work.

“I dumped him,” She corrects. “Unlike your failed relationship with the guy who wanted you to pretend to be a woman.”

“Too low,” You sigh, shaking your head. “Too low.”

—

With your lunch break in full swing, you’re upstairs in the break room watching some crappy straight-to-DVD movie your father had bought years back while eating the very sad grilled cheese when the door opens. Half expecting it to be another family member, you don’t look away from the TV and give a small hey but when no one replies you look towards the door and hum surprised to see Jason there. Even more so on who let him in

“Missed me?” You grin, watching as he closes the door behind him and rolls his eyes.

“Little delivery,” He corrects and motions for you to turn back to the movie. You do, albeit a bit hesitant to do so, but you try not to look back when you hear him getting closer. “Close your eyes, too.” He adds when you look as far back as you can without turning your head. Groaning, you cover your eyes with your hand just to prove you’re not peeking and hear him set something down on the spot next to you.

“See you next week!” He pats your back before snatching the half-eaten grilled cheese from your hand and you take it as a sign you can open your eyes. You’re not even upset he’s eating your lunch, it wasn’t good. Looking at what he had set down, you see the familiar white and red bag and crack a smile.

“You got me Five Guys?” Your head whips to the door but it’s already shutting and you can hear his heavy boots quickly running down the stairs. Turning back to the bag, you pull your phone out and scroll to find his contact.

Thank you

we feast tonight

The two of you don’t text much, mostly if he had forgotten something in the shop or given him a heads-up that the bookstore was closed for the day. Hell, his contact name is still Jason (bookstore fav). But he reads it immediately and thumbs up the last text.

This grilled cheese sucks by the way

It feels like plastic

Probably is lol

While Jason is very much a regular at the shop, you don’t really remember when he first started to frequent the shop. Just that one Sunday, you had seen the time and noticed he was late to the shop. He’d come in almost three hours later than he normally did and watched as you sighed, tossing his favorite candy at him before ushering him to the counter. He listened as you told him that next time he is late he needs to text or you’d send out an amber alert yourself.

He truly hadn’t thought anyone had noticed the change in his routine. Especially someone he only saw once a week. It had been a really shitty night for him and an ever-shitter morning, feeling like a ghost wandering through Gotham, living in a life he never should have.

He apologized with a grin and gave you his number. He also spent a little extra time in the shop, loving the familiar smell around him. He loves the bookstore more than he loves his guns, more than he loves most things really. It’s the only normal thing in his life and truly, Jason doesn’t know what he’d do without it. Without you, honestly. He’s only ever there when you are and a place is only as welcoming as the people inhabiting it.

Which is why he’d picked up the 2 am phone call so fast.

“Jason?” You whisper shout into the phone. He can hear some harsh wind and some distant shouts in the background, but it took much less than that for him to abandon his patrol and start over to you. “Shit— I’m sorry but I don’t know who else to call.” You add, the clarity hitting that during an emergency you called the guy who lived nearly half an hour away on a good day.

“It’s okay, doll,” He replies and you dare to glance behind you. Maybe they’d given up by now, but no. “What’s wrong?” He asks as you round a corner. “Where are you?” He quickly adds and you glance at the road signs.

“Uhh, heading towards Second Ave and Belcher Street. My friend's boyfriend thinks she’s cheating with me and him and his friends are chasing me,” You explain.

“Guns?” He asks, already leaving the Gotham border.

“No,” You huff, the strain of running heavy on your chest. “Just knives.”

That’s good, he tells himself. Distance is what you should be focusing on. But he knows that the regular person cannot run for nearly as long as he can and realistically, you’re bound to get tired much sooner than multiple people.

“Is there a crowd nearby?” You can hear some muffling to his voice but that’s honestly the least of your issues. “Maybe a club or hospital.” He adds when you don’t respond fast enough.

“No,” You strain. “Just apartments and shit. God, fuck! Do you think I should climb the fire escape?” There are several ahead of you, and one of them is low enough for you to grab.

“Can you?” He asks.

“Yeah— yeah,” Jumping up, you pull yourself up and start climbing up to the roof. “Shit, I’m really high up,” You pant, daring to look over the edge and see the guys climbing up. “They’re climbing up,” You tell him, quickly backing away and trying to find an exit. What type of roof doesn’t have a fucking exit?

“I’ve seen people jump from roof to roof,” You're thinking out loud at this point, trying to find some type of solution to your stupid idea. “Can’t be that hard, right?”

“Depends on the distance,” He truthfully tells you and you look at the two nearby roofs.

“Definitely too far. I’m fucked.”

“Still on Second and Blecher?” He asks and you mutter a yeah when you see them reach the roof.

“They’re up,” You mumble. “I could jump and live, yeah?” Glancing to your left, you see a dumpster and reassure yourself that you’d be fine.

“Do you think you can come back down the fire escape?” He asks. “Is there one behind the building?” Looking behind you, you let out a loud sigh.

“Yeah— yes, heading down.” Rushing down as fast as you can, you reach the ground as they’re in the middle and run back into the main road.

“Head back down the way you came,” Jason instructs. He’s only five minutes away at this point, maybe three if he tries hard enough. He just needs you to buy five more minutes.

“Okay,”

Running for what felt like an eternity, your legs are burning and your chest is tight. Maybe that one time you lied during your physical exam was coming back to bite you.

But they’re still chasing you and Jason is still guiding you. You’re sure you’re about to pass out when a motorcycle drifts in front of you.

“Red Hood?” You gape, panting. The fuck?

“Come on,” You hear him and Jason say. You’ll worry about that once you’re away from those absolute track-and-field freaks chasing you. Getting on the motorcycle, he holds your thigh with one hand before pulling off.

The ride is silent as you’re catching your breath and just making sure you’re okay in general. Aside from the insane burn in your calves, you’re fine. The ride does a lot to calm you down, by the time he reaches the shop your head is pressed to his back and you’re holding him not as tight as you were before.

“I don’t know your address,” He admits and you laugh into his back. After all that happened it’s a little humorous that your biggest issue is Jason getting your address. You give it to him and it takes him a second but he has the route mapped out before he pulls back onto the street.

“I’m staying the night.” He tells you as you get off of the bike. You don’t protest, not in the slightest. You’re far too tired to do so anyway. Instead, you wave him over and head upstairs. He tries to hide his helmet from the camera view but you tell him they don’t work.

“This guy got robbed two days ago; whole building found out the cameras are fake,” You explain while leaning against the elevator wall.

“And you feel safe?” He incredulously asks, looking you over. Even buildings in Gotham have working cameras.

“I have a gun,” You shrug while he looks at you with more of an analyzing gaze, a little surprised you’d have a gun. “And no valuables. My electronics are all secondhand for that exact reason.”

“So, steal the couch?” He jokes.

“If it can fit through the door, it’s yours!” Patting his arm, you exit the elevator and fish out your keys. Thankfully you hadn’t dropped them during the chase.

“What happened?” He asks as soon as you close and double lock the door. Looking at him, you drop your phone and keys onto the kitchen island before heading back to the door.

“My friend, Gina,” You start with a sigh, kicking your shoes off. “She used to be my beard in high school. But we never officially broke up, I guess because she posted a story saying happy six-year anniversary. With a bunch of pictures of us together. Her boyfriend saw and he’s always been…” Rolling your hand, you open your closet and grab a new outfit. “He thinks I’m lying ‘bout being gay. Because I’m too… I dunno what he thinks. But he says I don’t look gay and he’s never seen me with a guy before.” You explain with a huff. “Not my fault I’ve been single for two years, y'know. I got school and work and whatever!” Slamming the closet shut, you sigh and apologize.

“I’m gonna take a shower, feel free to snoop and prod. And take the boots off, I just moped.”

“Course,” He doesn’t move an inch as he unties his boots and walks to the shoe rack to set them down. You thank him and head into the bathroom.

“If you gotta piss or shit, go ahead. I got a curtain and a strong scent blaster plugged in.” You tell him at the doorway to the bathroom.

“Noted.” He laughs but it drops once the door closes.

He finds himself making sure the windows are locked and the curtains are properly drawn. He grabs his phone and saves your address into his personal map before he goes to check to see what type of security measures you have. And there’s not many, just a gun that’s badly hidden in your bedside table and the extra lock on the door.

But there’s not much to the apartment, the decor is extremely minimal but he remembers you talking about saving to buy a house in the countryside. Or at least outside of a city. Own land and all that.

He can’t decide if that’s good or not, there’s nothing to steal for sure, but it’s also really sad. There’s no personal touch to your apartment, it reminds him of one of his safe houses.

He settles himself into the couch once he’s checked over everything, listening to the sounds of the shower and eventually, he hears the shower turn off.

When you return to the living room in a pair of shorts, you’re a little surprised that Jason is still there.

“Bruce Wayne as Batman makes a lotta sense,” Opening the fridge, you pull out two water bottles before setting them on the counter.

“(Y/n),” Jason stops that conversation. “You should file a police report.”

“Fuck is that gonna do?” You huff, closing the fridge and opening the freezer to grab a popsicle. “Gina will hate me, cops will just forget to file it, and then I get harassed.”

“They tried to kill you,” He stresses, blocking you from moving away from the fridge. You stare at him, a little upset that he’s caring so much. You feel bad for even calling him and sending him out of his way. And now he’s staying for who knows how long. Not to mention now you know his biggest secret— a family secret at that, one that you can tell one person, and suddenly the whole world knows.

“Happens every day,” You shrug but honestly, yeah, that shit scared you. His face drops and he snatches the popsicle from your hand before tossing it on the counter to your left.

“No. Not to you. Not to most people. So what if Gina hates you afterward? Do you want a friend that’s known you since high school who would rather side with her crazy boyfriend?”

“Of course not!” You groan. “But it’s Gina. She’s always been there and— and this is a one-time thing,”

“You sound ridiculous,” He tells you as he walks out of the small kitchen and into the living room. “Trying to kill someone isn’t a fucking one-off. It’s a crime, a legit crime. Has Gina even checked if you’re okay?” He points to the phone that’s still on the counter; the same phone he knows for a fact hasn’t buzzed once.

“No.” There's no need to check your phone, you already know there’s nothing from her. She’d never text you first. He nods as if to say there’s your answer.

“Look, Jason. It was scary as fuck,” You admit. “But I’m good. And I thank you, but you should go home. I just…” Looking off to the wall. “I don’t know why I called you, I feel like shit for dragging you away from your home.”

“I was spending my night watching Harley and Ivy dry hump in front of a newly exploded power plant. You didn’t take me away from shit.” He blinks before heading to the couch. “Besides, it’s too late to drive back. I’m beat,”

“You’re lying,” You deadpan, tossing a water bottle between your hands.

“Am I?” He fake yawns, leaning back on the couch. “Can I get a blanket?” Clearly, he’s not going to leave, and it would be bad as a host to not make him comfortable. Asshole.

“Fine,” He grins as you walk away.

“Oh and Jason, Gram’s told me about the payment plan you set up. Taking advantage of a woman who can’t speak English is rude. She thinks you’re paying five dollars a week for some back dues you owe.” It was actually five hundred thousand dollars a week, which was absurd but hey, if he insists.

“It’s just nine million,” He calls back. “Not even my money and B won’t notice it’s gone.”

Just nine million, you repeat to yourself as you find a suitable blanket. It’s one of those thick fur blankets with a tiger on the front.

“The couch is a pull-out, by the way.” Heading back into the living room, you tuck the blanket under your arm. “I’ve used it like once. It’s pretty comfortable unless you want the bed.” You add, setting the blanket on the edge of the couch. There’s no coffee table, you don’t see a reason for one.

“I can sleep on gravel, doll. I’m fine, thank you.” For some reason, his eyes are having a hard time staying on your face but you’re busy walking back into the kitchen to notice.

“If you’re hungry make anything, I’m going grocery shopping in two days anyway.” Tossing the popsicle back into the freezer, you lean against the counter and watch him. It’s a little staring contest you have going on. His eyelashes are nice, real pretty boy-esque.

The silence and tension in the apartment is broken by four rapid knocks to the front door followed by a worried: “(Y/n)?”

“Gina,” You tell Jason as he’s already off of the couch and halfway to the front door by the time you stand up straight. When you walk up behind him you pause, when did he have time to grab a gun? But he’s looking through the peephole before looking back to you and holding up two fingers. You almost laugh, this isn’t some military operation; just a… friend? at your door.

“Please,” Gina says through the door. “We just— K wants to apologize,” Huffing, you look at Jason who’s standing behind the door, one hand on the top lock. He truly doesn’t want to unlock it, but it’s your apartment. Your call.

“Says who?” K snaps, his voice a lot more muffled than hers is.

“You’re going to fucking apologize.” She snaps right back.

He raises an eyebrow and you nod to the door against your better judgment. He unlocks the door and stands in front of them, really standing over them with his damn height, the arm holding the gun hidden behind the door. You can basically hear Gina pause when she sees him.

“Who are you?” Gina asks, looking him up and down.

“A friend.” He answers simply and then looks over to you. “Your friend is here.”

“Thanks, Jay.” You smile and usher him into your bedroom with two quick glances. “Gina,” You greet a little harshly as you stand at the door. “Kyle.” You look at him for only a second.

“It’s K.” He corrects.

“Can we come in?” She asks, stepping forward. “I explained everything to K and he’s sorry.” She looks back at him and he’s just standing there with this stupid look on his face.

“Is he?” You ask, looking at Kyle. “Because when he was screaming: I knew you weren’t a fag; I’m gonna cut your dick off; stop running bitch; and since you wanna pretend you’re a fag come and taste our dicks he just didn’t seem real sorry.” She cringes, he hadn’t said that part through the yelling they were doing.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” She places a hand on the door, not that you were planning on closing it just yet. “Let us in and he’ll apologize.” Sighing, you look at her and frown. Between not even texting to see if you’re okay and then coming over with the audacity to think that a fucking apology would smooth things over, you were peeved.

“You’re losing one of us tonight. Him or me.” She takes a step back and frowns, her eyebrows knitting as your words settle in her. But at that moment, you knew the friendship was over. It shouldn’t ever take that long for an answer like that.

“(Y/n), he’s sorry!” She almost shouts, shouting as if you had given her this impossible task. You want to reply, you want to yell, and to get into it then and there. But it’s no use. Your neighbors are sleeping, you’re tired, and far from a mood where you want to interact with them. As such, you close the door and put the locks back on.

She shouts some things from the other side but you’re not listening as you enter your bedroom.

Jason was standing right next to the door, startling you. If he hadn’t been so close you wouldn’t have seen him in the darkness.

“Is that a requirement for vigilantes?” You ask, clutching your chest in an exaggeration. “Y’all are fucking spooky,” Tossing yourself onto your bed, you stare up at him.

“She’s still at the door,” He ignores the comment on his family business once again. Instead, his eyes trained on your front door, watching and waiting to see what their next move is going to be. You hope for their sake it’s leaving because his hand is still on the safety of his gun.

“Not like they can get in,” You shrug, laying flat on your back. “I never give my key to anyone and it takes a full round of bullets to break the door.”

“You know that how?” He asks, setting his gun down on the dresser.

“Last year my neighbor's crazy ex tried to break in but the door didn’t budge.”

“Of course,” His head dips back into the bedroom, watching you. “Sleep, I’ll be in the living room.”

“Okay,” Turning your head to look at him, you grin. “If you get nightmares, the bed is free.” Patting the empty space, Jason rolls his eyes with a grin and leaves the room. “Your gun?” You call after him, staring at the handgun still on your dresser.

“I have two more!” He calls back.

“How the fuck?” But he doesn’t answer.

—

The next morning you wake up to the sound of the front door closing. It stirs you, really, but you’re lucid enough to realize that hey, either Jason treated you like a one-night stand or someone had broken in.

Sitting up in the bed, you collect yourself for a moment and grab his gun on your way out. While you’re surely not as keen as Jason is, you like to think you’re observant enough. The door is locked again, so you figure he didn’t leave and someone didn’t break in.

“Jason?” You turn the corner to the kitchen and see him standing with a bag of Ihop, staring at you as if he’d gotten caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“Good morning,” His eyes flicker to the gun as you set it on the counter. A part of him is proud that you were hesitant enough to bring the gun with you. “I got breakfast.”

“Aw,” You grin. “Post hate crime meal!”

“That’s an insane sentence,” He tells you, unpacking what he had gotten. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got you blueberry pancakes, french toast, eggs, and bacon. And the orange juice,” He places two boxes and a large cup of orange juice in front of you, then the straw. But you’re just focused on the fact that you know for a fact that wasn’t a random order. You’d posted about that exact order once before. Maybe a month or so ago.

“Oh,” You hum, looking at the food and then at him. “That’s sweet. Thank you.” He hums back, dropping the bag down to the floor, and takes his food. He’d gotten strawberry pancakes, hash browns, an omelet, and a coffee.

Now you feel bad for not having a coffee table.

“Wanna watch something while we eat?” You point your thumb toward the living room and he nods.

While in the middle of watching Breaking Bad, you get up to set the empty containers in the sink and the cup in the trash while Jason watches. He doesn’t really know what to do, he wants to sleep, having stayed up the entire night in case anything happened but he’s enjoying his time with you. Even if the circumstances were… less than ideal.

“Do you work today?” He asks when you’re walking back.

“Depends if my sister calls out,” Sitting, you turn your body to look at him. “I work Wednesday through Sunday, most weeks, at least.”

“Are you going to make the report?” He also turns his body to you, watching as you toss your head back and sigh.

“Probably not,” You admit, looking back at him. “It’s more effort than I care to do,” He blinks, clearly disappointed but he’s not going to push.

“You should carry a weapon.” Jason’s not really asking, he’s telling you. “How good are you with a gun?”

“Not sure,”

“You bought a gun without training for it?” He asks, slowly as if he’s waiting for you to correct him and tell him that you actually go to the gun range in your free time.

“My dad got me it when I moved out.” You shrug, feeling a little ashamed because now he’s looking at you like you’re insane. “He said I needed protection and he doesn’t believe in mace or tasers.”

“Clearly you do!” He throws his hand up towards the door. “We’re going to the gun range today.”

“Jay!” You groan, nudging his leg with your foot. He grabs it and slides you down the couch. “I’m fine.” He just hums and leans over you, it doesn’t do much. Aside from shutting you up.

He’s staring at you, his eyes unwavering from yours while you can’t seem to settle on where to look. It’s making you nervous— he’s making you nervous. The proximity isn’t the biggest issue, no the issue is the fact that you don’t mind that he’s above you, his hand right next to your head, and for fucks sake his breathing is even.

“You’re going.”

“Yup,”

—

Weirdly enough, the shooting range wasn’t in some building. No, Jason had decided to drive the hour's ride to a private lot. While normally you don’t agree to be in the middle of butt fuck nowhere without your own means of leaving, you were willing to bend your rules this one time.

He has you help with setting up the cans and the body dummies, which are incredibly lifelike. A little creepy, but whatever floats his boat, you guess. He also puts up a new target sheet on a metal wall before he returns to hand you a handgun and ear mufflers.

“Don’t hold it like that,” He blinks as you’re pointing the gun directly at your foot. You’re not a fool, you’ve played a couple of shooter games before.

“The safety is on,” You justify but point it toward the ground instead. Just to keep him happy. He just sighs and grabs his own gun, pointing it toward the dummy.

“Stand like this,” He watches you from the corner of his eye as you mimic his stance. It’s a little uncomfortable but very technical. “A little straighter.” Fixing your posture he nods and drops his stance to adjust your grip on the gun. He takes your hands and adjusts them appropriately. “It’s not accurate for beginners, but I learned this way.” He explains as he steps behind you and lowers himself to your height. It’s hard when you’re not the same six foot-five that he is, but that’s neither here nor there.

With his line of sight that is the same as yours, he raises your hands a little higher and a little to the left. You trust his judgment, you’re no fool on how accurate Red Hood is with his guns.

It's silent, so silent that you can hear him breathing even through the heavy earmuffs. Whether you like it or not, you start to stop focusing on the task at hand and on him. He smells like your soap, too. It’s a little too domestic for the setting you’re in.

“Take it off of safety,” He instructs, taking two steps away. Doing as he says, you want to roll your shoulders back but you’re worried you’d lose the position. “Go ahead.” His arms cross as he stares ahead at the dummy and you catch the flex of muscle under his shirt.

Adjusting yourself as lowkey as you can, you close one eye and press the trigger. It's harder than you would’ve thought, giving you only a moment to back out. Following through, you let the recoil push you back a little before looking at the dummy. It didn’t hit the center of the head, instead grazing over the ear.

“Close,” Jason looks over at you as you’re rubbing your shoulder but stops when you catch him looking at you. “Again?”

—

“I mean,” One of your friends, Tasha, takes a long sip of her drink. “None of us wanted to say anything but Gina is a bitch.” Frowning, you push around your food with the back of your fork. What was supposed to be your friend group's monthly putting ended up becoming a major therapy session when they noticed that Gina wasn’t there.

“Yeah,” Dante gives you a sort of frown sort of smile. “But you’d been friends with her for longer than us, so it wasn’t really our place.”

“It’s crazy that it took her boyfriend trying to kill me to realize that, though.” It felt a bit weird, she’d always been in your life, and before the whole incident, you never would’ve thought you’d be without her. But life was the same, if not better with her gone. You didn’t realize how much you didn’t need her until now and honestly, you’re just upset it didn’t happen sooner.

Especially considering all of your other friends didn’t like her.

“Speaking of,” Alex cranes her neck to look at you. “Who’s Jason?” She grins as your eyes narrow. You’re not one to divulge about your life, especially over text.

“How do you know about him?” Setting your fork down, she snorts before digging back into her meal.

“Girl, I was the Uber Eats driver.” She explains and looks to the others who are clearly out of the loop. “My first order of the day, some guy named Jason with a blank profile. Whatever, right? I pick up the Ihop order— he knows your taste, cute.” She quickly adds. “And then, I get the address. I’m just thinking (Y/n) created a fake profile. Nah, bro!” She covers her mouth to stop her laughing and to stop any potential food from flying out of her mouth.

“I knock and this tall guy with this hot face scar opens the door. If he would’ve asked I would’ve taken the tip,” And she didn’t mean money.

“Clearly he already did!” Dante cackles, watching as you drown yourself in the soda you’d ordered. The others laugh while you have to do damage control.

“Jay’s a friend who happened to be in the neighborhood when Kyle was chasing me,” The three look at each other, ever aware of the fact that you’re staring at your plate while talking. They just assume the friend part is a lie. “And he spent the night. On the couch.” You add, looking at each of them to make sure that they understand.

“And ordered you breakfast in bed. And he left a hundred-dollar tip,” Alex swirls her pasta around her fork while the others gape at the news.

“Oh girl,” Tasha looks over at you. “He got a sister?”

“Too young for your old ass!” You laugh while she pretends to be offended. “His sisters are nineteen and eighteen.” You wondered if you should add Barbra to his list of family. But you think she’s more of an acquaintance than family. But you could be wrong.

“You know his family?” Tasha’s eyebrows furrow.

“I know of his family. Never met that before.”

“Ah, waiting for the one-year mark?” Alex nods as if she had caught the drift you are trying to get at.

“Oh my god,” Rolling your eyes, you lean back in your seat.

“What? You’re acting like you’re not attracted to that man. He’s fine as hell!” Alex pushes her hair behind her ear as she talks. “Might have to revoke your gay card.”

“I never said that, it’s just…” Rubbing your hands on your pants, your face scrunches. “He could be straight.” Now, you weren’t going to deny the fact that Jason was attractive. He was the embodiment of your personal preferences, but you were a chronic overthinker with these sorts of things. To the point where it needs to be spelled out for you to get any hints.

“He got you breakfast in bed.” Dante sounds out each word, putting an equal amount of extra emphasis on it. Just to make sure it really sinks in.

“I did that for you guys before!” You defend.

“Fine— fine, how do you know him?” Tasha asks and the others nod, happily awaiting your response.

“He comes into the shop every Sunday. He’s been coming for about four years, give or take.” You shrug and they blink at each other. This is why you’re still single.

“Isn’t he the one that bought you Five Guys last month?” Dante is now physically turned to you, his eyes wide and you grumble. You never told them about that.

“You’re lying,” Alex cackles. “That’s your man and you don’t wanna admit it. Five guys is expensive.”

“How about this?” Dante rolls his hand before you can even reply to Alex. “If one of Tasha’s friends got her an expensive lunch without asking, showed up to her job every single shift for four years, stayed with her after a traumatic night, got her breakfast, and didn’t leave until she was truly safe; how much platonic energy does that give you?”

“Not a lot, but—“

“Nah,” Dante holds your hands as he speaks. “I love you, so don’t take this the wrong way but you’re stupid as fuck. He wants you.”

“He wants the books I sell. And my friendship.”

“He wants to spread something other than pages.” He shakes his head and you snort. “Ask him out, if he says no. Then I owe you a grand.”

“You don’t have a grand.” You deadpan and he nods.

“I’m so sure he’ll say yes that I’m making that bet.”

“Fine,” You huff. “But if this ruins my friendship you all owe me lunch for a month.” Surprisingly, they all agree and you settle on asking him on the upcoming Sunday. So, the very next day.

—

“Why are your friends watching you?” Your sister asks as she walks behind you to grab one of the display books and swap it for a different one.

“Don’t worry about them,” You mutter, too busy watching the window; waiting for the motorcycle to stop in front of the store. She notices, of course, and stands behind you before deciding it was time to take her break and join your friends upstairs.

Eventually, you see his motorcycle pull up and sigh, fixing your apron but stop when you hear them snickering. This whole situation was stupid, that’s what you’ve decided. But you’ve made your bed, it was time to lie in it.

Jason walks in, his eyes immediately finding yours but you’re busy ringing someone up. He grabs the basket from the front of the shop and walks around the shop until he sees the line is gone.

“Jay,” You grin, holding onto the counter.

“(Y/n),” His eyes focus on your hands for a second before he grabs a chocolate from the basket. Glancing at your friends, you fix your posture and reassure yourself. “Anything new?” Typically, you’d already be talking about what’s new but there’s just this hanging silence.

“Nah,” You shake your head but still double-check the inventory log. “But we’re getting some um… science fiction stuff next week.” He’s not too big on those, maybe once in a blue moon he’ll actually buy one. He goes to talk but your phone dings before he can open his mouth. Watching as you grab your phone, your eyes scan over a text before you huff and silence it.

“I heard about…” You trail into a whisper. “The Riddler kidnapping, you okay?” Not the best way to lead into asking someone out, but hey. Could’ve been worse.

“I’m fine,” He nods. “Arms a little sore but I’ll live.”

“Long enough to go on a date with me?” You ask, a bit quicker than you intended but thankfully your words haven’t jumped up. He laughs, his eyes closing and you falter, glancing up at your friends for some type of support.

“That was a bold transition,” He settles himself down. “When are you free?”

“Oh shit, for real?” You grin. “I’m free Monday. Or whenever you are, really. My shifts are pretty flexible,”

“I’ll pick you up Monday,”

“I asked you on the date,” You huff. “I’m picking you up.” He crosses his arms and his eyes lower into a sort of unamused expression.

“You’ll pick me up, from Gotham?” He asks, just to make sure you know what you’d be signing up for. Truthfully, you hadn’t. And as such, you weigh your options— you don’t even have a car to offer to pick him up in. Damn.

“Fine, Monday at eight.” Giving in, he nods and glances around the shop.

“I don’t need a book today, see you tomorrow.” He looks you up and down, this time you watch as his eyes slowly drag down and tilt your head.

“Looking like you already wanna kiss me, Jay.” You joke as his eyes reach yours again.

“Since you offered.” He grins and sneaks one single kiss that lasts less than a second.

“I get off in thirty,”

#x male reader #x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x male reader #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x male reader

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suugarbabe · 1 year ago

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just friends | m.r. x reader

prompt: Can you do a Mattheo riddle friends to lovers. And Draco asks you out then Mattheo gets jealous and him and Draco have a fight and you help clean all his cuts and stuff? If you can’t that’s fine though ❤️

warnings: mentions of blood, angst, fluff

word count: ~1.5k

a/n: i forgot about the requests i had saved in my google doc so here's one sorry guys.

People thought you and Mattheo being best friends was odd at first. Upon first meeting, people assumed you were quiet and sweet and slow to anger. However when a girl tried to push you around in second year and you landed a hard right hook to her nose, people stopped questioning your friendship and started questioning when you guys were going to start dating.

You both often played those comments off, saying you were best friends nothing more. Not knowing the other was desperate for the change in relationship status.

So when Draco asked you to Hogsmead one weekend, you didn’t really have a reason to say no. However when Mattheo found out, he had a less than pleasant response.

“Are you seriously going with him?” Mattheo was ripping pieces of parchment and throwing them in the fire. You laid across the couch, handing him a new sheet of parchment when he’d finish the other.

“It’s just Hogsmead, Matty. I’m not betrothed to your cousin,” you tried to sound nonchalant about the whole thing. Mattheo was grumbling in response.

You sat up on your elbows, “What was that?” Mattheo shook his head, standing up from the floor, “Nothing. Have fun with cousin, tomorrow. Can’t wait to hear all about it.”

He walked off towards the hall, sounding very much like a stomping toddler and not like he was excited to hear about how your date went tomorrow afternoon. You huffed out an annoyed sigh, deciding to head back to your own dorm. Pansy was sitting atop her bed when you came in and slammed the door behind you.

“Care to tell the doctor why you’re so peeved?” Pansy sat up at the head of her bed. You groaned, flopping yourself face first on her mattress, mumbling into her duvet. “Come again, dear?”

You rolled over, staring at the top of her four poster, “Mattheo is being an arsehole.” Pansy couldn’t help but snort, “Tell me something new, Y/n/n.” You groaned again, “He’s never an arse to me, like never ever. Not like he just was. I don’t know what his problem is. Shouldn’t he be happy that my date is at least with someone he knows and likes? I could’ve had a date with Diggory, or even,” you faked a gag, “Potter.”

Pansy couldn’t help the laugh that emitted from her throat, “I think you’re reaction alone let’s everyone know that the latter would never be an option.” You smiled weakly at her, “Yeah, suppose you’re right.” You sat up now, tucking your feet under you, “I just don’t get what the big deal is. He’s adamant that he and I are just friends, so why get mad when I finally get a date?”

Pansy looked at you dumbfounded, “Y/n/n, please tell me you’re not that daft.” Your jaw dropped slightly, “What do you mean?” It was Pansy’s turn to groan, “If you can’t see it, I’m not telling you. You’re just going to have to pay more attention.”

You sighed out in annoyance, getting up from her bed and changing into your pyjamas. Pansy dropped the subject, as did you. You laid your head down on your pillow, doing your best to get Mattheo’s judgemental tone out of your mind, which only caused your dreams to be filled with him.

Your trip to Hogsmead was actually really nice. Draco was a complete gentleman, helping you into and out of the carriage, holding the doors open for you, buying your favorite candies, even buying your lunch and butter beer.

On the ride back in the carriage, you thanked Draco for a lovely afternoon. He smiled shyly, “Of course, Y/n/n. A beautiful girl like you deserves to be given all the attention and doted on dutifully.” You smiled bashfully, “You’re very kind, Draco.” Draco reached for your hand as you stepped out of the carriage at the doors of the castle.

You took it, thanking him again as you stepped back to the ground. You opened your mouth to say something when suddenly Draco was ripped from in front of you. You took a shocked step back, trying to focus on the two bodies rolling around on the ground when you noticed it was Mattheo that attacked him.

Draco and Mattheo were landing blows back and forth. While Mattheo was a few months younger, he was larger, muscular wise than Draco. You worried a bit for Draco, but when he landed an elbow in Mattheo’s ribs, causing him to roll off Draco, the blonde boy stood, walking toward you.

You opened your mouth to apologize, but Draco cut you off, wiping the blood from his bottom lip, “You two need to sort whatever the fuck you are.” He turned back to look at Mattheo getting up from the ground before turning back to you, “I suggest you take him back to your dorm and clean him up. Have a fucking conversation.”

You looked back toward Mattheo, who was now looking at the ground. You walked over, grabbing his wrist, “C’mon, Matty. I’ll clean you up.” The walk back to your dorm was silent sans for the sound of both your boots on the corridor floors. When you got to your dorm you led him to the edge of your bed, motioning for him to sit while you got some supplies from the ensuite bathroom.

When you came back, you opened the first aid kit, grabbing some gauze and soaking it in healing potion. You dabbed the gauze on the bridge of his nose where a fresh cut was now open. Mattheo winced away, “Fucking Salazars dick, Y/n/n, that fucking burns!”

You grabbed hold of his chin, turning his face toward you again, “Well I wouldn’t even have to do this if you didn’t mindlessly attack Draco. What was that, Matty?” Mattheo avoided your eyes, looking off to the side.

Your fingers gave his cheeks a gentle squeeze before dabbing his nose again, he winced slightly before meeting your eyes, “You shouldn’t have gone to Hogsmead with him.” You watched as the potion closed the cut on his nose, a pink scar now taking its place.

You grabbed one of his hands, holding your wand above it, “And why’s that?” Mattheo watched as you waved your wand, quietly muttering a healing spell that closed the cuts over his knuckles leading to fresh scars being formed there, “Because you should have gone with me.”

Golden brown eyes met yours when you finally looked up, “Matty, we’ve gone to Hogsmead together a bunch of times. Why was this one any different.” Mattheo shook his head, “No, y/n/n, you’re…ugh, you’re not getting it. I don’t want to go with you as your friend. I-I kind of…fancy you.”

You couldn’t help it when your eyes widened a bit, a small small forming on your face, “You kind of fancy me?” You saw Mattheo’s shoulders physically relax, a smile forming on his lips, “Okay, I really fancy you.”

You set your wand down on the nightstand before taking a step closer to Mattheo, now fully nestled in between his open legs. “And how long have you really fancied me, Mr. Riddle?” You played with the collar of his t-shirt. You really did love it when Mattheo dressed more casually, you’ll have to tell him.

Mattheo was feeling more confident now, placing his hands on the backs of your thighs, "Are you gonna hit me if I say a year?" Your eyebrows shot up, "A year? Mattheo Marvelo are you telling me we could've been dating for a year now but you were to wuss to say anything to me?"

At first he opened his mouth to apologize, but his brain quickly made the connections to what your statement alluded, "Y/n Y/m/n, are you saying that you have also fancied me for the last year?"

It was your turn to act reserved, "I mean...yes?" Mattheo's hands on your thighs gave a quick squeeze, causing your to squeal and grab his wrists.

Mattheo smiled at your giggles, now bringing his hands to either side of your face, "Well, looks like we've got lots to make up for, don't we love."

You nodded your head, closing the gap between the two of you, finally allowing your lips to connect with your best friend you've been pining over for the last year

#idk why i feel like everything i'm writing is shit lately??#but also love it at the same time?#what is happening in my brain lately #anyway #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle fluff

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blenselche · 2 months ago

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insert for ch2

"Finn, come on."

background items: Marcy Acoustic set poster from Scream Queens, Fern's leaves pressed between glass, Finn's Candy Kingdom diplomat pin, the cash he won in a bet in the comic Marcy & Simon, the dimensional sword, root sword. I wanted to add more but thought it'd get too busy.

closer view and excerpt under the cut

He finds himself before the sink, mussing up his oily hair and disheveled beard to rid himself of wood chips, splashing water over his face and coughing after breathing deep off a stale cigarette. The cherry fizzles back at him against the aluminum as he taps it off into an empty. He tugs at the bottom of his eyelid — the whites of his eyes are yellowing again. Pressing his forehead to the mirror and staring at his reflection he sees Martin's eyes, jaw and brow. He sees his maladjusted view, understands now what he meant, in the end.

He can't look in a mirror without seeing the man staring back at him, and it only gets worse with age.

“You’re fine. Today was just a bad day,” he recites just as he’s been told to, loyal tool of the kingdom that he is, a coping mechanism PB calls self affirmation. He leans back, scoffing, “in a long line of bad days.”

His feet carry him to the stump set before his wood stove, and the air toasts his frozen fingers and melts away the pins and needles in the skin that his port connects to. Anxiety bubbles its way up his esophagus and he drowns it with a long pull off his homebrew, eyes flickering from the bottle to his prosthetic, foot tapping furiously. He sighs and gives into the itch at the back of his brain, taking the wish out and reading it over again, biting more teeth marks into a pencil already shredded down to the lead.

It’s something to look forward to. Something he can put off, hoping ‘it gets better’ but it hasn’t and he’s almost certain it won’t. A morbid form of motivation to get more built, work harder, save more people, hoping against hope he’ll wake up happy before he has to spirit himself away. But none of it matters without fulfillment, sat alone and suffocating under his own melancholy in this empty space, only a facsimile of a loved one on his chest for company. He wants to see his brother, he wants to see his mom. He wants from the bottom of his being to go back and smack himself for being dumb, deaf and blind in the face of his own wants and needs. He hunches more in on himself and clutches it harder, it crinkles back at him, threatening another rip.

Slim, sage colored fingers enter his vision and pluck the precious slip of writing from his hand.

“I’ll give it back if you clean yourself up and go to bed.”

“I have it memorized,” he sighs. “I thought you believed in nihilism, anyway, Miss nothing matters and the wind makes my decisions.” Their eyes meet and he can’t help himself but to smile, though it doesn’t reach the rest of his face.

“I believe in natural predeterminism inscribed on our souls by our great earth mother, not in being a sad sack with whisky dick.”

“Ouch. My ego,” he drones, throwing his palm to his chest in faux hurt. “Like I’m disappointing anyone these days. Cot’s closed, sweetheart.”

“So not why I’m here.” She rolls her eyes and holds her hand out, motioning for the bottle.

“If you crack it open against my floor you owe me a face cord of firewood.” He hands it over by the neck and she takes a fifth straight, wiping her mouth with the back of her glove and gagging. “Christ, bad day?”

“Not yet.” She sighs deeply, clearing her throat of the burn and takes a seat on the floor next to him. “You’re going to be pissed with me. I thought saying anything would just upset you, but you’re still set on doing this,” she waves the wish in her hand, “so. It might help. I don’t know.”

“What are you talking about?” His voice drops decibels, adam’s apple bobbing as he gruffly clears his throat.

“I swear to you I didn’t keep this from you on purpose.” She huffs a sigh and peers up at him guiltily. “You know, Fern crashed in my woods with LSP, but we never spoke. Not until the war.”

“…” his breath gets caught in his lungs, burning.

“I forgot. There was so much going on, back then.” She blinks at him, brows steepled, and covers his hand with her own. “What he said— when I did remember I thought it would just break your heart all over again, so I’ve kept it to myself.”

His hackles raise and defensiveness floods his veins, skin hot and starting to prick with nervous sweat. “Excuse me?” he asks, resistive.

Her eyes hold his though, expression full of pity unchanged. “Finn. Come on.” Her thumb brushes against his knuckles and he shakes her off.

His anger speaks for him, misplaced and protective of his brittle heart. “It’s been a decade and you think I’m like this over some kid I knew for half a minute when we were teenagers?”

“He wasn’t just some kid, I‘ve seen you- you know. Lurking in his tree. It’s a contributing factor in your whole bummer lifestyle because you never processed his death. Or are we still pretending that he has nothing to do with us?” Her voice is gentle but firm, not entertaining his usual evasiveness.

“I'm not doing this,” he snaps, shutting down. He stands and walks to the door, holding it open even though the cold night air will chill the space again. “I am sorry, ‘Tess, for— for whatever you think you know. I can’t rehash it. I’ve buried that shit deep, and it’s gonna stay there.”

“I asked him what he was fighting for. He was dying, falling apart under me, I was just trying to keep him distracted," she barrels ahead anyway. “He looked me in the eye and said ‘same as you.’ Maybe he opened up to me because of what was happening to him, or because he knew we had— you in common, I’m not sure.” She looks at him with such compassionate sympathy that it makes him nauseous. “He adored you, Finn—“ his knees buckle, “—he said he was happy to die for you if it meant he could 'make up for everything that happened after you left him behind’.” She stands and reads the wish, scrutinizing. “If you truly need to do this to be happy… knowing that can’t hurt.”

How he’s able to remain upright he doesn’t know, but a flash of devastation covers his face before he can recover.

“Please, don’t tell me his business,” he rasps, voice wavering. “I can’t,” he begs, croaking out the words through the raw vice of emotion choking him. “I can’t think about it.” He closes his eyes, pleading with his whole body.

He feels a hand brush against his cheek, and her lips press to his softly, whispering “I’ll miss you.”

When he opens his eyes again she’s gone. Bottle and paper placed neatly on his stool. He closes the door and leans against it, hugging himself and breathing hard, face hot with upset. The more he tries to calm himself the closer he comes to hyperventilating, and when the tears start his breathing only worsens. He crams his fist against his mouth and takes a shuddering gasp in, close to wailing over it.

#i dont use their names in flashbacks. dumb decision at the time but im ok with it now.#keep yourself au #adventure time #finn mertens #huntress wizard #finntress

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crappymixtape · 11 months ago

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soft, sweet, sounds • part II

part II to this absolutely unhinged-fever-dream-blurb's worth of smut i wrote way too early in the morning – steve’s still your roommate and you’re still friends, right? or is there something more and you two just too chicken shit to put a label on it • 18+ | ( 1.5K – roommates -> something?, tiny fluff, medium smut, lots of idiocy, steve x you )

S O F T S W E E T S O U N D S • P A R T T W O 🎶 swimming pools, dani stocksdale

It was sticky sweet like popsicles by the pool. Soft like cotton candy clouds pulled across the sky. Glittering like sun on the water and easy. Too easy. Like you’d done it countless times before. Like it was nothing. Like it was supposed to be like this and maybe it was your newly single mindset, or maybe it was Steve, but right now? It didn’t matter.

“Y’okay?” Steve asked, breaths falling quick between you. Sweat beading across his forehead, his hair stuck and messy as the fan above did absolutely nothing to cool down the room from the July heat outside.

“Yes–shit–yeah,” you hissed through gritted teeth, Steve’s fingers digging into the plush of your hip, his other hand bracing him above you on the bed.

It was a slow drag. A lazy push and pull that drove you both crazy. Hands needy and searching. Lips desperate, pressed skin to skin, sucking soft lilac bruises to leave behind tiny traces of you long after you’d parted.

“Oh god, o-okay, s’good,” Steve’s breath hitched in his throat as you tangled your fingers in his hair and tugged at it, nails scratching at his scalp and making him see stars.

Less than a week ago you’d broken up with your boyfriend and your room mate Steve had come home to find you coping with a hand pressed between your thighs and instead of moving on – instead of maintaining the line between roommates – you’d broken the rules and now here you were.

Laid out on his bed with your panties on the floor and your shirt rucked up under your arms so he could push the palm of his hand up your stomach. Could see your embarrassing, nothing special, I-need-to-do-laundry bra. All white and dotted with baby blue spots, but Steve couldn't have cared less. You made his shitty, faded, ripped up Hawkins Athletic Dept. shirt look good.

“Wait–” the pinch between your brows deepened as he hit the soft, squishy spot at the back of you, your knees pressing into his ribs.

“M’sorry, want me to stop–”

“No, god–don’t stop,” your voice edged on desperation as you squirmed and slipped a hand between your thighs so you could rub little circles over your clit. “Okay, keep going.”

And when Steve picked up the pace again, dragged himself in and out, in and out, the combination of your fingers and him filling you up so good pulled a moan from you that was utterly obscene. The coil at the pit of your stomach squeezing tight as the movement of your fingers grew frantic.

“Y’close? You’re close, huh?” Steve let his head drop down, rested his forehead on yours and pressed a kiss to your temple, the tops of his thighs smacking into the backs of yours. “Let go, babe–you go first.”

“Faster,” you pleaded and his jaw ticked as he bit down on the groan you pulled from his chest. A low, warm, rumble that pushed you over the edge as you sucked in a gasp. Arched your back up off the bed for more, more, more as your hand fisted into the sheets to hold on for dear life. Pressed your body into Steve’s and pulled him with you, his hips stuttering as he came.

And as your limbs grew heavy Steve gently pushed himself away, a small gasp escaping you as he eased out, breaths slowing as each second passed. The warm air wrapping itself around you, lulling you into a haze. The kind that made you feel like you were floating. Like being between sleep and dreams, fuzzy and blurring around the edges.

You watched the fan spin lazy overhead, uselessly pushing warm air around Steve’s room and tried to stay present. Tried not to let your mind wander. Tried not to think about what ‘this’ was, what you were doing with your room mate and tried to just be.

Steve shifted against the covers next to you, his arm pressing into yours as he rolled onto his side. Looked at you with those big brown eyes, brows lifted ever so slightly in question.

“You wanna shower first or…?” his voice drifted off at the end of his sentence, hand running through his hair in an attempt to keep it out of his eyes.

“Oh, you can? I don’t have to work today,” you tried to sound casual, like you hadn’t just fucked your best friend, but even you didn’t believe you.

“Could be responsible and go together, conserve water.”

His half-assed joke made you snort, but even Steve couldn’t deny the tension that had been building between you two.

The first time, the time he’d walked in on you, had been unreal. He’d made you come once on his fingers, again with his mouth, and a third time over the kitchen counter after you’d tried to stop and make food. Had done things your boyfriend wouldn’t have dreamed of doing, things he’d refused to do, and made you question your standards for men because what? Were men actually like this?

Like Steve?

Because he hadn’t blinked an eye when you’d started to be more vocal the second time around. When you’d told him where to put his fingers, when you asked him to apply more pressure, when you said you wanted it harder and he obliged, but never failed to ask you if it was good. If you were okay. If that was how you liked it.

He put you first and god, it was so hot and you were down so bad.

“You still with me?”

You heard Steve’s voice, felt it pull you out of your head and when you turned to look at him across the pillow he was looking at you like he’d just said something bad. Like he regretted it and your brain scrambled to catch up.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I just–there’s a lot on my mind and–”

“No, no! You don’t have to explain yourself,” Steve reassured you, lifting a hand to push your curls out of your face. “It’s okay. I’ll just get outta your hair,” and he pushed up on an elbow to leave, but you cracked.

“Don’t!” fell out too quick, too fast. Had you sounded desperate? “Please. Stay?” you asked and he eased back down next to you, a little smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“What’s going on up there?” he wondered quietly, gently tapping a finger on your forehead.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to decide how honest you wanted to be with him. Debating whether or not you wanted to risk ruining this – whatever this was – and pushed a sigh from your lungs.

“Steve Harrington,” you started, his cheeks growing pink at the way you said his name, “You’re an anomaly.”

Brows knitting together, his mouth dropped open into a little ‘o’, not wanting to admit he didn’t know what that meant and it made you laugh. A small, warm thing that made his expression soften and he laughed too.

“Listen, Princess. Not everyone took AP english.”

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously! I’m a what now?”

“An anomaly. Unexpected. Out of the ordinary.”

“Oh, great,” he teased, dragging out the vowels and you shoved at him as he chuckled, “I’m a weirdo.”

“It’s not a bad thing!” you insisted, feeling like you were losing the point, but then he smiled at you. Brushed the rough pad of his thumb over your cheek and shook his head.

“I know.”

“Good.”

Silence settled between the two of you then, the only sound coming from the fan whirring above. A quiet reminder that there were still words left unsaid and leveled the challenge of who would break it and of course Steve caved first.

“I just want you know that I’m not like, expecting anything from you. Or–or trying to put any pressure on this,” he gestured a hand in the space between you on the bed and gave you a small half-hearted smile.

“Oh, I don’t either! I mean, you’re part of this too,” you insisted, feeling guilty for the slightly crestfallen look on his face, and covered your face with your hands.

“Don’t run away,” he murmured, enveloping both your hands with one of his and tugging at it softly. Wanting, no, needing to be able to see you. “Let’s just be…whatever this is for now, hm? And–and we can decide if we want to make it something else later.”

You tentatively met his gaze through your fingers, let yourself get lost for just a minute in his warm, brown eyes, and realized how safe he made you feel. Realized how thankful you were for him.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay,” he whispered back.

Wrapping his arms around your waist he pulled you into him and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Your cheek. Your nose.

“Now about that shower–”

“Steve!”

“What? C’mon, race you?”

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m fun. I keep things interesting.”

And he did and for just a split second you were okay with just being where you were. No labels. No pressure.

Just Steve.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington stranger things #steve stranger things #steve x you #steve fanfic #steve x reader #steve x fem #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve smut

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aikenakamura · 2 months ago

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What if Al found the cure for blindness?

I know I'm probably taking Wade's jokes too seriously, but this has been drilling into my brain since I re-visited the first two Deadpool movies. He states in the first one that next to the 116 kg of cocaine is the cure for blindness (which is probably more cocaine, but anyways), so, like, what if she got cured?

Don't even ask me how that'd happen, but in that case, imagine she passes out after taking the cure and snorting copious amounts of cocaine, and when she wakes up she can suddenly... See everything again?

Obviously her sight wouldn't be amazing, she's like 80 or smth, but she can see, the first thing she notices is the way the whole apartment is covered in already-dried blood and other questionable fluids, and the second is the god-awful-gremlin-looking-like dog that Wade and Logan adopted.

And talking about them: she isn't in any hurry to open their door and see them in the bedroom probably naked after fucking like they do on the regular—though they at least gave her a pair of headphones so she could ignore them as they got on with it—so she stares at Mary Puppins, who sleeps like the dead curled up in a little ball of bald ugliness. And Al can't help but be a little fond of the creature.

Half an hour later, Logan gets out of the room—unfortunately fully dressed—and Althea's jaw almost drops to the floor with the eye candy of a man she has in front of her: he has gained a bit of weight while living with them, but he's still ripped and she stares at him as he passes by murmuring a "Mornin' Al" and yeah, Wade's still her favorite, but she immediately gets all flirty and suddenly very kind with the Wolverine.

He makes breakfast, and she kind of slips up on the whole "I can see again somehow" and Logan's like "how the fuck" but doesn't push it past that, and when he's done cooking, Wade gets out of the room (unfortunately only wearing briefs, as he doesn't care nearly as much about her ex-blind-roommate's integrity) and there's where I think her reaction might vary. Would she freak out about his scars? Would she literally not give a fuck about it and wish she was blind again so she wouldn't have to see him almost naked rn?

This might be a little delusional thought on my part, and maybe I'm taking this too literally, but it hasn't left my brain in a while and I needed to vomit this weird train of thought in Tumblr.

#poolverine #blind al #althea #dogpool #wade wilson #logan howlett #deadpool and wolverine

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solitude4chiron · 2 years ago

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“Fashion Killa”

Earth 42 Miles x black fem reader

May or may not be a Pt.2 🫣

About ig?: Little bit (maybe more than a little) of Angst and fluff, smoking, kissing but nothing further than that, music, nostalgia, slight songfic using the song “Fashion Killa“ by A$AP Rocky because music is my personality andddd I think that’s all?????

Alr so first post, and first time writing abt any character… I gave up taking Spanish so pls spare me a little 🙏🏾 and if you do write and see anything you could give constructive criticism on it would be deeply appreciated, anywaysss

The message pinged through your phone disrupting your daydreaming session after a boiling hot shower, you still lay on the bed clutching the top of your towel in case someone barged in. Knowing you’ve lived alone for a few weeks after your boyfriend cut off all communication with you, with the world, but we never officially broke up. So I assume he’s still mine and I’m still his.

“Voy para allá ahora, ma, algo emocionante viene hacia ti. -Amor M” (I’m coming over now ma, something exciting coming your way. -Love M)

Your feet sprang up with the excitement of being able to see miles, the negative feeling your heart stored for weeks crumbled and dropped on the floor. Disappearing from hearing from him. You brush past your anger and focus on the positive, like always.

You and miles had been dating for a year now and it was the longest heart wrenching year of your life, within him being the prowler, living in a city with no hero to protect it and most of all. Breaking open his nonchalant attitude caused by Grief. It had been a lot for you both, but still holding on was the best thing you could do for your heart. Hoping through everything his love for you would never waver.

And within that thought a knock came from the door, you squeezed past the groceries still on the floor after you brung them in a few hours ago to unlock the door for miles, you would hope through all this time was still yours.

“Hi Y/N missed you baby”

And you stared at your lover, cuts sharpening his already hardened face. Hair knotted and neglected, you would assume from being on the run, and clothes slightly ripped. Even though you could still tell he was putting on his best for you. A crate of your favorite things filled one of his arms as you peered inside, 2 vinyls. Long Live A$AP and Nostalgia Ultra, a bouquet of tiger lily’s. Tiny jewelry boxes stacked on one another and some other trinkets and candy’s you would sprawl out on your bed and Indulge in with miles.

You couldn’t say nor do anything. After Miles’s disappearing act a few weeks ago, seeing him and you within feet of each other made your heart ache to converse with him about every thought that was polluting your mind for weeks.

“I missed you miles, everything about you. Your smile and voice rolling r’s in every word, your music filling my halls in the morning, the smoke on your breath after a long stressful day, braiding your hair. I missed us. Where were you baby? Why did you run?” While choking back tears you kept your head down avoiding eye contact. It shielded you from shedding any more tears while being vulnerable.

“Los siento Amor, (I’m sorry love) I know. I got caught up in some deep shit. I know it hurts you who I am. Deep down I can tell you wish I wasn’t runnin the streets. Yo también ma. (I do too ma)” He said in a disappointed manner because he was disappointed in himself. For almost losing the love of his life.

Realizing y’all were still talking in the doorframe of your apartment. You grabbed and pulled him by his free hand to our room where he put the decorated crate on your sketch filled desk before flopping on our bed and laying his head in your crossed legs. Prompting you to take out his old braids while looking through the box.

“Miles how did you find these? I thought they were discontinued?” You said. Slightly shocked at how well he knew you. Or maybe how well he remembered you

“I have my ways, but I’m hopeful that you still realize I love you, even with the time we weren’t communicating. Lo seinto mami” (I’m sorry Mami) he stated so low it felt like an intimate whisper as he tilted his head back in my lap to lock eyes with me

And that sentence made your stomach coil, because you knew what he did. How it provided for you and his family, and in some piece of your heart deep down you wanted to be mad, so mad, but his guard was down. So you anticipated your words before saying them. Trying not to ruin the moment of vulnerability

“Cuidado, (careful) you trying to hurt me?” He said jokingly and you adjusted your hands while playing in his coils forgetting he was slightly tender headed

“Miles baby, I love you so so much, but when you’re in these situations you need to tell me something. Anything, I’m not as strong as you, Lord knows that. You know that. Just communicate with me baby. Please.”

And as if he could feel the tears forming in your eyes he got up from his spot, cupped your face within his rough hands and pressed kisses on your forehead and lips.

“I’m sorry y/n, I promise. Don’t cry over me. Open your gifts babe, everything I do is for you.”

And as time passed you opened boxes of rings with both of your initials engraved in them. Bags of candy that melted in your mouth (you made sure to share with miles popping them into his mouth from above him) old and newly released clothes because fashion is your favorite thing in the world, and little childhood toys you always wanted but expressed you couldn’t afford as a child

You get up to play y’all favorite album and hear miles groan a bit from the sudden movement. You spin the records he got you, listening to the music while talking and taking out his braids. Combing out the old dirt and gel buildup at his roots so it was easier for you to wash later

And somehow your on the last box, after hours of opening gifts and wrappers littering your floor (you knew that gift giving was Miles’s love language so it wasn’t surprising) he asks for you to close your eyes and allow him to open it for you. Coldness draped over your neck while Miles’s breath from behind raised your senses. As fashion killa played from our record player you felt love admitting from him while behind you.

As the song played you remembered the nights you and him would smoke together in our room, window open, moonlight shining through allowing his brown skin to look blue. Lips pressed to each other, tongues exploring each others mouths through each exhale of smoke. Tumbling through our small Brooklyn apartment kissing and touching on each other, backs pressed to each wall in the house. He would call you his fashion killa and sing the lyrics about how he adored your Dior knowing proudly he bought it for you.

“You can open your eyes now Y/N”

And in the mirror you stared in awe at a one and only piece wrapped around your neck. A crystal drop orb pendant necklace. Vivienne Westwood a piece of fashion you’d studied for years since you were a little black girl, feeling a sense you would never have it draped across your neck dripping drown your collar bone.

Until now

So you pulled him in, and wrapped your arm around his neck using your free hand to play in his freshly detangled hair. Standing on the tip of your toes to reach his cocoa butter covered lips that were now glossy from your clear lip gloss.

“you look cute with my lipgloss on pretty boy” you teased as he rolled his eyes

“shii if you like it I love it ma” and the statement warmed your stomach

Through slight groans from miles and intimate whispers you both expressed your longing for each other very well. One of his hands traced your curvy frame as his other was occupied on holding you up against the wall whilst your legs wrapped around his waist.

“I want you at my level Y/N, not at the tip of your toes. Right in front of my face.”

“You kno you fine huh?” You muttered between sharp breaths

“Definitely do.” He replied almost instantly kissing your collar bones while your eyes lowered in pleasure

do y’all fw this?

#miles morales x reader #across the spider verse spoilers #miles morales #across the spiderverse #Milesmorales x black fem reader #spiderman atsv #prowler miles #miles 42 x reader #hobie brown x reader next maybeee?#Y’all want pt2??#black reader #Spotify

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